Vex sent another piece of meat into her mouth, then chewed slowly, savoring the food.
"You know why I fell in love with this diner?" she asked the Rederick sitting across from her.
"Male strippers in the evenings?" the agent clarified.
The girl grimaced, shaking her elaborate hairstyle full of hairpins as if the Corellian-style smoked meat she had been enjoying for a good half hour had suddenly become disgusting.
And so strongly that the young woman decided to express it with a wealth of facial expressions.
"That was very rude, Red," she commented.
"Don't call me 'Red.'"
"Then don't remind me that I accidentally stumbled into a Nautolan strip show!"
Rederick narrowed his eyes.
"Accidentally?"
"Of course."
"Three times in a row?"
"You're absolutely right."
Rederick sighed heavily.
"Aveka, can you ever be serious?"
"Of course," she smiled. "And if you keep sitting there with a sour face, I'll stop rubbing your shin with my foot and kick you between the legs instead. We're on a mission. And we're supposed to be a couple in love."
Rederick glanced around discreetly.
Indeed, in the establishment from which they were observing the target, there were sentients at table after table literally devouring each other with their eyes.
What could you do — a youth cantina.
Good thing they weren't kissing like they wanted to eat each other alive.
The man swore under his breath as he looked at the next table over.
Cruel fate had decided to throw him a piece of evidence to the contrary.
"That's disgusting," he admitted. "Since when is acting so obscenely in a public establishment considered normal?"
Now it was Vex's turn to sigh helplessly.
"You see, my thick-headed partner, it's natural for sentients to be happy. And sometimes they can't contain their feelings. You'd know that if you'd ever been in love in your youth."
"Don't talk like you know me inside and out."
"Well," Vex shot him a mischievous glance with her eyes, "I've definitely seen you in your birthday suit."
"Yes, and I asked you to get dressed then. It was cold, actually — the heating in the room was off."
"You weren't exactly fully dressed either…"
"Why did I have to lose control back then?" Rederick remembered with a mental groan his first close acquaintance with his "mentor."
Hormones, what a nasty thing you are.
Vex, sending another piece of the local cooking into her mouth, delicately covered her mouth with her palm.
"Make your face a little simpler," she said without a hint of flirtation. "We're supposed to be 'in love,' after all. And where have you seen a man in love glancing at his chronometer every five minutes?"
"Right here, at our table. Right now."
Vex rolled her eyes.
"Oaf," she said a couple of seconds after finishing her food. "My mother told me: 'Don't fall in love with that blockhead'…"
"You have a mother?" the girl had mentioned her family for the first time.
"Like everyone else," Vex raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Or did you think I crawled out of a test tube?"
"No," Rederick admitted. "Until now, I thought some black hole had regurgitated you to be an emissary of madness in our galaxy, driving the male population insane."
"Oh," a look of endearment appeared on Aveka Dunn's face. "I knew it. I knew you thought about me when you go to sleep in the living area of our room every evening. I was wondering what those suspicious sounds were. I hope you're crying in there because you're putting on your 'stern and unapproachable guy' act again, while someone like me is right next to you," the girl ran her hands along her sides, as if emphasizing the seductiveness of her figure. "Or were those not the sounds of quiet sobbing into a pillow, but…"
Rederick almost whimpered from helplessness.
This woman drove him crazy.
Her mood was as changeable as the gravitational forces in a black hole, and her desire to worm her way into her partner's personal space and life (whom she was supposedly mentoring in intelligence work!) crossed every conceivable and inconceivable boundary.
"Sometimes I conclude that your real mission isn't my training and passing on experience, but testing my stress resistance in the most sophisticated ways," he said quietly.
"Well, my boy," Vex smiled, reaching out and stroking his cheek, "I did share some experience with you. Remember, back then, in the cockpit of our shuttle, when…"
"Suicide certainly isn't a way out, but sometimes it's just an excuse for those who haven't been on a mission with Vex," Rederick thought.
"Let's switch to the mission?" he suggested.
"We already have," Vex shot him a look with her eyes.
Rederick was about to ask how her mind-shattering words related to waiting for the Sluissi, when he suddenly felt…
A certain pressure…
In the most vulnerable spot of the male anatomy.
"What are you doing?" was all he could hiss, forcing a smile onto his face as he met the gaze of a young Zeltron couple.
Judging by the looks they were giving them, the natives of Zeltros were clearly interested in their pair.
Vex, propping her head up so that no one nearby could see her expression, made a very angry face at Rederick.
