Nine years, eight months, and eleven days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, eight months, and eleven days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and thirty-one days since the arrival).
Adepts of the Dark Side do not experience Force visions.
The future remains obscured to them, for it is ever in flux.
And because they do not submit to the Force, nor serve as its mindless conduits and servants, as the Jedi do.
They control the Force, proclaiming themselves its masters.
Thus, when he saw himself from an outside perspective, lying on the floor of a vast hall, surrounded by dozens of diverse corpses and half-living sentients, both familiar and unknown, he was momentarily taken aback.
Pain and suffering permeated the surroundings... Those already dead served as a grim reminder to those still clinging to life. Merciless death, inevitable for all.
The sensation of doom, the inevitability of one's fate.
Is it terrifying to witness one's end?
No.
For one who has drowned entire populations in blood, who has razed settlements in pursuit of Jedi, accepting the simple truth—that all must eventually die—comes easily.
But this truth is not to everyone's liking.
Thus, many Dark Side adepts seek immortality through the ancient knowledge of the Sith and other cults... Some succeed, others do not...
He observed as darkness approached his fallen allies.
It bore distinctly humanoid contours.
But that was merely a shell.
Within the humanoid form raged uncontrollable fury and madness.
He knew who had descended upon them to fulfill the role of executioner.
The mere realization that his life's path would end in this manner was enough to plunge him into despair.
Following the darkness came seven others.
Black as the darkness itself, but far less imposing. Mere executioners, wielding crimson blades like stingers, beheading bodies and casting their severed heads at the foot of the throne from which the shadow had emerged.
A swing of a blade—and a young Jenssarai, attempting to call upon the Dark Side to resist, perished.
A precise thrust to the throat—and Mara Jade's head separated from her body, having failed to strike her foe with Force Lightning.
It was ineffective.
A figure in a brown robe and a helmet adorned with an animal motif rose from the floor in a desperate attempt to shield a sprawled, unconscious but living figure clad in a white uniform with blue skin.
This warrior unleashed all his fury, all the might of the Dark Side, upon the shadow and the seven, but the coordinated, materialized hatred of the frenzied shadow tore the defender to pieces.
The seven collected their bloody toll, encircling the figure in white.
Time and again, they annihilated sentients—humans and non-humans alike—who mounted uncoordinated resistance, defending themselves individually as best they could. Among them were adepts of both the Light and Dark Sides, though the former, aligned with the figure in white, were far fewer.
Despite the Jedi offering significant resistance and even managing to destroy the seven, all perished.
They were simply too few. Wounded, exhausted... But worst of all was another factor.
They were led by one who neither understood nor embraced the Light Side of the Force.
And they, too, fell. For their commander was an Inquisitor.
Now, nothing separated the terrifying, frenzied shadow from the figure in white.
Almost nothing.
Only a lone warrior in a black suit and a sealed helmet with a crimson visor, armed with a lightsaber pike, remained. The one who had led the fallen.
The shadow struck him with Force Lightning, but he knew how to deflect it.
He stood firm.
The shadow assailed him with telekinesis, yet he emerged unscathed once more.
The shadow seethed with rage and fury, pressing and seeking to destroy him, but the man in black attire and the helmet with the red visor endured. Like the shadow, he was an adept of the Dark Side. Far less skilled, but the sole survivor.
Because he had sent the others to their certain deaths. He sought to exhaust the shadow and kill it himself. To slay it and proclaim himself the new shadow.
He craved power and was prepared to betray his former allies. For deep within, that had always been his desire.
To use them to eliminate all obstacles to his dominion.
To exploit them to satisfy his ambitions for power.
He saw the shadow crush him, forcing him to his knees.
He saw his defeat.
And this realization proved catastrophic.
Drained and humiliated, he knelt before the shadow, poised to annihilate him.
He pleaded for mercy, proclaiming his loyalty and readiness to serve. A simple deception to preserve his life, to extend his existence, to betray once more...
The shadow saw through his intentions and desires, penetrating the depths of his thoughts. No barriers could shield him, and his feeble attempts at resistance provoked only irritation...
Thus, the frenzied, rage-fueled shadow understood who knelt before it and what the defeated foe sought...
And unleashed its full wrath, flooding the surrounding space with Force Lightning and excruciating pain that pierced every fiber of his being, obliterating all that existed...
