Nine years, seven months, and fifteenth day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fourth year, seventh month, and fifteenth day since the Great ReSynchronization.
(Two months and thirty-fifth day since arriving here)
After the hyperjump into a previously unknown star system concluded, the crews of the Republic warships were met with a horrifying sight.
Crossed by pale clouds, the planet's surface seemed uniformly brown, reminiscent of congealed blood. The rare bodies of water—tiny, barely noticeable patches amid the expanse of monotonous color—looked so insignificant, as though the world's creator had added them to this dreary palette just to mock all who would ever behold such a picture.
— Great Force! — there were no Jedi aboard the flagship of the battle group, as a matter of course, yet that exclamation had become popular among sentients long ago, far too long to simply abandon it for the lack of an opportunity to sign up as a volunteer in the Jedi Order. — How can anything at all live here?
— Begin scanning the system! — ordered the Bothan with admiral's rank insignia in a rasping voice. — Send scouts to the planet, to its moons, and to every corner of the system. If there's danger here or an Imperial fleet lying in wait, I want to know about it.
— Certainly, Admiral. Executing…
His chest rank plates gleamed, polished to a shine, and his fur was so slicked down it looked as though he'd been getting ready for a grand soiree rather than a potential battle. Even so, the commander of the task force assigned to assist General Solo's squadron could be understood — even the preliminary scans of nearby space conducted in the first minutes after reversion indicated that, at least in this region of Honoghr's orbit, there were no signs of any vessels. And so the crews who now gawked at a planet with none of the lush, familiar greens of a habitable world—blooming groves and grassy seas; no bright yellows symbolizing fields of fresh growth, or even deep browns hinting at newly turned soil that was only just waiting to receive the seeds of cultivated crops—were left speechless.
For years, during the fight against the Galactic Empire, the Rebels, and now the New Republic, had faced loss upon loss of loved ones, fellow soldiers, or simply civilians. But today, for the first time since the catastrophe of Alderaan, the Republic's service members found themselves staring at the corpse of a planet.
And the sight so shocked and demoralized them that every second person aboard those ships felt a clashing mix of emotions—from compassion toward the inhabitants who had once lived on this world, to dread and discomfort at the mere thought that the Empire had destroyed it. Because… if not the Empire, who else? In the modern galaxy, even the Hutts, notorious for flouting anyone's law but their own, were never as cruel and cold-blooded as this—and Hutts, of all people, are the last you'd call warmhearted beings.
— Scouts have reached the planet. They're observing the ruins of a small city that was subjected to orbital bombardment. Surface scans around the settlement indicate signs of mass graves. Shall we send an observation team?
— We have no concern for what happened to this planet, — the Bothan replied irritably. — Get me footage of the orbital-bombardment aftermath and finally give me an answer on this question: Where are Solo and his fleet?!
— Admiral! — said one of the comms operators. — We've detected a distress signal. It's on a Republic channel.
— Source? — The Bothan's fur rippled in anticipation.
— An escape pod, sir, — he clarified. — Judging by the frequency and metadata, it's ours. The message states that General Solo is inside… — The operator suddenly grew shy.
— The message? — The Bothan's shaggy brow arched upward.
— Yes, sir, — the operator murmured, averting his eyes and holding out a personal datapad. — It says here…
— Just because I'm a Bothan, Ensign, — the admiral said with a flash of his eyes, — doesn't mean I can't read. I am quite literate. Get on with your duties.
— Aye, sir…
Once his subordinate had stepped away, the Bothan admiral cast his eyes over the text of the message. Judging by the notation, it was an automated broadcast repeating continuously on the escape pod's computer.
"In this escape pod is General Han Solo, commander of a special task squadron of the Armed Forces of the New Republic. Due to the aggression shown against the Noghri people, subjects of the Empire, General Solo's fleet was destroyed and its personnel captured. We address Acting Commander-in-Chief of the New Republic's Armed Forces, Councilor Borsk Fey'lya, and to the head of the Provisional Government, Councilor Mon Mothma: Stop sending a smuggler to do a man's job. Sincerely yours, the Imperials. Within the escape pod is…"
Despite himself, the Bothan commander could not stifle a grin. Of course, he would never admit it, but in some ways he agreed with whoever had left such a message. All troubles sprang from having the wrong people in the wrong places.
Yet this message held another element. Something an average comms tech would never notice. But a Bothan, trained since childhood to see double and triple meanings in everything around him, could not possibly fail to spot it.
Apparently, the Empire hadn't just randomly crushed Solo — they knew exactly whom they would be facing. And they also knew precisely who would arrive to reinforce the Corellian and his task force.
Nothing is as it seems. One only needed to figure out what exactly the Imperials had encoded in that message. Well, it was time to recall the youthful pastime of "slicing."
— Retrieve the escape pod and scour the system, — the Bothan ordered, pocketing the datapad. — I'll be in my cabin. Disturb me only if Palpatine decides to rise from the dead.
Pleased with the effect of his parting words, the Bothan admiral left the bridge of the assault cruiser, leaving his subordinates to do their work.
Meanwhile, the buzz droids of Project Morrt were awakening and already beginning to assign themselves the juiciest targets.
***
In the darkness of space, a huge caravan of transport ships—some combat vessels as well—jumped to hyperspace, leaving at the rendezvous point only those craft assigned further combat missions. The enormous flotilla of GR-75 medium transports captured from the New Republic, escorted by seven Mon Calamari Star Cruisers (two of which were recent trophies) and nine dozen Katana Dreadnaughts, departed. Once the latter returned to their base, the refitting of sixty ships would be complete.
