Ten years, two months, and thirty-four days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, second month, and thirty-fourth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and nineteen days since the Arrival.)
The Retribution left hyperspace just as laboriously and completely inelegantly as it had entered it.
The starship's mechanisms worked as if through strain.
And that strongly hinted that the destroyer's crew was, to put it mildly, not the most talented in technical matters.
And the state of the ship's material condition at least raised complaints — especially the inertial dampeners.
With smaller aircraft, like Lambda-class shuttles, things were much better.
A smooth crossing of the superluminal barrier and an equally smooth return to realspace.
"We're here-r-re," Bossk announced, having slept through the entire flight in the adjacent seat like a simple passenger.
"Another course correction?"
"No," the Trandoshan declared, cracking his neck. "We've arrived."
"Where?" Sergius asked with feigned laziness.
"Take a look out the viewport," the reptile advised him, getting up from his seat and heading for the cockpit.
The Retribution had delivered them to an unknown point in space, after which they continued the flight on the shuttle.
The approximate pattern of the stars Sergius saw outside indicated they were somewhere in the eastern part of the galaxy.
And clearly either outside the galaxy, but not far enough from the galactic disk for the hyperdrives to start malfunctioning, or on its very fringes, in Wild Space.
But he couldn't calculate the direction and distance separating the starting point from the route's endpoint.
Both the Retribution and the shuttle had changed course many times, entering and exiting hyperspace.
Considering this, only one possibility could be assumed — the enemy was deliberately misleading any potential pursuers.
Perhaps they knew about the beacon on board the ship, which was doubtful — the frequencies on which it transmitted data packets about the Star Destroyer's location were considered "background," and the information on them was very difficult to detect.
As was locating the transmitter itself.
Probably this course change was a common method of ensuring ship security.
The criminals must have had fresh memories of the operations to seize Star Destroyers and other Imperial ships conducted by Grand Admiral Thrawn across the galaxy last year.
One way or another, Sergius wouldn't have been able to state the situation with such a limited amount of data.
For now, he only knew one thing.
Wherever he was being taken — it was an extremely important place in the galaxy for the enemy.
And ensuring its security was Bossk's primary task.
From his experience, Sergius knew that criminals treated only one type of property in the universe with such reverence.
Their headquarters, which provided them with everything they needed and which had cost the criminals dearly.
Following Bossk's advice, Sergius slid the nearest armored shutter aside and looked outside.
The shuttle was already moving in orbit, and their destination was quite easy to make out.
A rather massive planet they were approaching from the sunlit side; dense clouds covering a significant portion of the surface were easily visible.
In the upper atmosphere, they were thin, but they thickened closer to the surface.
Which, incidentally, as far as the eye could see, consisted entirely of a watery expanse.
And there was no sign of any islands or even continents — at least they weren't visible from orbit.
So, if they existed, they were beyond the human eye's ability to spot them from the current position.
In his career, Sergius had visited hundreds of planets.
Maybe even several thousand.
And oceanic worlds in the galaxy weren't that rare.
But if you put together all the facts he'd already gathered — the planet's position in the eastern part of the galaxy, its distance from the galactic gravitational disk, the ocean covering most of the planet's surface...
"So, do you recognize this place?" Bossk asked, plopping down into a seat.
Things are bad, Sergius thought, sadly considering that perhaps he should have thought of this option and brought a "beacon" with him.
Maybe that would have given the Dominion data on the course the criminals used to get here.
But, more obviously, it would have been discovered almost immediately the moment he tried to set up the device.
One thing was a huge destroyer, and another was a tiny ship like a Lambda, where you couldn't hide from prying eyes.
"First time seeing it," he said indifferently, looking the Trandoshan in the eyes. "Manaan, the Selkath homeworld?"
"No," Bossk replied with a crooked smile, apparently enjoying that his subordinate didn't recognize the planet. "Any other guesses?"
"Dac, the Mon Calamari homeworld?" Sergius tried his luck again, putting on a thoughtful expression.
"No," Bossk grimaced. "It's Kamino."
"Oh," Sergius reacted indifferently. "First I've heard of it. Seems like a rotten place. Of course, if we flew here to catch fish rather than on business, no complaints."
Bossk bared his teeth predatorily but remained silent.
Sergius, understanding he wouldn't be told more than necessary, stared out the viewport with feigned indifference.
He seemed to look blankly at the endless watery surface of Kamino, but at the same time, he was working.
