Ten years, four months, and three days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fifth year, fourth month, and third day after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year and eighteenth day since the Arrival.)
The man was convulsing.
The spacious room, lit by an intrusive white glow reminiscent of sterility, was filled with the crackle of lightning and the screams of one who did not know how to heed the voice of reason.
Silri, standing in the oval doorway, watched as yet another Imperial Inquisitor screamed in pain and begged for mercy.
It was not the first time she had seen such a scene.
And she found it amusing.
All according to the standard pattern.
First — a dismissive attitude towards the offer, a complete refusal to cooperate.
Then — anger from realizing their own vulnerable position.
Next, they offer to negotiate, to help their patron split the galaxy with the "Syndicate."
They talk about how powerful Darth Sidious is.
What vast armies the Emperor has.
How easily he could destroy them all.
But if they specifically release this Inquisitor, he will do everything to make the owner of Kamino and the Sith on Byss become friends.
And then they break when the torture begins.
Their own ego shatters before an irresistible force, a power they cannot comprehend.
Ancient knowledge and a mind that no Sith of the present or recent past has ever dreamed of.
The Inquisitors realize their worthlessness.
And under torture, they agree to change masters.
They swear loyalty.
But the torture continues.
Time and again, he breaks them.
Honestly, Silri didn't quite understand why he kept grinding the Inquisitors into the dirt.
In her opinion, it was enough, after days of torture, to demonstrate his power to these renegades so they would serve the new master.
But the Sith did not stop his torture.
When the tall figure finally lowered his hands and the blue-white streams of Force Lightning stopped tormenting the Imperial Inquisitor, she couldn't hold back a smile, watching the uncontrolled muscle spasms.
"I'm busy, Silri," came the voice of the torturer, who turned his head towards her.
"I have news, Darth Ziilenlos," the Dathomirian witch chuckled, approaching the ancient Sith.
"Baritha betrayed us," he said hollowly, turning his head towards the Inquisitor writhing on the floor, whose body was still coursing with discharges of Force Lightning.
Nothing to be surprised about, really.
"Yes, she and her followers did not return from the meeting with the Dominion's envoys," Silri confirmed, walking up to the Sith and standing to his right.
The witch was beaming, feeling the suffering of the Inquisitor lying on the floor.
One of those who supposedly joined her "Syndicate" of their own free will and inspiration.
Everyone's legends were different.
Some — for the search of power.
Some — for authority.
Some — by the will of the Force.
Some simply needed allies to kill on the side of the strong.
A dozen individuals — different ages, races, genders.
But in reality, each of them was just one of the Emperor's spies.
Who intended to destroy her organization.
Or seize it from within, eliminating the leadership.
Bit by bit, the information about the true intentions of the Sith from the Deep Core was becoming more and more complete.
They infiltrated and observed.
They studied and gathered information.
To pass it on to their master.
And he would surely find a way to use the data on the defenses of Kamino and Rothana to his advantage.
There's no need to even ask what goals Palpatine is pursuing.
A planet where millions of clones can be produced.
Shipyards, though damaged a decade ago during Tyber Zann's operation and the Kuatis' flight from Rothana, but still capable of producing warships.
"Baritha did not return from the meeting," repeated Darth Ziilenlos. "As I predicted."
Darth Ziilenlos.
Art taken from free internet search, authorship indicated on the image itself.
His battle armor is darkness itself, an embodiment of ancient power, vaguely reminiscent of the armor worn by Darth Vader.
Rumor has it the latter was based on the design of an ancient Sith war droid.
Sometimes Silri wondered — what was created first in galactic history?
That war droid, or Darth Ziilenlos's armor, but history hasn't preserved mentions of it for objective reasons?
The ancient Sith himself was in no hurry to clarify the situation.
Darth Ziilenlos's battle armor.
But now he was in a simpler form.
Silri looked at the man, clad in robes of various shades of red.
It seemed as if he had bathed in blood.
And, honestly, she suspected that the ancient Sith had never actually done that before.
She knew too little about his past, but enough to understand she had a truly powerful ally.
Darth Ziilenlos looked like an average middle-aged aristocratic man.
But in reality, he was almost four thousand years old.
He was born before the Mandalorian Wars, which raged almost four thousand years ago.
He was a Jedi who was taken prisoner by the Mandalorians and subjected to the inhuman experiments of their butcher, known as Doctor Demagol.
He fell to the Dark Side and was one of the generals in Revan's Empire, and after the latter's death, became another student of Darth Malak, heir to Darth Revan.
All of this is history of long ago.
The galaxy has seen much since then.