Then we would reshuffle ships, sending from Tangrene to Susevfi those that had not been modernized, replacing them with the ones currently stationed in the Jensaarai home system. When a ship's crew consists solely of loyal, devoted clones, it's not as difficult a scheme as it might seem.
Operation Crimson Dawn proceeds according to plan.
— There's a report from Susevfi, — said Pellaeon, approaching me and as usual handing over a personal datapad. — The first wave of the Noghri has already been settled on the moon. Once the last group of transports arrives — those that have just departed — we can consider the evacuation of the Noghri complete. The orbital yards have already notified us that they've allocated repair cells for both of our Mon Calamari Star Cruisers. All crew members used to move the starships to the rendezvous have returned to their combat postings per the standard roster. As you ordered, only those ships manned by personnel already stationed there are being transferred to the Jensaarai's homeworld. Susevfi's location remains secret.
— Were there any objections from the Jensaarai regarding these new settlers on their planet? — I inquired.
— The Saarai-kaar only asked that next time you consider notifying her if you decide to relocate an entire species under her protection, — Pellaeon answered with a half-smile. — She also mentioned that suitable areas on the moon have already been chosen for the Noghri. From my conversation with her, I gathered she's not especially pleased, but her displeasure stems merely from finding out at the last moment.
— We will certainly keep in mind that the Lady Saarai-kaar has a delicate sensibility and requires consultation on every matter beyond her jurisdiction, — I remarked calmly, glancing through the report's pages. Pellaeon conveyed verbatim the statements included in the dispatch. — Any news from Honoghr?
— The reconnaissance droids have reported the enemy ships leaving the system, — replied the Chimaera's commander. — All the Morrt buzz droids have boarded their designated vessels. Telemetry is stable. As soon as the Bothan squadron reaches its base, we'll have even more information about enemy fleet movements.
As intended.
— The damaged Mon Calamari cruisers at the rendezvous, during the "Noghri exchange," were transferred to the crews stationed at Susevfi, — Pellaeon continued. — The assault frigates and escort carriers will reach Tangrene in two days under escort from the Judicator, Death's Head, Nemesis, and other vessels of the squadron that participated in the assault on General Solo's fleet. I expect that by the time we return, they'll be repaired and ready for the next operation.
— The Chimaera is fully operational, Captain? — I asked, keeping my eyes on the little gray vessel drifting into view beyond the bridge.
— Indeed, sir, — Pellaeon confirmed, casting a look at the Crusader-2 we captured, now maneuvering along the security perimeter of the Star Destroyer. An interesting ship, an improved version of its predecessor, though not actually built at MandalMotors. — During the unloading, the damage was repaired, hull breaches sealed; the functionality of your flagship is fully restored.
— Excellent, Captain, — I replied.
So, after a series of raiding attacks on New Republic territory, our fleet has now acquired everything necessary for a successful Phase Two of the operation. Or almost everything.
— Has Moff Ferrus informed you of the nature of the cargo our privateers delivered to Makem Te? — I asked.
The fortress-world now served as a staging outpost for transferring captured goods and settling accounts with hired pirates and "wolfpack" ships. Tangrene was now protected by disguised asteroids, and I had no intention of giving anyone else those navigational coordinates without good reason.
Especially since the Emperor's Hand had become active.
— Yes, sir, — he said. — Four transports were delivered. Two loaded with food supplies. The other two carry various equipment and spare parts for starships. Chief Engineer Reyes reports a large number of units vital for repairing captured assault frigates and the Mon Cal cruisers.
Good. That means Delta Source and our informants are doing their jobs well.
— Assign the assault frigates to Moff Ferrus, — I ordered. — The carriers remain attached to our operational forces. Prepare the replacement parts for the Mon Cal Cruisers so they can be shipped to Susevfi along with the next escort of fresh clones.
— Yes, sir.
The New Republic's assault frigates are good warships in their class, capable of challenging some cruisers. However, they don't fit into my fleet concept because of their mediocre maneuverability, relatively weak armament (compared to cruisers and Star Destroyers), and complete lack of fighter wings. Placing them in the local fleet for rear-area security is far more sensible.
And as for the Mon Calamari cruisers… they're of no use in my fleet—they'd give us away. For now, that de facto "Republic Trophies Fleet" should keep preparing for operations under the banners of the New Republic. Soon, word will reach Coruscant that Lady Santhe was "involved" in developing one of the Death Stars. In that case, serious questions will be raised about her. It's logical that, after unsatisfactory explanations, her transports will be scrutinized by Republic patrols, no? Of course it is. And the star freighters we "allow" to leave each convoy will carry rumors throughout the galaxy, and eventually to Lady Santhe herself, that her trading partners have become downright insolent. Meanwhile, we'll continue augmenting our transport fleet with her captured vessels, acquiring new TIE-series craft that the New Republic sends to Lianna for maintenance, while simultaneously reducing the supply of them on the enemy side.
Suspicions? Yes, there will be suspicions, obviously. First a Grand Admiral appears, requesting the purchase of an orbital factory, and then all these provocations and disappearances of ships—especially those carrying hardware I need. But now I have a fresh order for TIE Interceptors from Delak Krennel. The fighters are decent, but let's be honest, not that great these days. At least Interceptors somewhat hold their own in combat. We don't have many of them in the fleet yet, but soon we'll reorganize and reassign TIE/ln fighters to planetary defense squadrons or to second-line ships. The destroyers will keep only Interceptors.
At least until we get a response from the techs on whether we can begin production of TIE Avengers, of which we seized a couple at the Hast shipyards. But those are far from factory condition, requiring meticulous work to fix the sloppy handiwork done by New Republic mechanics.
