Ten years, three months, and thirteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, third month, and thirteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and thirty-third days since the Arrival.)
What does a person see when they open their eyes in the dark?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing, until the organs of vision adapt to the state of the environment and various contours of objects begin to emerge through the gloom.
Humanity doesn't possess night vision.
But at some stage of evolution, the Chiss gained that ability.
And now, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, making out the finest details of the overhead panels.
Absolute darkness in the bedroom.
Even the reinforced transparisteel viewports are sealed shut.
They could be opened if desired, but then the white-blue light of hyperspace would pour into this private compartment.
In which I am not alone.
Turning my head, I looked at the woman lying beside me.
A mass of bright red hair was spread across the pillows and blanket, framing her like an angel's halo.
A young, beautiful face, with a satisfied smile frozen on its lips, is lovely in the night.
Just as it is in daylight.
Like a porcelain figurine wrapped in soft packaging, Mara Jade was given over to sleep.
Sprawled on the bed in a star shape.
At least she wasn't snoring, completely exhausted.
I admired her for a few seconds, turning onto my side.
A thin strand of hair lay across her face, its tip falling right to her nose, making the girl wrinkle it periodically.
I brushed the strand aside, then slipped out from under the blanket.
The refresher had an invigorating effect.
But a visit to the training hall gave me even more energy.
The treadmill for a warm-up.
Exercises for legs, arms, and core.
Loads that make muscles groan but clear the head.
A barbell with one hundred and fifty kilograms of weight flew upward quite easily.
For the first few minutes.
Then it got harder.
Chiss metabolism differs from human.
Physique — not drastically.
But the insides...
The Third will tell me that upon returning to the metropolis, with her characteristic pragmatism, abstraction, and ability to dissect my clone's body.
Is it dangerous to trust a brain-transplant specialist with your own clone's body for study?
Everything is dangerous.
As practice shows, the peace and order that reigned in the galaxy "from book to book" it's all a lie.
What I'm observing is merely proof of the one-sided view of the universe's authors.
Passions are constantly boiling here.
The New Republic didn't solve problems — it only fought the symptoms of the illnesses plaguing the galaxy.
Hence this situation — from crisis to crisis.
That's why there are so many "pitfalls."
I started solving problems not "in breadth," but "in depth."
Hence all sorts of troubles that weren't mentioned in the Expanded Universe keep popping up.
When the barbell was going down, a red halo appeared above my face.
"Good morning."
It happened so suddenly that I lost my rhythm, my breathing faltered.
And the weight became insurmountable.
Straining with my remaining strength, I returned the barbell to its rests, feeling the muscles in my arms and body tremble.
Just like that.
As soon as someone invaded my personal space, disrupting my train of thought — it was as if the ability to complete the repetition vanished.
My mind played a cruel trick on me.
Getting up, I took the towel she handed me and wiped the sweat from my face.
Really, I needed time.
Time to think about what to say.
For some reason, I remembered that last time I consoled myself with the phrase that no man knows what to say in a similar situation and how to act without making things worse.
"Good morning." No point in rubbing my face pointlessly and pretending to be so busy that I can't answer.
"I didn't know you trained," one glance at Mara Jade was enough to notice her wandering gaze, shy posture (well, at least she'd put on a bathrobe), and her teeth being nibbled. "I would have helped with the barbell, but... These ysalamiri are everywhere..."
Of course they are.
I don't like it when I have to fight against Force-sensitive beings.
Who, thanks to their extrasensory abilities, can get a "hint" one way or another from something I don't control.
But at the moment, I was far more interested in Mara Jade's behavior.
Uncertain.
I felt a bit better.
Looks like I'm not the only one feeling awkward.
Mara's tone was also not confidently-sarcastic.
More like guiltily-shy.
"A healthy mind in a healthy body," I said.
For some reason, a message written in white paint on the fence of the training camp of the unit where I served my compulsory service flashed before my eyes.
"Right," the girl shifted from foot to foot.
She was biting her lips even more.
Well, it was time to seize the initiative.
Because her behavior suggests that Jade's plans didn't extend beyond what happened yesterday.
"If you need them, the equipment is at your service," I offered, gesturing around the gym.
Not as big as one might think.
About the size of a basketball court, filled with training machines of all kinds.
Effectively, a miniature copy of the gym used by stormtroopers and helldivers.
Fleet personnel... good question.
How do fleet specialists pass their physical fitness tests if they don't use this equipment?
"Are we on a first-name basis already?" A familiar playful glint appeared in Jade's eyes as our glances met. "I thought that required a special disposition from command..."
Ah, no, she's oriented herself quickly enough.
The caustic remarks are already coming out.
"I'm not insisting on maintaining subordination in private," I said, finishing absorbing the sweat with the towel. "Starting today."
Looking the girl in the eyes, I held her stare for a while before her interest shifted to another part of the training hall.
"I think if you worked out in the common hall with the subordinates, it would have a certain inspiring and motivating effect," said Jade.
How interesting.
Both she and I are trying to avoid what happened.
The classic case where "the corporate party was a success," but "the girls from accounting" try not to meet your eyes afterward.
As if someone is going to remind them of the half-naked dancing on the table.
"An interesting point of view," I said matter-of-factly. "Thank you for the idea. I'll think it over."
