Ten years, one month, and twenty-seven days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-five years, one month, and twenty-seven days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and twelve days since the Arrival.)
The turbolift cabin stopped on the designated deck, and the doors slid apart, revealing a tall guardsman clad head-to-toe in blue-black armor to those inside.
"Follow me."
The voice was lifeless, devoid of emotion, spoken through the helmet's vocoder.
Exactly the same as when communicating with stormtroopers.
Vice Admiral I-Gor, paying no attention to the stormtroopers of the 501st Legion stationed in the cabin, proceeded down the corridor at a quick but unhurried pace — one that might have puzzled a casual observer — following the guard of Thrawn.
Behind him followed four commanders of the starships in the division he had brought to the rendezvous point on the Supreme Commander's orders.
Slightly behind them followed five Dominion stormtroopers clad in snow-white armor, demarcated by the black shades of their sealed undersuits.
The commanders of the infantry units stationed on the Victories brought to the meeting.
Why and for what purpose they were needed by Thrawn was unknown.
But it was assumed that a meeting was forthcoming, related to the fact that Dominion operational groups had received orders for a covert advance towards the state's borders.
To points where hyperspace routes penetrated Thrawn-controlled territory.
Why this was necessary was not explained.
But, considering that every single ship crewed by "veterans" had been pulled from their posts, as well as even those starships that had just received crews and were supposed to undergo "shakedown" during patrols of the Dominion's internal territories — so that the cloned crews could refresh their skills — the matter was clearly serious.
And being called directly to the Chimaera, located near the Bosph sector, was an unambiguous hint that soon, very soon, what the "yellow" alert level on the starships never let up for would begin.
The ship commanders would undoubtedly have their individual actions laid out, and the stormtroopers were apparently in for a briefing on capturing bases or ships that Thrawn intended to appropriate during combat operations.
Probably the same was happening with other groups at battle stations near the borders; for secrecy's sake, no one was even discussing it over secure lines.
At one of the turns, I-Gor noticed from the corner of his eye that, besides the guard leading their small company, four more guards were moving behind the stormtrooper officers.
A rather strange way to escort officers to the direct command.
This escort most resembles a convoy.
But I-Gor dismissed that thought immediately.
Neither he nor his subordinates were implicated in anything illegal.
Otherwise, he would have been the first to know and would have gutted the scoundrels before the counter-intelligence officers on the ships could report to command.
So, it must just be his imagination.
Probably, it's nothing more than heightened security measures.
To I-Gor's surprise, their procession passed by the briefing room where Thrawn had often instructed commanders before large-scale operations in the past year.
The vice-admiral met the gaze of Captain Kalian, whose face showed surprise.
Yes, he too realized they were definitely not being led to the conference room.
The other officers didn't even bat an eye — clones, what can you expect from them?
They are dutiful, but you can't expect emotions from them.
After another few minutes of traveling through the corridors, I-Gor realized exactly where they were heading.
To Thrawn's quarters.
They were just being led in a rather convoluted way, practically all around the living complex on the deck.
Strange, all of this.
Oh well, everything will become clear soon.
I-Gor remembered and would never forget that moment when Thrawn summoned him for a meeting after the operation at the Hast shipyards was completed.
The conversation was difficult.
And recalling its details is painful.
But what surprised him more was that the grand admiral — cold and calculating as a droid — showed emotion and sincere sympathy for the loss of then-Captain I-Gor.
That conversation shattered the template so profoundly that it took I-Gor a considerable amount of time to bring his thoughts to a common denominator.
However, it would be a great exaggeration to say that anyone or anything understands Thrawn and what he does, says...
Yes, when he himself sets the accents and explains — everything becomes extremely simple, and you're left kicking yourself, wondering why you didn't figure it out yourself.
But of one thing I-Gor is certain.
Disillusionment with the Empire changed Thrawn himself.
He became... more human, in a way.
In a private conversation with Gilad Pellaeon, I-Gor heard roughly the same sentiment.
The former commander of the Chimaera noted that throughout the "Crimson Dawn" operation, Thrawn was "becoming more human."
Something that hadn't happened with him since he returned from the Unknown Regions, right up until the intelligence raid on Obroa-Skai.
"Let's wait a couple of years, and who knows, maybe we'll even get invited to the wedding," Gilad had blurted then.
The conversation took place in a close circle, after a meeting aboard the headquarters, when Thrawn, by his appearance, made it clear that his "death" during the Sluis Van operation was nothing more than another multi-stage maneuver, designed to buy time and avert the threat to the Dominion from the resurrected Emperor Palpatine.
The fact of how Thrawn's clone behaved, and the comparison with the behavior of the mentally unhinged Jedi clone used in the first months of the "Crimson Dawn" campaign, very clearly demonstrated to all ship and unit commanders the difference between the Dominion's cloning approach — using those very lizards that had been shipped for months from Myrkr along with their accursed trees and shrubs — and cloning a Force-sensitive being without using ysalamiri.
As they say — it hit home.
Even for those who weren't "Guard" clones — the ship commanders who had been with Thrawn from the very beginning of the campaign.
Rumors or not, but after Lennox, Reder, Pryl, and dozens of other commanders — freed from captivity and recruited into service — talked to the "Guard" and learned exactly how the dark Jedi, that psychotic madman, had taken control of entire ship crews and units, when the truth about the "effectiveness" of the Imperial Starfleet before and after Palpatine's death came to light, the number of people wanting to drown their "worthlessness" in Corellian whiskey skyrocketed.