Meanwhile, out there somewhere, two Ysanne Isards—one the clone, the other the original—are working in tandem (though one of them is likely unaware of it) with specific goals that do not suit me in the slightest. The only thing I want from them is their elimination.
Not capture, not the intel they may possess—just elimination. Both the clone and the original are far too dangerous to keep alive. Especially since the real Isard, hiding on some Imperial base (which our analysts still can't locate, despite rechecking all possible data), is known to have at least two squadrons of TIE Defenders. The latter were widely considered some of the finest starfighters of the Galactic Civil War era. If I got my hands on them, plus TIE production lines on Lianna, I'd never again have to worry about funneling money into TIE purchases from Krennel. It might be more expensive, but we'd finally produce these machines on our own lines.
In the Imperial Remnants, some squadrons—even bigger units—are equipped with Avengers and Defenders. They're in high demand, and that alone is reason enough not to bother trying to acquire them. Any such request or attempt would border on even greater suspicion and would complicate my relationship with those Imperials. For now, I've managed to mislead them into thinking my allies in other sectors have turned their backs on me. That lie will hold for a while. I need that time to finish Phase Two of Operation Crimson Dawn.
But now…
Now the Chimaera simply hangs in interstellar space, guarded by a standby squadron of TIE fighters and one escort craft I requisitioned from Captain I-Gor for the upcoming mission. It's a minor snag in the plan that must be resolved quickly, before it snowballs. Obstacles in the path must be dealt with immediately.
— Multiple contacts, — reported the officer on watch. Today, for a change, it wasn't Lieutenant Tschel. — Running identification…
— What are they doing here? — Pellaeon said with barely concealed irritation, pointing at the seven starships that had just dropped out of hyperspace ahead, each differing in appearance and age. Moreover, they clearly did not share a single chain of command.
— Our respected privateers have come to inform us why we lost the munitions transport meant for our Star Destroyers and the Torpedo Sphere, — I answered, eyeing the fragments peeling away from the Black Pearl. — Captain, please prepare the briefing bay for the standby squadron. And let Major Tierce know I need something from his stormtroopers.
***
— Jedi Skywalker? — The voice of Irenez, sounding practically in his ear, snapped Luke out of another attempt to reach Leia. The Force was deaf to him today, as it had been for every attempt so far. — I think you need a fresh meal.
— What's wrong with this one? — Luke mumbled absentmindedly, gazing at the plate in front of him with an unfocused stare. — The dish looks fine… And your ship's cook is a master of all trades.
The young man looked somewhat trapped, watching the woman he had tried to save—though, in the end, it had turned out the other way around—smiling at him from the doorway of a cramped cabin the Bothans had provided. She and her "allies" had been keeping him locked up on their ship in a small hangar bay this whole time while an aging Dreadnaught (Han would have said it belonged in a museum, and Luke would agree) performed a series of hyperspace jumps.
— I've been observing you for about thirty minutes, — she explained. Luke, blinking a couple of times, realized how stiff his limbs were. Apparently he'd overdone his meditation today. — Did something happen that's making you hypnotize your food? Or is this some Jedi practice for improving flavor?
— Huh? — Luke blurted, not immediately grasping the jest in her tone. — No, it has nothing to do with the food. Just a Jedi meditation, nothing more.
— Everyone kills time in hyperspace their own way, — she said with the same friendly smile. — The Bothans, for instance, — she glanced behind her, out of Luke's line of sight, — are trying to calculate our ship's course.
— So that's it, — Luke nodded, throwing a look at R2-D2 standing close by. His astromech had spent all nine (or was it ten?) days of the trip doing the same thing, only to reach the discouraging conclusion that after the sixteenth course correction, any further attempts were pointless. The owners of this old warship knew exactly what they were doing. First they'd locked up their "allies" and Luke on board, presumably so that they wouldn't wander around and gather intel. Then they'd made a string of random hyperspace jumps to confuse any possible pursuit—and confuse their guests aboard as well. Whoever commanded this Dreadnaught really didn't want them learning more than was permitted. — I suppose it's better for the Bothans to have something to occupy them than to sit around bored…
— Oh, absolutely, — Irenez nodded. — There's an old saying about that. I hope you haven't been too exhausted by the trip.
— Not at all, — Luke let the Force flow through his body, soothing his muscles with its energy. — I've always dreamed of spending two weeks locked on a Bothan ship with Bothan commandos and their leader, who nearly got rid of me for the sake of protecting his secrets. Especially while sitting in the hold of a vessel I know nothing about, with no clue where we're going or who'll be waiting at the end.
— Trust me, we don't enjoy pulling such tricks, — she grew pensive. — But the Empire has become extremely active all across the galaxy lately. We've had to take measures to keep them away from our rendezvous.
— Active? — Luke frowned. — I thought the Imperial Remnants were lying low, wanting nothing more than to avoid trouble.
— Not exactly, — she admitted with a wry smile. — You don't mind if I sit?
— Oh—yes, of course, — Luke blushed slightly, only now realizing that he should have invited her to come in earlier. Chivalry, right? — Sorry, I…
— You were preoccupied, — she said, stepping inside and taking a seat on the opposite bunk, which was separated from Luke's by a small metal table. Apart from two storage bins under the beds and a tiny refresher, that was the cabin's entire furnishing. Then again, it was a warship, so no one expected chandeliers and plush carpets. — Anyway, about the Empire… Over the past seven to ten days, they've carried out more than fifty strikes on New Republic worlds: military bases, outposts, storage depots, convoys carrying munitions and equipment—mainly those last two.
— Sounds like the New Republic is preparing for something, — Luke said gloomily.