"You're welcome." Jade still hadn't turned to face me.
I wonder if she really thinks I'll believe she's so impressed by the parallel bars that she can't tear her gaze away from them?
The awkwardness of the moment risked turning into irritation.
So I just walked away.
Tossed the towel into the cleaning unit, followed by my training clothes.
Returned to the refresher and put my body under the watery steam of hot water, washing away my sweat.
It seems she's realized what was obvious yesterday.
It won't lead to anything good, let alone anything comfortable, so it was a mistake for us to...
A gust of cold wind swept across my back, catching my attention.
Turning around, I met a pair of emerald eyes...
Well, not the eyes.
"He'll think," Mara stated in a displeased-offended tone, crowding me in the refresher cubicle. "Don't think. You need to act."
How she managed to gracefully lift her leg up in the meter-by-meter cubicle, blocking my exit from the refresher, is beyond me.
But at least it's clear now that her training isn't for nothing.
"You can't do that," I warned, hinting at the not-so-safe environment.
"Yes, I ca-a-an," with a satisfied smile, Jade pressed her lips to mine, like a vampire to a victim's neck.
A few seconds later, she wrapped her arms around my neck and, with a slight jump, hung on me, wrapping her legs around my waist.
The emerald green of her eyes looked straight into my soul.
Through those very "mirrors" of it, blazing with fire.
"Just don't ride me unconscious this time, okay?"
"I can't promise anything." That also slipped out on its own.
And off we went...
* * *
Fortress Hijarna was slowly but surely falling apart.
Of course, the reason wasn't that Talon had set up his new operational base here.
Fortress Hijarna.
This sad process began long before the planet Hijarna in the Orus sector of the Inner Rim was discovered by the Fifth Alderaanian Expedition.
It was this association of scientists from the now-destroyed planet that discovered the planet and the enormous fortress, built from black stone that absorbs any kind of energy.
Archaeologists dated the venerable structure at several thousand years old, but couldn't say anything more definite.
According to the information that the "Talon" himself possessed, scientists of the past speculated about the fortress's role in the planet's history.
Some believed it was the final desperate defense of the locals against whatever devastated Hijarna.
Others assumed it was a stronghold of the invaders.
But, one way or another, this majestic structure was in irreversible decline.
The fortress stood, empty, abandoned, unwanted, guarding an empty, abandoned, unwanted world.
According to pragmatists: a pointless waste of incredibly hard and exceedingly rare black stone.
Romantics called it the last witness to an ancient catastrophe and a perpetual sentinel.
Fortress Hijarna loomed over the plateau, where traces of destruction still remained.
A monument to an ancient and unclear tragedy, a desperate attempt to defend a doomed planet.
Or perhaps the reason for both the siege and the subsequent destruction.
What happened here will never be known.
One could only guess.
At present, Talon called the crumbling fortress nothing less than a new home.
"A temporary home," he corrected himself mentally.
He wouldn't be staying here long.
This place was for meeting those the "Talon" could trust.
At least a little.
And with each passing month, fewer and fewer of those remained.
Some didn't want to get involved with him anymore because of the doom that followed anyone who helped him.
Aves, Mazzic, hundreds of others...
All of them were eliminated by Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Revenge for Karrde, while claiming neutrality, actually helping the New Republic.
Not without a hit to his wallet, of course.
But still more than helping the Empire.
And now that the game of hypocrisy was over, he was practically playing on credit for the Alliance.
And this carried with it quite obvious reputational, economic, and other losses.
Talon looked at his assistant, who had entered the room being used as a communications center.
After Mara Jade's departure, the deaths of Aves, Dunkin, Mazzic, and many others, it had become Chin.
A native of the planet Myrkr, Chin was one of Karrde's oldest and most reliable partners.
Before leaving the planet, Chin also served as the operations manager for smugglers at Karrde's headquarters on the planet.
An expert on Myrkr's local wildlife, Chin had trained and domesticated Karrde's pet vornskrs (also deceased), and was skilled at removing ysalamiri from tree branches.
He was the one who taught Thrawn's stormtroopers this process, thanks to which they achieved great success.
He performed many roles in Karrde's organization, including working aboard Karrde's main vessel, the Wild Karrde.
Yes, for his new "Action IV," the "Talon" had chosen the same name as for his old ship.
Naturally, Thrawn returned nothing when Karrde contacted him through Ferrier on Sullust.
And Pellaeon couldn't care less.
The Grand Admiral had crushed Karrde's organization, and naturally, had no interest in returning what he'd taken.
He had to burn through reserves just to rebuild the organization, even partly.
Talon would never have admitted it, but the periodic cash infusions from the Alliance were the only thing keeping his organization afloat.
At least — for now.
Chin nodded toward the display.
"The New Republic report?"
"Yes," Karrde said, pulling out the infochip. "Admiral Duplex has been on a roll."
"They're fighting well?"
"Looks like it. He kicked the Pentastar Alignment off Ruul, Sarapin, Fedalle. From what I can tell, Skako's next. Without Grand Moff Kaine, the Alignment seems to have forgotten how to fight. They lose a battle for a fortified point — fall back light-years, pulling their forces out of adjacent star systems."
Chin rubbed the fruit against his clothes and bit into it with a crunch.