Perhaps no one and nothing from the Dominion Intelligence Directorate would be able to get this close to this planet anytime soon.
So he was simply obligated to catch everything that might have any operational value.
He could make out at least five Golan-II orbital defense stations hanging in Kamino's orbit.
And no fewer than ten Crusader II-class corvettes patrolling the orbit, keeping company with three Keldabe II-class battleships.
Ships that hadn't been seen since the Hypori operation were apparently based here, not in the northeast of the galaxy in the Corporate Sector, as had been assumed.
However, there was no doubt that this was only a small portion of the forces Kamino's masters possessed.
Dozens of fighters moved within the planet's atmosphere, but the scout couldn't determine their type.
Planet Kamino.
The ship dove into the atmosphere on the planet's light side, then picked up speed and sped toward the opposite hemisphere.
Sergius noted how drastically the lighting and weather situation changed once they broke through the lower atmospheric curtain of the planet's rain clouds.
Lighting dropped manifold, turbulence increased, and the drumming beat of a downpour that literally drenched every square meter of the ocean surface served as an accompaniment.
Large waves rolled in with great frequency, and above them soared large birds that, due to their smooth skin and streamlined shapes, looked more like flying oceanic creatures.
The Lambda took a precise course toward a group of saucer-shaped structures placed on massive, clearly metal supports that extended straight into the ocean.
These "saucers," or even "mushrooms," glowed from within with thousands of yellowish lights.
Their support beams were constantly washed by waves that seemed intent on sweeping the structures into the ocean, swallowing them, destroying them without a trace.
It sent a shiver down the spine.
Sergius, who had never seen this world before, could only marvel at how anyone could live here at all.
"Tipoca C-c-city," Bossk said, pointing at the "saucers" Sergius had been studying. "The capital."
Tipoca City, the capital of Kamino.
"A miserable place," said Sergius. "A bit damp for my taste."
"The l-l-locals like it," explained the Trandoshan. "They never leave Kamino, live i-i-isolated in places like this."
"Tough being them," Sergius chuckled. "Probably fighting mold every weekend."
Bossk laughed with a hiss.
"We're n-n-not here to live," he explained. "We o-o-only have one m-m-meeting here."
"You've piqued my interest," Sergius admitted honestly. "And who, if it's not a secret, are we meeting?"
"The b-b-boss," Bossk replied curtly, clearly showing he didn't want to continue this conversation.
"Well, that confirms the obvious," Sergius thought. "The Trandoshan is clearly not the ringleader of this oceanic circus."
The question remained — who really was in charge here.
Bravo-Eleven had a few guesses on that score, given the history of the Zann Consortium.
So, despite his feigned indifference, he was turning over one scenario after another in his head on how to counter the inevitable.
And it was steadily approaching — the 'Lambda' was coming in to land, hovering over a large circular platform.
The ship began to descend, while the Dominion agent tried to find a way out of the predicament that was about to turn catastrophic.
* * *
Jahan Cross entered the technical room.
The steady hum of operating equipment was occasionally interrupted by the strained labor of restored machinery.
Several scouts had settled near the equipment, carving out time for a brief but much-needed sleep.
Even the Jedi sat in the corner with closed eyes, peacefully snoring and pretending to be completely uninterested in what was happening.
"Is the beacon ready?" Cross asked his friend, Alessi Suon, who emerged from under the control console.
"Yes, almost everything is ready," the Sluissi replied. "Now we just need to connect to the computer network, process the information, and send a message to distant stars."
"Sabotage teams are in position," said Cross. "We're just waiting for your go-ahead. Afar and his people have been ready for a while to blow up several Commonwealth installations."
The Sluissi snorted with laughter.
"And I'm waiting for our master Jedi to say the time has come. I've already run the system through diagnostic programs about five times — we have stable operation. But the Mon Calamari keeps stalling, sleeping..."
"I'm listening to the Force," replied Bre'ano Umakk, having somehow appeared beside them.
Jahan frowned in displeasure. He didn't like it when someone could sneak up on him so unobtrusively.
"And what does it say?" the Sluissi inquired. "I just didn't pick up any of those radiations of yours..."
"Not everyone can sense the Force," the Mon Calamari retorted. "And even more so — it's impossible to track it."
"I'd argue that," Alessi nodded toward a box containing a Force detector, found in one of the Imperial caches. "But I won't."
"So what does the Force say?" Jahan clarified.
"That we need to delay the launch a while longer," said the Mon Calamari.