— Indeed, — she nodded. — The Commander believes they're gearing up for a retaliatory strike against the Empire, a preemptive assault on the Ciutric Hegemony, which, according to intelligence, is behind nearly all the recent troubles Coruscant has faced.
Luke had less data on that topic, and what he did have was quite different. He saw no need to mention it, as Irenez's info was likely more up to date. Of course, that assumed she wasn't locked away somewhere similar. Who knew what her nameless commander had on his mind?
— If the Empire has shown aggression, it's no wonder the New Republic would prepare a proportionate response, — Luke sighed. In truth, whether it was the Republic or the Empire, to the Force, there was no difference. War meant death, and that was always a tragedy. He'd had enough sadness over the past few years.
— That's the problem, — Irenez leaned in and lowered her voice. — The Commander believes someone is deliberately provoking the New Republic to attack the Ciutric Hegemony, staging attacks under its banner.
Luke's heart tightened. Suppose this Commander was correct. That would be very bad. The lull in the war after Warlord Zsinj's defeat might burst into fresh flames. And that would benefit no one—especially if it turned out Coruscant's aggression against the Empire was unjustified. From her words, it sounded like someone was trying to stoke the embers of a prolonged conflict. But… why?
After resigning his commission (even thinking about it made him a bit embarrassed—what kind of general was he, anyway?), Luke had lost his access to the New Republic's intelligence and internal data. Still, he knew perfectly well that the Empire's current potential was far outmatched by that of the democratic state sprawling across nearly half the galaxy. The Republic controlled most major tech and ship manufacturers. Thousands of species had united against tyranny and oppression. The Empire? Maybe a third or a quarter of its former territory, fragmented into about ten isolated states and planet-based governments, none of which got along with each other. Meanwhile, the New Republic was on the rise… despite some internal crises he hoped it would soon overcome.
In an open war, the Imperials wouldn't stand a chance. The Republic's might would roll over them like a steamroller over fresh permacrete. Evidently, the Imperial revanchists were flipping some mental switch, ignoring the reality that payback attempts would ultimately fail.
— All right, — he said. — But what do I have to do with this?
— You're a Jedi, — she answered, blinking. — You need to prevent this madness before it's too late. We can get you to Coruscant so you can make Mon Mothma understand that she's on the brink of a catastrophic mistake and mustn't take the Empire's bait.
That again—he sighed wearily. He'd destroyed a planet-killing battlestation, redeemed the Dark Lord of the Sith, and now everyone expected him to stop galactic wars with a wave of his hand.
— No, — Luke sighed. — I won't force anyone to do anything. That's not the Jedi way. We're guardians of peace. We don't impose our views, and we certainly don't manipulate governments to change policy. Doing so would make me no better than Palpatine.
— Or Darth Vader, — Irenez narrowed her eyes. Luke hoped his sudden flinch wasn't too noticeable.
— Right, — he said. — Each of us is responsible for our own choices.
He flexed the artificial right hand he had lost to his impatience and overconfidence on Bespin, a mistake from which he'd learned an invaluable lesson.
— So you won't even try? — Irenez asked in surprise. — But you're the famous Jedi Knight! The only one in the whole galaxy! You could simply remove her from power to spare untold lives…
— The Jedi Order doesn't exist, — he reminded her. — At the moment, I'm all that's left of it, — along with a mysterious Joruus C'baoth, plus a handful of would-be students he'd stumbled across over time. — Right now, I'm a private individual with no authority to arrest the head of the Provisional Government.
— But if you did have the means? — she pressed.
— Even then, — he said firmly. — I understand that reckless actions lead to major casualties. But intervening in someone's affairs uninvited… I won't do that.
— But Mon Mothma and Fey'lya are pushing the New Republic to the breaking point, — she persisted.
— They're duly elected councilors, — he reminded her. — It's not my place to decide whether they're right or wrong. That power, like any other, doesn't lie in the hands of a single person but of the New Republic's people. If they see fit to replace the existing leadership, that's their right—to do or not do so. A Jedi shouldn't interfere in the people's choice. At least, — he added with a wry smile, — not while there's still a chance it can be resolved legitimately.
Irenez was silent for a moment, studying Luke as though seeing him anew. Then, she smiled faintly and nodded.
— I'm glad you gave that answer, — she said. — The Commander will be pleased to learn that he wasn't mistaken about you.
— Mistaken? — Luke clarified. — Was this some kind of test?
Her smile turned… apologetic.
— Forgive me, — she said. — The Commander… He tends to be overly cautious. He doesn't get along with Coruscant's official leadership, so…
— He asked you to make sure a Jedi Knight isn't dancing to the Provisional Government's tune, — Luke finished for her. She offered him a look that said, "I wish it weren't so," but it was what it was.
— More or less, — she admitted.
— I suppose I should be offended, but… — Luke shrugged. In truth, it made sense. He didn't know them, they didn't know him, and the only connection was these Bothans. Bothans weren't known for loyalty to anyone but their own clans, and Luke and Irenez had discovered that truth the hard way on New Cov.
— And your answer could be interpreted both ways, you know, — Luke mused. — If I opposed Mon Mothma, I might well have agreed to remove her at a time of looming crisis.
— That's precisely it, and that's why the Commander isn't looking for someone who opposes Mon Mothma, — Irenez explained. — He wanted to talk with you because you're a Jedi. And a Jedi would never defy the New Republic's legitimate laws or their conscience. He simply wanted to confirm that for himself.
Luke remained silent for a short while, then spoke:
— We're approaching your base, aren't we?
— One of them, — Irenez cast a glance aside. — Which is why they asked me to… speak to you and see how you feel.
