Ten years, three months, and one day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-five years, three months, and one day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and twenty-one days since the Arrival.)
It was amusing, but the Intergalactic Communications Center — the central HoloNet hub in the galaxy — would experience something like this for the second time.
Located on the planet Praesitlyn in the Sluis sector, one hundred and fifty kilometers from the nearest continent, this center kept the entire communications network in the galaxy operational.
Planet Praesitlyn.
During the Clone Wars, the Confederacy of Independent Systems had already paid a "military visit" to this planet, seizing control of the central HoloNet relay.
At great cost, the Old Republic had managed to retake this world and the critical communications node.
The planet, like most worlds in the sector, had withdrawn from New Republic jurisdiction, declaring its independence after the Sluis Van defeat of the Republican Defense Fleet.
There weren't many military ships even in the sector itself.
And even fewer patrol starships in orbit around Praesitlyn.
Literally one obsolete Marauder-class corvette, found somewhere in a galactic scrapyard and revived on what remained of the Sluis Van shipyards.
The Sluissi were trying to pursue an independent policy.
But they lacked the resources to build their own fleet.
And so, the gap in their defenses, noted by Dominion Intelligence, was used to implement a plan.
The escort ship, a Corellian freighter of such pitiful appearance that anyone who saw it would sincerely wish its owner would stop torturing the ship and send it to the scrapyard, shuddered as it entered the atmosphere at high speed.
The metal of its hull groaned as friction turned the air to fire, and Lieutenant Colonel Tierce could see the orange-red glow through the transparisteel viewport.
He noticed the pilot gripping the controls with all his strength, trying to control the unruly machine.
But this was exactly what was needed right now.
The heat, descent speed, and ionized particles caused temporary sensor blindness.
For their own sensors as well as those positioned around the target's perimeter.
But there was another factor helping to confuse potential observers.
Strong dust storms, a common phenomenon on this planet, greatly interfered with both visual and instrumental monitoring systems.
"Everyone, prepare," he said as the glow of the flames diminished and the ocean appeared before the ship.
The pilot leveled the craft, set a course, and hastily scanned the sky and space around the ship.
The sensors detected nothing.
And the dust storm, which was anomalous even by local standards, reliably blocked atmospheric systems.
The Lieutenant Colonel glanced at Mr. Pent, who was gripping the armrests of his chair.
The Ice Pick, holding the equipment case clamped between his legs, pressed himself into his seat as hard as he could.
With a pale face, he watched the target of this entire voyage approach.
"Take your pills, Mr. Pent," Grodin said, accepting a cloak from one of the guards that would conceal his armor. "Your time to work is almost here."
"Right," Pent agreed nervously. "I'll... I'll be ready when you need me."
"I don't doubt it."
Grodin watched the ship burst through a thick, pink blanket of clouds and emerge ten kilometers from the communications center.
The nearest continent was visible in the distance.
Sensors began reporting a sharp drop in temperature in the lower atmosphere.
An icy crust began forming on the ship's hull, and snow, turning to hail, drummed rhythmically against the starship's skin.
The local star, setting below the horizon, lit everything around with orange and red light.
The restless, dark northern sea churned below; irregular white rings of violent surf marked thousands of uncharted islets jutting from the water.
To the west, quite far away, he could make out the misty edge of the continent with a snow-covered mountain range whose peaks rose above the clouds, the chain stretching from north to south.
His eye caught some movement near the ship. A flock of webbed gulls, too small for instruments to detect, flew two hundred meters off the starboard side and significantly below him. Spreading their enormous, webbed wings — huge compared to their bodies — they flapped slowly and flew against the cold wind toward the south.
Their formation resembled a parenthesis. They flew south, toward warmth, paying no attention to the ship as it passed overhead. Their black eyes were shielded from the wind and snow rushing at them.
The pilot cut the ion engines, and the ship's speed decreased further.
The instrument panel on the main screen displayed all the necessary landing data.
Tierce traced the ship's course and jabbed a finger at the destination point.
"Armed soldiers on the platform."