"Why?" Alessi persisted.
"It's not the right time to let ourselves be discovered," Umakk explained vaguely.
"In any case, our signal source and the break-in to the Imperial Palace can't be hidden," Jahan Cross objected. "Why postpone the operation this time?"
The postponement of sabotage and other operations had happened more than once — and always at the insistence of the master Jedi.
"The Force says we will soon be given a chance," the Jedi calmly explained.
"And the best option will be to listen to the Force," Alessi grumbled. "At this rate, we'll be sitting on Coruscant until the Emperor returns."
"Do you have a clearer explanation than the one you use every time?" Cross inquired.
The Mon Calamari shook his head negatively.
"I'm afraid not," he said. "The Force doesn't give visions of the correct future. It only hints at options from which we can choose. By listening to the Force, we can understand which one will be most suitable for us all to survive..."
"The only such option would be some very powerful broadcast on the HoloNet that would mask our signal and prevent direction finders from locating the transmission source," Alessi continued grumbling. "But somehow I doubt there's anyone in the galaxy besides Grand Admiral Thrawn who could, with their speech, captivate both Imperials and Republicans, not to mention the neutral worlds."
Jahan understood what the Sluissi was talking about.
There aren't many transmitters like the Jedi one in the galaxy.
Its operation is like a beacon's light in the dead of night.
But if something happens that draws the attention of the enemy garrison on Coruscant, one could hope that the transmission would either go unnoticed or be discovered too late.
Otherwise, the operation of a single powerful transmitter on Coruscant would be detected by a local relay or communications satellites in orbit around the planet, after which locating the source wouldn't be all that difficult.
The longer they all spent solving this problem, the more the plan's execution was pushed back.
And the more adjustments were made to it due to discovered technical issues that weren't apparent initially.
"I don't know what will happen, but it will happen," the Mon Calamari declared. "Soon. We just need to be ready to activate the system at the right moment."
"Oh sure," Alessi snorted. "It's that simple — just need to guess some opportune moment. Which will happen who knows when, who knows where, but something material tells us it will definitely happen. Wonderful!" The Sluissi threw up his hands. "Why do we need physics, mathematics, programming, and a dozen other sciences and disciplines, when we can just wait for the right moment in time?"
Muttering something under his breath in his native language, the Sluissi wandered off toward the disassembled equipment.
"You do realize we can't just sit there for weeks waiting for something that pleases the Force to happen?" Jahan clarified.
"I understand," the Mon Calamari said. "But we have only a few possible courses of action. The first — do it your way. And we have no chance of success. The second — do it my way. And we will definitely achieve our goals. But you won't lose your people. And, most likely, you will be able to leave the planet."
Something in the Mon Calamari's words bothered Jahan.
But he had been on the 'razor's edge' behind enemy lines for too long to pinpoint the exact reason for his unease.
"Alright," he said. "We'll wait a little longer. And then we'll start. Regardless of whether the Force agrees with us or not."
"As you wish," the Mon Calamari stated with unexpected submissiveness. "I will fulfill my duty to the fullest."
He didn't like this former Jedi.
He strongly disliked what, and more importantly, HOW he said things.
He would have to keep an eye on him.
And consider whether the Mon Calamari had lost his mind in his quest to find the remaining Jedi.
* * *
Despite Bossk's assurances that someone lived there, the insides of Tipoca City looked more like laboratory cubicles than a dwelling for sentients.
The only things Sergius saw around him as he walked through the city's interior were elegant but utterly alien interiors, and the endless raging ocean beyond.
The sterile classrooms and barracks where, as he knew, the clone soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic and later the Galactic Empire spent their first ten years — from infancy to maturity, after which military service began — appeared before him as extremely practical and indistinguishable from each other.
Although as an agent he knew perfectly well that during the period of cloning armies, the clones underwent training in various conditions and natural climate zones — from deserts and mountains to jungles and snow-covered plains — he observed nothing of the sort.
From which only one conclusion could be drawn.
Clone training was conducted, and most likely still is, directly in holographic halls.
He and Bossk, accompanied by several fighters in sealed white-and-black armor armed with heavy blasters, moved through endless snow-white, sometimes transparent corridors inside the 'plates' and 'mushrooms' to some place where those Bossk had dragged him to meet were waiting.
Sergius noted the empty halls on the lower levels, built in the form of amphitheaters with individual seats for personal instruction.
Empty mess halls.
Empty training grounds.