— I'm open to any discussion, — Luke assured her. — But let me ask: That story you shared about the Empire and the New Republic… was that true, or…?
— Fiction made up to gauge your reaction? — she finished for him. He nodded quietly.
— Unfortunately, it's real, — she sighed. — I don't know the Commander's full plan, but I think he wants to show the New Republic that Fey'lya is not the best choice for Commander-in-Chief.
— I'm sure Coruscant has figured that out already, — Luke said, pained. He had hoped her description was at least somewhat exaggerated. But the Force confirmed her sincerity. — And you, too, apparently, given how you're treating your Bothan "allies."
— It's a forced alliance, — Irenez frowned. — They came to our aid in a difficult moment, but… The Commander suspects they didn't do it out of pure goodwill.
— Bothans aren't known for altruism, right? — Luke gave a sad grin, quoting an old adage.
— Something like that, — Irenez agreed. — The Commander will explain it more precisely. I can only say that recently we've become disenchanted not only with the Bothans' actions but also, to a large extent, with Mon Mothma's. Though the Commander had already been… reluctant to agree with her.
— Oh? — Luke raised his eyebrows. — So your Commander knows Mon Mothma personally?
— Quite well, — she confirmed.
— Then are you some breakaway Republic fleet group, or what? — Luke asked, curious about her and her employer, hoping to glean any clue. This was all quite the mystery.
The young woman gazed at him a long moment.
— I'm afraid I can't tell you everything, — she admitted ruefully. Luke felt her frustration through the Force. — If the Commander wishes, he'll explain it all. I can only say that we're not part of the New Republic Armed Forces. And we never were. There was a time we shared a common goal with the Rebel Alliance, but circumstances forced us to follow our own path to that same destination. Since then, we haven't crossed on any official level. I doubt the New Republic even knows we exist. And if it does, it prefers to keep quiet.
— Well, that's… quite a twist, — Luke scratched his head. — You know, I can't speak for the Republic or the Provisional Government, but it seems to me that if you offered help in such a crisis, the New Republic would welcome you with open arms…
— That's exactly what we don't want, — she countered unexpectedly. — As long as Mon Mothma is in charge, the Commander will never agree to come out of the shadows or join them.
— Why? — Luke asked, baffled. — You said your goals—and those of the New Republic—are the same. Did I misunderstand?
— The goal remains the same: to fight for sentient rights against tyranny, — Irenez explained. — But something happened between the Commander and Mon Mothma, a long time ago. It prevents him from taking a step toward her, from initiating anything. And without his involvement, — she frowned, — I fear the New Republic won't hold out. Our informants confirm that someone ruthless and unscrupulous is at work against the New Republic, covering their tracks and leaving no witnesses. They mislead the New Republic with disinformation so extensive it's shocking. Fey'lya and his Bothan cronies are consumed with power struggles and their vengeful crusade against an Imperial Remnant they blame for all ills. They either can't or won't see they're being strung along. Meanwhile, we… The Commander sees it, but we're too few to fix the situation alone. And as I said, he won't approach Mon Mothma. Yet we're all worried for the New Republic's future. If they really attack the Empire, it'll be a disaster—if not militarily, then certainly politically.
— An open assault would provoke retaliation, — Luke nodded. — And in the ensuing chaos, the New Republic might fracture—especially if everything is indeed as you say, with someone leading us into a trap. The potential consequences could be enormous. We'd all suffer.
— Or lose everything, — she said quietly.
— So what would you have me do? — Luke asked. Through the Force, he sensed her indecision—her struggle between revealing everything and staying silent. She wanted him to see the subtext.
— I'm just giving you information, — she sighed. — You're an honorable person and a Jedi who always does what's right. I'm sure you'll find a way to convey the gravity of this situation. If we delay, it'll be too late.
— I understand, — Luke said, slightly overselling his ability to decode a woman's hidden meaning. — I'll do all I can, as long as it doesn't violate my conscience, my morals, or the law.
— I wouldn't ask otherwise, — she smiled, rising from the seat and heading toward the door.
She paused in the doorway, turning back to him:
— We'll arrive at our base in a few days. We need to stop somewhere to pick something up, wander around a bit more, and then we'll be there.
— If you need me, you know where to find me, — Luke replied with a friendly smile. He genuinely liked this woman. Her internal struggle—torn between duty and doing the right thing—was all too familiar to him. He sincerely hoped he could manage the task she'd indirectly asked of him.
— I… — She hesitated, glancing at the dried-out food on the table. — If you don't mind, I'll drop by later. Bring you a fresh meal, since yours is all crusted over.
Luke looked at the now-shriveled steak, which had lost a third of its size since it had been delivered—steaming hot—before he'd begun meditating.
— If it's not too much trouble, — he said kindly.
— Not at all, — she promised as she slipped out and the door closed behind her.
Alone with his astromech, Luke heaved a weary sigh.
— Our life was never easy, was it, R2? — he asked. The droid let out a sympathetic chirp.
— Please do me a favor and give me a good shake when the new meal arrives, — Luke requested, casting the steak one more regretful look. — I'll try to meditate again until then.
Faithful as ever, the droid blinked its optical sensor and shifted from foot to foot.