"Transmitting recognition codes," the pilot replied. "Two minutes to landing — we've switched to repulsors."
The last clarification explained why the flight had suddenly become so smooth.
The rhythmic, steady patter of hail against the cockpit would lull anyone to sleep like a lullaby.
"Everyone, prepare to disembark," he commanded over the comlink.
Clicks on the channel confirmed that every single guard on board was aware.
His hands automatically checked that his blasters were charged, tightened the straps on his composite body armor, and ensured his disguise was secure, while his mind was occupied with other matters.
The pilot banked sharply, flying a wide arc around the island, trying to spot the landing zone.
They still hadn't been fired upon by defensive turrets, which meant the locals had at least received the access codes.
"The landing zone is safe," the pilot expressed the hope that it was true, trying to reassure himself. "Coming in for landing."
Under the back-thrust of the repulsor engines, the ship was enveloped in powerful swirls of sea spray and fine debris.
Grodin moved through the cabin, pulling his disguise closed so that not even a hint of his armament was visible.
In the passenger compartment, he found two individuals in black armor, identical in every way to what the guards wore.
Only the armor's paint color and visor differed.
One of the Shadow Guards was seated right on the compartment floor, with his legs tucked under him.
The second sat in a chair nearby, impatiently tossing the hilt of his lightsaber up and down.
"Lord Maul," he addressed the second. "We are ready. Can you sustain the dust storm for as long as we need?"
The faceless helmet turned toward him, and for a moment Tierce felt an almost forgotten pressure — the same kind he'd experienced in the Emperor's presence.
"Strryn will control the weather for exactly as long as it takes to complete the mission," he said, rising from his chair. "I will go with you on the assault."
It had been assumed that Darth Maul would secure the ship and his partner while the guards and the Ice Pick were occupied with the mission.
Tierce did not fail to remind the Shadow Guard of this.
"Leave a couple of subordinates for defense," the latter ordered. "I sense the facility's security is much stronger than anticipated. I foresee that you will need my help."
Grodin had no doubt about the last part.
After all, he was leading two dozen of his own clones into battle, each one a death machine in the flesh.
But he didn't argue.
The Shadow Advisors, like the Jensaarai, sensed the situation far better than ordinary beings.
Completing the objective was the mission's priority.
"As you wish, Darth Maul."
He headed toward the aft section of the starship.
It was time to make history.
* * *
The Republic shipyard engineer, a Sluissi, looked well-rested and cheerful.
He descended easily down the boarding ramp onto the landing pad of the Rendili spaceport, whistling a simple tune, and looked around.
The last time he'd been here, he could have enjoyed watching the shuttles, transports, packet boats, and other auxiliary craft zipping like mad between the surface and the berths, delivering cargo to the Republic-class Star Destroyers under construction.
Now everything around was clean and tidy.
But only because he'd returned to the surface a little earlier than his shift usually ended.
Within an hour, the place would be swarming with people coming on and off duty.
But the position of engineer had its perks — under the pretext of a meeting with planetary services, he could leave the shipyards early.
And avoid wasting time at the security checkpoints alongside thousands of other workers.
After passing the first security cordon, he visited the logistics department as planned.
Where they once again gave him an earful: "You need those Imperial spare parts — you fly to Kuat and Wohai every single day and haul everything you need from there!"
The Sluissi, as chief engineer overseeing a project that had become critically important to the New Republic, always found the right words for negligent supply officers, and things would get moving.
Until the next batch of cargo.
Still, the Sluissi was smiling and content with life.
It felt good to be back on the surface.
Especially without any legal trouble.
And to have an excellent job, a clean record, and an almost indecent weekly income.
None of this would exist if not for the Battle of Sluis Van, after which his kin declared their neutrality and hastened to recall their citizens from the New Republic's technical and other services.
A small revenge for the fact that they hadn't been able to protect the Sluissi homeland from Grand Admiral Thrawn's attack.
Recognized masters of shipbuilding and technology, the Sluissi — like the Verpine — were now not the most frequent guests in the New Republic.
So, the game was worth the candle.