"I said — show you're in love," she hissed in a tone that involuntarily brought the required expression to the young agent's face. "That couple has been boring holes in us with their eyes for a good hour now. And they still haven't come over, despite being so interested in us. You catching my drift? Or do you seriously think I'm having fun pretending to be a forty-year-old woman trying to look young and batting her eyelashes at a young suitor?! Start acting like you love and adore me right now, before those two latch onto us!"
"There isn't a person in the entire galaxy who could guess what kind of nonsense is rattling around in your skull!" Rederick howled internally.
But the facade Aveka was putting on and the words she had blurted out quickly made him start thinking in work mode, pushing aside the standard mask of an easy girl that Vex so virtuosically put on for any occasion or none.
If you ignored her flirtations, constantly keeping in mind that she was masking the true reason for her behavior that way, you had to agree that the mentor was right.
The Zeltron couple was quite young.
And at that age, they were…
How to put it… indiscriminately amorous.
Given the establishment where the intelligence officers were waiting for the contact, it was indeed strange that they were being devoured with their eyes but not approached.
If anyone, Zeltrons weren't shy about proposing what they wanted from people who caught their interest.
Rederick broke into a smile and reached his hands forward.
He gently trapped Vex's fingers in the cage of his palms and gallantly kissed them.
"Do you think the Rendili intelligence network is watching us?" he asked quietly, feigning tenderness.
"I think our lady is running late," Vex hissed through her white teeth, still smiling. "And that's exactly what I don't like. Even less than your cologne. And your acting skills. We REALLY don't need anyone coming up to us."
"Can't seem to satisfy you," Rederick sighed.
"Well, I could suggest a few options," Aveka's eyes sparkled. "But I'm afraid after that, you'll have to explain to command where you got so many scratch marks on your back."
"Excuse me," a melodious voice sounded near their table.
Both agents turned their heads in unison.
At their table stood the Zeltron girl from the very couple they had just been talking about.
Behind her shoulder stood her partner, putting his muscular body, barely covered by a light jacket, on full display.
"You see, my friend and I talked it over and decided that you're exactly what we were looking for," the Zeltron girl said, tossing her mane of blue-violet hair. "You're such a harmonious and beautiful couple that we would be pleased to… Spend some time with you. What do you think?"
At that very moment, Rederick was ready to tear Vex's head off with particular brutality.
"A cantina-club for quick couple dates — the perfect way to meet Ten Dorn," she had explained when choosing the meeting place with the recruited Sluissi. "Who in their right mind would think that in a place like this, an intelligence meeting and transfer of secret documents is taking place?"
And now exactly these kinds of problems were arising.
Because the rules of this establishment implied no refusals to such offers.
After a certain waiting period, if a couple couldn't find themselves a partner for… continuing their leisure time, they had no right to refuse those who invited them.
And Ten — may the Devaronians gore her Sluissi nature on their horns — was late, which created the duality of the situation.
If they refused, they would have to leave the establishment.
If they left, and Ten arrived after them, they wouldn't meet, because the entrance and exit were on different levels.
Out of ten existing ones.
The only way to meet without raising suspicions like "What is the chief engineer repairing the 'Reaper' up to with a couple of strangers?" from possible Rendili intelligence operatives, in Aveka's opinion, was establishments of this type.
Which Ten Dorn visited with enviable regularity.
"Oh, we are so flattered by the attention you're giving us, we're so honored," Aveka chirped. "Forgive us, but we're expecting our friend, so…"
An unpleasant buzz sounded from the speaker built into the establishment's tabletop.
"Refusal recorded," a droid announced. "We ask couple number forty-two to leave our establishment."
It wasn't hard to guess that this number had been assigned to Aveka and Rederick's pair upon entering this vile, debauched establishment.
"Emperor's black bones!" Rederick swore mentally.
One of two things — either this was a coincidence, and the Zeltrons were trying to guarantee themselves a "score."
Or they really were agents who had realized they were under suspicion and decided to test the couple.
Given the free morals in this establishment, a refusal was suspicious behavior, a signal to the agents that something wasn't right with them.
But how the hell did the refusal sensor go off if an exception was allowed for waiting?
"It seems your friend is running late," the Zeltron girl smiled. "We're sorry it turned out this way. We sincerely regret it."
"Well, so do we," Rederick declared, rising from the table, mentally cursing everything in sight — both the organizers of this legal den of iniquity, and Vex herself, and the Sluissi who was wandering around hutt-knows-where! "I'm sure you'll have better luck than us."
"Yes, most likely," said the Zeltron guy.
Aveka beamed a radiant smile at them both, grabbed Rederick's arm, and unhurriedly headed for the exit marked by their color.
"May they get a pair of Wookiees as partners," Vex hissed angrily as they paraded toward the exit.