"If he and Sei'lar's keep up this pace, after the Bothan woman took Tepasi, the New Republic might well attack Brentaal IV," he summarized, then sunk his teeth into the fruit's flesh, wiping sweet juice from his chin. "And if they take that, they cut the Alignment's sectors off from Imperial Space."
"I'm leaning toward Fey'lya banking on Orinda and Entralla acting separately," Karrde replied, feeding another infocrystal into the computer. "While the Alliance chokes the Imperials on the Perlemian Trade Route from a defensive posture, the Bothans decided to take back Coruscant."
"It won't be that easy," Chin chewed the fruit. "Even if they take Brentaal, they still have Corulag and Anaxis ahead. And Coruscant itself is better fortified now than it was under Iceheart or even the Rebels."
"True," Karrde agreed, reading the new data. "And that's the surprising part. The Alignment is preparing to hold Coruscant. And it's draining more and more reserves from their rear territories. Those stations they dragged into Coruscant orbit didn't come from nowhere — they pulled them from Yaga Minor's defenses, from Entralla, from several other planets. The same thing is happening for the fortifications at Brentaal, Corulag, and Anaxis. The Alignment is moving its useless Dragons from the front lines — ships that burst apart from a single X-wing squadron run — and sending whatever Star Destroyers, Avengers, and Marauders they have to the front."
"Scraping the bottom of the barrel," Chin assessed perfectly, finishing his fruit.
"And it's stupid," the Claw sighed. "They would have been better off falling back to one line, Brentaal IV, and holding it with everything they had, building up reserves in the rear. But they act like their own worst enemies — stripping the rear and throwing everything they've got at the front. Looks like Kaine was the only one among them who understood anything about military strategy. If the front collapses — and all signs point that way — what's going to stop Fey'lya from storming Alignment territory next?"
"Don't look at me," Chin said. "I'm not as sharp as you, boss."
You just underestimate yourself, the smuggler leader thought to himself.
Chin has leadership potential.
If Karrde had more resources, he'd have made Chin a branch commander for sure.
But that's the problem.
"Any news?" Karrde asked, not looking away from the monitor where lines of decrypted text scrolled.
Plus a visual: a star chart and accompanying text.
The guys had flown to Hijarna to deliver their reports on the situation in the conflict between the Alignment and the New Republic.
After that, they'd head out on new missions, with the next rendezvous location delivered by couriers.
The intersector communication paralysis had disrupted too many big plans and slowed communication between Karrde's organization members.
As a result, some information went obsolete before it even reached the recipient.
"There's practically no one willing to meet," Chin replied. "They plead busy, say they're in other parts of the galaxy. A couple flat-out refusals because they're working for the Alliance."
"Expected and predictable," Karrde said — he hadn't doubted things would never be the same.
His organization members had learned too much about him, things he'd preferred to keep to himself.
And now the number of those willing to cooperate had shrunk.
He could still manage to keep his ordinary helpers on the line, but reaching out to more reputable colleagues in the trade? No longer.
Trust was gone.
Karrde's organization, which had once covered a massive swath of the galaxy, had shattered into pieces.
Now it was a picked-clean skeleton, the remains of a once-hulking giant with some fat on its bones.
But as long as the Alliance didn't realize that, he was still operational.
Rebuilding the organization wasn't new to him.
He'd managed before, he'd manage now.
In the end, his organization wouldn't be left without money.
Even if the Alliance delayed the cash transfer again and he had to move funds from other profitable enterprises to cover payroll, he wouldn't go broke.
After all, the Alliance leaders always had their conscience right beside them — Leia Organa-Solo.
If they decided not to pay, he'd work through her.
"Anything else?" Talon asked, seeing that Chin wasn't leaving.
"One person did make contact after all," the assistant admitted reluctantly.
"Just one," the Claw snorted. "Not much. But better than nothing. Who?"
"Ro'Amond. One of the guys was on Poderis and met that scumbag there. He asked to get in touch with him. Says he has some information that might interest you."
Chin said it all like he was spitting.
And it was hard to blame him.
"What frequency is he on?"
"Channel Seven," Chin said. "I think I'd better go."
"Get our things packed," Karrde ordered. "We're not staying here long."
"Will do, boss."
Chin's reluctance to deal with Ro'Amond was completely understandable.
The Iridonian Zabrak ran his own smuggling outfit, and dabbled in information brokering on the side.
In the past, they'd worked together productively.
Ro'Amond commanded a decently strong but small (by the standards of Karrde's old organization) outfit that flew heavily-modified Corellian corvettes and frigates.
Up until Karrde's disappearance and his captivity under Grand Admiral Thrawn, that is.
During that time, he'd scooped up several of Karrde's former partners into his own organization, taken over a chunk of his business.
And, naturally, expanded his own reach.
It wasn't clear what purpose he had in responding to Karrde's offer of cooperation at all.
But the fact that he could contact the Claw meant the Zabrak was somewhere in the Orus sector.
A coincidence?
Unlikely.
So someone had tipped him off about Karrde's temporary hideout.
And that was less good than it could be.
Either way, Talon hadn't planned on staying here long.
Tuning the holotransmitter to the right channel, Karrde saw a projection of Ro'Amond form before him.
Ro'Amond.