Whistling, he headed toward the second security cordon. Once past it, he could freely make his way into the city and relax however he pleased for the remainder of his time before the next shift.
"Welcome back, Chief Engineer," the young security officer of the second cordon saluted him jokingly, habitually checking his ID, casting a scrutinizing glance at his personal belongings laid out in the tray, and gesturing for him to proceed through the scanner frame. "I hope you had a productive shift?"
"Oh yes, quite," the Sluissi emerged from the scanner, but only after the guard's approving nod did he retrieve his belongings and stuff them back into his pockets. "How's your duty, Sergeant?"
"Steady as she goes," she beamed. "Routine."
"Same as all of us."
"Well, I wouldn't say that," the guard winked at him. "Some of us do more than others."
"We're all working toward the same goal," the Sluissi assured her.
"That's true," the guard nodded. "Oh... if it's not a secret..."
She lowered her voice on the last part.
The Chief Engineer smirked, understanding the reason for her interest.
"He's fine," he assured her. "Our fleet boys gave that 'Reaper' a good going-over, but we'll fix him up. Not fast, but quality work. He'll be better than before."
"I can't wait to see him tear the Imps a new one," the guard sighed dreamily.
"One day we will," the Sluissi promised, stepping out of the cordon and waving goodbye.
"Oh, wait!" she clapped her hands. "Someone left a message for you."
"Who?" the Sluissi asked, surprised.
"A young woman," the guard winked. "Quite pretty. She asked me to tell you that you left something at her place during your last shore leave."
"Is that so..."
The Sluissi was rather taken aback.
Two questions sprang to mind at once.
What could he have possibly left there, and not even noticed its absence for so long?
And also, since when did entertainment establishment employees run after clients to return lost items?
It was unlikely to be anything truly valuable — probably some trinket meant to lure him into her little cunning net as a regular customer.
He wondered what the deal was.
"She asked me to give you this chip," the security girl added, still smiling amiably, handing the engineer a data storage device.
The Sluissi took it warily.
"Don't worry," the guard advised him. "We scanned it every way possible."
"And the contents?" the Sluissi asked, swallowing nervously.
He didn't like any of this.
"It's just a holo-message with an address," the girl replied. "An apartment in a residential district."
"Alright," the Sluissi forced out. "Thank you."
Hiding the chip, he headed for the hover-taxi stand.
The droid driver politely (which was starting to get on his nerves by now) asked for his destination.
The Sluissi inserted the data chip into the receiver slot without hesitation.
The equipment read the data, and the vehicle shot off, merging into the traffic flow.
* * *
He unfastened the blaster holsters under his cloak and pressed the button to open the compartment.
The cargo ramp lowered onto the landing platform, and a cold wind swept into the cargo bay, filling everything with the smell of ocean and salt.
He heard the sound of sand scraping against the ship's hull.
He stepped out of the starship.
The light of the setting sun blinded him for a moment, and the guardsman squinted.
He and his entire crew had been flying under artificial lighting for days, choosing the most intricate hyperspace routes to avoid any enemy encounter.
His boots crunched on the freshly fallen snow and sandy grit covering the black surface of the landing pad.
Thick vapor poured from his mouth, immediately carried away by the wind.
Two men moved toward him, and they met halfway between the ships.
Both were human, both bearded.
Both wore insulated uniforms — representatives of the local central defense forces.
One of them was one-eyed, with a lightning-bolt scar on his cheek. Both had blasters on their belts, and like Grodin, their holsters were unfastened.
But they couldn't even guess about his weapon.
Shielding his eyes from the light and snow, Tierce instantly assessed the situation near the ship.
Two fighters in front of him.
Two more by the entrance to the center.
Distance — twenty meters.
Armed with heavy blaster rifles.
On the second-floor balcony — another sentry.
He had a heavy repeater in his arsenal.
If needed, such a squad could shred anyone trying to attack the communications node.
It seemed Darth Maul was absolutely right — his help would definitely be needed.
All of this stirred the familiar unpleasant feeling of an imminent battle and multiple deaths.