Only in a small few did he glimpse fighters in white-and-black armor, but there were very few of them.
It gave the impression that there weren't that many clones here.
Soldiers on Kamino (source on the image itself).
Occasionally, the agent saw massive round and cylindrical platforms festooned with transparent autoclaves containing human embryos.
Corridors of Tipoca City and cloning facilities (in the background).
"Is this some kind of kindergarten for twins, or what?" the agent asked innocently, as a whole company of young boys with identical faces, about ten or eleven years old, marched past them accompanied by several fighters in the same armor as the guests' escort.
Dressed in identical uniforms, wearing the same regulation haircuts, they moved so cohesively and uniformly, as if they had spent their entire lives drilling and marching.
Same height, build, that expressionless but clearly aggressive look on their high-cheekboned faces, short haircuts...
"They're clones," Bossk explained. "The backbone of our army. These," he pointed at the children, "were c-c-created a few years ago and haven't r-r-reached maturity yet. Second batch."
"And the guys in white-and-black armor are probably the first batch," Sergius realized, glancing at the visor covered in dark matte transparisteel of the nearest soldier in white-and-black armor.
"Then why do you need that scum you recruit if you have clones?" the agent asked.
"C-c-cannon fodder," the Trandoshan explained briefly. "Clones are expensive to m-m-make. And slow. We need fodder for the tough fronts."
As he had suspected — the mercenaries were destined to be the front line of any assault.
Judging by the number of cloning cylinders Sergius had been able to see during his journey, they were clearly talking about hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of clones.
Given that their existence was kept secret even within the organization — after all, Sergius hadn't seen a single clone or fighter in white-and-black armor since his 'recruitment,' even aboard the Vengeance — these first-generation clones were probably occupied with manning warships in orbit around Kamino.
And also wherever those starships were built.
But something clearly didn't add up.
According to Kaminoan technology, creating a clone takes ten years.
Tyber Zann escaped from Kessel shortly before the Battle of Yavin IV, which happened about ten years ago.
If the eastern faction isn't controlled by the current Zann Consortium, then a question arises.
How can the first generation of clones, which ideally should have been programmed to serve Tyber Zann, be calmly serving his enemies?
The small details that Sergius didn't know at the moment were seriously alarming him.
Something was clearly happening on Kamino.
The cloning technology on Kamino was clearly different from what the Dominion used.
The latter implanted a genetic sample and within three standard weeks got a sexually mature clone.
But here... Children?!
Seriously?
So the maturation of clones on Kamino happens differently?
Delving into his memory, Sergius recalled that the growth (as well as aging) of Kaminoan clones occurs twice as fast as in a genetically unmodified sentient.
Since there are children here...
It means the Kaminoans raise them in incubators up to a certain point, after which the clones grow outside the autoclaves.
Meanwhile, new clones are maturing in the facilities.
If we take the accelerated double growth rate of clones as a constant, then the gestation period of a human fetus in the womb should be divided by two.
For example, let's assume there are about a million cloning cylinders on Kamino.
In that case, roughly every six months they get approximately a million clones, who grow twice as fast as human children.
The small clones he had seen were created a few years ago, yet they looked at least ten years old.
So that means...
What does that mean?!
That in ten years of controlling Kamino, the Zann Consortium could have created around twenty million clones?
Of which at least a couple million are already combat-ready?
And another batch on the way?!
Ten years had passed since the Battle of Yavin.
And six since the destruction of the second Death Star at Endor.
If you think about it, the 'children' he encountered were created after the Emperor's death in orbit around the forest moon of Endor.
And consequently, he should have seen not empty auditoriums, training grounds, and mess halls, but rooms and corridors packed with clones of all ages, marching columns...
But... Then why did he only see two types of clones?
Children about ten years old and a few fighters in white-and-black armor?
So these are clones created right after Zann's capture of Kamino, and clones created after Endor...
That is, the 'children' were produced around the same time the Zann Consortium was destroyed by the Rebel Alliance and the Empire...
A rather strange coincidence.
Of course, if it is a coincidence.
"We g-g-go this way," said Bossk.
Sergius, distracted from his thoughts, noted that they had crossed a 'technical zone' and were now in enclosed rooms.
Which looked most like administrative quarters.
And here in the corridors, alongside soldiers in white-and-black armor and Kaminoan specialists, the 'children' were practically absent.
Presumably they weren't allowed here.