"Claw," the smuggler greeted the information broker with a grin. "Didn't know you'd decided to set up shop in the Orus sector too. Not afraid of the Imperial Space patrols? Getting brave under the Republic Alliance's wing?"
Since Mon Mothma and her allies had failed to come up with a better name for their state than just "Alliance," the galaxy had taken to mocking it in every way imaginable.
"The Alliance to Restore the Republic 2.0."
"The Alliance Against Bothans."
"The Alliance of Dissidents."
"The Republic Alliance."
"The Alliance of Radicals."
"The Rebel Alliance."
And a good two dozen other, punchier but less pleasant and printable names.
"What do you want, Ro'Amond?" Karrde asked.
"Well, I had an unpleasant situation come up," the Zabrak grimaced. "I decided to make a few extra credits..."
Which was already pretty funny.
"Making a few extra credits" in Ro's understanding meant at least the cost of a starfighter.
Which meant he had a pretty serious employer.
And a solvent one.
You could count those in the galaxy on the head-tendrils of a Nautolan.
And nearly all of them wouldn't have minded dealing with Karrde himself.
"You need a loan or something?" the Claw asked.
Usually, Ro's desire to earn "a few extra credits" ended up in a "double-cross," where he'd take his client's money (if he managed to) surrounded by his own thugs.
Or by pointing his ship's guns at the client.
It seemed the only client who hadn't tried to screw him was the Corellian Diktat, for whom he'd unsuccessfully investigated the theft of their ships right off the Corellian shipyards.
On that job, he'd squeezed some bigwig Corellian official for a couple of decommissioned CR90s and DP20s as payment.
Which they'd demanded back after a few weeks of fruitless searching.
Which made sense — four starships were a pretty expensive hobby, after all.
Wonder how much he paid that official to make him give up the ships.
Even if they were decommissioned and needing repairs, the Diktat was arming itself with whatever it could get its hands on right now.
Besides building new ships, they were also successfully modernizing old ones sitting in boneyards or condemned to the scrap heap.
It seemed Corellia was the only state in the galaxy (except maybe Tapani) building its fleet entirely from ships designed on its own boards, built in its own yards, from its own resources.
If it weren't for the Diktat's tyranny, Corellia could be held up as an example to every other state.
In the short time of its "independence," the Diktat had pulled itself together pretty quickly on a self-sufficient production base.
Ro, who'd never managed to get on the tail of the Corellian ship thieves, rightly figuring that "if you don't screw the client, you're no smuggler," waved goodbye to the Diktat and skillfully buggered off into the sunset.
Along with the ships.
Frankly, it was the possession of such impressive forces that allowed the Iridonian to muscle in on some of Karrde's business while the Claw was "resting" in Thrawn's captivity.
"Uh-uh," the Zabrak smuggler drawled. "Had my ship stolen. Right on Poderis."
"The Empire hasn't stopped being dangerous," Karrde shrugged. "The Orus sector is Imperial Space territory. What did you expect, flying around in armed Corellian warships?"
"The Imperials aren't the threat for us," the Zabrak replied indifferently. "Since they tied up with the Alliance, they don't even look our way. They don't care if we prowl around the Orus sector. They've got much bigger headaches of their own. Heard the New Republic's gone on the counteroffensive?"
"Yeah, I've heard the rumors."
Ro was clearly circling toward something.
Interesting.
He hadn't been one for this kind of thing in the past.
"And not too long ago, the Alliance grabbed Contruum and Gizer," Ro'Amond continued in a matter-of-fact tone.
That the Alliance had gone on the offensive was big, unexpected news for Talon.
The kind you never guessed, heard, or expected, even though you had people working for the Alliance.
People hauling their cargo.
Equipment.
People.
And how the hell was it that he wasn't in the loop about Bel Iblis's actions on this front?
What about all the stories about ship shortages?
What about the preparation for such operations?
You can't launch an attack without solid, hard work from the logistics chain beforehand.
And Karrde's guys were part of that logistics system.
Now, apparently, they weren't.
Sad.
So the trust issue was getting sharper.
Fine. Noted.
"You contacted me just to tell me this?" Karrde asked.
"Actually, to ask for help getting off Poderis," Ro'Amond said, completely unfazed. "Like I said — I lost my ship. And I'd be really grateful if you could give me a lift to one particular place."
"Just one place?" Karrde raised an eyebrow.
"Yep," the Zabrak grinned. "My guys are too far away and I've got no contact with them. You know how it is — looking for transport to Alliance space in a sector controlled by Imperial Space isn't the brightest idea. Not if you want to keep on living, anyway."
Why would a smuggler who took jobs from anyone willing to pay absolutely need to get to Alliance territory?
And by direct route?
What's stopping him from hiring a carrier to a meeting point with his ships, or to the nearest place where he could contact them, and then flying to the Alliance if he's that desperate?
Something wasn't right.
"Happy to help," Karrde said without showing any interest, "but there's a catch. I'm not planning on flying to the Alliance anytime soon. And travel expenses need to be covered. I doubt you have the cash on you to reimburse me."
The Zabrak sniffed.
Poderis wasn't the biggest backwater in the galaxy or the Orus sector specifically, but ships did pass through there now and then. Not as often as in the whole sector, but still.
"How much do you want for the lift?" Ro'Amond asked, eyeing the Claw suspiciously.