— I'm not sure, R2, — Luke admitted. — Things used to be simpler. Now, I don't even know who Irenez wants me to talk to—Mon Mothma or this unnamed Commander. Which one needs to be convinced that the path they've chosen leads to disaster? The inability to foresee the consequences invites huge tragedies. I didn't listen to Yoda, I left my training early, rushed off to save Han, Leia, and Chewbacca… and fell right into Vader's trap, losing my hand, — he glanced at the cybernetic replacement, the one that had cost him half his forearm at Cloud City, — and almost became Palpatine's prize. Had I died in Cloud City, or worse… — The young Jedi shuddered. — If I'd fallen into Palpatine's hands at that point, unprepared for his manipulations… — He trailed off, remembering his battle with his father aboard the second Death Star. He'd come so close to falling then, but stood strong only because he'd had time to prepare after Bespin. Now, he felt unprepared for whatever was coming. The warning from Obi-Wan Kenobi's spirit about the lingering threat of the dark side still echoed in his memory. But he had yet to encounter anyone resembling Palpatine or Vader. Perhaps it was that blue-skinned humanoid with red eyes he had glimpsed in the Dagobah cave on his second visit? Or the woman who knelt to him and took up a weapon? Or maybe he was doing something wrong and missing threats hidden from his untrained senses. Without proper Jedi schooling, it was hard to grasp the true place of Jedi in the New Republic. The swirl of speculation and supposition in his mind was endless… Yet one conviction remained firm: the Jedi should not seize control of the government, or ascend to the top of politics or the military. Their destiny was to serve the Force and safeguard peace, not to rule the people. Vader and Emperor Palpatine stood as a prime example of how power corrupts. Vader, once a Jedi, did return to the light, but Palpatine… He had been utterly deaf to reason, wanting only power. It was his undoing. The same fate would befall the New Republic if Luke erred. — I need to persuade either Mon Mothma or that Commander to step beyond their comfort zone. If it's as bad as Irenez says, then we're in deep trouble, and we need all the help we can get. I'll have to talk to one of them and make them see the other's viewpoint.
R2-D2 gave a mournful warble, accompanied by a flicker of color from its lens.
— Perhaps both of them, — Luke conceded, resuming his meditation posture. As usual, the little droid offered good advice.
Time to seek answers through the Force.
***
After the last of the privateer captains finished his account of the events in the Monastery system, silence filled the briefing bay.
Irv, Vain, and Tiberos were seated in the front row, as they had taken the lead in the discussion—Irv and Vain side by side, Tiberos a few seats away, fiddling indifferently with his faceplate.
— Captain Irv, Captain Vain — you'll receive your share of the spoils for your part in the operation once you review the cargo manifests, — I said, indicating two personal datapads on the edge of the holoprojector. Rukh, silent as a gray shadow, stepped forward to hand each of them a device. The transported cargo wasn't of prime strategic importance, more of a dual-purpose shipment. Thus the privateers were entitled to claim part of it as payment.
— Aren't I getting a commission? — Tiberos said offhandedly.
— Yes, — Yazuo Vain answered abruptly. — I'd also like to discuss reparations for what Tiberos did. The Black Pearl took a serious beating…
— Vain, — Captain Irv said warningly, casting me a cautious glance. The old Separatist officer knew perfectly well that their abrupt summons to a meeting with the fleet commander was far from normal. Considering their nominal command under Moff Ferrus, it was clear something extraordinary had happened. — This isn't the right time…
— What do you mean, "not the right time?" — the younger captain protested. — I risked my ship for you, — he glared at me, — and thanks to some personal beef Tiberos has, I racked up fifteen million credits in damage, maybe more if we can't find replacement parts on some scrapheap…
— Vain, — Irv repeated more sternly, gripping his protégé's shoulder and giving him a hard look.
— No, no, no! — Vain ranted on. — I bust my back for you, I put my ship on the line, and now, because of Tiberos's personal grudges, my repair bill's through the roof! He used heavy anti-ship torpedoes on fighters when we had vulture droids right there…
— Rukh, — I said calmly.
In that moment, the chatter stopped as soon as Vain felt the Noghri's throwing knife slip in between his torso and upper arm, lodging in the seat back. Unfazed, Rukh then stepped forward, retrieved his blade, gave it a spin around his fingers, and made it vanish.
— I will say this once, — I spoke softly but firmly, causing the young privateer to clamp his mouth shut. Probably best for him not to mouth off at a Noghri. — Your personal quarrels do not interest me, — Tiberos smirked, but I pressed on, — as long as they don't harm my plans. If nobody here wants my bodyguard to give you a live demonstration of his lethal expertise, you will remain silent while I speak.
The smirk on Tiberos's face vanished. Vain and Tiberos both straightened. Irv merely sighed, having seen many such encounters in his time.
— Now, since you have time to listen, here are the raw facts, — I said. — Of the five ships you captured, the most important one was lost. The reason? An attack by a pirate group known as the Lok Revenants. Which of you is familiar with this outfit?
Among those present, only Irv and Tiberos seemed to react. Vain, sulking, kept quiet. Young and hotheaded, not really cut out for captaincy of a capital ship.
— Captain Irv, — I turned to the most objective source of information. — Report.
The former Separatist officer fished in the pocket of his vest. Rukh's blade flashed again, but Irv lifted his hand slowly.
— Easy, — he said calmly. — It's just a datachip, — he pulled out the memory stick with deliberate caution. — If you permit, Grand Admiral, I'd like to demonstrate.
— The holoprojector is at your disposal, — I replied. We had made sure the equipment in this bay was not connected to the Destroyer's central computer, to guard against data bombs. My little friend Ghent had taught me much about improved security measures, especially after he'd been caught hacking our systems. Now he was on our side.
— Their leader is Captain Nym, — Irv began, projecting the hologram of a being of nonhuman species. — The group is based on the planet Lok in the Karthakk system, located in the Outer Rim, near the worlds of Lannik, Socorro, Christophsis, Geonosis, Ryloth, and so forth.