Malicious tongues say that it was then that Tanda Pryl caught someone from the Jensaarai in the headquarters corridor and dragged him into a utility closet across the entire deck — which is about a hundred kilometers one way.
But knowing Tanda — that's nothing but dirty insinuations and ordinary officer gossip.
Pryl isn't the type to drag someone into a utility closet when she's plastered up to her eyebrows.
Any nearest free room would have sufficed for her — the lady doesn't mince words, she acts quickly and decisively.
I-Gor, willingly or not, was included in the information field of officer gossip, which was inevitable after the repeal of the Imperial ban on personal communications between military personnel.
Yes, the ban remained, but it concerned only official activities and official information.
Personal communication — well, as much as you like.
To a certain extent, this only united the regular fleet.
What is called a "sense of camaraderie" appeared.
It's much calmer to go into battle when you know who and what you can rely on.
But this same information field also became a breeding ground for rumors and gossip, which spread like wildfire.
I-Gor knew perfectly well that the story about Pryl and the Jensaarai had nothing to do with the consequences of the "Crimson Dawn" conclusion meeting.
Counter-intelligence had already identified the source of the rumor — a young communications officer from the Thunder, who once provided a communication channel between Pryl's ship and the Chimaera.
After that, for some reason, the rumors about Pryl and some Jensaarai (ranging on the wildness scale from "Pryl is rolling around with a young Jensaarai" to "By Thrawn's order, Pryl is guarded by Jensaarai even in her cabin") began to spread.
And malicious tongues added excessive fantasies to the situation.
I-Gor knew that counter-intelligence on the ships often summoned quite a few gossipers for a "preventive conversation," and it had a good effect.
The officer information field was slowly but surely being cleansed of blabbermouths, returning to what it originally was — a comradely and friendly way of informal communication.
However, the cautious whispers about whether Thrawn would marry Baroness D'Asta and whether the D'Astan sector would join the Dominion as a result of a political union seemed almost ineradicable.
All these thoughts raced through I-Gor's head until the moment the leader of the procession was stopped by a guard at a security post near the entrance to the already familiar quarters.
Two more guards, fully armed, stood on either side of the doors.
A squad of stormtroopers dispersed along the corridors — that's hardly eye-catching.
Such security measures had been implemented everywhere on the ships after the Battle of Sluis Van.
But someone else was present here.
The grand admiral's adjutant.
Lieutenant Colonel Tierce.
A shy, timid, but more than competent adjutant, with an ordinary physique hidden under a uniform tunic.
This man doesn't even outwardly meet the requirements one might imagine, knowing Thrawn's exactingness toward his subordinates.
The grand admiral had squeezed every last drop out of poor Pellaeon for two years, making him remember everything from hand-to-hand combat skills to the specifics of the Victory's drive system.
And here, a softie of an adjutant.
However, I-Gor wasn't even going to continue his thoughts in that direction.
He simply decided for himself that if this man had served under Thrawn for longer than a day, he must possess qualities that easily outweighed his shyness and unassuming appearance.
"Gentlemen, officers," Tierce almost stumbled over this short phrase. "P-please surrender your personal weapons to the g-guards. Security regulations."
"Now I really feel under arrest," Kalian grumbled quietly, but obediently surrendered his issued blaster.
I-Gor, the clone commanders, and the stormtrooper officers silently obeyed the order and parted with their weapons.
And the "dolls," as the stormtroopers were called in the New Republic, also parted with their multi-purpose belts.
Then they were passed through a weapon scanner, which revealed absolutely nothing unusual, and only after that, passing through a semi-dark airlock where it seemed to I-Gor that during the thirty seconds of waiting in the locked room, someone had given them a barely perceptible search, did all ten people enter the grand admiral's quarters.
Those familiar with the layout of standard senior officer cabins would hardly recognize the grand admiral's quarters as a standard cabin.
Here, as before, holographic images of art objects were projected, and most of the free space was occupied by a workstation surrounded by a ring of monitors, and shelving with information chips.
The only thing that noticeably stood out, something that hadn't been there during I-Gor's previous visit to this section of the Chimaera, was that the room was furnished with modern and strictly functional furniture.
A coffee table set for a coffee break, surrounded by rectangular soft sofas, stood not far from the bulkhead leading to the grand admiral's private quarters.
Not the slightest trace of luxury items that a being with Thrawn's position and wealth could afford.
And, essentially, he is the richest man in the Dominion.
Among the military — that's for sure.
The entire state treasury belongs to him, from which he could easily take whatever sum he needed and replace the holograms with originals.
But the grand admiral, as he was six months ago, continued to profess asceticism not only in service but also in comfort.
The grand admiral greeted the newcomers while sitting at his workstation.
His fiery-eyed gaze smoothly shifted from one of the monitors and settled on I-Gor.
"I wonder, where is his Noghri bodyguard?" the latter thought, but the fleeting idea immediately left his mind.
"Grand Admiral Thrawn, sir," the officer said with impeccable clarity. "Vice Admiral I-Gor, the commanders of the division's ships, and the commanders of the stormtrooper contingents have arrived on your orders."
I-Gor could literally feel the tension in his companions at the back of his neck and continued to stare unwaveringly at the Supreme Commander, who rose to meet them.
At his blue skin, his black hair, his eyes burning with red fire, his immaculately white tunic adorned with aurodium vice-admiral's rank insignia.
At the chrome code cylinders secured in the tunic pockets, at the matte squares of three colors on the commander's badge...
The possessor of all this met the eyes of his adjutant, who was nearby, and turned to one of the junior flag officers of the Dominion's regular fleet.