"Interesting longnecks," Sergius chuckled, pointing at the nearest Kaminoan.
He needed to maintain the pretense that he had no idea who they were.
"L-l-locals," Bossk explained.
The door in front of them slid aside with a melodic sound.
The Trandoshan ducked first into a short corridor that turned at the far end and disappeared from sight.
The soldiers behind Sergius unambiguously indicated that he should move in the same direction.
Well, not many options left.
He had flown right into the enemy's lair.
They would probably 'approve' his candidacy.
If everything went smoothly — that would be great.
If not...
Then it was a one-way trip.
But then again, that's always the case in an agent's life and work.
Sergius mentally visualized a deck of sabbacc cards and began listing their values, arranging them in an imaginary order, adding and subtracting their numbers.
It was distracting, but still the only method he could recall from the Ubiqtorate's recommendations for countering Jedi interference with one's mind.
He walked down the corridor and found himself in a spacious circular room flooded with white light.
"'The Lady' plus thirteen..."
There were about half a dozen sentients in the room, most of whom were unfamiliar to Sergius.
"S-s-serg," the Trandoshan addressed him, whose actions distracted almost everyone present from contemplating the holographic map of the galaxy and made them pay attention to the newcomers. "Allow me to introduce the leadership of our 'S-s-syndicate.'"
"'The Five' and 'The Lady' total eighteen..."
Sergius looked at the only sentient present who didn't even raise their eyes to look at the arrivals.
A tall woman with pale skin, a tattooed face, and a lush mane of hair.
In addition — dressed in a revealing, tight-fitting outfit that showed off her slender figure and the attractiveness of certain body parts.
She, like the other five present, wore a well-recognizable Jedi weapon hilt on her belt.
With the sole exception that it wasn't a lightsaber.
Bossk loudly introduced the five present, listing their names and titles...
"'The Six and the Two total eight points...'"
Finally, when it was the woman's turn to be introduced, she deigned to lift her eyes from the hologram.
"'The Eight and the Star total minus nine'..."
"We've been waiting for you, Bossk," she said in a low, husky voice, with a single glance turning the Trandoshan from an arrogant 'master of the situation' into a groveling sycophant.
Her speech was literally dripping with a warning of danger.
But at the same time, there was something mesmerizing, magical about it...
"'The Queen of Air and Darkness and the Commander total ten points' Sergius diligently stuffed his mind with cards, feeling a tickling sensation under his skull, as if someone had decided to make his brain laugh.
Perhaps — that huge, short-haired, dark-haired brute with red vertical tattoo stripes on his face.
Or his companion, the second woman in the room tattooed in red, but in contrast to the speaker, dressed like the previously noticed man — in dark blue garments with a red tint, whose cold beauty could rival the negative temperatures of Hoth.
And on her head was a strange headdress, like obsidian frozen in the shape of claws.
Or any other sentient present, clearly sensitive to the Force.
But these three caused Sergius the most concern.
"There were some diffic-c-ulties," he weaseled. "Not all the plans p-p-panned out... But I have a good candidate to replace Marg S-s-sonat as my dep-p-puty."
"I know that without you, carrion," the leader of the Syndicate said in the same velvety, husky voice. "Your incompetence is starting to annoy me."
Bossk bared his teeth.
"D-d-don't you dare t-t-talk to me in that tone!" he hissed. "I was at the founding of the S-s-syndicate alongside you."
"Not anymore," declared the full-maned woman, thrusting out an energy whip with a single motion of her hand.
A yellow strip of energy wrapped around the Trandoshan's throat.
And in the next second, the woman's hand snapped back.
With a hiss, Bossk's head separated from his body and clattered to the floor along with him.
With a characteristic sound, the energy blade vanished, and its hilt returned to the killer's belt.
"'The Three and the Five total eight...'"
The cauterized throat of the slain man gave a final sigh.
"A tough guy," declared the woman in dark blue robes with red tattoos on her pale face. "Didn't even flinch."
For a moment, Sergius thought the strange headdress on her head moved.
"What a clever boy," she smiled like a predator. "He's counting cards so I won't get into his head."
"Don't turn them into jelly, Kyrisa," warned the full-maned owner of the light whip.
Kyrisa.
"That's an Ubiqtorate technique," boomed the brute with vertical stripes on his face.
With a single leap over the control panel, he landed next to Sergius. Two lightsabers ignited in his hands, crossing in front of the Dominion agent's throat.
"We need to get rid of him," he rumbled. "His presence in the Syndicate will end badly."