But all of it remained beyond the attention of Darth Ziilenlos and the fifty thousand of his soldiers, frozen in carbonite on a distant asteroid.
As Ziilenlos himself told, he once slaughtered all the Mandalorians on that piece of rock, capturing it for his own needs.
He built his own base there for an unforeseen contingency.
And that contingency came when Darth Malak was defeated and his empire began to crumble.
Ziilenlos took his army to the asteroid and froze them all in carbonite to wait out the power struggle and return when it was time to build a true Sith Empire.
This was to be done by his servant-apprentice, to whom he gave the holocron-key with the map to the army's prison.
But something went wrong.
And instead of a few decades of sleep — the maximum Ziilenlos had counted on — he and his people spent almost four thousand years in carbonite, until Silri found them and freed them.
Now they serve her.
True, of the army of two hundred thousand veteran soldiers, only a quarter survived the carbonite freezing.
The ships that were supposed to be waiting for their return, docked to the asteroid, had turned into flying relics, with which she barely managed to seize control of Kamino and Rothana.
While Tyber Zann fought the Empire and the Alliance, she seized the opportunity and took the "sweetest" pieces of his criminal empire.
And now she was doing everything to expand her sphere of influence over the galaxy.
The knowledge and experience of a battle general, for whom the war had literally ended "yesterday," were more useful than ever.
A powerful Sith.
A talented warlord.
A fearless warrior.
An outright sadist who, with undisguised pleasure, hunted Mandalorian mercenaries, killing them one by one in the most brutal way he could devise.
What more could a Dathomirian witch need for happiness?
Only control over everything she could reach.
"You should have destroyed them immediately," she reminded him of her suggestion. "Now the Dominion has allies from among the Night Sisters."
"They are nothing," Ziilenlos's voice made you literally tremble from the Force waves emanating from him. "Too stupid to understand how things really are."
"I doubt they won't be killed on sight," Silri admitted, looking at the whimpering Inquisitor, whose clothes were smoking. "If the Dominion is not inclined to cooperate..."
"If they had agreed to the alliance you proposed, there would be more problems," the ancient Sith cut her off. "I did everything to make them want to destroy us without the slightest delay."
Hard to argue with that.
The Dathomirian, carrying in her horns a potent neuroparalytic poison and a transmitter for detonating false cloning cylinders.
The attack on Kessel...
"I still think that..." Silri began.
"Don't think," he looked at her with his bright yellow eyes. "I've planned everything for you."
That's what worries me, Silri thought.
Honestly, she was starting to wonder if the ancient Sith had gone mad.
On one hand, he is doing everything to anger the Dominion and attract their attention.
Poisons their command.
Blows up their cloning cylinders.
And then — through her, offers an alliance to the Dominion.
Does not prevent Baritha and her allies from escaping.
And all... for what?
The Sith claims all this is necessary for capturing the Dominion.
That in any scenario, no matter how events unfold, the Dominion will end up looking foolish.
Agree to the alliance — they'll bring their specialists here, who will be cloned along with the transferred ysalamiri.
And those clones will both replenish the "Syndicate's" army and become spies in the Dominion's rear, to follow orders overnight and destroy the Imperials from within, handing over all their property to the organization.
But Silri didn't understand the situation with Baritha's escape.
"She knows too much about us," the witch said, reminding him that her countrywoman was a witch who knew a great deal about the defensive capabilities of Kamino and Rothana.
Not to mention the number of available troops and ships on both key planets.
"Exactly," agreed Darth Ziilenlos. "That is the basis for calculating the Dominion's actions. They will use the information Baritha and her followers provided them."
Silri felt a spring of displeasure with her ally's actions tightening inside her.
"So everything you did before was nothing more than smoke and mirrors?" she clarified.
The Sith was silent.
He watched the Inquisitor get to his feet, his gaze burning with rage as he looked at his tormentor.
"It's preparation," explained Darth Ziilenlos. "We misinform and disorient the enemy."
Or you've just gone crazy, Silri thought.
She considered that the Inquisitors destroyed by Ziilenlos could have become her elite soldiers.
Instead, they were incinerated by his insane rage...
"Your thoughts betray you," Ziilenlos puzzled her with his words, giving his ally a pointed look. "That's not what I taught you."
"You taught me to trust no one," the Dathomirian witch snorted.
"Correct," a crooked smirk appeared on the ancient Sith's lips. "But me — you can trust."
"So what's the plan?" Silri asked.
"To feed them disinformation," the ancient Sith explained, returning his gaze to the Inquisitor barely staying on his feet. "You spent quite a lot of time with Baritha. What can you say about her ambitions?"
"That they are excessive," Silri hissed through her teeth.