"If they're not agents, then we just set ourselves up with your latest outrageous ideas," Rederick retorted.
At the exit doorway, they stopped, ostensibly so Vex could fix her hair.
Rederick himself quickly scanned the room, hoping…
"Alright, it's not all bad yet," he said, spotting Ten Dorn entering the cantina.
The Sluissi, looking quite out of breath and nervous, was looking around, trying to find…
"To hell with their rules," Rederick muttered, raising his hand to attract the Sluissi's attention.
Aveka, realizing what was happening, turned around and supported him, spotting the turncoat.
"Lady, ma'am," a service droid appeared right next to them. "We ask you not to violate the general rules and to leave…"
"Immediately, as soon as our friend joins us," Aveka replied in a sweet tone.
"This is a violation of the rules and your membership card will be revoked…"
"I couldn't care less about your card for this vile den of perverts on the bridge of the 'Reaper,'" Rederick thought.
"I strongly urge you to leave the establishment. Otherwise…"
"Sorry," Ten was right there, and Aveka immediately grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her toward the exit. "There was a pile-up at work and…"
"Sir, inform your friends that they are now banned from entry…"
Rederick ignored the droid.
He was more preoccupied with the attentive gaze the Zeltron couple was giving him as he left.
A very particular gaze, the kind you see from professional trackers or bounty hunters.
He was even less pleased by the fact that the Zeltron girl was saying something into a comlink, also violating the establishment's rules.
Which the vocoder in the tabletop immediately informed her about, and the Zeltrons hurried without the slightest objection toward their designated exit in another part of the establishment for couples.
"This is a mess," Rederick thought, almost running to catch up with his "friends" in the corridor.
"Faster," he ordered. "We've got problems."
"That's our standard pastime," Aveka Dunn tried to joke.
Rederick gave her a very eloquent look.
"You know," he said, "if we get out of this situation, you're going to have to rethink your approach to work."
"I promise that's how it'll be," Vex blew him an air kiss.
"I've heard that about five times already," Rederick grimaced. "I hope that one day the gray matter in your head will start working. And we won't get into such stupid situations that threaten the entire operation anymore."
The corridor ahead was clear.
Rederick only looked away for a second to activate his comlink and call the hired aircar.
"You need to be at least a little bit serious!"
"Oh, stop lecturing me, will you? Maybe we'll get lucky and it'll blow over…"
Yeah, right, sure.
If this really was enemy intelligence, the entire operation was going down the drain because of Dunn's desire to show off.
Along with any future opportunities to use the Sluissi turncoat in the Dominion's interests.
But when he looked again toward the life-saving exit, they were already waiting for them.
The Zeltron man and woman stood across the corridor, blasters aimed at them.
"Take them alive or dead, Dani?" asked the pink-skinned man, taking deliberate aim at the unarmed Rederick.
Dani.
"I haven't decided yet," she snorted. "But I think Alliance intelligence will pay well even for corpses."
Her first shot blew a hole through Ten Dorn's head, and the Sluissi crumpled to the floor like a sack.
"Well, now everything has definitely gone to hell," Rederick thought grimly, charging the blaster-armed enemy with his bare fists.
Keeping to the middle of the corridor, ready to take blaster bolts to the chest if necessary.
To give Aveka a chance to do something.
* * *
Among the former Alliance commanders who defected to the Dominion after the Battle of Kessel, there are quite a few interesting names.
But this one stood out especially.
Why?
The answer is simple.
"You don't often meet Clone Wars veterans who decide to join us," I said, looking into the face of a middle-aged man whose thick, dark-chestnut hair was already starting to show streaks of gray. "Especially those born on Alderaan."
Captain Afyon's lips barely twisted.
Captain Afyon.
"Don't take this as impertinence, Grand Admiral, but you don't get to talk to someone who's officially considered dead because the most publicized Jedi of the modern era killed him every day either," the man replied, looking me straight in the eye without a hint of embarrassment. "And besides, being from Alderaan doesn't stop the 'Butcher' from fighting so fiercely that at the mere mention of a possible encounter with him, most Alliance captains, and before them New Republic ones, get such the jitters that there's real concern the ship might shake apart in space from the resonance."
My lips curled into a faint smile against my will.
"You know Rear Admiral Shohashi?"
"Oh," Afyon snorted, "Eric is a full Rear Admiral now. Back in the Empire, for career growth like that — from Captain to Rear Admiral in a year — you'd have to grease half the sector group. And even then, the odds would be slim."
"Our social elevators are more in line with the regulations," I said vaguely.