The last thing he saw was himself lying on an operating table.
Mutilated, burned, weak, humiliated, broken...
Beside him stood the shadow, in whose presence droids encased his body in a black suit, a prison like that of Darth Vader, where he would spend the remainder of his days. A personal cage for one whose boundless ambitions and belief in the all-conquering power of the Dark Side led not to supremacy but to captivity, humiliation, and the role of a powerless enforcer of another's will, incapable of betraying the frenzied shadow...
The vision of the future faded.
A sensation of weightlessness, viscosity, and moisture followed...
Unpleasant sensations...
He stirred, striving to break free from the grip of these sensory projections.
His eyes snapped open, revealing the transparent gel of a bacta tank installed within a chamber whose interior instinctively reminded him of a starship.
Of Imperial design...
At first, he panicked, fearing he had fallen into the clutches of the frenzied shadow, but then, seeing the man seated beside the massive tank, he relaxed.
Slightly...
— Praise the Force, — Fodeum Sabre De'Luz said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep as he rose from his chair and approached the bacta tank to meet his gaze. — I thought you wouldn't survive. Forgive me, master, I overdid it...
A flash of memory refreshed the former Inquisitor's recollection of recent events. The journey through Dantooine's caves, the crystals, exhaustion, combat, a blow, darkness... and the distinct thought that death had freed him from the Dark Side's embrace and the need to conceal his true intentions...
But he was alive.
He was angry.
He was irritated and...
He was afraid.
Of what he had seen.
Of what the Force had decreed as his destiny.
A path that would end in the ignominious fate of a broken puppet, a discarded toy forced to carry out orders for the rest of his days. No fulfillment of his ambitions, no regal heights...
Only arrogance, brought crashing down to reality...
Pursuing the destructive path of the Dark Side would lead to failure, costing him everything he now possessed. And it was this failure that would ensure the frenzied shadow's triumph.
Reynar felt uneasy...
This was not what he wanted. Not what he had strived for.
Serving the strong—yes, that was the lot of lesser, weaker Dark Side adepts... But he considered himself strong.
And now he knew where that would lead.
To be honest, he cared little for others, for the galaxy... But to become a broken puppet in the hands of a frenzied shadow...
Brr...
Calling upon the Force, he shattered the bacta tank's upper lid and, with a fluid motion through the healing gel, reached the top edge. Tearing off his oxygen mask despite the young Jenssarai's protests, he climbed (with great effort) onto the platform.
Trembling from fear and cold, the former Inquisitor looked at his apprentice:
— Jedi, — he rasped.
— Uh... — the boy faltered. — I'm Fodeum, a future Jenssarai...
— Not you, fool... — Reynar Obscuro sneered but caught himself in time. What fault was it of the boy's? — The Jedi from the caves, the fish-face. Is he alive?
— Yes, — the boy's eyes darted nervously. — The Mon Calamari's skull turned out tougher than I expected... If he hadn't regained consciousness and done something to keep you alive, then...
— Good, — Reynar Obscuro coughed, allowing his lungs to function at full capacity. His hands, legs, and entire body trembled as if he stood on a windswept cliff... — Arrange a meeting.
— You can barely stand on all fours! — the boy protested. — When Vex and the stormtroopers found us, you were hardly breathing. The Mon Calamari restarted your heart and... Killing him isn't the best idea.
— I'm not going to kill him, — Reynar snapped, though without malice. — We need to talk.
— Oh, stars! — the boy couldn't contain himself. — About what?
The former Inquisitor turned his head, meeting his apprentice's gaze:
— Some things need clarifying, — he replied, suddenly realizing that snarling and cursing every other word wasn't entirely necessary...
After so many years serving in the Inquisitorius, after countless deaths and completed missions, Reynar Obscuro began to suspect that his path of devotion to the Dark Side of the Force had been somewhat incomplete...
***
Approximately five hundred years ago, the Kallidahin species, native to the planet Kallidah in the Subterrel sector, established a base on a large asteroid named Polis Massa for archaeological purposes. They sought to uncover the circumstances surrounding the asteroid's formation, once part of a planet destroyed in an unknown catastrophe, as well as the beings that once inhabited it.