"Correct," the Sith agreed. "Do you know her desires?"
"She wants to rule the Night Sisters."
A mocking, muffled exclamation came from the Sith, showing his opinion of her mental abilities.
"Her ambitions are no less than yours," he stated. "But yes, you're right. They are more realistic."
"Most of the clan obeys me," Silri declared.
"Only because I showed you how to win their loyalty," reminded Darth Ziilenlos. "You proved you are the strongest among all who are in your domain. They obediently submitted to your will. I taught them to wield lightsabers. And now you have several hundred Dathomirian witches, trained in the ways of the Dark Side. They are your personal guard, who will follow us to the end."
"Follow me," Silri corrected.
"Of course," the woman suppressed a flash of anger when she saw a little smile at the corners of his mouth. "I just misspoke. In any case — you are the leader of the 'Syndicate,' named after you."
"And it won't be for long," she reminded him. "The Rancor has recognition system transponders installed. If she transmits the data to our enemies, the minefields and gravity mines will pose no obstacle to those intending to attack Kamino and Rothana."
"That only seems so to you," objected Darth Ziilenlos. "The recognition system frequencies are easily changed."
Frequencies that hadn't been changed since the planets and their minefields came under the "Syndicate's" control.
"And we will do that as soon as they try to attack our territories," Silri's eyes lit up.
The Dominion will clearly bring all its available forces here to win in one decisive battle.
And they'll all die on the minefields.
"No," the ancient Sith stunned her with his answer.
"What do you mean?" the Dothomirian witch was taken aback. "Are you ready to let them get right to the planets?"
"No," he replied again.
"But they'll come here with all their forces! Including their super-star destroyers or dreadnoughts, whatever they have!"
"Of course they will," Darth Ziilenlos agreed. "And they will cross part of the minefield that is programmed with the old codes known to Baritha and her followers."
"And the second part will have new codes?" Silri asked incredulously.
She didn't like that plans were being woven behind her back, plans she was among the last to be told about.
It looked too much like she was being played for a fool.
"The enemy ships will fall into a 'bubble' inside the minefield," the ancient Sith explained. "As soon as that happens, we will change the codes for the entire field. Only our ships will be able to move freely there."
"You want to force the enemy ships to surrender?" clarified Silri, guessing the plan's meaning.
"Exactly," nodded Darth Ziilenlos, watching with a smile as the recovered Inquisitor pulled his lightsaber to him. "And they will have only two options — swear allegiance to us by surrendering. Or die trying to defeat their own fate in my person. Which will you choose, Inquisitor?"
With a contorted face, the latter activated his weapon and lunged at the ancient Sith.
A scarlet lightsaber blade flashed just centimeters from Silri's face — Darth Ziilenlos's blade.
The man brought it to his face, gripping the hilt with both hands and holding the weapon parallel to the floor.
The next second, he launched forward, spinning like a deadly drill.
The crimson blades clashed, showering sparks and filling the torture chamber with a hum and crackle.
A second later, having sliced the Inquisitor to pieces, Darth Ziilenlos deactivated his weapon.
Hooking the hilt onto his belt, he looked into Silri's eyes.
"Only a fool would continue fighting in such a situation," he explained. "And such fools must be destroyed."
"So that's why you kill the Imperial Inquisitors," Silri understood. "You consider them fools..."
"No," the ancient Sith refuted her logic once again. "They are idiots. And their master is no better."
"And that means..."
"Everything touched by the corrupting influence of Darth Sidious and the other Baneites must be eradicated," Darth Ziilenlos said with contempt in his voice, looking at his two soldiers in white-and-black armor dragging away pieces of the corpse. "Bring the next one."
* * *
Preparations are complete.
And now the Guardian is moving through hyperspace towards the enemy lurking in the Lur system.
The blue-white fabric of surpassing the light barrier is mesmerizing in its own way, but its monotony quickly becomes tiresome.
After a year filled with numerous jumps from one corner of the galaxy to another, you start to get used to such light variety on the bridge of a warship.
Over time, it even becomes wearying.
Behind — only the working atmosphere of the bridge watch.
Ahead — visible sections of the multi-kilometer ship's hull, upon which play reflections of light.
And inside the Guardian — tens of thousands of individuals, methodically performing their duties.
And they are all ready to plunge into battle the moment the order is given.
We were heading towards our goal and knew well that ahead awaited not only an enemy, who was most likely under the control of a mad Sith, a minion of Palpatine.
Ahead of us awaited the destruction of dozens of ships assembled from across the Dominion.
From Rukh's reaction — he was barely visible in the gloom of the bridge's emergency lighting — I understood that our uninvited guest from Kamino was approaching the central platform.