Badmouthing the Empire in front of a potential subordinate, with a career in that same Empire behind me, would be pointless.
And frankly stupid.
"I can imagine," Afyon grumbled.
"Well," I summed up the conversation so far, "you want to join the Dominion."
"That's right, sir."
"Why?" I asked.
If Imperial defectors and deserters were clear — they came out of a sense of duty to a place where Imperial truths and laws were truly upheld — defectors from the "Republican court" were a bit more complicated.
The logic of lower ranks and junior officers was understandable — they'd learned firsthand what it meant to be used as cannon fodder, their lives worth nothing.
But senior officers...
Since the first Republic and Alliance prisoners appeared, we'd managed to recruit no more than half a dozen commanders with real combat experience.
And in every case, the main reason was "abandonment" the New Republic's refusal to ransom its own military personnel and soldiers from captivity.
But even then, it was young officers who showed interest, having seen their government's true attitude toward the military.
"Fey'lya," Captain Afyon said.
"Just a name isn't enough," I stated. "You're a senior command officer. Knowing the name of the New Republic's ruler isn't sufficient for me to approve your enlistment in the regular fleet."
"As far as I recall, I passed all your checks," the man said, scratching the back of his head. "Counterintelligence, those weirdos in animal masks asking the same questions and being meaningfully silent."
"Jensaarai," I explained. "An Order of Force-sensitive beings serving the Dominion."
"Jedi," Afyon grimaced. "Nobody told me about them at the recruitment office."
Now that was interesting.
His physiognomic reaction was more than telling.
This man had serious personal grievances against the Jedi.
I wondered why.
"Some of them were Jedi," I confirmed. "They chose, by their own convictions, to serve the Dominion and protect its citizens."
"Like the Jedi fought in the Clone Wars?" Afyon muttered. "All those media darlings, always at the tip of the spear, dying by the hundreds but still heroes. Unlike the thousands and millions of guys they got killed because of their tactical stupidity."
Ah, so that was it...
"The Jensaarai don't command troops," I stated. "They don't participate in battles in command positions. The vast majority of them, at least, work behind the lines, where their talents are more appropriate. To discern a person's mood, to tell if they're a traitor or not, you don't need tactical brilliance or military experience. You just need Force sensitivity and the ability to understand people's thoughts. The Jensaarai handle that."
Afyon looked at me with undisguised interest.
"So your plasma-torch-wielding enthusiasts don't charge into attack?" he asked.
"I believe I've given a comprehensive answer, and there's no need to repeat it, Captain Afyon."
"Yes, sir," the man nodded. "Yes, of course. It's just... Jedi... Jensaarai, sorry — who don't parade as heroes and don't give stupid orders, then get awards for what others did... That's new to me."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"The Clone Wars," Afyon grumbled.
I didn't see the need to ask a clarifying question.
The man had to understand that you don't just state a thesis and expect your interlocutor to read your mind.
You have to state your thoughts simply and clearly.
Without the fluff.
Ironic, isn't it.
"I went through the entire Clone Wars, Grand Admiral," Afyon sighed, correctly interpreting my silence. "I remember that meat grinder. And how the label 'hero' was thrown around. If the Empire hadn't removed the Jedi from history, erased them from the school curriculum, those who weren't on the battlefield might have gotten the idea that a dozen Jedi and two dozen ace pilots — ex-athletes — won that war."
"A propaganda element aimed at the general public — the galaxy's population," I stated.
"Pure populism," Afyon grimaced.
It seemed discussing the Jedi's true contribution to winning the Clone Wars was a psychologically traumatic subject for the Captain.
So that was the key to his decision to switch sides.
File that thought away, and we'd look into it more closely.
"I was always outraged by the amount of praise heaped on the Jedi and ace pilots — ex-athletes and those from noble families — during the Clone Wars," the man continued. "For those of us fighting on the front lines, not sitting in the rear, it always felt like a belittling of the sacrifices we were making. The Jedi got the awards — they were generals, after all! — and various aristocratic sons who were conveniently placed in cushy positions. Guys like me, or your flag captain, now Vice Admiral Pellaeon, were always considered 'black bone.' Just cogs in the machine, nothing more."
"Black bone."
A set phrase, the opposite of "white bone," meaning — both on Earth and in this universe — beings of low birth who do the essential, invisible work.
"When it became clear that it wasn't the Alliance, but the Empire that destroyed Alderaan — where I wasn't at the time of the attack — I, like most Alderaanians, was furious," the story continued. "I deserted the Empire, enlisted in the Rebel Alliance. Do you know what my first assignment was, given that I left the Imperial Navy with the rank of commander of an attack-line warship?"