After all, he had some idea what a trip like that would cost.
Which explained the attitude.
"Twenty thousand," Karrde said calmly.
"Highway robbery," the Zabrak blurted.
"Well then, happy autumn season on Poderis," the Claw wished the Zabrak in the same tone. "If you ask nicely, I can recommend a decent hotel."
Poderis was a backwater world, whose colonists clung on through sheer grit and stubbornness, with a disorienting ten-hour workday and an almost perpendicular axial tilt that brought hurricane-force winds in spring and autumn.
Its surface consisted of enormous mountain ranges rising from the planet's oceans, where colonists lived behind the protective screen of huge windbreak barriers.
Barriers made by the local settlers from metal suitable for starship hull plating.
In fact, that was why smugglers frequently visited for cheap, minor repairs.
But the presence of Imperial Space corvettes in the sector had cooled down most transient visitors.
And being a non-local there during that time of year...
Least of all comfortable.
Karrde, however, had his own interests and contacts there.
Not as plentiful as before, but still.
"What do you want, Karrde?" the Zabrak gave in. "You didn't just quote me four times the actual cost for no reason."
Karrde shook his head skeptically.
"I want to know exactly how you lost your ship on Poderis," he said, a lazy edge to his voice. "In detail. If the story's worth it, then fine — I'll send one of my guys to pick you up. They'll drop you in Alliance space. And if it's something really important — I'll take you right to Dac myself. I'll decide that."
Ro had a fairly strong organization.
They didn't take just anyone, but they had a minimum crew plus a few gunmen on every ship.
And if someone had taken a whole corvette from him...
That meant some hotshot had managed to outsmart a dozen sentients, including Ro himself.
And the latter wasn't exactly known for excessive trust, faith in sentients, or naivety.
So the story was clearly no simple thing.
And after it, the Zabrak decided to fly straight to the Alliance?
Something extremely interesting had happened on Poderis.
And practically under Karrde's nose, since his guys, who'd been there, hadn't gotten caught up in it and had offloaded peacefully.
The Zabrak shot him a quick glance.
"Aren't you asking for a bit much, Karrde?"
"No. What's the matter?"
"You're sticking your nose into my business, actually."
So losing the ship was linked to his current job.
Pretty interesting.
A mission to some backwater planet that imported food, medical supplies and equipment, and high tech.
Connected to a well-paying client.
And it ended with him losing a ship.
Ro could have lost money, men, cargo — but a starship, and the flagship of his outfit at that...
No. Clearly something interesting had happened on Poderis.
Considering the current political climate — something immensely important.
"If you'd rather stay, then..."
"Fine," Ro hissed through his teeth. "A Jedi took my ship."
Karrde's lips twisted.
"What, Luke Skywalker in person? Decided to trade his X-wing for something bigger and more comfortable?"
The Zabrak's face twisted into a grimace.
"No, not that blessed, exalted weirdo, little brother to the princess of the cracked marble. Another one."
Karrde turned his back to the display.
He didn't want his "business associate" to see the shock and confusion on his face.
It took him a few seconds to compose himself.
"There aren't that many Jedi in the galaxy, Ro," Talon said. "I want the whole story."
The Zabrak shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.
"Karrde, this is..."
"Good luck, Ro. Hope you find a ride..."
"Hutt take you for a wife, Claw!" the Zabrak snapped. "That's too far!"
"Everything has a price. You agreed to it."
The Zabrak's jaw muscles worked.
Finally, he gave in.
As Talon had assumed, the Zabrak's situation required a very quick solution.
He was clearly itching to get back to the Alliance.
"Like I said, I took the job for the credits," he said reluctantly.
"For who?"
"There's this guy in the Alliance... handles shipping. Said I needed to pick something up from a mechanic on Poderis. So I flew in, figured I'd get my own bucket fixed while they gathered the cargo. A week's delay — nothing, when they can fix your engines cheap..."
"Go on."
"While the guys were resting, the mechanic working on my ship swiped it."
"You said it was a Jedi."
"So he was one! Or do you think I'd leave a starship unattended? Disarmed my guys with his lightsaber, sliced a couple of 'em open like tin cans, took the ship, and vanished."
Sounded insane.
Why would a Jedi steal someone else's ship?
"Hard to believe those famous keepers of the peace would steal a ship from an honest smuggler."
"Yeah, and take the cargo I was supposed to deliver to the client in the Alliance! Now I want to fly to him and ask what the hell happened and what kind of shit he dragged me into."
Hypothetically possible.
The galaxy was full of coincidences.
"And who recommended this mechanic — the one who turned out to be a Jedi?" Karrde asked.
The story had too many "blank spots" to be believed at face value.
"The client, of course. He said: 'Fly to Poderis, pick up the cargo from the mechanic. Tell him a few things from me, and bring me the containers.' Now — no cargo, no ship, no payment... Just questions and a big urge to punch the client in the face, because I can smell a setup."
Or what you're telling me is a setup.
"Alright, let's say I believe that," Karrde pretended. "What were you supposed to tell the mechanic? Must have been some Gamorrean curse, if he decided to steal your ship."
"Nothing like that," Ro'Amond shrugged. "Some nonsense. 'It's time to rebuild the Order. The Alliance needs you.' Looked like they were trying to recruit the mechanic..."