"Welcome aboard the Chimaera, Vice Admiral," he said quietly.
Thrawn's gaze slid over the officers standing behind I-Gor.
"Gentlemen, Captain Tschel is waiting for you in the briefing room," the grand admiral said softly. "I ask everyone not belonging to the Crusader's crew to leave the cabin."
I-Gor was momentarily bewildered.
What's this supposed to mean?
But his officers asked no questions.
Eight people silently left the grand admiral's quarters.
"Please, have a seat, Vice Admiral," Thrawn gestured to one of the snow-white sofas.
He sat down on the second one opposite.
I-Gor followed the quarters' owner's instruction.
The stormtrooper contingent commander positioned himself like a silent statue next to the sofa.
"Please, have a seat, Colonel TC-1289," Thrawn said, reaching forward and taking a small cup of aromatic caf. "We have a long conversation ahead. Remove your helmet."
The commander of the stormtrooper contingent on the Crusader hesitated for a moment, but obeyed Thrawn's order.
"Help yourself," the unforgettable, richly resonant voice of the Supreme Commander purred softly.
Only, this felt less like an invitation to sample caf and snacks from the Chimaera's galley.
For some reason, old legends from the times when ships moved exclusively across the watery surfaces of planets flashed through his mind.
Different peoples have this story, telling of the beautiful songs of enchanting creatures who, with their speeches and verses, lured sailors onto the rocks, after which they devoured them.
A treacherous trap set for a trusting victim.
That's exactly how I-Gor felt right now in the grand admiral's quarters.
With barely obedient hands, the man, who felt not an ounce of guilt on his part, reached for the cup of caf prepared for him.
"Colonel, this concerns you too," Thrawn declared.
I-Gor felt a trickle of sweat run down his back.
What.
Is.
Going on here?!
Why in the Hutta's name did Thrawn decide to get "chummy" with a stormtrooper?
They're trained to kill, not to drink caf.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that TC-1289's gauntleted hands elegantly took a decorative mug.
The colonel took a small sip.
I-Gor observed with surprise that the stormtrooper sitting next to him — who had stepped over hundreds of corpses, wanted by New Republic intelligence as a notorious cutthroat — was trembling slightly as he brought the mug of hot drink to his lips.
His eyes caught the slightly extended pinky finger on the hand controlling the white beverage container...
"Precisely what I wanted to confirm," Grand Admiral Thrawn said with a hint of triumph, his gaze fixed on TC-1289.
"Sir?" I-Gor addressed the Supreme Commander quietly. "May I inquire what this conversation will be about?"
"Certainly, Vice Admiral," Thrawn said, shifting his fiery-eyed gaze to him. "Here and now, we will discuss betrayal."
And then...
The irreparable happened.
* * *
I-Gor's eyes widened in surprise and a premonition of the inevitable.
The sound of a shattered cup reached his ears.
Slowly turning his head towards the source of the sound, he saw that TC-1289's right forearm had been literally pinned to the sofa's backrest by a long obsidian knife.
Behind Thrawn, a grey-skinned Noghri bodyguard emerged from the shadows.
And TC-1289 himself was wheezing.
His neck was held in a professional lock by Lieutenant Colonel Tierce.
But this was no longer the bumbling adjutant.
Before I-Gor's eyes, Tierce transformed into a warrior who was now restraining a professional killer without exerting much effort.
But, judging by the expression on the Crusader colonel's face, he had clearly left behind his ruthlessness and composure in the past.
And was now a thoroughly frightened teenager, gasping for air.
"Twitch, and I'll snap your neck," Tierce said in an emotionless tone, with a single movement of his fingers, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, extracting a narrow blade from the vambrace pinned by the obsidian knife. "You won't have time to squeak, traitor, before your life ends."
Now, before I-Gor stood not the bumbling adjutant, but a ruthless warrior with excellent physical training, who had twisted a seasoned stormtrooper like a little nuna.
And the vice-admiral had no doubt that Lieutenant Colonel Tierce was capable of carrying out his threat with the ease and composure he described.
A slight tremor ran through his body.
I-Gor wasn't a coward, but at the same time, he fully understood that now was not the time to even try demanding an explanation.
"It's a pity you're refusing the drink, Vice Admiral," Thrawn took a small sip from his cup of caf. "It will sweeten the time our conversation will take. Drink."
The last words sounded like an order.
I-Gor obeyed.
Explanations and questions — all that would come, but later.
Thrawn wouldn't have invited him here just to demonstrate his adjutant's lethal efficiency and then send him away.
There was something more at play here.
"Lately, for a number of reasons, I've become interested in the issues of cloning," Thrawn said unhurriedly. "We have at our disposal the Imperial archives, as well as a group of specialists competent in this matter. All this allows us to believe that, in the future, our past problems with replenishing clone numbers will become a thing of the past. However, I must say that while examining the information so kindly provided to us by the Ubiqtorate, counter-intelligence stumbled upon quite striking information concerning Imperial cloning projects. Have you heard anything about the corporation 'Arkanian Microtechnologies,' Vice Admiral?"
I-Gor shrugged cautiously.
"I've heard there's a medical company like that with quite a few skeletons in its closet."
He glanced at Colonel TC-1289.
His interest, dictated by the organization's name, flared up and died just as quickly; the stormtrooper's face turned back into a mask.
An impassivity beneath which fear seeped through.
"And that's true," Thrawn said calmly. "They took an active part in creating the Spaarti clones of the Grand Army of the Republic, and also carried out subsequent cloning orders directly from the Emperor and Darth Vader."