Though the Subterrel sector, where the asteroid was located, was frequently visited by other species, the local population had minimal contact with them and the rest of the galaxy, leaving Polis Massa an unpopular destination. Especially when more appealing alternatives for leisure existed.
Luke had no such options.
He had come here seeking answers and found them, both in archival records and through conversations with the locals.
Though Polis Massa had not officially joined the New Republic, its inhabitants were deeply sympathetic to its cause. The sector's population was also amicable toward the Jedi—both the old Order and Luke himself, whom they welcomed warmly.
Upon learning his identity and purpose for visiting the asteroid, the locals granted him access to the necessary archival records.
Their comprehensive study led to a singular conclusion.
Despite the absence of records or confirmation from the locals regarding recent visits by Imperials or others interested in the archives, Grand Admiral Thrawn had been correct.
Luke and Leia were born here.
Nearly thirty years ago.
The archives contained records of this, as well as the fact that their mother, Senator Padmé Amidala Naberrie, had died in childbirth. Present during this somber moment were Jedi Masters Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, and Senator Bail Prestor Organa of Alderaan, who took the children with them.
The rest, Luke pieced together himself.
Kenobi had taken him to Tatooine and entrusted him to the Lars family, who did everything to ensure the boy bore no burden for his father's deeds or became embroiled in some galactic adventure.
But what they had shielded him from came to pass.
Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru were killed by Imperial stormtroopers, and he embarked on "another mad crusade" with old Ben Kenobi...
Well...
After nearly two weeks of travel to this asteroid, far from hyperspace routes, a few days of searching through labyrinthine archives, and a small genetic experiment kindly conducted by the locals comparing Luke's blood to that of Senator Padmé Amidala Naberrie, there were no longer any doubts.
As Thrawn had promised, he found answers here. Judging by the Imperial commander's omission of the stored blood sample, he may have been unaware of it. Though that seemed unlikely.
Now, his mission was complete.
There was little point in traveling to Naboo to search for his mother's relatives... The young Jedi saw no reason. He had come here merely to pass the time needed for Imperial medics to confirm the safety of transporting him to New Republic-controlled space. Lando and Chewbacca were busy inspecting the *Millennium Falcon*, which had been in Imperial hands for some time. Calrissian and the Wookiee suspected the Imperials might have left "surprises," especially after the incident on the first *Death Star*, when a hidden tracking beacon placed on Solo's captured ship led the Empire to the Rebel Alliance's base on Yavin's fourth moon. Then there was the escape from Cloud City on the gas giant Bespin, when, contrary to the Rebels' assumptions, the *Millennium Falcon*'s hyperdrive was disabled, nearly delivering Luke, Leia, Chewbacca, and Lando into Imperial hands.
In short, Grand Admiral Thrawn could provide useful information all he wanted, but trusting him blindly was senseless.
The ruler of the newly formed Dominion had repeatedly demonstrated his ability to manipulate sentients, including his enemies, with the virtuosity of a conductor.
Well.
Unfortunately, enemies cannot be chosen. Especially when ideological differences divide you. At times, he pondered how strong and secure the galaxy might be if the Empire and the New Republic ceased their conflict. If they simply signed an agreement, held their current territories, and resolved all disputes at the negotiating table, directing their armed forces to combat piracy and other unlawful acts by rogue elements of galactic society...
How regrettable that such a scenario was impossible.
Utopias are never enduring. Where wise politicians might set aside distrust and mutual animosity for the greater good, others would eagerly tear at each other's throats...
It was time to return to Ciutric IV, tell Leia everything, and retrieve his friends...
He walked through a corridor toward the landing pad, intending to board his X-wing and depart Polis Massa.
He had just rounded a corner, entering a remote passageway connecting the central complex to his designated landing pad, when he felt the Force stir.
Skywalker swallowed nervously.
Something was about to happen. Something dark, unnatural, driven by the will of the Dark Side, whose presence he sensed ahead.
The young man could discern nothing in the dimness of the tunnel carved directly into the asteroid's body, but he distinctly felt the emanating danger. And this danger was concentrated in the middle of the straightforward corridor, through which he could see his X-wing standing a couple hundred meters from his current position.
R2-D2 was surely waiting, having completed pre-flight preparations...
The Dark Side asserted itself again—this time, not only ahead but behind him as well.
It was as if he were being trapped.