"Who are you?" the scarred man asked, waving vaguely toward the ship behind the guardsman. "Your tub isn't in the flight plan, friend. So be a good boy and don't make any sudden moves."
The unscarred man stood nearby, shifting from foot to foot, looking nervous.
Grodin nodded in agreement, keeping a neutral face, but felt his body starting to pump adrenaline, bracing for the coming trouble.
"What are you doing here?" the scarred man asked him.
"I'm delivering a batch of equipment for the center," Lieutenant Colonel Tierce replied calmly. "Another courier was supposed to come, but he got lost somewhere along the way. They sent me as a replacement."
"A replacement," the second being repeated, still shifting his feet, and began to chuckle softly.
"What's so funny?" Grodin asked him, moving his right hand back and forming his fingers into a specific pattern.
A sign language of the Stormtrooper Corps.
Before the second man could answer, the scarred partner asked roughly:
"What's your identifier?"
His withdrawn hand slipped under his cloak.
His fingers closed around the hilt of a throwing knife.
"The same as everyone's."
The scarred man grimaced.
"I don't like you, kid."
"Well, I'm not a Twi'lek girl to be liked by everyone," Grodin said, offering a slight smile. "Business as usual."
The pair in front of him exchanged glances.
"Give me your identifier and the cargo manifest."
Their hands moved to their blaster grips.
Grodin felt calm and serene.
He always felt this way when danger approached.
When it was time to kill.
The lieutenant colonel made an imperceptible motion with his hand, and the knife that appeared in it slashed the scarred man's throat.
He collapsed onto the landing pad, emitting death rattles from his severed throat, the black hilt of the knife protruding from it.
The remaining enemy fighters stirred.
Grodin dodged forward into a roll, drove his fist upward into the second man's chin, breaking his jaw and disorienting him.
Using him as a shield against the guards at the entrance, Grodin rushed forward.
Blaster bolts screeched ahead and overhead — the other guardsmen, taking cover behind metal shields disguised as cargo crates, laid down suppressing fire against the enemy.
For a brief moment, there was the crash of an object being torn from its mount, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream.
Grodin shoved the corpse into the nearest of the two guards, quickly drew his blaster from the thigh holster, and shot the second in the face.
The enemy, in surprise, managed to take a step back and fell like a tree cut at the roots.
His mouth opened and closed silently, his right hand reaching toward the guardsman as if trying to stop the blaster bolt that had already sent him to his ancestors.
The second guard fighter collapsed with a hole in his chest — one of the other guardsmen had taken care of him.
And from above, splattering everything with blood and viscera, the fifth shooter fell, looking as if he had been flayed alive.
Clad in mercenary armor, the guardsmen broke through to the doors, taking up defensive positions.
From here, left and right, led external side corridors, down which soldiers with small arms were already running.
The guardsmen picked them off one by one.
"It's locked," reported the "slicer," brought to the entrance door under guard cover. "I need a couple of minutes to open it..."
The next second, the metal of the door groaned.
And groaned so pitifully that Tierce first didn't believe an armored bulkhead could make such a sound.
Then the even surface of the door crumpled — slightly, barely perceptibly.
And a second later, it turned into a huge, heavy lump, like a crumpled sheet of flimsi.
Albeit weighing a couple hundred kilograms.
"Done," Darth Maul reported, squeezing past the assault team as if nothing had happened and entering the main corridor first.
The other guardsmen followed, filling the corridor with the fire of their ranged death weapons.
His crimson blade ignited and became an elusive stream, blocking the hail of blaster fire.
The Shadow Guard walked like an armored droid, deflecting every bolt aimed at him.
He extended his left hand to the side — and from the second-floor balcony of the central hall, one of the enemy fighters flew over the railing and crashed down.
With a sickening, wet sound, he smashed onto the corridor floor, after which the bloody projectile, as if from a sling, was launched toward two other fighters firing from cover.
Grodin immediately shot another enemy standing near a side corridor.
He jumped aside, hid behind a fairing, drew his blaster, and shouted something into his wrist comlink.