What's the point of this preamble anyway?
"Sir, I don't see the connection."
"Patience, Vice Admiral," Thrawn watched the stormtrooper colonel's expression intently, but TC-1289 was not about to give in to emotions again. "There were a great many projects. Different donors, different programs. And different executors. The results were also different. For example, did you know that the Colonel TC-1289 sitting next to you is a product of a cloning operation carried out by specialists from the 'Moraabian Corporation'?"
"I'm hearing about this for the first time, sir," I-Gor admitted.
"Not surprising," Thrawn agreed, continuing to bore holes into the stormtrooper with his gaze. "Allow me to draw your attention to this entrepreneurial entity. The 'Moraabian Corporation' was a small but well-established pro-Imperial company involved in genetic engineering. A small staff, mostly military contracts. They assisted 'Arkanian Microtechnologies' in at least several projects related to creating stormtrooper clones. They all share one thing: the use of the 'GeNod' cloning program. One such result is Colonel TC-1289. Another is Erv Lekauf, who for a long time was Darth Vader's assistant. There were other donors, but they, like their clones, have perished by now."
"Except for Lekauf," I-Gor noted softly. "I've heard he's serving in Imperial Space."
Thrawn shrugged indifferently.
"He's a supporter of the New Order, so he's useless to us, and I ordered no effort be made to recruit him."
"Thank you for clarifying, sir," the Vice Admiral said politely. "But I still don't understand."
"At present, too few clones from the Imperial programs have survived," Thrawn said. "For the most part, like Colonel TS-1289, they are clones from the final experiments conducted by the Empire shortly before its collapse."
That didn't make things any clearer.
I-Gor strained his mind, then the realization hit him.
"Sir, when you speak of betrayal, are you suggesting that TS-1289 concealed his connection to the Imperial cloning program?"
"You are remarkably perceptive, Vice Admiral," Thrawn observed. "Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. When we first began the cloning procedures, the entire fleet was notified that we required specialists and participants from such Imperial experiments. No more than two dozen people responded — individuals who had once been technicians or support personnel in Imperial cloning projects. TS-1289 remained silent about this."
I-Gor felt a wave of relief.
There was a perfectly concrete reason for this omission.
Strange that Thrawn didn't know it.
Or that he was deliberately excluding it from the equation.
"Sir, to my knowledge, the Imperial 'GeNod' clones, unlike ours, are not aware that they are clones," I-Gor reminded him. "Therefore, TS-1289 could not possibly have reported such a thing. He considers himself a human being, unconnected to the program."
"Are you prepared to vouch for him, Vice Admiral?" Thrawn's burning gaze forced the words ready to burst from I-Gor's throat to die there.
"A wise decision, Vice Admiral," the Supreme Commander approved. "You see, aside from TS-1289's involvement with the GeNod project, there are additional factors that cast doubt on his loyalty."
Now that was bad.
Thrawn didn't throw accusations around lightly.
But like any intelligent being — even a genius fleet commander and seasoned schemer — he could be misled.
"May I know what they are?" I-Gor asked.
As a responsible officer, he was obligated to defend his subordinates before higher command.
If there was an accusation of treason, there must be evidence to support it.
"Of course," Thrawn nodded almost imperceptibly. "Have you never wondered, Vice Admiral, why the Ubiqtorate left you and the Crusader on Tangrene after learning that I intended to take command of their fleet?"
"The answer is obvious, sir," I-Gor frowned. "My crew and I were your supporters and intended to join your fleet. The Ubiqtorate got rid of us to avoid risking exposure of their operations."
The Grand Admiral nodded again with that barely-there motion, his gaze fixed on the stormtrooper.
"Yes, I am aware of that," he confirmed. "Moreover, that very circumstance was the final straw that prompted the Ubiqtorate to eliminate you in that manner."
"If there were other reasons, I am unaware of them," the Vice Admiral stated.
"More than that — no one in the Empire was aware of them," Thrawn confirmed. "Not even us, until our slicers purged the Republican intelligence service's databases during the attack on Coruscant."
I-Gor raised an eyebrow questioningly.
He had heard that Thrawn had obtained some important information when he defeated the New Republic's First Fleet and blocked Coruscant's orbit with invisible asteroids.
But he didn't know the details.
Nor had he been curious.
"We came into possession of several very interesting documents," Thrawn continued. "For example, the so-called 'Cracken's List.' It is a roster of subjects throughout the galaxy who, one way or another, are to be located for a reward. Eliminated or delivered to Coruscant for trial — the task varies for the executor depending on the specific target. Did you know that Colonel TS-1289 is on that list? The Rebels intended to take him alive, accusing him of a number of crimes."
"Yes, sir," I-Gor confirmed. "For his highly effective actions against the Rebel Alliance and the New Republic, I presume."
"An assumption not based on facts is a delusion," Thrawn declared. "Officially, the New Republic never stated why they wanted Colonel TS-1289 alive. But thanks to our acquisition of the entire Republican intelligence archive, including General Cracken's private notes, we can confidently assert that Colonel TS-1289 supplied the Rebel Alliance with information about Imperial actions. One of his reports — concerning Tangrene's security systems — led to General Garm Bel Iblis's fleet striking the Ubiqtorate base and destroying a large number of Imperial forces."
"Colonel, is this true?" I-Gor snarled, turning to his immobilized subordinate.
"A lie," the stormtrooper rasped.
I-Gor was baffled.
He couldn't not believe Thrawn — instances where the Grand Admiral was wrong could be counted as a rounding error.
But stormtroopers couldn't lie either!