His hand instinctively found the hilt of his lightsaber.
An emerald blade sprang from the hilt, dispelling the shadows.
As if a constituent part of it, the corridor's half-darkness came alive, expelling a fragment of itself.
Clad entirely in black from head to toe, a young man stared at Luke. Roughly matching him in build and age, he regarded Skywalker as an insignificant obstacle, an annoyance that had forced him to pause more pressing matters.
Luke, for his part, would not have minded if this stranger continued his affairs and left him be.
Calling upon the Force, the young Jedi sensed that he and the second threat were separated by just over a kilometer and a half. Thus, the second Force-sensitive individual, also attuned to the Dark Side, was somewhere near the complex's central entrance. And, judging by the Force, he was not alone.
The Force indicated a sudden presence of numerous sentients near the complex. Cold, indifferent, ready to kill...
An alarm blared. From the corridor's speakers came warnings in the local dialect. Luke couldn't make out the words due to their rapid delivery, but when the alert switched to Galactic Basic, he froze...
The asteroid was surrounded by three Star Destroyers, their weapons trained on it. At that moment, the space around Polis Massa swarmed with landing craft and TIE fighters. And somewhere nearby lurked an Interdictor cruiser.
The Empire had set an ambush for him!
— Surrender, — the stranger's voice was low, laced with superiority over the young Jedi and impatience. — And no one will be harmed. You can't escape anyway.
Sure, we know those tales.
It's the exact opposite.
— There's no need for a fight, — Luke pleaded. — If you have grievances, whoever you are, we can discuss them...
The opponent let out a haughty chuckle, jerking his right hand so that a dark cylinder slid from his sleeve into his palm.
The stranger's fingers, clad in black gloves, gripped the hilt, and...
Luke opened himself to the Force, hoping his worst fears would not be confirmed. But today, the Force was not so kind.
In the stranger's hands ignited a lightsaber with a crimson blade.
Without hesitation, the Dark Side adept lunged into attack.
Luke prepared to deflect the assault...
And at that moment, the Force was flooded with surges of pain and the deaths of thousands of Kallidahin living on Polis Massa.
Just as Ben Kenobi had sensed the destruction of Alderaan, the Jedi now froze, feeling life around him extinguished, calculatedly and unpunished, by ruthless and cold-blooded Imperial stormtroopers.
Disoriented by the pain and numerous deaths, the young Jedi failed to notice the stranger close the distance, delivering a heavy boot kick that knocked the breath out of Luke Skywalker and sent him crashing against the wall.
***
— Sir, — the comlink crackled with Captain Pellaeon's voice. — Captain Abyss's group has departed. Reports from Tangrene indicate that the freighter carrying components for the Super Star Destroyer has reached its destination, and unloading is underway.
— Good, — I said, keeping my eyes on the sentients seated across from me. — Has Baroness D'Asta's shuttle departed?
— Affirmative, sir. Its outbound vector indicates a direct jump to Orinda.
Off she goes to tattle.
— Good, — I repeated. — Jump to the target in two hours. The fleet is to prepare for combat.
— Order received, sir, — Pellaeon replied.
When the comlink fell silent, I surveyed the mess hall of Mara Jade's small (but capable) ship.
The available space had noticeably increased—this area was used for training. Of course, if those scorched marks on the walls and floor were the result of careless lightsaber handling.
To be frank, I was stalling. Stalling as much as circumstances and the need to avoid looking foolish permitted.
Ahsoka Tano, seriously?
No, I had considered such a possibility, but for it to happen so... simply? Surely this was some cosmic jest...
Especially the fact that she was acquainted with my agent.
It seems I'll need to track down and break a few horns off a certain Zabrak.
Because I have little idea where to place this woman...
— Grand Admiral, — and there she was, speaking of her. — So, what is your response to my proposal?
"Glad there's no mention of hand and heart," I thought. Given recent events...
— You propose that I wage war against a criminal syndicate entrenched in the Outer Rim, supported by pirates and other criminal elements, in exchange for your loyalty? — I clarified.
— War is inevitable, sooner or later, — Tano stated. — I've already explained the reasons—you've disrupted their subordinate gangs. The Consortium will not let this go unpunished. It would be more prudent to strike preemptively and eliminate the threat before they regain strength and become a danger.