My mind rapidly aligned the astrographical data: quadrant Q-17—pirate territory. This might be manageable.
— Shortly before the invasion of Naboo, the Trade Federation occupied that system, using it as a testing ground for their new droid starfighters, — Irv continued. — Nym had already been a pirate in that region back then, and he disliked the new neighbors, so he kept ambushing Trade Federation convoys and stations. Naturally, the Neimoidians fought back, and ultimately Nym and his gang left Lok for a while. Rumor has it that Nym cooperated with the Jedi, but I have no hard evidence—only stories: apparently, Nym flew starfighter missions with one of them, praising his skill highly. His gang fought the Trade Federation for more than a decade. Some claim he even aided the Old Republic in the first Battle of Geonosis, — intriguing. I'd thought that conflict only involved clones and Jedi. — Later on, he returned to Lok, driving the Trade Federation out for good. Again, they say the Jedi helped him. I don't know all the details. But that's how he seized control of the Karthakk system. After that, Nym lived large and wide, and the system's population recognized him as its ruler.
Fascinating. A local Henry Morgan figure. Now we see how some pirates in the Outer Rim grew so bold—they had connections to the Jedi. A questionable arrangement: how can you be the so-called guardian of peace and justice while turning a blind eye to a known pirate? Perhaps it wasn't that straightforward, but it certainly begs questions.
— At some point, Nym stole a prototype of the Scurrg H-6 Bomber that might have been put into service on Naboo, though that idea was abandoned because the ship was "over-armed." However, — Irv flicked a glance at Tiberos, — Nym found a use for it. During the fight in the Monastery system, Captain Tiberos's pilot showed us the craft's formidable capabilities. And according to the Colicoid Swarm's sensor logs, Nym apparently runs a production line for these ships somewhere.
Interesting. I'd like a closer look at the Scurrg H-6.
— During the Galactic Civil War, Nym and Jabba the Hutt were said to be two of the most influential operators in the Outer Rim, — Irv went on. That might be hearsay. — At any rate, Nym and his "Revenants" have some grudge against the Empire. Not sure of the details, but for the last twenty-five years, they've attacked Imperial convoys, outposts, and ships, while leaving Alliance or New Republic vessels alone. In fact, I know of at least two instances where Nym sold captured Imperial transports to Rebel forces. Some say the Alliance had an orbital station in that star system. Nym vigorously protects his territory, so unwanted guests rarely last long—if they survive the initial "welcome." — Irv turned his gaze to me. — That's basically all I know.
— Understood, Captain Irv, — I told him. — Once we verify it, you'll receive proper compensation. Now, Captain Tiberos, — I turned my attention to the man who favored dual war-axes, — do you have anything to add?
— What makes you think I know anything more? — he replied with feigned surprise.
— Because you're personally acquainted with Nym and his Lok Revenants, and Captain Nym despises you. — I paused. — I suspect it's deeper than stealing one of his bombers. It's personal, for both of you.
Tiberos glared at me silently, evidently trying to read me through the Force. But the ysalamiri hidden beneath the table disagreed with that approach.
— Captain Irv just said you claimed not to meddle in personal feuds, Grand Admiral, — Tiberos finally spoke. — Or is this different?
— Indeed, Captain Tiberos, it's different. — I let him see my mild exasperation. — If Nym or his men had simply killed you between missions, that wouldn't concern me. But a transport full of cargo meant for my fleet was destroyed as a direct result of your actions. And, as we all just heard, you yourself told Nym you work for the Empire, obviously provoking him into attacking the transport. Moreover, you intentionally used an H-6 stolen from the Lok Revenants. From your logs, you never spent a single idle day after obtaining it—our intel fed you target after target. You evidently planned for Nym and the Revenants to step in, forcing me and my forces to intervene in your personal feud. Didn't I get that right?
— You got everything down as cleanly as a Givin's calculations, — he snarled, clearly displeased at being cornered. So my orders to Major Tierce had been appropriate indeed.
— Then tell me why I shouldn't just order my bodyguard to kill you right now? — I asked.
— Because you don't have that many privateers at your beck and call, — Tiberos sneered. — How many do you have, anyway? Ten? Mostly lone wolves. I'm practically the only one who's built a crew…
— Rukh, when my count reaches zero, cut his throat, — I instructed. Irv and Vain coughed nervously. Unarmed, Tiberos shifted in his seat.
— What count? — Tiberos asked uneasily.
— Ten, — I said.
Tiberos stared at me in disbelief.
— Eight.
— What about nine? — Tiberos hissed.
— Six.
— Thrawn, you've gone too far! — the two-meter-tall pirate roared, jumping to his feet.
— Four.
— Nobody will work for you after this! — Tiberos blustered.
— Two.
— I can compensate you! — he exclaimed. Seeing that he was still alive, he added, — I'll tell you everything I know about the Lok Revenants. Believe me, you'll want to hear it. There's something you can latch onto. But I'll only say it in private.
— Wait a second, — Yazuo Vain interjected. — We haven't settled the issue of who's paying me for my ship's damages! I want my credits first, then you can…
— My apologies, Grand Admiral Thrawn, — Captain Irv said quickly, covering his protégé's mouth with one hand to silence him. — The lad's a bit dense. If it's all right with you, we'd like to withdraw and wait elsewhere?
— Granted, — I nodded. — Captain Pellaeon will let you know when to return. Meanwhile, go back to your ships. Captain Vain — the Chimaera's specialists stand ready to inspect the damage and prepare an estimate for your repairs. I'm sure you'd like to point out all the harm your ship sustained.
Relieved, the young privateer merely gave me a stiff nod.