What exactly, he couldn't make out over the roar of battle.
But the next second, an invisible force ripped him from behind his cover.
Two precise shots in mid-air ended the defender's life.
Darth Maul, after a running start, leaped onto the second floor, where several more beings were gathered — all with hostile intentions toward the attackers.
The first enemy he cleaved from head to waist.
The second he pulled toward him and impaled on his lightsaber.
The third, clenching his left fist, he lifted into the air, forcing him to grab at his throat, then accelerated him into a smear across the corridor floor.
Grodin picked up a blaster in each hand, raised his arms above his cover, and started shooting at the men running toward him as fast as he could.
He couldn't see the results of his shooting, but that barely bothered him — a couple of bursts were enough for the guardsman to gauge his aiming direction.
Besides, the lieutenant colonel was doing it to force the defenders to take cover, hiding from the shots.
Which would inevitably make them perfect targets for the other guardsmen.
After he fired over a dozen shots and not a single one came back, he jumped out from cover and charged forward.
He reached the next enemy before the man could figure out what was happening.
Sparks flew in all directions from their hits, and the air was filled with the smell of melted plastoid, mixing with the salty scent of the ocean.
Grodin slammed his elbow into the enemy soldier's face, shattering his faceplate with the armored element.
A final shot to the head — and the enemy fell silent forever.
"Lieutenant Colonel," he heard the voice of one of the squad's junior commanders. "Alpha Group is advancing along the north wall."
"Beta Group — along the east."
"Gamma has secured the west."
Each squad had five fighters.
Out of twenty-one — two guarding the ship.
Fifteen were occupied with external control.
Grodin and three other fighters were supporting Darth Maul, who was finishing off the last defender of the central corridor.
At that moment, he drove his blade into the armored door behind which the main server and operations rooms were located.
That was exactly where they needed to get.
Rushing after him, Tierce, on the move, ordered his squad fighters to secure Mr. Pent.
He reached Maul just as the Shadow Guard cut a huge oval out of the door, pulled it from the wall, and slipped inside.
Lieutenant Colonel Tierce followed right behind him.
Just in time to see Maul slice three enemy soldiers apart with a single stroke.
"Nobody move, and nobody gets hurt," the Dominion Guard commander barked, looking at the frightened faces of several dozen beings huddled in the far corner of the room. "Order your security to lay down their arms. Or they will be destroyed."
"We can't do that," declared a young specialist standing closest to Tierce.
"That's what you think," the faceless Darth Maul said menacingly, looming over the operator. "Think carefully before I start tearing your limbs off one by one."
"They're not our security!" the operator shouted in terror. "They took us hostage a week and a half ago!"
Tierce, meeting the eyes of his approaching squad fighters, nodded a command.
One of the guardsmen, whose face, like the other soldiers', was hidden behind an impenetrable helmet, knelt beside the bodies previously bisected by Darth Maul.
Quickly searching the bodies, his subordinates handed the lieutenant colonel the ID cards of each of the dead.
"Crack them," he ordered Mr. Pent, who had already settled in at the nearest workstation.
The "slicer," unpacking his gear, plugged the chips one by one into his deck, and within a couple of minutes, he had an answer.
One that Grodin did not like.
Not one bit.
* * *
By the time the taxi approached the specified address, the Sluissi already knew several things.
First.
The woman sitting in the holo-recording in a light robe, lounging in a soft chair, he had never seen before in his life.
Despite the fact that she addressed him by name and accurately indicated the place he had visited during his last shore leave, he had never seen her before.
Although she herself claimed the opposite.
Second.
It was beginning to seem to him that she was just as much a victim of circumstance as he was.
During the recording, this woman was looking at someone beyond the holo-camera's field of view, as if she wanted to ask something or get confirmation for her actions.
And third.
The recording itself.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but my conscience won't let me keep from you that you left your things at our place last time," her expression was sad, as if something was upsetting her. She smiled sweetly, showing a small chain with a pendant on it. "If you need this item, you can pick it up from me at the address..."