Now Rear Admiral Mor had delivered this person to the metropolis in the shortest possible time.
While her subordinates were handled by the Jensaarai and Dominion counterintelligence officers, their leader herself, after similar procedures, had been brought aboard the Guardian.
All this time, she had been in the guest quarters, awaiting a meeting and undergoing endless medical and genetic tests, as well as detailed scans.
She is not a clone, which is already good.
Her identity was confirmed by Lady Drashi, whose subordinate she had previously been.
But, besides that, Lady Baritha was also identified by Darth Maul.
There is no doubt.
It was Baritha who wanted to meet with the Dominion leadership.
From both natives of the most famous planet of the Quelli sector, I learned some very interesting details about the past of this quite remarkable Dathomirian witch.
All of this was necessary to prepare for the meeting with her after she had briefly sworn an oath in the presence of guards and ysalamiri with Vice Admiral Pellaeon shortly before the Guardian departed and the Allegiance left for its objectives.
Oddly enough, Baritha had no intention of doing any of what Drashi had pulled during our conversation.
Neither poisoning, nor blowing anything up.
Which is even more suspicious.
Then again, that last part applies only to me.
Pellaeon, on the other hand, believed that there was no trap in Baritha and her followers' defection to our side.
On the contrary, it was an indicator of a power struggle.
Well, I'm inclined to agree with him.
And disagree to the same extent.
"Oh, who would have doubted that Grand Admiral Thrawn is actually alive," the woman with ash-white skin said instead of a greeting.
She was dressed in a simple black pilot's jumpsuit with no rank insignia.
But even so, having been deprived of her traditional clothing, which, according to Darth Maul, symbolized her high position in the Night Sister clan, the witch carried herself with the dignity of an aristocrat.
Somehow, I immediately recalled Baroness D'Asta's demeanor.
And a sickly-sweet feeling settled inside.
"Glad you could join us," I said, pointing to a chair standing a couple of meters away from me behind an auxiliary console. "Have a seat. This conversation won't be a quick one."
"Oh, I didn't doubt it," the woman settled into the indicated chair with a grace befitting a member of the feline family.
Captain Pellaeon, standing at the adjacent console, just wrinkled his nose in displeasure, but kept monitoring the flagship Star Dreadnought's systems.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" she inquired. "Probably about the codes that will give your glorious victorious fleet a path to Rothana and Kamino?"
What a splendid attempt to start dictating terms in a conversation with someone you depend on.
Excellent.
So I'm in for a dialogue with a born manipulator, a master of this kind of conversational construction.
This will be interesting.
"How did you survive?" I asked.
Baritha arched a thin eyebrow in surprise—it looked like a brushstroke on her porcelain face.
"How odd," she said with a hint of irritation and confusion. "I'd have wagered you'd be interested in the key details of the
Another attempt to redirect the conversation.
"I can't say that question isn't very important to me," I didn't deny the obvious. "But first you'll answer my questions. In the order that interests me right now."
"Negotiations where each side dictates terms and doesn't listen to the opponent are doomed to fail," Baritha said, squinting in a warning tone.
"Those who try to dictate terms to me aboard my ship tend to die suddenly," I decided to clarify the situation and set priorities in advance.
"Kill me, and you'll never learn the access codes," the Dathomirian witch warned, pursing her lips.
It seemed she hadn't expected to fail at taking the lead in negotiations.
"I'll try not to forget that your information is more than three standard weeks out of date," I said, stroking the ysalamiri. "But right now, something entirely different interests me."
The little lizard, contentedly nuzzling on my lap, looked at the witch with its beady eyes and suddenly bared its teeth, opening its mouth aggressively.
How interesting.
"Looks like it's not your first time disappointing women who expect to get what they deserve from you," Baritha needled me with a smile, glancing at the ysalamiri.
The latter, as if asserting her claim on me, stretched out her little paws, settled more comfortably, and casually displayed the tiny claws at the ends.
If Mara Jade were here, it would have come to fisticuffs.
I remembered an old internet joke.
"I don't mind catfights. Under certain conditions. I have to see it and be the cause of discord. And they have to be in bikinis, fighting in a pool of fruit Jell-O."
A stupid joke.
"Your time is running out," I reminded.
"Oh, I'm sure," the witch, realizing she'd gain nothing from the tactic of dictating terms, put back on the mask of a gracious, well-bred lady. "Many on Dathomir thought I died with Gethzerion when her ship was destroyed by Zsinj's ships over Dathomir. In reality, the old hag escaped, taking a few confidantes. They 'forgot' to inform me of the departure time."
What Baritha was talking about happened just a couple of years ago.