That wasn't how they were programmed!
Especially the clones of the GeNod project!
"Don't rack your brain, Vice Admiral," Thrawn advised. "The Colonel is right. TS-1289 is not involved in collaborating with the Rebel Alliance or the New Republic."
"What does that mean, sir?!" I-Gor was stunned.
What in the galaxy was going on?!
First an accusation of treason, now an acquittal?
"Exactly what I said, Vice Admiral," Thrawn said impassively. "Colonel TS-1289 has nothing whatsoever to do with collaborating with the Empire's enemies."
"Then how…?"
"It's simple, Vice Admiral," Thrawn relented and did not pause for dramatic effect. "The man sitting next to you is not Colonel TS-1289. His body is, but his mind is not."
I-Gor wiped large beads of sweat from his forehead.
WHAT.
IS.
HAPPENING!!!!!????
TS-1289.
"I think it's time to enlighten everyone present on how the life journey of the stormtrooper clone TS-1289 began," Thrawn proposed. "He, like thousands of his kind, was born in a cloning incubation tank. Necessary data was loaded into his mind. However, the fact is that TS-1289 was found tangled in wiring next to the dead body of the genetic scientist Zyix K'zzt. He was the last person to lead the GeNod project before it was shut down by order of Emperor Palpatine and the equipment was shipped to an unknown destination. Colonel," Thrawn addressed the stormtrooper. "I am offering you a chance to tell your own story. If I tell it, you will have no choice left."
I-Gor now looked at the pale clone-stormtrooper with undisguised curiosity.
The man's willful face — the face that had time and again rallied attacks and personally led boarding actions by the Crusader's stormtroopers — was now whiter than chalk.
And he was biting his lip, like a girl from Tanaab seeing Alderaanian wine for the first time.
"Well," Thrawn sighed, not hiding his disappointment. "Then I shall continue on my own."
"That won't be necessary, Grand Admiral," the "stormtrooper" forced out, dropping the act. "I'll tell everything myself."
"Splendid," Thrawn smiled almost imperceptibly. "Please, do not hold back on the details. I advise against lying — otherwise Lieutenant Colonel Tierce will break your bones one by one. He won't kill you outright only because I find this story interesting enough to forgive you this one time for the breach of discipline in addressing a superior officer. After all, you are a civilian, Mr. Zyix K'zzt."
For what felt like the hundredth time today, I-Gor witnessed the transformation of a man sharing the same room with him.
First, the shuffling adjutant turned out to be a killer capable of handling a seasoned stormtrooper.
Then, the executive officer — the terror of boarding actions — had turned before his eyes into a frightened baby bantha.
Next, the stormtrooper turned out not to be a stormtrooper.
And finally, the "not-a-stormtrooper," released by a sign from Thrawn, lounged casually on the sofa, crossing his legs with an aristocratic air.
"Now I understand why the Rebel agent who had the chance to meet you in this guise spoke of your duality," the Grand Admiral said.
"Because breeding — it's in the head," the stormtrooper tapped his temple with a finger. "Not in the blood, not in relentless training — but in how you see yourself. Self-respect comes from the same place."
"That is, without a doubt, a remarkable observation on the rules of conduct," Thrawn approved. "But I am interested specifically in your professional activities, Mr. Zyix K'zzt. I want to hear answers to questions that don't even need to be voiced aloud."
"I'll tell you everything," the stormtrooper agreed, seemingly not even noticing the hole punched through his hand. "But in exchange, I ask that you not declare TS-1289 a traitor. And, since everything is out in the open, I also request your permission to work in the Dominion specialists' cloning program."
On top of that, I-Gor remembered that Tierce had removed from TS-1289's vambrace a stiletto that the clone had somehow smuggled past the scanner.
"Is that so," Thrawn said thoughtfully. "So you're asking, then."
"I'm not suicidal enough to demand anything from you," Zyix K'zzt smiled nervously. "Only asking."
"Well, your opinion will be taken into account when the final decision regarding your future is made," Thrawn announced.
The "not-a-stormtrooper" smiled bitterly, understanding that at this moment he had not the slightest "ace" up his sleeve.
Anything he could possibly tell those present, Thrawn surely already knew.
The only question remaining was — why was the Grand Admiral staging this performance instead of having the traitor arrested immediately, handing him over to counterintelligence or the guards aboard the Crusader?
"I'll start from the beginning, but I won't dwell on my childhood — there's little of interest there," Zyix K'zzt began. "I grew up in a fallen aristocratic family. I studied genetics at several institutes, fascinated by the clone soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic. And also absolutely loyal to the New Order. I decided to devote my life to serving the Empire. To that end, I studied long and diligently to please my parents and my teachers. I had to work for a very long time, but in the end I became a genetic scientist at the Moraabian Corporation."
"And your successes in genetics led the Emperor himself to take notice of you," Thrawn prompted.
By constructing the dialogue with specific phrases, the Grand Admiral was gently but firmly steering the "not-a-stormtrooper's" story in the right direction.
Because the man, despite his own words, was clearly intent on discussing only the most important milestones of his past.
"Yes," TS-1289 confirmed. "I became a valuable asset for his secret cloning projects. I was tasked with a vital objective — to create an army of clones loyal solely to Palpatine. They were to have neither pangs of conscience nor hesitation. Droids in human shells, capable of carrying out any order. Needless to say, the talk was about 'dirty work.' I studied the data on the psychological conditioning and processing of stormtroopers and concluded that uniform drill would inevitably produce a certain percentage of defectors. Palpatine said that didn't matter. As practice shows, quite a few stormtroopers trained on Karide still overcame the ideological indoctrination and didn't see themselves as mere 'numbers.'"