— Yes… yes, I'd like that, — he muttered.
As the doors slid shut behind the two privateers, I redirected my gaze to Captain Tiberos.
— Now then, — I said. — You were about to persuade me. A word of advice: hurry. The next number I utter is going to be "zero," and it will coincide with the moment your windpipe gets cut in half.
— I… have some savings, — Tiberos grunted, shooting a hateful glance in the direction Vain had exited. — I wanted to buy the Black Pearl from him. He's just a boy who lucked into a Star Destroyer, and he's wrecking the ship. Launching anti-ship torpedoes at fighters with vulture droids right there…
— My patience is wearing thin, Captain Tiberos.
— I served under Nym, — he confessed quickly. — I know his defense systems, I know where the manufacturing lines are, where his ships are based. You could deploy a hundred probe droids and still learn only half of what I know.
— Go on, — I said.
— First, there's an asteroid belt around Lok called Lok's Spine. It's practically invisible visually, and scanners act up because so much of it is obsidian, which refracts beams at random angles. The Trade Federation once tried to study that obsidian before Nym drove them out. No one really knows its properties, but it's unbelievably tough. Rumor has it, it was even used in Darth Vader's armor.
— I've heard about obsidian blades, — Captain Irv commented. — They're unbelievably sharp.
— Next, — Tiberos continued. — The entire belt is full of metals. Virtually the entire Galactic periodic table can be found there. How else do you think Nym's gang obtains resources to manufacture fighters and repair ships? It's a huge raw-material base.
This is beginning to sound promising indeed.
— Keep talking.
— No one wants to invade Nym's turf because he found too much of the Trade Federation's leftover gear, — Tiberos said. — For instance, there are orbital defense cannons. One of them is on Honse, a moon of Lok. That single gun once took out a heavy cruiser in a single shot. As far as I know, the Trade Federation used dozens of such cannons to defend its labs and factories on one of the system's planets, Nod Karata. I'm not sure how many are still operational, but I do know that anyone who tried to oust Nym from Lok has had to face them. Just in my time with him, he wiped out a dozen pirate gangs—some real veteran outfits.
Interesting. That definitely suggests the planet is well fortified with leftover Federation technology.
— Nym also has a small shipyard called Lok Space Station, — Tiberos continued. — It's capable of repairing smaller ships, featuring professional, Imperial-grade equipment. The workforce is highly skilled… He's even got a prison, orbital station 1138, drifting around from the Federation days. Nym used it to hold local criminals or rebellious pirates. It's near impossible to escape—strict regime. But, — Tiberos sneered, — it is possible.
Hence Tiberos's knowledge of it, presumably.
— There's also an old Alliance station, supposedly well-defended by Nym's underlings, storing the spoils of his three decades of piracy. He's had time to amass quite a fortune, not to mention prime materials for starship production…
— So far you've said nothing that truly interests me, — I said, bored. — Are you testing my patience, Captain Tiberos?
— No, Grand Admiral, — Tiberos snapped. — I'm just laying out everything you need to take the Karthakk system.
— And why would I want that? — I inquired mildly.
— Because it's an ideal forward base right under the nose of the New Republic, — he insisted conspiratorially. — Everyone who knew the route there is either dead or has killed each other. Nym has basically sat there living in comfort, turning the system into a fortress. He doesn't have the numbers to fend off a real fleet, but the region's natural obstacles are deadly to large-scale invasions.
— For example?
— The Screaming Storm Nebula, with violent electrical surges that can blow ships apart. And there's also the Ruby Nebula, so dense it can hide an entire fleet from detection, since sensors go haywire. The Trade Federation used it as a hideout for their mercenaries—until they were driven out, that is. You see now, Grand Admiral? I'm offering you a system you can easily convert into your own base with minimal forces. You could hide fifteen or twenty Star Destroyers there, so well that even they couldn't find each other…
— So your plan was to use me to take down Nym and the Lok Revenants, letting you seize power for yourself, correct?
Tiberos twitched, his right eye quivering.
— You sure you're not a Jedi, Grand Admiral?
— Very well, — I said. — You've described the benefits of destroying Nym and capturing his system. I might do that, Captain. Now, why should I spare your life? So far, everything you've told me…
— Remember I mentioned that Alliance station, heavily guarded by Nym's cronies? — Tiberos said with a sly grin. — That's where Nym keeps his booty from three decades of piracy. There could be hundreds of millions, maybe billions, Grand Admiral. We can split it, and…
— Recall, — I cut in smoothly, — what I told Niles Ferrier in your presence? That it's foolish to kill an Imperial officer, correct?
Tiberos cringed, recalling that conversation. He shot a glance at Rukh. The Noghri silently awaited my signal to strike.
— So, factoring in your interesting intel, I'll repeat my question, Captain Tiberos, — I said, watching his fear mount. — What can you offer me, so compelling that I choose not to hand you over to Nym in exchange for him steering clear of my affairs?
— W-what? — he hissed. — You captured my crew?
— My stormtroopers boarded your ship the moment you, Irv, and Vain surrendered your comlinks and weapons here, — I said calmly. — So I want a better reason to keep you alive. Otherwise my interrogators will have a fine time with your crew. I already know about that hidden stash on the Rabid Ewok. Let's say that covers the Black Pearl's repair costs. Now think of something to save yourself and your men, after you tried to deceive me, that I can't possibly refuse.
The pirate's eyes bulged, realizing he'd already spent all his best cards. Finding a safe route into the Karthakk system was feasible, if time-consuming. The potential gains were substantial. He had basically sold me on the idea.
— That's what I thought, Captain Tiberos, — I said, signaling my bodyguard. — Zero.