Exactly in the eighth year after the Battle of Yavin IV, when General Solo, trying to prove to Leia (then still) Organa that he wasn't just a bum from Corellia, but a man worthy of marrying the Alderaanian princess, won an entire planet at sabbacc.
And kidnapped the princess to show her his new holdings and disrupt her marriage to the Hapan crown prince Isolder.
Shortly before that, General Solo had won the campaign known as the "Hunt for Zsinj."
And decided it was time for a little rest and to sort out his personal life.
For that purpose, he flew with the princess to the trophy planet.
Unfortunately for him, it turned out that the world he'd won in the sabbacc game was called Dathomir.
And that it was inhabited by witch tribes descended from the interbreeding of Jedi and hardened criminals, who, by the will of the Old Republic, had ended up there hundreds of years before the events being described.
To make matters worse for General Solo, it also turned out that, in the best traditions of this universe's heroes, he hadn't killed his opponent.
Warlord Zsinj, alive and well, had a base in the Dathomir system, because during the Empire, Palpatine had tasked him with maintaining a blockade over that world, knowing the danger of the Dathomirian witches.
As it happened, Solo was captured by the clan of the Night Sisters, led by a witch named Gethzerion.
She was the one Palpatine actually feared.
Which is even more interesting, really.
The thing is, I remember Gethzerion's story.
My knowledge was partially supplemented by Drashi and Maul.
And it painted a very intriguing picture.
Gethzerion came, like Baritha, from the Dathomiri clan of the Singing Mountain—a relatively peaceful association of witches.
According to the traditions of the Dathomiri clans, those who broke their laws and codes were exiled to live out their lives alone in the planet's deserts in solitude and contemplation.
At some point near the end of the Galactic Republic, Gethzerion and another sister named Baritha were banished after attempting to murder the witch-leader of the Singing Mountain clan.
The exiles began gathering other outcasts to form their own clan, which eventually became the Night Sisters.
The Night Sisters did not fear the dark arts forbidden by the ancient witches; they reveled in them and raised their daughters on the Dark Side, though they didn't understand it the way the Jedi did.
During Gethzerion's rule, many Dathomiri women were killed or captured by her clan, which grew increasingly powerful, aided by the other witches' indecisiveness in dealing with them.
Gethzerion had to fight for control over the new clan.
At one point, Gethzerion noticed that another Night Sister, Kyrisa, showed exceptional promise in her ability to control the beasts of Dathomir.
However, Kyrisa became so convinced of her own superiority that she decided to confront Gethzerion directly in combat.
During a fierce struggle for leadership, Kyrisa openly declared her intention to kill Gethzerion and take her place as leader of the entire Night Sisters clan.
But her challenge to Gethzerion failed.
And for her attempt, Gethzerion exiled Kyrisa not only from the Night Sisters but from the planet itself.
After wandering, Kyrisa ended up on the planet Hoth.
There, an Imperial Inquisitor, Namman Cha, found her and offered to make her his apprentice; she agreed.
And after the Empire's collapse, both, presumably, were embedded with Silri as feigned allies, spying on her.
Returning to the events of two years ago, it's worth noting that as they approached Dathomir, Zsinj's ships shot down the Millennium Falcon.
The Warlord, who had been blockading the planet and the witches on it, made a deal with Gethzerion: he'd give her a chance to leave the planet in exchange for capturing Solo and Organa.
The condition was met, but the arrival of Luke Skywalker, following his missing sister's trail, threw a wrench in the plans.
Gethzerion fled on a spaceship but was killed when Zsinj's Star Destroyers opened fire on his orders.
It was assumed that Gethzerion and her closest aides died with her, one of whom was Baritha.
That was stated in the Republic Intelligence dossier on the end of Warlord Zsinj's life.
But there were also other reports from individual operatives.
No one saw Baritha board the destroyed ship.
And her body wasn't found, her remains weren't identified.
Some of the Republic operatives clearly remembered this universe's golden rule: "No body means the enemy is not dead."
And they insisted that Baritha had survived, no matter what.
Well, their guesses and conclusions have been confirmed by harsh reality.
But something else matters now.
Logically, it turns out that the Night Sisters clan was created and ruled by Gethzerion until her death.
That is, for a very long time…
But the known events of the Clone Wars animated series, as well as Darth Maul's reluctant revelations, point to another name.
"Are you familiar with Mother Talzin?" I inquired.
It was she who ruled the Night Sisters in the aforementioned sources.
Given that a significant portion of the characters from the animated series, as well as the events depicted in it, have been reflected in historical chronicles, I wanted to clarify this point as well…
"Drashi has too long a tongue," Baritha hissed angrily. "There are things outsiders shouldn't know."