No, these modern kids — and Ro was barely thirty standard — just didn't know that Jedi used to be in an Order, not a home-detective interest club.
"What was the mechanic's name?" Karrde asked.
"How should I know? I don't introduce myself by first and last name to every random mechanic..."
"Fine. Do you at least know the client?"
"Of course. Not my first time working for him. And this is the first time something like this has happened..."
"The client's name."
"Jen Strang. Former Imperial employee. Handles freight shipping now..."
"Is that so," Karrde said slowly. "Well then. I'll send someone to pick you up shortly."
"Listen, time is of the essence. I don't want her to take off somewhere. Maybe this mechanic stole the ship for her... Better come yourself. I've already wasted enough time, and you've got one of the fastest buckets in the galaxy."
"Sorry, Ro, but your story wasn't impressive enough for me to drop everything," Karrde smiled, cutting the holoprojector.
"Chin," he contacted his assistant via comlink. "Send someone to pick up Ro from Poderis. But first — let them finish their current missions."
"Alright, boss. Will do."
Turning off the comm, Karrde drummed his fingers on the computer panel.
Jen Strang, huh?
A sloppy operation, he had to admit.
The Claw would have expected a much more subtle style of covert recruitment from Kyle Katarn personally.
And using his girlfriend, Jan Ors, under an old alias as the source of Ro's assignment...
And trying to recruit a Jedi — who knew how long he'd been hiding from the Empire — in such an obviously half-baked way... It was hardly impressive.
Too crude.
Too stupid.
And too easy for Ro to decide to tell him all this.
If this operation was real, and there really was a Jedi on Poderis all this time who didn't like being recruited into the Alliance, then it was clear why Iblis didn't trust him.
With intelligence agents like this, who needed enemies?
Whether this really happened, or whether Ro made the whole thing up for his own — or someone else's — purposes, Karrde wasn't about to drop his main work.
Even if Ro was telling the truth and the Alliance had decided to rebuild the Jedi Order under its wing, it all looked incredibly amateurish.
Despite all his assumptions, after a blast in the refresher, the situation hadn't become any clearer or less awkward.
* * *
Mara thanked the Force that someone had thought to equip the Grand Admiral's quarters with a kitchenette — at least here she could hide from Thrawn's company.
She needed to clear her head.
And figure out how far her girlish desire to outshine rivals like the Baroness D'Asta and surpass the Snow Queen's clone had gone.
The girl, wrapped in a soft bathrobe, ignoring her still-damp hair, stared at her caf cup in silent stupor.
AND WHAT IN ALL THE HUTT HELLS HAD SHE DONE⁉
She wished someone could answer that for her.
But no such luck...
She'd waded in up to her neck, and now she had to swim out herself.
So-o-o, where did it all start⁈
It started with the fact that, despite her failures, Thrawn hadn't ordered her thrown out an airlock, hadn't tied her to his flagship's antenna while underway, and hadn't even subjected her to overbearing, brain-soaking educational discipline.
He gave her a second chance.
Then another...
Which she'd first met with disbelief.
Then suspicion.
And then, after her "training" with Maul, she'd become convinced that Thrawn valued her more than he let on.
His behavior toward her just didn't line up with the profile she'd managed to piece together from stories about the Empire's thirteenth Grand Admiral.
Cold, hardened schemer, tactician, strategist — someone who spent every waking moment studying his enemy and crafting the most efficient plan to destroy them.
But now though…
After recruiting her with a well-reasoned explanation that she'd been used by Palpatine, he hadn't even blinked when she suggested destroying Palpatine's work.
That Hutt autobiography of his, where he explained how easily and effortlessly he manipulated the entire galaxy.
Even though she'd already understood back then — Thrawn was building his own deck of Force-sensitive beings.
And Sidious's writings were, after all, a source of information and knowledge that could be used to train the gifted without chasing after Jedi legends and artifacts.
If anyone, the Emperor was clearly a powerful being with more than one or two trump cards up his sleeve.
Not to mention that the pages of Palpatine's book contained information about aristocrats, officials, and senators he'd bribed or intimidated…
All of that could have been used to bring the New Republic — and the Empire, for that matter — to its knees.
Excellent kompromat.
And Thrawn just burned it…
Mara remembered that she'd nearly thrown herself at his neck and kissed him right then, out of gratitude.
Because any power-hungry person would have preferred to keep such a source of information close.
But Thrawn destroyed it.
At her request.
And that made him rise in her eyes from a "simple but brilliant soldier" to a "leader who wouldn't walk over corpses."
Pushing out of her mind the place that had once been occupied by the Emperor — embellished beyond belief by her own imagination.
He'd prepared her for the fight against Luke Skywalker to free her from the Emperor's obsessive mental command.
He'd returned her to the role of Hand — personal secret agent.
And sent her on missions vital to the Dominion.
Not to investigate corruption or rebel cell activity on the galaxy's outskirts.
He gave her a second chance…
More than once.
All of it together formed an image in her mind of a woman who mattered to the Grand Admiral as more than just a subordinate.
A young woman's fantasy painted pictures of the past, when she'd first met Thrawn during the Empire's time.
She'd comforted herself with the hope that the dashing warrior had fallen in love with the Emperor's best dancer — as Palpatine had presented her back then.