— Suppose so, — I said. Well, Iceheart will have additional work with Tavira. — The Zann Consortium will be destroyed by me. What then?
— Millions, billions of sentients will cease to be slaves, and organized crime in the Outer Rim will fracture, — Ahsoka continued. — They can be dealt with one by one.
— I'm curious why you assume I have any interest in the Outer Rim, — I remarked.
— Every galactic state requires resource sources and markets for goods, — the Togruta pressed. — You've already established yourself as a pirate hunter, so a strategic decision to systematically cleanse star systems in the Outer Rim of criminal scum would enhance your influence...
"A Jedi advising an Imperial on how to conquer the galaxy," it dawned on me. Could this galaxy be more inventive in its irony?
— Furthermore, — Ahsoka continued, — as I understand it, you intend to revive the Jedi Order. In your own interpretation, of course, but the fact remains. Amid ceaseless wars and the redrawing of spheres of influence, the Outer Rim's inhabitants are defenseless against the Consortium's mercenary hordes and their loyal gangs. Since you've begun a war on crime, why not continue it? Believe me—not all, but many residents of these planets, suffering from criminals and their lawlessness, will be grateful. The Rebel Alliance recruited countless volunteers this way; why not try the same? No one is more loyal than sentients whose homes were liberated without intent to enslave them, offered even the semblance of free choice. I could train your Force-sensitive recruits to become symbols not of fear, as with the Inquisitors, but of hope for a better future.
So many grandiose words, so much subtext steeped in Jedi ideology and more...
But she was undeniably correct in one regard—military action against the Consortium was inevitable. Not for the reasons she outlined. Altruism is not my nature. Waging war against the criminal fleets of the Outer Rim... No, one must be rational—grinding down pirate starships could take ages. Far too long. Because there aren't just many, but *many*. From small bands with a handful of crews on aging hulks to vast armadas controlling their own empires, unknown to the galaxy. The Karthakk sector is a prime example.
— I have heard your proposal, Lady Tano, — the Togruta cast a glance at the silent Mara.
— Just Ahsoka will do, — she said simply.
— A campaign against the Zann Consortium is planned, Lady Tano, — I continued. — But my short-term plans do not include war against every pirate fleet and Consortium ally in the galaxy.
Honestly, I have no intention of fighting pirates who don't interfere with me unless absolutely necessary. It's too protracted and futile—the Galactic Empire couldn't eradicate this phenomenon in twenty years, despite its punitive armadas regularly scouring the region with zeal and relish.
— Very well, — the Togruta concluded. — Great things begin with small steps. If you don't object, I'd like to join you.
— Prepared to fight the New Republic? — I clarified.
— I'd prefer to focus on training Jedi recruits, — the Togruta replied evasively. — I hold no great love for the New Republic, believing it has inherited all the Old Republic's vices. But raising arms against them... If you have a few Star Destroyers to spare, I'd gladly participate in raids against the Zann Consortium and pirates.
What an extravagant condition.
But, in truth, it suits me.
A fully trained Jedi, fighting far from Luke Skywalker, unlikely to defect upon witnessing "the blood of innocent Republicans spilled by Imperial stormtroopers." Moreover, despite my complete indifference to her as a character and her history, the objective facts are these: she is a trained Jedi combatant. She can impart her knowledge to the Jenssarai. Yes, it will be limited and combat-focused, but why not? At least they'll learn to fight at the level of a Jedi Knight, not half-trained Padawans. This would give them some chance against opponents of the same caliber. Talk of victories through superior knowledge or skill is premature at this stage.
— I'm confident we can find a suitable role for you, — I assured her. — You have one hour to prepare. A shuttle to transport you to the operation's location will be waiting in the hangar.
— I'll manage in a quarter of an hour, — the Togruta replied. — Thank you for the constructive dialogue. I hope one day you'll reconsider and seriously tackle the eradication of lawlessness. Believe someone who lived among these sentients for nearly thirty years—they need the protection of a strong, humane hand. The Empire never understood this, and the New Republic cares little for such distant regions.
— You are dismissed, Lady Tano, — I said in a commanding tone, signaling the conversation's end. And that there would be no reconsideration. At least not now.