"If he's an Ubiqtorate agent, then it's even better for us, Namman Cha," smiled the owner of the light whip. "We're sorely lacking experienced agents in the Syndicate."
Namman Cha.
Sergius looked without fear into the eyes of the wielder of the luminous blades, who could decapitate him in seconds.
"Well then, Serg," the owner of the light whip addressed him in a cloyingly sweet voice. "Who are you really?"
A good question.
And only one correct answer to it.
"We all have a past," he said hoarsely. "Someone is an agent, someone is a Dathomirian witch" the pale-faced women exchanged glances — "and someone," he looked into the eyes of the vertical tattoo bearer, "is a former member of the Inquisitorius. Isn't that right, Inquisitor Namman Cha?"
"Ubiqtorate filth!" roared Cha, bringing his blades together.
Sergius threw himself backward with a jerk, did a somersault, tripped one of the soldiers in white-and-black armor, snatched his weapon, and aimed at Cha as the latter's short blade cut the rifle in two.
Throwing the remnants at the former inquisitor, Sergius rolled forward and to the side.
While Namman was getting rid of the projectiles thrown at him, Sergius delivered a strong punch with his right fist to the kidney area.
There was a sound of breaking pelvic bones, and the former inquisitor collapsed to the floor with a cry of pain.
With a hiss, the four sentients standing near the owner of the light whip ignited lightsabers in their hands.
"Good boy," said Kyrisa. "Teras kasi at a decent level. But you won't live long..."
"Put away your weapons," the owner of the light whip ordered quietly but authoritatively, smiling at Sergius as he stood under the aim of the soldiers positioned behind him. "I'm not done with him yet."
"I'll kill you," Namman Cha rasped, trying to overcome his pain and get up.
Sergius sent him into oblivion with a single kick to his tattooed face.
"That...!" Kyrisa protested, throwing a glance at the second woman.
"Shut your mouth," the latter ordered, stepping out from behind the holographic terminal and approaching Sergius. "Why didn't you kill him?"
She nodded toward Namman Cha lying on the floor.
"He's your subordinate," Sergius stated. "Since you didn't kill him before, it means you need him. No order to kill him was given either."
"Do you always only do what you're ordered?" the woman asked, stroking her light whip.
"That's the minimum I do to ensure my employers prosper," said Sergius. "If I can do more, I'll do it without hesitation. And without asking permission."
The answer seemed to satisfy the pale-skinned woman.
She looked at Sergius, scanning him from head to toe as if examining a new droid model, literally devouring him with her eyes.
But her gaze was somehow detached.
Though approving.
But this clearly infuriated Kyrisa.
"Count yourself hired," said the owner of the light whip, stepping aside. "You'll take over Bossk's duties."
"As you command," nodded Sergius.
"But he's from the Ubiqtorate, an Imperial!" protested Kyrisa, turning to the head of the Syndicate.
In response, she received a sharp slap across the face.
"Don't you dare argue with me," the woman declared. "I pulled you out of the shit, not for you to challenge my authority. Understood?"
"Yes," Kyrisa said, shamed.
"Now get out of my sight," growled the owner of the light whip. "And take Cha with you! In fact, all of you," she looked around at those present, "get out of here. I'll talk to the newcomer alone!"
A couple of minutes — and not even the soldiers remained in the room.
The woman was silent for several minutes, studying the hologram of the galaxy covered with markings.
Then she looked up from under her brows at Sergius.
"Do you know why I didn't kill you?" she asked heavily.
"I know," replied the Dominion agent in a flat, emotionless tone. "Loyal people are always needed. Especially when those who rose from the dirt thanks to you start opening their mouths out of turn."
"It's good that you understand all this," the woman showed him a white-toothed smile. "You have many enemies now."
"Their problem," Sergius shrugged.
"Most likely," the woman snorted. "But one way or another, I have only one rule. 'You are loyal only to me. Until the very end.' Whatever intentions you came here with, Ubiqtorate — one wrong step, and death will seem like the best option to you. Got it?"
"Nothing new," Sergius shrugged. "That's how my usual workday always goes."
The woman laughed.
"You'll go far," she said. "For now, you can rest — they'll show you to your quarters. I'll send for you when it's time for the briefing."
"As you wish, my lady Silri," Sergius bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Silri.
"'My lady,'" the Dathomirian witch tried the phrase on her tongue. "I like it. You certainly know how to get on my good side, boy. I'll be counting on you."