It was at a ceremony created for Thrawn's secret promotion to Grand Admiral.
It was in that secret part that Palpatine told the Chiss who she really was.
Why did he do that?
Few in the Palace knew who she was.
Could it be that Palpatine had noticed Thrawn's interest in Mara even back then, and so revealed her position as the Emperor's personal agent to discourage the newly minted Grand Admiral from taking her away?
After all, rumors said that the Grand Admiral Demetrius Zaarin — destroyed by Thrawn — had gotten tangled up with one of the women close to the Emperor.
Now Mara knew the conversation was about another Hand, but back then, when there was more lies than truth in the Palace…
If the Emperor truly valued Thrawn so highly, he could have simply given Mara to him in service, as he'd done by giving Sarcev Quest one of his Hands, Roganda Ismarek.
But he didn't.
Mara grabbed her mug of caf and took a big gulp.
Her head was about to explode.
Past and present were literally tearing her to pieces.
And everything revolved around one simple thought:
"What have I done?"
She brought the mug to her lips and took a sip.
And another.
Could she blame it all on the hunting instinct of a woman who'd been shown that she wasn't just a servant at the table of galactic politics, and had been practically handed one of the three Dominion Super Star Destroyers with a note on the ribbon saying: "Thanks for your service. Best regards. Thrawn."?
Could she shuffle her feet, bat her eyelashes, and repeat: "I'm not stupid, it's just why am I worse than those floozies who throw themselves at you?"
Could she lift her head proudly and say: "I felt I was in a special position. And now — I certainly am."
Mara took a sip of caf.
But then she'd have to shuffle her feet and quietly add: "Well yeah, I suspect it might not be true, but I really want to believe I'm the one and only, so I'm closing my eyes to the facts and…"
No, she'd still have to convince everyone she wasn't an idiot.
Well, of course, she could tell her girlfriends a story about how she was a predator, a heartbreaker, that she'd stolen the Grand Admiral's heart, and that's why the icy rock of indifference and calculation couldn't resist…
Only she didn't have any girlfriends.
Unless you could loosely call Tano that, but she was hell knows where right now…
In short, all around her was nothing but hopelessness and uncertainty.
Mara tilted the mug for another sip.
And realized the caf was gone.
Great…
No girlfriends, no caf…
But on the plus side, she had something best not blabbed about at every step — no one would believe it was possible anyway.
She'd once heard a joke that Thrawn had only one hobby: war and how to turn it into a work of art.
Well, honestly, even Palpatine was rumored to have had little romances…
Mara set the mug of caf aside.
The porcelain cup clinked softly as it bumped into five others just like it.
"Need to wash those," Mara thought.
Oh, thank goodness he'd left by the time she woke up the second time.
Otherwise it would have been really awkward.
Like, maximally awkward.
And she had to go and wake up the first time like an idiot and go looking for him.
Well, at least now she knew two more things Grand Admiral Thrawn was very, very good at.
Besides planning wars and contemplating art to understand his enemies.
"What were you even thinking?!" Mara slapped herself across the face in anger at herself.
What if everything that happened ruined it?
She was perfectly fine with Thrawn patiently putting up with her rather typical flirtations — and she'd even worked up the nerve for those after he caught her coming out of the shower in her quarters.
But this…
What did she even expect after deciding on such a bold move as what happened?
Tough question…
Actually, she intended to have the promised conversation.
And then her brain shut off when she realized everyone else had been sent away, but she wasn't.
Or did the lessons in Twi'lek dancing and provocative behavior — which she'd learned before being sent on that mission to Jabba, when she was supposed to kill Skywalker before he rescued Captain Solo from carbonite — kick in?
Oh, the Force, what now…
Best case — Thrawn would pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened.
Well… a slight exceeding of job duties, nothing more.
Worst case — she'd see the Grand Admiral sending her on some trivial missions, having Rukh bring her bouquets of flowers and tons of chocolate, jewelry, and lightsaber crystals…
Oh…
Rukh…
How could she have forgotten about the Noghri?
She hadn't seen him this morning.
And how much had the bodyguard seen yesterday? He traditionally hid in the shadows near Thrawn…
Mara buried her face in her hands, feeling her cheeks burn, and let out a scream at the top of her lungs.
What a mess to get herself into…
She dropped her arms onto the counter and her head onto her arms.
She wanted to cry and laugh from despair.
Well, trouble never comes alone.
And what was she supposed to do with all of this now?
What would her relationship with Thrawn become?
What would people in the crew say about her if the bodyguard couldn't keep his mouth shut?
What if Tierce or Pellaeon found out she hadn't slept in her quarters?
And the first would definitely find out, because the guards patrolled the corridors of senior command living quarters.
And Mara's quarters were among them…
Oh, for crying out loud…
"You've really done it now," Mara said in a doomed voice, feeling a burning desire to burst into tears.
Or jump out an airlock.
Yeah, while the Guardian was in hyperspace.
No, that wouldn't work…
They'd start spreading rumors, like there was an omen: "Fall in love with Thrawn and die"…
Wonderful.
Now she couldn't even commit suicide without someone among those who knew concocting some nasty theory about how it was connected to Thrawn and last night…
"Well, that's it," she mumbled into the counter. "Time to pack my things, wait for a shuttle to some planet with a nunnery, repent for my sins…"
No, everything had been very, very good!