"I'll pass on the guesswork."
But judging by his anger, he'd definitely gotten an assignment nowhere near what he deserved.
"'Assistant commander of a Corellian corvette,'" Afyon recited. "I clawed my way up for four years, fought the Empire, was on the brink of death several times, rescued commando teams, broke through Star Destroyer blockades in an old, falling-apart corvette. And only just before Endor did I get command of that same corvette, where I'd been serving as executive officer."
"Doesn't sound like a fair assessment of talent," I commented.
"You can say that again," Afyon nodded. "I was promoted only because the commander of that tub got a promotion, taking command of one of the Mon Calamari star cruisers. And I spent several more years commanding that rust-bucket, buying spare parts for it almost out of my own pocket. Then, shortly before your campaign last year, I was appointed commander of an escort frigate. Which was immediately disarmed and sent to haul cargo. I won't brag, but a couple of times I managed to slip away from your corsairs."
I knew about that, too.
We observed enemy commanders so the operations department could analyze the opponent in advance.
Afyon wasn't among the "priority targets," but he was in the top twenty, as one of the leaders.
"During the war with the Empire, I often ran into and worked with pilots from Rogue Squadron," Afyon continued. "And little by little I began to realize that they were being made into the same kind of 'heroes' they'd been making out of the Jedi thirty years earlier. And the same attitude toward ordinary soldiers and lower ranks — like dirt underfoot, an appendage to the politicians. I went to the Alliance in the first place because I perfectly understood Fey'lya's game with the military when he took the post of Supreme Commander. To him, we're just a resource. Same for Mon Mothma. And besides, their constant infighting only resulted in the military taking all the heat. While the politicians, with sad faces, broadcast across the entire HoloNet about how hard life was for the New Republic, how the enemy was cunning and treacherous, that they needed to tighten their belts and victory was just around the corner. But week after week, month after month, the war goes on, one battle replaces another, and there are no results. We brought a huge fleet under Han Solo's command to destroy your ships. And what was the result? The fleet, commanded by a guy who was just lucky, who happened to be in the right place at the right time, was stripped bare. And Kessel? That was pure whipping. After you showed that holovid with Fey'lya, the last hopes for me, and for a lot of the prisoners, just collapsed. There's no point thinking anything will change in the New Republic. It's all repeating like in the twilight of the Old — whoever's in power pulls in their friends and acquaintances... That Solo character didn't even finish the Academy, zero combat experience, and his 'victories' either came at a huge cost or because his Jedi wife or Skywalker was nearby... Kessel was the last straw for me. I can't do it anymore. I'm a military officer with a military background. I've fought for three states, shed blood for them. I supported the Alderaanian pacifists in demilitarizing the planet, and it turns out the disarmament was just for show, and my homeworld became a place where Alliance militants were trained. I'm just tired of taking orders from idiots. If, after your 'death,' I was still thinking about whether to leave the fleet altogether — because, forgive me, but seeing Pellaeon at the head of the armed forces... In short," the man straightened up, "that's my personal assessment, sir. Since you're in charge after all, it's better to serve and live under a military commander than what came before. I'm glad to serve and fight for a good cause. I'm tired of being a lackey."
Almost "Woe from Wit."
"A position worthy of respect," I agreed. "I mean your last words, not the appeal to my merits."
And I was starting to be bothered by the fact that for many, the reason for serving the Dominion was directly my person.
I didn't need this cult.
I should dismantle it, but not like they did in the glorious communist past.
Not by diminishing my own achievements.
But by actively promoting other important figures.
Unfortunately, I couldn't remove Pellaeon from the "front pages."
I'd appointed him the formal head of the Dominion precisely because in the eyes of most Imperials who knew him, he was a pushover and a wimp, incapable of military strategy.
It was largely thanks to him that they kept us in the "secondary enemy, can be dealt with at a snap of the fingers" category.
"That's not flattery, Grand Admiral," Afyon was quick to say. "A military man respects a talented commander. Because he understands that that commander will give the right orders and won't send them to the slaughter just because the politicians need a 'pretty picture,' to simulate furious activity. You smashed half the New Republic fleet with minimal forces, took all their Imperial-design ships, plus the light forces taken out of mothballs. That's an extreme level of planning and organization of armed forces. I'm tired of fighting in an army that wins despite the idiocy of its command. I'm a soldier, not a polishing rag, to be used only when someone needs to make some adviser's boots from Mon Mothma's or Fey'lya's office shine."