'So Drashi also knows about Mother Talzin, but didn't tell me,' I noted.
Maybe she simply didn't know.
She's young enough not to know such things.
Besides, as I recall, she's from a completely different clan.
"I'm waiting for an answer."
"Why do you need to know that?" Baritha flared up, not even pretending to play the restrained aristocrat. "She's dead. Dead! Cursed! And forgotten!"
"I'd wager you're also considered dead," I reminded. "The same fate didn't spare me."
Baritha looked at me as if she intended to lunge forward and tear me apart with her nails.
At my signal, Rukh materialized from the shadows.
The tip of his obsidian dagger pressed against the base of the Dathomiri native's skull.
"Answer when the Grand Admiral asks you a question, witch," the bodyguard mewed.
For a few seconds, Baritha struggled with temptation.
Then, apparently realizing that without the Force, she was alone against a Noghri, six guards, and two squads of stormtroopers, she wouldn't make it, she exhaled noisily, surrendering to the weight of circumstance.
"Talzin was one of us," every word dripped with undisguised hatred. "She became the Night Sisters' shaman. Quickly earned authority. Then, using magic, she subjugated the clan, forming an alliance with the Jedi…"
"I take it the Jedi was Count Dooku?" I inquired. "An aristocrat from Serenno. Leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Darth Sidious's apprentice, known as Emperor Palpatine."
Nothing supernatural.
Simple logic.
Talzin helped Ventress in her attempt to destroy Dooku.
And also, at his request, provided a replacement for Ventress when the Sith decided she had "run her course."
"You know far too much," Baritha gritted out. "Rumor has it Talzin was also acquainted with Sidious. She gave him some little Zabrak boy when he was still just a senator. Or maybe even earlier."
That 'little Zabrak boy' is named Darth Maul.
And he is literally seething with the desire to meet his former Sith teacher.
"How did it happen that Mother Talzin ruled the Night Sisters before and during the Clone Wars?" I inquired.
"She staged a rebellion and overthrew Gethzerion, me, and the other clan leaders," Baritha's flawless face was twisted in a grimace of disgust. "We languished in captivity until she died."
"Then you restored control over the clan?"
"Formally," the witch continued, with less venom in her voice. "Many remained her followers."
"Silri included?" I clarified.
"And Kyrisa," Baritha agreed. "Gethzerion always thought Talzin had put Kyrisa up to challenging her. One way or another, she died. And we anathematized her memory. She no longer exists in our history."
"Closing your eyes to the obvious won't solve the problem," I countered, stroking the ysalamiri.
"Can we change the subject?" Baritha started losing her composure. "I didn't come here to discuss filth like Talzin and her sorcery!"
"On the contrary," I countered. "You came here precisely to put a cross on the past of your clan and all of Dathomir. A past connected to Mother Talzin."
The 'porcelain face' of the Dathomirian witch contorted with angry irritation.
Baritha put on an expression of utter surprise.
Then she hastily donned the mask of confidence, inscrutability, and composure again.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she switched back to a flirtatious tone.
Oh, I never thought I'd have to thank Mara Jade for her 'antics,' but the preparatory procedures she authored…
After what the redhead pulled, the Dathomirian witch's feigned flirtations seem like nothing more than a bad play.
"You understand perfectly well, Baritha," I said, shifting my gaze to the blue-white haze of hyperspace. "Your visit, your surrender—it's nothing more than your ambition. A desire to use our resources to purge the Night Sisters of Mother Talzin's legacy in the person of Silri. Those who support her are either her ideological followers or women convinced of the rightness of her actions."
Baritha sat in silence.
Meanwhile, she stared at me as if she were seeing me for the first time: with undisguised interest, even a kind of manic greed.
She even seemed to have forgotten about the knife at the back of her head.
"Now I'm beginning to understand why you so easily made fools of the New Republic with its celebrated heroes and vast fleet," she said with a smirk. "Can it really be that an ordinary being, just by chatting with someone on tangential topics, even having gathered information about my personality in advance, can so casually discuss things that were never even mentioned to him?"
'Could flattery be any more blatant?' I thought with disappointment about my interlocutor.
"Impress me, Grand Admiral," Baritha leaned forward. "Tell me what I want to hear. And I'll gladly give you the codes."
"Control," I said. "Complete. Total. Unaccountable control over the witches…"
"Bravo," she clapped her hands like a child seeing a circus performance. "Correct, but still…"
She stopped short when Rukh's blade pressed against her throat, unobtrusively forcing her back to her original position.
"You don't interrupt the Grand Admiral," he mewed at the back of her head.