Nothing unusual.
Simple attentiveness.
But her last sentence changed everything.
"I still hope we can meet, because at the establishment you said this item connects you to your past, when you worked at other shipyards."
Nothing incriminating there either — certainly not for the security service of "Rendili StarDrive."
After all, they knew he had previously worked at the Sluis Van shipyards.
But there was a certain problem.
He had worked at shipyards before joining Rendili.
But not at Sluis Van.
And he had never owned a chain with a pendant.
And only those he had worked for in the past could know his real place of employment.
If Republic intelligence had found out about his double game, they wouldn't have tried to lure him out.
They would have just come and arrested him.
No ceremonies.
So, he had to be prepared for the fact that absolutely everyone knew about him.
And his previous employers needed him for something.
He had a guess as to why they had taken such an interest in him right now.
Run?
Pointless.
He couldn't tell the security officers about the situation either — they would clearly figure out his double life, and then everything he had worked for would come to an end.
So he reached the required address and paid the droid.
And indeed — a residential district.
Quiet, cozy, peaceful, safe.
Huge high-rise buildings, housing thousands of beings, built with a pleasant design that didn't stand out from the city's architecture.
The Sluissi quickly found the right building.
In the lobby, he found the turbolift, asking a pair of workers tinkering with the communications for directions.
This residential district had been built recently, and the builders were periodically fixing certain gaps in their work, mistakes made during the construction phase.
Simply put — the builders had stolen a lot during their work, and now it was turning out that the pipes were wrong, the wiring was cheaper, the lighting wasn't what the regulations required...
The developer, trying to save money, as always, was forced to fork out and redo the work they hadn't wanted to do correctly from the start.
That's why almost no one lived here — who would want to move into apartments where there was noise from "finishing work" from morning till night?
"Oh," the female worker scratched her nose. "You need the turbolift, right?"
"Yeah," the Sluissi confirmed. "Can you show me where it is?"
"Come on," the female worker slapped her partner on the back. "We'll check it out and de-energize the distribution panel on the technical floor at the same time, before we look for the cause of the burned wiring in the lobby."
The Sluissi was stunned.
Were they serious?
Who in their right mind would repair power lines while they were still live?
Even he, who wasn't a building contractor, knew that!
"Yeah, let's go," the male worker sniffled. "Mister, the turbolifts are in that part of the lobby."
"Newbies, apparently," the Sluissi thought, assessing the unstained uniforms of both workers.
The three of them got into the turbolift car.
The workers unapologetically pressed the button for the technical floor, located just under the building's roof.
The Chief Engineer, without overthinking it, corrected their intentions by activating the button he needed.
The turbolift doors closed, and the spacious, chrome-gleaming car shot upward.
The Sluissi was lost in his own thoughts, barely listening to what the two workmen were chattering about, as they kept pulling equipment out of their bags, arguing about whether the scanners were calibrated correctly...
"That was careless of you," the female worker suddenly said, looking the Sluissi straight in the eye.
"What, sorry?" he blinked.
"Sorry isn't good enough," the male worker replied, leveling a blaster at him. "The only thing worse than traitors are double traitors, Ten Dorn."
The Sluissi swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat.
It seemed... things were even worse than he had thought.
* * *
They dragged him out of the turbolift on the technical floor, throwing him into a corner like a sack of rags.
The engineer quickly scanned the room and realized that the only way to escape was through the ventilation shaft.
Out into the open.
And then a free-fall flight all one hundred floors down.
Because the "workers" had sealed the turbolift car.
"Y-you've got the wrong person!" the Sluissi stammered. "Y-you're looking for someone else! I-I-I-I, I'm here on business!"
"Came for the chain, did you?" the woman snorted, twirling on her finger the very item that had been shown by another stranger on the holo-recording a couple of hours earlier.
"N-no, what are you saying... I'm here to see friends!"
"Does he take us for idiots, or is he one himself?" the man asked his partner.
"What are you saying, what are you saying, how could I," the Sluissi babbled, backing away on his hands, seeing the pair approaching him.