"I will be ready to appear at your first request, my lady," Sergius bowed again.
"You're free," the Dathomirian witch snorted with satisfaction, returning to studying the galactic map.
A map marked with targets for strikes.
Sergius, glancing over it, continued counting cards in his mind to hide his agitation at the several large "Completed" markers above the Dominion's territory.
Only one mark glowed not red, but neutral white.
* * *
"Aaah," Fey'lya's face spread into a satisfied smile as soon as his hologram formed. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon."
"President Fey'lya," I greeted the Bothan restrainedly, imitating Gilad's manner of speaking.
"In a hurry to congratulate me on my success?" purred the head of the New Republic mockingly.
"That too," I replied. "But I'm more interested in the fulfillment of our agreement."
"Well, who would doubt it," the Bothan smirked.
His behavior indicated that he felt in control of the current situation.
"So, you repelled the attack of the Pentastar Alignment," I said slowly and confidently.
The Bothan's smile faltered for a moment.
"It seems we don't control the information flow well enough," he snorted.
"Dominion Intelligence, as always, keeps its finger on the pulse of galactic events," I answered vaguely.
"I don't doubt it," the Bothan sniffed. "Yes, that's right. We defeated Grand Moff Kaine's forces."
"And in this battle, two dozen Mon Calamari star cruisers distinguished themselves," I continued, steering the Bothan toward the verbal constructs I needed.
"The entire First Fleet of the New Republic Defense Forces distinguished itself!" Borsk declared proudly.
"With which I congratulate them, actually. Now I'm interested in the fulfillment of promises on your part."
"The handover of the 'Reaper' and Grand Moff Kaine," Fey'lya said as if pondering.
Theatrical preparations.
A display of relaxation and confidence, as a hint of control over the situation.
One might wonder, what does this have to do with the negotiations I conducted on my own behalf several months ago?
"That's right, President," I added a hint of impatience to my voice.
I needed to show some indecision and nervousness.
Whatever Fey'lya had planned before our conversation, the option forced on him would be much more interesting.
For me.
"There will be some problems with that," the Bothan said, having finished his theatrical pause.
"What kind?"
"Oh, didn't your scouts tell you?" the Bothan feigned surprise. "Strange. Apparently they worked excellently only under Thrawn. Or is it all about your buzz droids that you scattered on the battlefields?"
We ignore this mocking remark.
It will give Fey'lya the necessary hooks for doubt.
"I'm waiting for an answer, President."
"As it happened, during the assault on the 'Reaper,' Grand Moff Kaine tried to blow up the ship — quite an interesting piece of news. If it's true, of course."
"And?"
"My operatives who stormed the ship failed to take the Grand Moff alive," the Bothan put on a sorrowful face. "I'm afraid, Vice Admiral, Ardus Kaine is dead."
"I thought we had an agreement, President!" Pellaeon is unrestrained, not cold-blooded in moments that concern truly important things.
And the death of the Grand Moff, whom 'he' intended to exchange for some purpose of his own, should just fall into the category of 'important' moments of the current negotiations.
"What can I do," Fey'lya spread his hands theatrically. "The operatives who couldn't take the Grand Moff alive will, of course, be punished. But unfortunately, I cannot raise the dead, Vice Admiral."
The Bothan is displaying rather interesting behavior.
Supposedly sorry, promises to punish the guilty.
But I've interacted too much with this being and know more about him than the real Pellaeon does.
Fey'lya is gloating at this moment.
His behavior, the pretense in his words, gives me a clear demonstration of the fact that he never intended to take Kaine alive.
At the very least — he didn't insist on it.
I think his operatives didn't even receive such an order.
Exactly so that he could display this reaction: sorry, but the breakdown of the agreement was not my doing, but due to the incompetence of the operatives.
However, I suspect the latter didn't particularly stand on ceremony with Kaine during the personal meeting.
When the dilemma is between destroying the ship and fulfilling agreements, extra options are discarded immediately.
"In that case, President, you must understand that you have violated the terms of our deal."
"Of course," the Bothan agreed quite easily.
"And its terms have now changed."
"Yes, you are absolutely right, Vice Admiral," Fey'lya replied without delay. "I would even say we need to make a new deal."
"There will be no deals! You will give me the 'Reaper,' as well as all of Kaine's captured ships, all prisoners of war, since you couldn't deliver the Grand Moff to me!" I said. "And you will also hand over Kaine's corpse."