"Your position is clear to me," I said. "The situation is unusual, I'll say that right away. We don't have that many senior officers from the Alliance and New Republic who wanted to switch sides. And, I confess, I don't yet have absolute trust in you. That casts doubt on your assignment to operational fleet units operating outside the Dominion. If only because it's unclear whether you're ready to fight against your former comrades."
"Fair enough," Afyon agreed. "Honestly, I didn't expect to get command of a Star Destroyer or that 'Executor' of yours. Put me wherever you see fit. I just want to receive effective military orders. And as for 'former comrades'... Those I could call my good acquaintances are in your captivity. And they also express a desire to fight on your side — for the same reasons I do."
"Are you saying you have no one dear to you?" I clarified, already knowing the answer. "Family? Relatives? Friends?"
"I had," Afyon didn't hesitate. "Ten years ago, Grand Moff Tarkin and Darth Vader blasted them to atoms. That's why, actually, I won't go back to serving the Empire. It's all the same there as in the Alliance or the New Republic, just mixed in with the tiresome politics of the New Order. You don't have that, so I believe serving the Dominion will be more comfortable for me. You yourself stated that you're fighting against the Empire, and also against Republicans of all stripes. Plus that whole business with Palpatine, which they prefer to keep quiet about in the Alliance. Thanks, I was shown your conversation with Han Solo, his wife, Skywalker, and the others... All prisoners are shown it, when they're told that Palpatine is alive and you're waging a secret war against him. That's enough for me to give orders to aim guns at both Republic and Imperial ships."
His motivation was clear.
A military man tired of being a bargaining chip in the hands of politicians.
He had no path with the Empire.
No path with the New Republic, either.
If I analyzed his words, it was clear he had personal scores to settle with both Republicans and Imperials, which he intended to settle on the bridge of a Dominion ship.
The situation was rather...
Ambiguous.
I didn't have absolute trust in him — for me, this was a man known only from documents and a personal conversation.
I wasn't going to bet on my ability to predict and assess everything around me.
I preferred to trust the facts.
Taking my code cylinder from the breast pocket of my uniform jacket, I pressed it to the datapad's field, confirming his enlistment.
"Report to personnel for all necessary documents and clearances, Captain," I said, handing him the datapad, ignoring the suspicious surprise on his face. "They'll calculate your length of service, determine your pay, and process all the necessary records and paperwork. After that, you'll be sent to advanced training courses to familiarize yourself with our tactics and latest equipment. Once the retraining is complete, prepare to take command of a Dominion Star Destroyer."
"Yes, sir," Afyon snapped to attention. "Thank you for your trust. I won't let you down."
But he didn't do it like a released spring.
With the dignity and self-respect only an officer who knows his own worth can afford, without being deluded about his position in a new place of service.
"I'm sure of that, Captain. You're dismissed. Your service to the Dominion begins now."
Appointing Afyon from commander of an escort frigate to the bridge of a Star Destroyer was an advance.
And the former enemy understood that perfectly.
As a self-respecting officer, he'd chew through a cold star to prove he was worthy of the trust placed in him.
But what was even more notable was that our conversation ended there, despite the fact that I'd expected otherwise.
Afyon didn't put in a "good word" for his fellow officers, those acquaintances who might also want to switch sides.
Which further proved his lone-wolf mentality.
And confirmed his words.
Captain Afyon was ready to train turbolasers on both Imperials and former comrades at the first order.
He didn't care about the rest.
He wanted to serve and fulfill his need to be a career military officer in a service removed from political intrigue.
And he wasn't about to risk his career for anyone's patronage, leaving them to figure it out for themselves.
Well, I had a list of his acquaintances.
Since I had some time — the Guardian was undergoing emergency repairs and being loaded for the next sortie — I could analyze several dozen personnel files.
Let's see if there were any more commanders for our modernizing Star Destroyers.
* * *
Oddly enough, Vex beat him to it.
The girl, ignoring her dress splitting at the seams from acrobatic maneuvers, threw one of her hairpins at the enemy.
Something that looked very much like a long throwing needle whistled past his ear and embedded itself in the arm of the Zeltron man.
A shot rang out, going into the ceiling, and then Rederick slammed his full weight into the muscular opponent, knocking him off his feet.
He immediately ducked, dodging a blaster butt aimed at his temple from the Zeltron woman — the one her accomplice had recently called by the interesting name "Dani."
At the same moment, he took a kick to the lower back, sending him flying forward into a roll.
As soon as he was on his feet, he saw the Zeltron, with a long spike through his shoulder, also back on his feet.
His right arm hung limp, but with his left he was trying to get a better grip on the fallen blaster.
A kick from Rederick put an end to those intentions, and he had to jump back out of Dani's line of fire.