A deadly pair.
"Let's not waste our time," the man suggested. "For your sake, Ten Dorn, we had to travel a long way."
"I'm telling you, you've made a mistake!" the Sluissi babbled. "I'm not Dorn, I'm..."
A short, straight punch to the head sent sparks flying from the Chief Engineer's eyes.
"Don't waste our time," the man advised. "We know perfectly well who you are and what you are."
"If you want, I can recite it," the woman offered. "I had quite a laugh reading your agent file, Dorn."
"You're confusing me with someone else," the Sluissi tried to squeeze out a tear of pity.
But he couldn't.
Inside, he was simply trembling with fear.
What he had so desperately wanted to avoid had caught up with him.
In the place he least expected.
"You are Ten Dorn, a Sluissi who worked on Admiral Gial Ackbar's project to create a heavy assault starfighter, known as the B-wing, or simply the 'Blade-wing,'" the woman said in an unyielding tone.
"You also worked on a device that would allow escaping tractor beam locks," the man continued.
"Then you defected to the Empire," the woman went on, moving around the alien from the side.
While the man kept advancing straight toward him, keeping him in his blaster's sights.
"You worked at the Vosteltig shipyards in the Oplovis sector," he said, reciting another line from the Sluissi's real biography. "For which you were put on the wanted list by General Cracken, as a threat to New Republic security."
"Then, as soon as the New Republic got serious about the sector, you fled from there," the woman said, taking one long step to end up behind the Sluissi. "And according to all the documents, it looked like you were still at Vosteltig."
"Except no one could find you there," the man said. "Not the Republic, not the Empire."
"You simply vanished, as if you never existed," the woman declared. "And the Sluissi you left at Vosteltig in your place, of course, knew nothing about you. So the search for you was suspended."
"I'm just an engineer!" the Sluissi shouted, not really hoping for success. "I just work at Rendili! And before that, at Sluis Van."
"You took the identity of the Sluissi you put in your place at Vosteltig," the man cut him off. "And with those documents, thoroughly scrubbed, you 'resurfaced' in the New Republic. Right after Sluis Van refused to have any dealings whatsoever with the Republicans."
"Including sharing information," the woman continued, piling on facts.
"What do you even want from me?!" the Sluissi shouted. "Yes, I made a deal, I saved my life! Yes, they gave me new documents, so what?!"
The man and woman exchanged glances.
"New Republic documents that passed enhanced checks so well that he managed to infiltrate 'Rendili StarDrive,'" the man said, looking at his partner.
"Did you notice that too?" she winked. "We couldn't manage that, to pull you," she gave the Sluissi a light cuff on the back of the head, "straight out of the slips. But you, with not even a shred of intelligence service experience — you managed?"
"I had help!" the Sluissi said plaintively.
"From whom?" the man asked.
"Friend! I don't know his name! He contacted me almost immediately after it became clear that Oplovis was surrendering to the New Republic's attacks!" Dorn babbled. "Just a hologram, I never saw anything else!"
The man and woman exchanged a glance.
Judging by how their faces changed, neither was particularly thrilled by what they'd heard.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" the man asked.
"Mhm." The woman placed a hand on the Sluissi's head and, without the slightest hesitation, brought a knife to his unprotected neck. "Let me guess. In exchange for new documents, this 'someone' demanded you pass along the work on the 'blades' to his subordinates?"
"Yes, yes, yes," the Sluissi nodded.
And he did so energetically, but with great caution — a blade at the throat had never done anyone any good with sudden movements.
"What else was part of the agreement?" the man asked.
"To work for him," the Sluissi said. "To pass along information about what's happening on Rendili."
"And what have you told him so far?"
"Nothing," the Sluissi whined in a pitiful tone. "I swear by all the gods of all the peoples — nothing. I thought this invitation to the meeting was from him. Especially since they put me in charge as the chief engineer for repairing the captured Super Star Destroyer."
"Maybe, maybe," the man said vaguely. "But you got very lucky today, Dorn. I'm offering you a choice — either we hand your data over to the local intelligence services and keep you in a secluded place where they'll definitely find you and haul you off to trial..."