"So," I continued while the woman studied me intently, "control. You want control. To be more precise, you want to rule."
"Oh, how boring, Grand Admiral," she made a face of offended virtue. "I already have power over the Night Sisters, the best of them. Full and absolute."
"But that position doesn't satisfy your ambitions," I continued my thought. "You are the last of the founders of the Night Sisters clan. You've gathered all those who support you and are loyal to your authority. And you realized you're in the minority. On Silri's side are most of the witches evacuated from Dathomir, an army, a fleet. In open combat, you can't win."
"I am stronger than her," Baritha declared. "Older, more powerful."
"The problem is, she won't fight you one-on-one," I said. "And you know that perfectly well. So you intend to interest me in helping you capture Kamino and Rothana in exchange for eliminating Silri's forces, so that you can fight her alone. And by right of strength, seize control of the witches who serve her. And then, as far as your strength allows—over what's left of the
"Suppose," her voice was no longer charming, or mesmerizing, or emotional.
Even the playful notes of the 'cheerful aristocrat' had vanished, like greenery during the frosts that herald winter.
"Suppose," I agreed. "Let's also suppose that your codes are already irrevocably outdated. As outdated as your entire escape is part of a plan to lure the Dominion into a trap."
"I have no such ideas!" she said sharply. "I need help to get rid of that scum! You want the same thing!"
"I want to bring Kamino and Rothana under my control," I had to clarify to avoid misunderstanding. "And frankly, I don't care whether Silri lives or dies afterward."
Naturally, the Dominion doesn't leave its enemies—fierce and open ones—alive.
And it doesn't give them a chance for reform.
Anyone who is left alive, one way or another, is the prologue to the next plan, which has far more important prospects than the momentary killing of one being or another.
Silri's survival at this point carries no strategic value for me.
Unfortunately for her.
"What are you offering, Thrawn?" Baritha asked impatiently. "That I just give you the codes you supposedly don't need, simply because you guessed what I want?"
"And isn't that exactly what you were offering just recently?" I inquired, shifting my gaze to the Dathomirian witch.
Baritha sat with pursed lips.
And from that moment, we both understood that she was entirely in my power.
"So you want to deprive me of my only chance to get what I want," she said. "You're acting like all the Imperials before you—using us, and then, when the witches are no longer needed, getting rid of us like annoying flies?"
Appealing to pity won't work.
"I have an alternative to your petty desire," I said, stroking the ysalamiri.
From its measured breathing, the little lizard was shamelessly sleeping, its paws and tail splayed in different directions.
"And what would that be?" Baritha asked curiously.
Exactly the one I'd bet on with Ventress and Drashi.
But over time, it became clear that neither of them had enough authority among their own.
They're more of an addition than a worthy candidate.
"I am offering you power over the witches."
"But I already have control over the best members of the Night Sisters clan," Baritha declared.
Of course, that claim needs verification, but that's not the point.
"Isn't that too little for the one who stood at the foundation of one of the most famous clans, who helped create the '
"What are you getting at, Thrawn?" the 'porcelain-face' owner frowned.
"How many witch clans inhabit Dathomir?" I asked the native representative.
"Who's counting?" she snorted. "A dozen. Maybe two. If you count the tiny ones, maybe a hundred."
"And each clan strives to pursue its own policy," I continued laying out my reasoning. "Individually, they are weak—that's why they were captured in the past by a crazy clone version of ×1. Some of your compatriots have entered the Dominion's service, becoming part of the Jensaarai Order—the state's protectors. I assume you're familiar with our Order of Force-sensitive beings."
"I've had the 'pleasure' of interacting with them," Baritha snorted. "Not the strongest representatives of the clans. More like young ones who want to see the world. Besides, they hardly know anything or know how to do anything."
"Well noted," I agreed. "The point is that Dathomir lacks a centralized training system for witches. And yet your understanding of the Force is such that you once repelled the Jedi Order."
"Decided to play on my ambitions, Grand Admiral?" Baritha asked mockingly. "Speak plainly."
"I will help you destroy Silri. But you will get nothing from the remains of the Syndicate."
"You want me to be satisfied with mere revenge?" the woman snorted. "Not a chance."
"I am offering you more than power over the remnants of a structure that will be destroyed and assimilated by the Dominion anyway," the witch squinted. "Yes, that's right. Large criminal organizations that interfere with the Dominion's operations will not survive. The Cavrilhu Pirates are direct proof of that. As is the
"I take it you want to offer me something alternative to my desires?" the witch clarified.
"Of course," I agreed. "Dathomir."
The woman looked at me uncomprehendingly.
"Please elaborate," she said.