Who, at that very moment, was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the ever-energetic Aveka, who was right next to her.
One of the two blasters Aveka was holding flew to the side, unable to withstand the kick to her limb that Vex delivered with a spinning strike.
Then the girl jumped, intending to land two blows to her opponent's chin, but Dani stepped back.
And found herself closer to Rederick.
Though she realized that a second later.
Without much ceremony, Bravo-Three swept her legs, simultaneously snatching the last blaster from the Zeltron woman's hand, and hissed when the pink-skinned woman's foot hit his torso.
But he retreated when her partner's fist connected with his ear.
He'd achieved his goal, though, and disarmed the Zeltron woman.
He didn't have time to use the blaster — the Zeltron man was trying to attack him with his one good arm, alternating with kicks aimed at the Dominion agent's more sensitive areas.
Rederick had to defend himself, blocking the enemy's blows while mixing in his own strikes.
Meanwhile, Aveka, parrying a straight punch to the face, twisted to kick Dani in the chest from behind.
Dani flew back a bit but stayed on her feet.
She dodged Rederick's lunge at her knee, throwing herself at Aveka with a furious cry.
"What's there to yell about?" flashed through his mind.
But he couldn't formulate a possible answer.
He was too busy fending off the persistent Zeltron.
Rederick deflected his punch to the face, then landed one on the left, making the opponent lose his composure for a moment and even step back.
The agent continued his attack, diving for the legs and sweeping the enemy.
The Zeltron almost managed to react, but lost his balance.
Vex, who was nearby, grabbed him by his wounded arm and shoved him to the side, using his body to shield her back.
The blaster shot meant for her pierced the male Zeltron's chest, and he collapsed with his full weight onto Dunn.
"Damn it...! This is not how I dreamed of ending up under a guy from Zeltros!"
Rederick didn't listen any further.
He leaped and knocked the Zeltron woman off her feet, stunned by her own "lucky" shot.
Slamming her head against the floor, he twisted her wrist and kicked the blaster away, sending it spinning toward the Sluissi's corpse.
The woman twisted free, did a backflip, and landed a slap across his face.
Unable to bear the arrogant blow, Rederick grabbed her by the hair and smashed her head against the floor with all his strength.
Jerked the girl back up, added a knee strike, swept her legs, and landed a punch to her chest, forcing a rasping exhale from her.
With the cry of a wounded animal, she rolled away, leaving Rederick with a tuft of her hair as a souvenir.
Instantly back on her feet, she tried to kick the agent from the right, but he intercepted the strike.
Grabbing her by the foot, he began to lift her leg so the girl would lose her balance.
Dani, demonstrating incredible flexibility, jumped in place, hitting him with her free foot in the gut.
Rederick flew back, crashed to the floor, rolled over his head, and sprang to his feet.
A vibroblade glinted in the opponent's hand.
Both opponents stood frozen, catching their breath and preparing to continue the hand-to-hand fight with a weapon that, while known, was no less dangerous.
"Nice kid," Dani said, blood streaming from her battered face, which was already one big mess. "Under other circumstances, I'd have taken you out for a walk..."
From the side where the fragile Vex was still trying to crawl out from under the heavy corpse, the growl of a rancor echoed — one whose coveted prize, dreamed of in its sleep, was being taken right from under its nose.
The Zeltron's body, which by eye must have weighed at least a hundred kilos (and most of that was sculpted muscle), was swept off the cursing Aveka like a feather.
"What filth," Deni grimaced, eyeing the rage-filled Vex as she got to her feet. "I didn't even curse like that on my worst day, when I found out Kiro was supposedly dead... And with that mouth, you kissed such a handsome guy?"
"What is wrong with you women?" Rederick pleaded. "Are we fighting or flirting?"
"Why can't we do both?" Deni asked in surprise, sniffling through her broken nose. "Ah, I'm going to need some corrections... If you're this assertive about everything, I'd jot down my address for you..."
"I'll beat you so badly that not even a plastic surgeon will help — the coroner will be disgusted!" Vex pulled the last two hairpin needles from her hairstyle, gripping them like daggers.
"So you really are a couple?" Deni's eyes went wide.
"No," Rederick declared.
"Yes," Vex snapped.
"This is idiocy," Deni stated, looking at her comrade's corpse. "Ah, he wasn't bad..."
"To hell with both of you," Rederick said, having completely lost track of what was going on. "Who are you, and why in the name of a hutt did you attack us?"
"I'm an honest freelance mercenary," Deni giggled, nodding toward the dead body of Ten Dorn. "I've been tracking that filthy Dorn bitch for weeks. If you hadn't fallen onto her tail and dragged her through such seedy places, I'd have finished her off quietly long ago. A bounty was placed on her head — a while ago, actually — by General Cracken of the New Republic."