So good she hadn't even thought that…
But the consequences…
Not that she'd taken this path out of some sporting interest.
Thrawn really was pleasant to her as a man, as a commander who valued and respected her…
But judging by his behavior this morning, he hadn't known what to do with her either.
Whether to strangle her or drown her.
But honestly, the worst thing would be if Thrawn started making mistakes, acting less effectively, because of what happened…
Mara suspected that the slip-ups he'd had recently might be somehow connected to the fact that…
Well, in short, with another lady who'd also been promised a Super Star Destroyer.
And now she'd invited herself along too…
And thrown herself at him.
More than once.
Maybe she should run away, huh?
Or drown herself in the drinking water tank?
Oh, what had she done…
"Something hurt, Hand?" a meowing voice sounded almost right in her ear — a Noghri's.
Mara jumped up like she'd been scalded, pushing off with her feet and hitting the back of her head on a kitchen cabinet.
Judging by the fact that Rukh was on the countertop of the kitchen set across the table from her, he was a lot more agile than she was.
"Put the knife away," Mara said, grabbing a frying pan as a weapon, keeping her eyes on the bodyguard's obsidian blade. "Did Thrawn send you to kill me?"
She took a step toward him to be ready for close-quarters combat if needed.
"Why would our master kill you, woman?" For the first time, she heard a grumble in the bodyguard's voice as he jumped off the counter and sat unsteadily on the nearest chair.
"Then why were you pointing that knife at me?"
"And why do you jump like that?"
"And why do you sneak up on me?"
"And why are you whimpering on the table?"
"And why aren't you with Thrawn?"
"And why aren't you?"
Mara stared into the Noghri's eyes, and he stared into hers.
"Fine, I overreacted, sorry," she admitted reluctantly, setting the frying pan aside.
Speaking of.
"Why is the kitchenware on the counter and not in the cabinet?" she asked the bodyguard.
"Our master was cooking," Rukh said.
Mara felt her eye twitch.
"What?" she asked carefully.
"Products. Cutting. Boiling. Frying. Eating."
Rukh accompanied each clarification with characteristic gestures.
"Hey, I speak Basic!" Mara protested.
"Then why didn't you understand the first time?" the bodyguard asked, offended.
"I'm in shock that he knows how to do that," Jade admitted, looking around the kitchen.
No, seriously!
How out of it had she been that she hadn't realized — they actually cooked food here, it wasn't just part of the interior to have a place to make caf.
"He does it well," Rukh said unexpectedly. "Smells tasty. Cooks meat deliciously on coals — the master treated me once."
So, Thrawn knew how to grill meat…
Meaning he could not only roast enemies and one arrogant subordinate, but also animal meat…
"I'm in shock," Mara said, sinking onto a chair and propping her head up with her hands. "Is this really Thrawn?"
"I'd cut out your tongue for those words," the Noghri grumbled, starting to scan the countertop. "You speak ill of our master! You can't do that! A mortal sin for a Noghri!"
"I… I didn't know he was like that. I thought he was just a soldier through and through…" Mara tried to justify herself.
"Our master changed greatly when he stopped serving the Empire, realized what evil it was, and opened our eyes," Rukh said. "He became better. Not as cold as before."
"That's true…" Mara said absently. "And… What are you doing here anyway?"
"Came for caf," Rukh said, glancing at the pile of used mugs. "Did you drink it all? Why so many mugs?"
"Well," Mara felt a pang of guilt. "I sort of did it mechanically…"
"Bad," Rukh frowned. "Our master doesn't like dirt. Need to wash. Dry. Clean up."
"Maybe I should make him some soup for lunch too?" Jade protested, feeling reproach in Rukh's words.
"A woman helps a man, not causes problems," was now a direct accusation.
Meeting his eyes, Mara looked away, adjusting her robe collar.
"Rukh, about last night…"
The Noghri jumped aside, pulling out his knife again.
"Don't you dare undress again, woman! Rukh must not look at his master's female!"
"Hey! You little pest!" Mara protested. "I wasn't going to! I just wanted to ask you not to tell anyone…"
"Rukh doesn't gossip," the Noghri said, offended, putting away his knife. "I just have a headache. My brother-by-blade said caf was needed. Our master allows me to drink his caf. Good caf. Invigorating. Clears the head."
"It didn't help me," Mara admitted. "I… I just don't know how to act anymore… Well, you know, after what happened."
"I know," the Noghri turned his back to her and started rummaging through the cabinets. "There should be another pack of caf. Here it is."
He turned to the Hand with a sealed package of caf.
"I'm at a loss," Mara admitted. "I… I don't know how to act anymore, after what happened."
Rukh was silent for a few seconds.
Then he said reluctantly:
"When they train young Death Commandos on Honoghr, the mentors teach: 'If you don't know what to do — do what you did before.'"
"That's some crooked wisdom," Mara said.
Then she brightened.
"Rukh, you're a genius!" she exclaimed, rushing to the Noghri to hug him. "I'll act like before!"
"Get away, crazy female!" the Noghri yelled, diving away from her embrace like a fish. "Don't touch me! Rukh doesn't hug! Don't hug me! Rukh can't drink that much again!"