Be she thrice the beloved, heart-capturing figure to millions of fans, I had no desire to fawn over the realization that I was facing a saga hero known for "trolling" the future Darth Vader and stumbling into cringe-worthy escapades. Nor did I feel involuntary bodily reactions, sympathy, or a compulsion to indulge her because she was a "iconic character with a tragic fate, standing for all that is good and against all that is evil."
I'm an old fan; "cartoons" don't move me. Nor do noble impulses lacking rational execution or results. Scouring the galaxy of scum holds no appeal—the Empire failed at this with hundreds of thousands of warships primed for such battles. My forces, far more modest, cannot afford altruism, sending ships to the galaxy's fringes to save unknown sentients... For what?
To gain access to mineral-rich asteroid belts? And haul them across the galaxy, creating convoys vulnerable to interception by enemies who would then know the location of my protected territories? Not the wisest move. I base my operations on hunting enemy convoys using this very principle, so why step on the same rake when I can avoid it?
Proximate to the Dominion's metropolises and industrial complexes are resource-rich star systems that, while not providing everything in abundance, offer sufficient surplus. There are no rational grounds to rush to the fringes to protect sentients who owe me nothing, and the sentiment is mutual. Especially given Kaine's warning...
As long as we can manage with current resources, we must continue to do so.
Moreover, a series of operations against the New Republic will yield both military victories and increased access to rare resources.
Waiting until the Togruta left Jade's ship, heading to the shuttle "to the front," I looked at the Hand. Hmm... What a name... Perhaps rename it to "Right Hand"? Or "Punishing Hand"? That was the name of a group of deserter stormtroopers who...
But that's another story entirely.
— Report, — I demanded.
— All signs, including the expedited interrogation of both Imperials, indicate they were procuring equipment for the Super Star Destroyer *Guardian*, — she stated.
— As expected, — I said. Well, it's gratifying that my suspicions were correct. Though there were objective data as well.
— The prisoners revealed much of interest, — Mara continued. — After his defeat a year after the Battle of Endor, Admiral Drommel encountered the Rebel Alliance fleet in the Tantive system. He entered a hyperspace jump, but due to hyperdrive damage, emerged not in the Oplovis sector, as initially planned, but in the Fardawn system, located in the Soullex system. That's Wild Space, the northern galactic quadrant, R-3.
Coordinates... Coordinates... We have precise coordinates for the location of a combat-incapacitated Super Star Destroyer of the *Executor*-class, unable to flee into hyperspace.
The only question is...
— Can the ship's location data be trusted? — I clarified.
— The interrogation was highly effective, — Jade replied. — They had no opportunity to lie.
Let's assume so.
— Drommel possesses considerable financial resources, so for four years, he sent shuttles and transports across the galaxy to various manufacturers to procure necessary starship repair components without drawing attention, — the Hand continued. — It's suspected that the *Guardian* holds the entire Oplovis sector treasury, providing funds for such costly parts. According to the Imperials, the ship is heavily damaged, its weaponry is largely non-functional, and without the components they intended to deliver, the hyperdrive cannot leave the system. Additionally, most of the crew is stationed on the surface of the planet Soulmex at mobile bases, standard for ships of this class. Drommel left only a few personally loyal officers and stormtroopers aboard. The crew is sufficiently demoralized by the hopelessness, as Drommel plans to immediately engage in a power struggle in his sector once the ship is repaired. The crew sees this as futile, given the ship's minimal firepower.
Which is "good."
One thing remains unclear...
— What prompted Admiral Drommel to accelerate the procurement of components? — Mara's expression suggested she had theories.
Which I was eager to hear.
— Several factors, — she began, responding to my question. — First, the New Republic stirred up a fuss over weapons leaks from shipyards. This appears unrelated to the rumored Bothan "gray schemes" circulating on the HoloNet. Inspectors and operatives are scrutinizing traders, some already arrested, so there was reason to believe the Herglic supplying them might become unavailable. He was their source for engine and hyperdrive components, life support systems, communications, weaponry, and defenses...
— In other words, critical components, — I noted.
— Precisely, — Jade agreed. — It's no surprise they mistook me for a Republic agent and sought to eliminate me. But there's something more troubling.
When was it ever otherwise?
— According to the Imperials, someone else was procuring identical components, albeit in smaller quantities. These are key elements without which the ship is little more than a metal coffin. Neither the New Republic nor Kaine would need this—they can negotiate directly with Kuat Drive Yards.