"I find," Fey'lya smiled sardonically, "these conditions unacceptable, Vice Admiral. And I will not fulfill them."
"What do you think you're doing, Borsk?! We had an agreement!"
"Really?" the Bothan asked boredly. "Can you show at least one clause of this agreement, signed by you and me? No? Then there were no agreements."
"Without the ships I transferred to you, you wouldn't have been able to do anything against the 'Reaper' squadron! You owe me!"
"History does not have a subjunctive mood, Vice Admiral," Fey'lya smiled contentedly. "But since you've brought up obligations... Let's not forget that I have done the Dominion many favors. I saddled the New Republic with responsibility for the raids against Lianna and the Pentastar Alignment's convoys last year. We named ourselves the executors of the actions to destroy the Ubiqtorate. We called ourselves the authors and executors of the attack on Imperial rear areas, thanks to which Orinda still cannot capture Carida. And now, it turns out, we received ships from you with which we defeated the Alignment. Do you think the New Republic government is full of idiots?"
"Surprise me."
"No, my dear Vice Admiral," Fey'lya smirked. "I have been playing a long game to lure you into my net. I have all the recordings of our negotiations and the reaching of agreements. How long do you think the Dominion will last after these recordings are made public? Just think — the Dominion, a pro-Imperial state, takes measures to strike at the Imperial Remnants. Cooperating with the New Republic. Helping to repel attacks..."
"You are a scoundrel, Fey'lya!"
"Thank you," purred the Bothan. "So, Vice Admiral, will you listen to the terms of the new agreement?"
"Even if you send these recordings to the HoloNet, no Imperial Remnant has enough strength to..."
"Grand Admiral Thrawn believed that somewhere in the Deep Core, the resurrected Emperor Palpatine was biding his time," the Bothan said with a feigned look of independence. "I think he has the strength to wipe your toy state into dust."
"No one will believe you!"
"Let's test that?" proposed the Bothan.
"Cooperating with the Dominion will cost you political influence!"
The President of the New Republic just laughed.
"They call you the student of Grand Admiral Thrawn," he said. "But in reality, you don't understand even half of what he pulled off. Accept it, Pellaeon: you are on my hook. None of your excuses will help. And cooperation with you... well, yes, it doesn't reflect well on me. But it is against a common enemy. The New Republic cooperated with the Empire to destroy Zsinj — and quite successfully. And after his defeat, we thoroughly outwitted them, taking more than they thought. This is the same. Not only will I not lose my position, but I will also be praised by the populace as a clever ruler who did not break walls with his head but made others do it. So let's not act childish. You do what I tell you, and I, in exchange, will not publish these recordings."
Excellent.
Now I just need to check how accurately I guessed the bold Bothan's intentions.
"What do you want?" a bit of hopelessness and a dimmed look.
"That's better," Fey'lya smiled. "I want you to do something for me, Vice Admiral. A few tasks, upon completion of which you will receive the holographic recordings."
"And what do you want?"
"Simple," smiled the Bothan. "While I retake Coruscant, do everything necessary so that the Alliance doesn't get reinforcements, doesn't gain new allies, and their armed forces are weakened. And in general, it would be best if a few of their newest starships are destroyed, and the rest end up at my disposal."
"And that's all?"
"This is just the beginning, Vice Admiral," smiled Fey'lya. "A bait to test our agreement. I think you wouldn't mind a little fighting yourself. You've been sitting around there too long..."
"Fine, we'll conduct a few raids and harass their patrol fleet..." I paused briefly to give Fey'lya the chance to make a necessary clarification.
"No, Vice Admiral," he shook his head. "Old patrol tubs don't interest me. The Alliance will soon move to war on several sectors in the Tion Cluster. I want you to intercept and destroy their ships that will soon depart from Lantilles. My spies have obtained the coordinates of their route; I am sending them to you."
The holographic projector blinked with an indicator of a received message.
"Don't delay the execution, Vice Admiral," Fey'lya smiled, demonstrating his superiority. "And don't hold a grudge against me. First the Dominion used the New Republic. Now it's time to switch places. Destroy the enemy fleet in the shortest possible time — before they arrive at Lianna. Otherwise, I will start publishing the holographic recordings."
The Bothan's projection dissolved, leaving me alone in the twilight of the apartments aboard the 'Guardian.'
The dim light hid the outlines of the furniture, allowing me to get lost in this half-darkness...
And it also hid the smile on my face.