"The idea of programming loyalty into the GeNod program — was that yours?" Thrawn clarified.
"Partly," Zyix K'zzt said. "I worked side by side with the Arkanians, who discussed how the original obedience protocols had much in common with their national methods of handling genetic experiments. But we were never told who authored the first part of the program. I didn't know that until I took charge of the entire project and gained access to all the GeNod data."
"So you discovered Zeta Magnus's work for the Emperor," the Grand Admiral said.
"Yes, the program's source code belonged to him. He basically created the entire model we now call 'GeNod.' My subordinates and I merely tested and retested it, made adjustments, and developed security protocols. The 'patch' ensuring GeNod clones don't know their origin, can't distinguish each other, and don't speak of cloning — that was entirely our work."
"Ineffective," Thrawn observed.
"Zeta Magnus's work didn't even have that," Zyix K'zzt declared. "He subjugated clones through a different method that we never uncovered."
"Well," Thrawn said. "Judging by the fact that you worked on several projects, the Emperor's offer to create a personal army for his beloved self played on your ego."
"Whose ego wouldn't it play on?" the "not-a-stormtrooper" smirked. "For a fanatic of the New Order, being offered to work directly for the Emperor is an honor. And with it come incentives: money, influential acquaintances and friends, access to prestigious trappings like elite housing, expensive escort models shining beside you at every Imperial Reception…"
"They simply bought you like an object," Vice Admiral I-Gor said with disgust.
"Who's arguing?" the stormtrooper shrugged. "I was young, ambitious, and Palpatine's attention to my person was like a drug you can't just quit. Imperial dignitaries and Moffs practically ate out of my hand, hung on my every word — and that stroked my ego. I don't think I need to mention that the moral side of the question didn't interest me either."
"What changed your worldview?" Thrawn asked.
"When my wife gave birth to our first child, a son, I looked at him in the maternity ward, took that little bundle in my arms, and it hit me: I was wrong," Zyix K'zzt said with a hunted expression. "It dawned on me: life shouldn't come from a cloning vat, but from nature itself, where a creature had the right to make its own decisions instead of having everything decided for it."
"The genetic cloner decided that life was too valuable for mass production?" I-Gor asked in surprise.
"Believe it or not," Zyix K'zzt snorted irritably. "You wouldn't understand if you don't have children."
"My son sacrificed himself to save his comrades," the Vice Admiral replied sharply. "During the Battle of the Hoth Shipyards, he gave his life — along with the crew of a DP20 frigate — to save the Crusader's crew. Including you, Mr. Zyix K'zzt."
The geneticist in the stormtrooper's body wilted, guiltily averting his eyes.
"I'm sorry, sir," he muttered. "I thought it was just a rumor…"
I-Gor ignored the apology.
"Continue," Thrawn ordered.
"After my child was born and I reconsidered my life, I realized that my own existence was hardly better than that of the stormtroopers I had created," Zyix K'zzt admitted. "In a sense, I was just like them: trained like a domestic animal to be a faithful servant of the Empire, with no choice, no way to object to how things were arranged, and of course, no second chance. I'd had similar thoughts before, but I was always reminded of my 'patriotic duties' in time, tempted with trinkets and flattery — two things I soon learned to do without. I became ashamed of my life in service to the Empire, and so I decided to secretly join the Rebel Alliance."
"And you kept doing so until the ISB caught your trail," the Grand Admiral said.
"Yes," the geneticist admitted. "I supplied the Alliance with a constant stream of information about Imperial genetic engineering projects, as well as weaknesses in stormtrooper programming and tactical subroutines. This allowed them to find and re-recruit stormtroopers in the field, strengthening their ranks. Sometimes I also implanted subversive programs into stormtroopers' minds, making them act as spies or lone suicide bombers without even realizing what they were doing."
"Very similar to what Ysanne Isard worked with on the Lusankya," Thrawn declared.
"All my life was really a fake," Zyix K'zzt said with dismay. "When the ISB began cautiously surveilling me, when I started finding listening devices everywhere — it still didn't feel like a collapse. It got worse when it turned out my wife was actually an Imperial agent working for them. As soon as she discovered my double life, she turned me in without a second thought about the consequences."
"And how did you manage to slip through the ISB's fingers?" I-Gor asked.
"What about your children, Mr. Zyix K'zzt?" Thrawn asked.
The geneticist-cloner only smiled bitterly.
"They took my children away. The eldest, as far as I know, was given up for re-education as an orphan — his mother abandoned him. The younger one… I don't know. I couldn't find the slightest trace," Zyix K'zzt admitted. "As for the escape… I sabotaged all the computers in my lab. While they were breaking down the doors, I uploaded my consciousness into a clone body — this body," he jabbed a thumb at his chest armor. "The ISB only found the body of Zyix K'zzt, shot by a blaster. The only thing I didn't manage to do was remove the wires and consciousness-transfer equipment, along with the undamaged data storage unit."
"The ISB chalked it up to a failed attempt at electronic sabotage," Thrawn explained. "The Dominion Security Bureau reached similar conclusions; however, one of the ISB agents working at the scene clearly indicated that the equipment had been activated by the time they burst into the lab. The others didn't confirm this, and everything was written off as sabotage."
"I was interrogated for some time," the geneticist continued. "It was quite difficult, because the mind of TS-1289 contained two entities at once, so to speak: a soldier loyal to the Empire, and me. Thanks to my intellect, I managed to prevail, and something of a hybrid emerged."