"It's as simple as the plan they're using you for," I said. "You and your witches swear an oath of fealty to the Dominion. In return, we allow you to personally take the helm of your homeworld. Naturally—as part of the state, without any special frills."
"You want me to unite the clans and force them to supply you with our women as warriors for the Jensaarai Order?" she clarified.
"Why only women?" I asked in surprise. "The Night Brothers clan, from what I know, hasn't been destroyed either."
In simple terms—it's a community of male Zabraks dependent on the Night Sisters, who have Force sensitivity.
Though, as far as I know, the Sisters use them exclusively for procreation.
"Oh, those calves will be only too happy to move under the wing of strong men," Baritha snorted. "That won't work, Thrawn. The Night Brothers are the source of our future generations. The fathers of our daughters…"
"Is that because the Dathomiri witches like Zabraks, or because there are no other options?" I asked.
"You know the answer yourself."
"And I know its solution," I noted. "At present, there is a small Dominion representation on Dathomir. We try not to interfere in the internal affairs of the local population as long as nothing threatens them. But the new government might want, in addition to traditional knowledge and skills, the Dathomiri witches to receive language skills, advanced technology for personal use, new comfortable places to live instead of the caves and ruins you
"If it's done by mutual consent, why should it be forbidden?" I voiced a rhetorical question.
Baritha was silent for a few seconds.
"Power over the planet, over all the clans, in exchange for us getting rid of our males and inviting new ones to the planet," she voiced her vision of the situation. "Since when have the Imperials stopped fearing witches?"
"Ever since the Dominion military stopped identifying itself as part of the Empire's armed forces."
"As if anything changed."
"I didn't subject Dathomir to orbital bombardment to deal with the supporters of ×1. And I'm not kidnapping anyone to make them part of the Jensaarai Order. Everything is purely voluntary."
"A good fairy tale," Baritha shook her head. "You're giving me more than I wanted."
"And I'm demanding quite a bit in return," I reminded. "I think it goes without saying that the work of reconciling all the clans on the planet will be thankless and will take a lot of time. During which you will be under close scrutiny."
"And this scrutiny will be provided by a fleet of Star Destroyers in orbit of Dathomir?" Baritha smirked.
"More like patrol ships that will periodically visit the system, and a few orbital defense stations."
"Is that so," Baritha pretended to think. "Alright. I agree. But the witches will have the opportunity to leave Dathomir at any moment they wish."
That very thing—the isolation of the planet, the bombed-out spaceport, and the destruction of any ship taking off from the surface—had made the witches hate the Imperials and wish them dead at every opportunity.
"Alright," I replied calmly.
"You agreed too easily," Baritha said suspiciously, glancing at Rukh. "Is this some kind of test?"
"Not at all," I assured. "The paths from Dathomir have been open ever since the planet came under our jurisdiction."
"And... only a few clans remain there?"
"Quite the opposite. Those wishing to leave Dathomir never came forward. Except for a couple hundred women who relocated to other Dominion worlds," I explained.
"And no one wished to escape to another part of the galaxy?"
"Why not? There were such cases. They are all under the informal surveillance of our intelligence."
"You spy on them."
"We keep an eye on them," I corrected. "By releasing the witches from Dathomir, we take on certain responsibilities. For example—making sure they don't start enslaving anyone. However, that hasn't happened."
"Because there are no Night Sisters on the planet?"
"Because almost all of them returned to the planet voluntarily," I explained. "As it turns out, the witches don't like being viewed as savages across the galaxy. Better to be at home as a mistress than in a foreign land as a servant."
"You can leave Dathomir, but it will never leave you," Baritha smiled. "I think I made the right choice. And an easy job awaits me. But Silri—I'll kill her personally."
"I have no objection to that," I agreed, looking at the timer counting down the last seconds of the hyperspace journey. "However, before you and your witches return to your homeland, you must prove that you are ready to serve the Dominion."
"And how?" asked the Dathomirian witch, turning her head toward the dissolving hyperspace tunnel.
She watched with interest the battle unfolding hundreds of units ahead of the Guardian's bow.
Dozens of ships, mercilessly pummeling each other with all kinds of onboard weaponry.
"It's simple, Lady Baritha," I said, pointing at the battlefield. "Find us the camouflaged ships of the Zann Consortium, and we'll consider your service to the Dominion begun."
The Dathomirian witch looked at me with an astonishment difficult to put into words.
"Has anyone ever told you, Grand Admiral, that you are a being one both admires and wants to kill?" she asked.
"If I got a credit every time I hear something like that, I'd buy myself a planet. Proceed, Lady Baritha. It would be better if you approach the main viewport. There, nothing will interfere with your connection to the Force."