— Palpatine possesses Super Star Destroyers of this type, — I reminded her.
— He has enough influence and agents to pull off the same trick with Kuat, — Mara countered. — Moreover, there's no rational reason for him to transport components to the Quelii sector rather than the Core or closer to it. Even as a diversion, an uninhabited, uncharted system in the Core Worlds with a mere alphanumeric designation would suffice. Unpopulated systems as transport hubs are a common smuggling tactic for those avoiding detection.
That sounds reasonable.
But then, who? And for which ship are these components intended?
The only starship I recalled in the Quelii sector, whose capital world is Dathomir, was Warlord Zsinj's *Iron Fist*. But it was destroyed some time ago. A confirmed, verified destruction...
Wait.
Hold that thought.
What do I remember about the *Iron Fist*'s destruction?
The Republicans discovered it undergoing makeshift repairs after a battle with them, orbiting Dathomir.
The *Millennium Falcon* destroyed the Super Star Destroyer's bridge with concussion missiles, after which the Hapan fleet finished it off. This is described in *The Courtship of Princess Leia*.
There can be no doubt—the Republicans destroyed the ship. Just as they had previously destroyed the Super Star Destroyer *Razor's Kiss*, which Zsinj stole from Kuat's shipyards. However, the warlord used its wreckage to construct... a decoy... of the starship... to simulate... the *Iron Fist*'s destruction.
This occurred during the battle after which the *Iron Fist* fled to Dathomir for repairs.
What are the odds that someone ambitious couldn't use the wreckage or debris to independently construct a similar or comparable starship?
Moreover, during Admiral Daala's era, after the Reborn Emperor's defeat, one Imperial warlord was building a Super Star Destroyer of this class... the *Knight Hammer*. If memory serves, its construction was lengthy and costly... Could it have begun here, in Quelii, and later relocated to the Deep Core? Perhaps because the periphery became less secure due to the expanding New Republic?
Alternatively, local pirates, fond of fusing incompatible technologies—like combining X-wing hulls with TIE fighter solar panels (variations abound)—might be attempting to build some new armed monstrosity.
Still, I wouldn't rule out the New Republic. Only Kaine has no reason to send components there—it makes no sense for him to conceal possession of such a ship.
Palpatine... Unlikely. He surely has all necessary production facilities on Byss or elsewhere in the Deep Core.
Options, options...
All requiring verification.
— Your next assignment is to investigate this information, — I ordered. — In the shortest possible time.
The Quelii sector is practically our front door. Allowing something approximating a Super Star Destroyer's power and capabilities to emerge there could spell trouble. Significant trouble.
At minimum, because our defense systems remain in their infancy—implementing them requires considerable time.
— It will be done, Grand Admiral, — Mara rose to her feet. — What are your orders upon locating the target? Sabotage? Hijacking? Diversion? Elimination?
When did she become so bloodthirsty?
— Simply report your findings, — I tempered her zeal. — The fleet will handle the rest.
— As you command, Grand Admiral, — the girl nodded obediently. — If I may, I'd request a slicer be assigned to me. Ghent would be ideal for cracking electronics...
— Use an astromech with the appropriate equipment, — I advised. — There are plenty in the hangar. Zakarisz Ghent is currently on his own mission.
Judging by the expression Mara quickly masked, she had anticipated any response but this.
What did she expect? That the genius slicer would sit idly by, not performing his primary duties?
Of course not. Everyone must work and fulfill their obligations.
As I headed toward the exit of Jade's ship, its engines already warming to depart the *Chimaera*'s hangar for its new assignment, a single thought spun in my mind like a broken record.
For political leverage, I had to announce the presence of Rebel Alliance heroes in my custody. I intend to keep my word to Skywalker—never miss an opportunity to build trust with a Jedi. Who can guarantee I won't need his aid in the future? Or, given my knowledge of this universe, offer political asylum to Republican Jedi?
Of course, the bluff about trading the Skywalker family and their companions for a Super Star Destroyer won't hold long, and Orinda will soon see through it...
A thought struck me, simple to the point of absurdity.
Yet it resolved all issues regarding the legitimacy of returning Skywalker and company to New Republic-controlled space.
Hmm...