"He's dead," Vex hissed.
"Well, the Alliance still pays," Aveka shrugged, keeping her eyes on both opponents. "For her — definitely."
"Sithspawn!" Rederick swore. "Because of some twenty thousand credits, you've ruined our entire operation!"
Ten Dorn was considered a traitor to the Alliance to Restore the Republic, having fled into Imperial territory with classified information about the interceptor used by the rebels.
A bounty had been placed on her head, and then the Dominion invaded her former workplace.
Dorn forged documents and, as if nothing had happened, got a job at the New Republic's Rendili shipyards.
And she was assigned to the repair of the Reaper.
That's when Rederick and Vex caught her on the hook of blackmail.
But a dead body is of little use!
The corpse of the chief engineer meant massive problems and, effectively, sent all preparations right up the bantha's tail!
"You stupid bitch!" Vex pursed her lips.
"You lecherous trash!" Deni shot back.
"Will you two just kill each other already!" Rederick shouted with all his heart, heading toward Dorn's body.
She was supposed to deliver them a new batch of information and also ensure that access to the ship was arranged for the Dominion's upcoming operation.
Kneeling beside the Sluissi's body, he began searching her pockets.
Indiscriminately, he transferred everything he could find into his own jacket, quickly probing the folds and seams of her clothing for anything she might have hidden.
Aside from a portable datapad, several information crystals and credit chips, a set of magnetic keys, and a personal ID, there was nothing else to be found.
Rederick immediately plugged the crystals into the datapad and scanned through their contents.
Two blank, one with some meaningless information.
No hints of encryption or secret messages.
Of course, this would have to be examined with proper equipment, but something told Rederick that this thread, leading to the simple capture of the Reaper, was snapping.
"Damn it all," Rederick sighed heavily, picking up the blaster that had gotten wedged under the Sluissi's body and gone unnoticed by the girls, who were glaring at each other with heightened hostility and, due to their painful injuries, reluctant to start another conflict.
"So you're a mercenary?" he clarified to Deni.
"Yep," she nodded.
"And I seem to remember reading your name on the lists of Alliance fighters," Rederick said caustically, still not revealing his weapon.
"That was a long time ago," the Zeltron snorted. "I won't deny it, I was one of them. But then I went freelance when the New Republic started splitting up and the Alliance showed up. I don't like all that political fuss. Wait," the girl looked at him more closely. "Kid, how do you know that? That I helped the Alliance during the Nagai-Tof War is known only to the highest-ranking intelligence officers of the New Republic. But I made sure my file didn't survive there..."
"And I'm not from the Republic," Rederick announced. "We got a full copy of their data during the siege of Coruscant, using invisible asteroids."
"My mother in a bikini in the middle of Hoth," Deni exclaimed. "So you're from the Dominion! What brought you here, guys..."
"You're a real idiot," Aveka snorted.
"Yeah, I guess," Deni smiled. "How did I not figure it out myself. The Reaper, right? Thinking of stealing it? Then you'd need a more serious strike team."
"We'll manage without bitches," Aveka declared.
"Cover yourself up," Deni advised her, glancing at the dagger-wielding girl. "The seam on your dress is ripped; you're flashing your breadwinner..."
"Oh," Aveka made a face. "What hasn't he seen already?"
"So are you a couple or...?"
"I've had enough of both of you," Rederick clicked the translator of fire and fired a white-blue ring charge at Deni.
The Zeltron dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
An aircar's hull appeared at the far end of the corridor.
"Grab the bodies and let's go," Rederick ordered.
"One moment," Vex twirled her dagger-spike-hairpin in her hand. "I'll just slightly adjust her inner ear with a stiletto so the body is easier to drag into the car..."
"We're taking her with us," Rederick cut her off, grabbing Dorn's corpse by the arm and the unconscious Deni. "Let's see how she can help us."
"She's a Zeltron," Aveka rolled her eyes. "She can help in only one way. But there's a high chance you'll end up at a very specialized doctor afterward, the kind of acquaintance people in polite society try not to brag about..."
"Vex," Rederick addressed his partner.
"Yes, dear?"
"Shut your mouth and drag the body before I knock you out too."
"Oh, if I'd known you liked it rough, then..."
Another white-blue stun flash disrupted the corridor's twilight.
"No, it's a good establishment after all," Rederick muttered five minutes later, shoving another body into the car's cabin. "No cameras, no security posts... Client confidentiality at its finest. Now that's what I call customer focus!"