"You possess the memories of both?" Thrawn asked.
"Primarily my own," Zyix K'zzt admitted. "From TS-1289, only weapon-handling knowledge, combat skills, tactical data remained… Nothing personal. I think it's because the clone wasn't really a personality. What makes us special, distinguishes us from each other — it's far more than just a set of skills with the label 'stormtrooper.' So it would be more accurate to say that his knowledge was absorbed into my matrix."
"You didn't abandon your attempts to continue working with the Republicans," Thrawn continued his interrogation.
"In the Stormtrooper Corps, no one noticed the difference," Zyix K'zzt shrugged. "I went on attacks, commanded units, carried out missions. Thanks to my normal human intellect, I did it slightly better than the others — because I'm not so narrow-minded, I don't just think about armor maintenance, weapon care, and tactical schematics. For a while, I experienced a duality of consciousness. Sometimes I even seemed to myself like just another drone in the Stormtrooper Corps; at other moments, I was completely myself and contacted the Rebel Alliance several times, giving them codes and signals known only to them. At a meeting with a Rebel agent, I sensed something was wrong and stopped cooperating when I learned they'd put a bounty on my head. But yes, you're absolutely right — I passed them a great deal of information, believing my cause was just. I wanted to fight the Empire, but…"
The geneticist hesitated.
"But?" Thrawn repeated.
"For the Alliance and the New Republic, I risked everything," Zyix K'zzt's voice now held venom. "My family, my work, my way of life… I caused so much harm that you couldn't make it up on purpose. And in return? In return — not only did they not believe me when I told the agent that Zyix K'zzt was still alive, and in the body of a high-ranking stormtrooper at that. No, they extracted Tangrene's defense layout from me, then blew everything there to hell and left, pleased with themselves! And put a bounty on my head! That's not just piggishness — that's betrayal!"
I-Gor threw a cautious glance at Thrawn.
The Grand Admiral sat motionless, his gaze fixed on the clone-"not-a-stormtrooper," and a satisfied smile played on his lips.
Barely noticeable, but there.
Those who hadn't interacted with Thrawn in his moments of triumph couldn't easily identify the expression on his face right now.
But I-Gor dared to hope he understood.
As well as understanding that Zyix K'zzt, in his furious speech against the Republicans, was missing a key point.
According to Thrawn, the Alliance had not intended to kill the "not-a-stormtrooper," only to capture him.
Which could be interpreted as a fairly straightforward attempt at "extraction" that is, evacuating an agent.
Either Zyix K'zzt was pretending, or he genuinely didn't understand that the bounty on his head was merely a diversion.
"There is an interesting fact, Mr. Zyix K'zzt," Thrawn said. "The New Republic intended to take you alive."
"Oh," the geneticist was genuinely surprised. "And… Oh… Why?"
"Almost certainly so that you would help them fight Imperial clones," I-Gor suggested, wondering why the Grand Admiral had pointed out this small detail at all.
Setting aside the fact that Zyix K'zzt was a utter moral degenerate who, even now, saw nothing wrong with the fact that his "soul-searching" had killed tens of thousands, if not hundreds, of sentient beings. Yes, stormtroopers, but…
Or maybe that's why he spoke of them as things — because for the Empire, that's precisely what they were.
Mindless, personality-less beings.
Just "meat droids."
"I think you're right — they intended to take you from the Empire," Thrawn continued his speech. "But don't flatter yourself. Life on the other side of the front line was not meant to be long for you anyway."
"What do you mean?" the cloner was taken aback.
"Before you lies a datapad," Thrawn smirked. "Your file from General Cracken's archives, complete with the Provisional Government's resolution."
The cloner grabbed the device greedily and began reading the lines on the screen.
"'…Split personality suspected… Fawning… At other times, aristocratic… Uses Zyix K'zzt's access codes… Personally acquainted with six of General Cracken's special agents…'" the geneticist muttered, scanning the text. Then he froze, re-reading the same passage. "Oh, bantha poodoo!"
"What's the matter?" I-Gor asked, looking at Thrawn because Zyix K'zzt's hands had begun to tremble.
"I think our master clone-maker stumbled upon that part of the report about his dear self that describes the last encounter with a Republic spy," Thrawn speculated. "The Bothan agent clearly indicates that there's no longer any question of a split personality like there was at first contact almost immediately after the consciousness transfer."
"'TC-1289 appears to have managed to circumvent his original cloning program and thus must be considered a fully sentient being,'" Zyix K'zzt said in a deflated voice.
"Which in turn means the following," the Grand Admiral continued. "The Rebel Alliance, and later the New Republic, held him responsible for the actions he committed, unlike the other stormtrooper units who were merely mindless drones. All the actions carried out by Mr. Zyix K'zzt in the body of Colonel TC-1289 were declared war crimes in absentia by the New Republic."
I-Gor couldn't suppress a smile.
"So they wanted to capture him to put him on trial?"
"First, I think they would have wrung everything he knows out of him, and then yes, they would have staged a show execution," Thrawn surmised. "War crimes carry very harsh penalties in the New Republic. At best, Mr. Zyix K'zzt could have expected life imprisonment in some secret Republic Intelligence laboratory, where he would have worked for the benefit of our enemies."
"Unbelievable," Zyix K'zzt shook his head. "No matter what I do… For the Empire, for the Alliance… The same outcome awaits me everywhere."