"After which you'll undoubtedly be shot," the woman supplied the end of the intriguing proposal.
"And what's the second option?" the treacherous Sluissi asked quickly.
"Well, this is where it gets interesting," the man smiled at him. "You do what we say — and you'll never have to worry about being caught by one intelligence service or another ever again."
Ten Dorn nodded in agreement.
Well, what else could he do?
It was a perfectly decent option.
* * *
When Lieutenant Colonel Tierce finished his report, my first impulse was to ask a clarifying question: "Is this data accurate?"
But my momentary doubts dissolved the moment I remembered the Guard commander's dependability.
"Interesting," I said. "Well, this was expected."
In reality — nothing more than a hypothesis.
One theory out of hundreds.
But it, unlike any other, fit the context of what was happening, becoming an additional piece in the mosaic of one particularly restless individual's actions.
"A rather rash move on the Republicans' part," Lieutenant Colonel Tierce shared his opinion. "A special forces seizure of the central HoloNet communications hub — that's a direct act of aggression against the government of the Sluis sector."
"Correct," I confirmed. "But the Sluissi lack the political influence and the fleet to voice their objections in anything other than protest notes. However, such actions will clearly have certain consequences on the galactic stage."
"What are your orders, Grand Admiral?" Tierce inquired, fully aware that interfering with the enemy's operation could alter our own plans.
There were plenty of options for how to handle the current situation.
Plenty indeed.
But at the same time, that was no reason to get distracted.
On the contrary — it was a very, very interesting way to reframe the situation from a different angle.
"Continue the operation, Lieutenant Colonel," I ordered. "Be prepared to withdraw your squad to the reserve base if an invasion threatens. Take measures to ensure the enemy cannot find traces of your involvement, but does discover another presence. Everything must be done while guaranteeing the safety of the node's personnel and evacuating them to territory under our control."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral."
The hologram of the lieutenant colonel dissolved.
I was left alone with my thoughts.
Or rather, with those that had been born just moments ago.
And they weren't exactly novel.
The HoloNet is a fairly old, yet still actively used telecommunications system.
During the Clone Wars, the Old Republic maintained steady control over it.
Using it for communication, war coverage, and propaganda and counter-propaganda efforts.
The Confederacy of Independent Systems had organized its own type of telecommunications — the Shadowfeed.
For the same purposes.
Since then, several dozen variants of the HoloNet had appeared, each with its own limitations or scope of operations.
The New Republic had its own version of the HoloNet, but having become the galactic hegemon and securing many influential cartels as allies — including those responsible for the HoloNet — they'd simplified their work.
Well then...
The Sluissi's withdrawal from their control had complicated life for the New Republic.
Now they could only rely on their own communications network — the New Republic HoloNet.
So why attack a neutral broadcasting system?
The answer was simple — it had access to every corner of the galaxy, being a legacy of the Old Republic.
And through this communications hub, they could broadcast their message to both the worlds of the New Republic and the Imperials.
Not to mention the neutrals.
An excellent method for propaganda and waging hybrid warfare.
We'd used a similar approach last year — but to achieve full coverage, we'd had to literally bombard the information network with numerous copies of the same recordings.
Some were destroyed, others reached their recipients.
Overall, even with great effort, the result hadn't been very extensive.
Fey'lya had decided to use my own developments against me.
Well, that shouldn't be done.
And the Bothan would soon find out why.
The comlink chimed.
"Grand Admiral, sir, our Interdictors have pulled enemy starships out of hyperspace," the commander of the Guardian reported.
"Excellent news, Captain," I allowed myself a slight smile. "Begin implementing the agreed-upon plan. I will join you on the Guardian's bridge shortly."
"It will be done, sir," Pellaeon snapped.
When the comlink cut off, I stroked the tiny head of the ysalamiri.
"Well, here we go," I said, rising from my workstation and heading for the exit.
Given all the circumstances, it was almost interesting to see how events would unfold.
Things were about to get very interesting.