"For that you have only yourself to blame, Mr. Clone-Maker," Thrawn declared. "Working for the Empire gave you everything, but your psyche decided it should be otherwise. You got involved with the Alliance and lost your comfort, your children, your wife, your right to freedom. No one likes traitors—the Alliance sentenced you in absentia. They would have squeezed you dry, then convicted you. And to make you work for them, they would have offered to commute the death sentence to work in a laboratory. And you would have agreed."
"Death would be better!" Zyix K'zzt balked.
"Really?" Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "Then explain to me why you didn't surrender to either side but instead continued to maintain your incognito, Mr. Zyix K'zzt?"
The clone-maker started to say something, then fell silent.
"That's what I thought," Thrawn said.
"And… what now?" the 'non-stormtrooper' asked quietly.
"That depends on your answer," the Grand Admiral continued. "Even though we are not the Empire, and technically not even its legal successor, crimes against Imperial citizens and Imperial property are still punished here."
"Then what was all that for?" I-Gor frowned. "You could have given the order and had him shot right in the airlock of the Crusader."
"All life is a theater, Vice Admiral," Thrawn stated. "And sentient beings are the actors. I summoned your division not only because a battle is imminent, but also to prevent our scientist clone-maker from suspecting he had been discovered. And this meeting, this confession he embarked on, also has its purpose."
"And what might that be, if I may ask?" I-Gor inquired warily, exchanging glances between the 'non-stormtrooper' and the Grand Admiral.
"What's there to understand?" Zyix K'zzt snorted. "I'm being recruited. After Mustafar, it was only a matter of time before you followed the Arkanian trails and stumbled upon the subcontractors. But I consoled myself that you wouldn't find me… I was wrong, sadly."
"You mentioned Mustafar," Thrawn said, clearly interested. "What exactly do you mean?"
"The cloning facilities that were evacuated from there by the entire fleet," Zyix K'zzt explained. "Those are the cloning tanks in which Arkanian Microtechnologies created Spaarti clones. When I was called into the project, they were installed on Centax-2. Apparently, they date back to the Clone Wars—the Arkanians assembled them based on the remains of the Spaarti cloning cylinders destroyed by the Jedi on Cartao two years before the end of the Clone Wars."
I-Gor looked at Thrawn, whose eyes had narrowed almost imperceptibly.
But now even that tiny detail gave him away.
"You mean you didn't know?" Zyix K'zzt gasped.
"Only suspected," Thrawn admitted. "The Imperial faction with the insane X1 clone used them to create Wookiee clones and other species. They were all degenerate and mentally disturbed."
"What else would they be?" Zyix K'zzt's eyes widened. "The facilities are designed for cloning humans. All the electronics, all the 'rapid learning' programs—everything is tuned to the human genome. Try teaching a rancor to use a fork and knife—it'll go mad from it. The conflict between hardware programming and genetics is the fundamental mistake of anyone who just picks up a unit and turns it on. These aren't Kaminoan tanks, you know."
"Are you saying you can fix them and make them work for us?" Thrawn clarified.
"I can at least try," Zyix K'zzt admitted. "I'm a geneticist, not an engineer. If there are mechanical or software glitches, I'll need a good team to sort them out."
"You'll have one, if you agree to work for us," Thrawn said.
"Do I have a choice?" the geneticist asked in surprise.
"There is always a choice," the Grand Admiral noted.
"Sir, after what he's done…" I-Gor began.
"You can't change the past," Thrawn cut him off. "Moreover, that was a conflict between the Empire and the Alliance. By working for the benefit of the Dominion, Mr. Zyix K'zzt can atone for his guilt. His situation will certainly worsen significantly—until we determine that he can be trusted. But the more actively and diligently he works, the sooner he will atone. I have several projects for you," the Grand Admiral looked at the geneticist. "First and foremost, I'm interested in how you managed to survive with a personality conflict. We've already encountered problems with uploading consciousness into a body from a different donor. There was a…"
"Degradation?" the geneticist suggested. "Yes, there is that issue. We couldn't get around it either. In fact, the same goes for creating new cloning tanks—they're based on Spaarti technology, which is no longer produced."
"Can you cure clones with 'foreign' consciousness of that affliction or not?" the Grand Admiral clarified.
"There is a Kaminoan mind-formatting program," the stormtrooper glanced at his wounded hand, as if just remembering the knife in his forearm. "Essentially, you just need to clear the mind of the personality, restore organic damage to the brain if it's reversible, and then you can upload a normal matrix. But I can't guarantee one hundred percent success."
"In that case, welcome to the GeNod-Dominion program, Mr. Zyix K'zzt," Thrawn said. "Work for the benefit of the Dominion, and my intelligence service will do everything possible to reunite you with your children."
"Thank you," the clone-maker brightened, taking a sip of coffee from I-Gor's cup sitting on the table. "And, if it's not a secret, what did you mean when you said 'which is what I wanted to verify' when you made us drink coffee?"
"That under stressful conditions, your true nature prevails," Thrawn declared, shifting his gaze to the cup of caf Zyix K'zzt was holding.
"And… what's wrong with that?" he grew anxious.
"Stormtroopers don't stick out their pinky when they drink from a cup," I-Gor said irritably, pointing at the extended finger on the 'non-stormtrooper's' hand. "That's part of aristocratic upbringing."
"Exactly, Vice Admiral," Thrawn said, taking a sip from his own mug. "I imagine you're curious about the reasons I kept you both for this conversation."
"Yes," I-Gor replied.
Surely not just to put on a simple recruitment show for Zyix K'zzt?
"Simple," the Grand Admiral set his empty cup on the coffee table. "You are both part of a larger trap I am setting. And now your roles will be explained to you."