It would require adjusting some plans, but the end result... It's worth it.
***
The opponent's maneuver caused Luke to crash shoulder-first, with part of his back, into the corridor wall. The sobering pain allowed him to react in time, dodging the next attack.
Calling upon the Force, he strove to shield himself from the emotions of the dying Polis Massa residents, and he succeeded.
This small tactic immediately spared him from falling victim to a treacherous strike to the chest.
Deflecting the opponent's blade aside, Luke Skywalker counterattacked with calm deliberation, parrying thrusts and steadily pushing his foe further down the corridor.
He felt neither anger nor pity for this young man.
He felt nothing at all.
He fought not to save his life, nor to avenge the Kallidahin killed and being killed by Imperial stormtroopers.
He didn't even raise his blade to strike down the Dark Side adept with his emerald lightsaber.
He fought for the simple reason that he was forced to.
A Jedi does not wield a weapon to attack—only to defend.
And Luke Skywalker defended.
He parried thrusts and jabs with a cool mind, letting the Force flow through him, guiding his hand for each maneuver.
The young Jedi clearly saw that his opponent was an exceptionally trained swordsman. He wielded his weapon with ease, even a degree of finesse, exerting maximum effort to avoid causing Luke significant harm. Skywalker quickly realized the stranger intended only to incapacitate him.
Combined with the words spoken earlier... "Surrender!"
He was needed alive. And this man, along with his allies, whom Luke continued to sense in the complex's central area, was clearly not among those he had the honor of knowing.
Thus, not an old enemy. And unlikely a mercenary working for someone. Such skilled individuals typically aim to become rulers, not subordinates.
Judging by the persistence and skill of his opponent, he, unlike Luke, was not "trained by books." This meant someone in the galaxy was still capable of teaching such artistry.
As bitter as it was to admit, Thrawn seemed correct here as well.
Palpatine had returned.
Or, at minimum, was preparing to return.
This was wrong.
It should not be.
The New Republic was unequivocally unprepared for such "encounters," and even less inclined to believe in them.
At any achievable, acceptable cost, he needed to reach his X-wing and escape. While there was still a chance, while space remained open.
Perhaps then the Imperials would cease slaughtering the Kallidahin.
The only reason they might be doing so was to disorient Luke with the echoes of death in the Force. Whoever these Dark Side adepts were, they knew precisely how to hunt a Jedi.
Luke was drenched in sweat from the intensity and speed of the fencing pace set by the stranger. His technique was superb, no denying it. The young Jedi kept up through his grueling training, so he could hold out a while longer. Moreover, his strength and vigor allowed him to push his opponent further down the corridor, closer to the saving X-wing. But this could drag on—long enough for them to flank him and encircle him. He needed to distract his opponent somehow to slip past and escape. Fighting here was not an option. There were no prospects for ending the duel without bloodshed, captivity, or preventing the inevitable.
But how to distract the opponent?
Luke saw no options. He glanced toward his starfighter and...
A surge of adrenaline snapped him back to combat readiness. Directly ahead, mere dozens of meters away, his X-wing hovered on an antigrav cushion!
And its cannons were already aimed at the combatants!
A memory of Jomark flashed in his mind...
— R2! Do it! — He parried his opponent's thrust and, instead of a counterattack, dove aside like a fish.
The adversary paused, assessing the situation...
Then the corridor erupted in flashes of crimson light—the astromech fired two volleys from the starfighter's quad cannons.
Luke avoided blindness by closing his eyes preemptively. As the roar of the blasts subsided, he sprinted toward the starfighter.
He didn't look back to see if his opponent was alive.
He just ran.
Using the Force, he augmented his leap, covering ten meters in one bound, then slipped into the cockpit.
For a moment, he glanced back at the corridor—a formless black mass lay there. But the stranger was alive—judging by the blast marks, R2-D2 had fired to concuss, not kill. And, judging by the figure sitting up, rubbing its eyes, he was intact, clothing and limbs included.
The rest no longer concerned Luke.
The X-wing spun on its transverse axis and surged toward the atmospheric shield's membrane.
Once outside, the young Jedi directed the craft away, pushing the engines to their limit. A single glance at the medical center sufficed to grasp a grim truth—his departure would change nothing. The entire Polis Massa population would be eradicated—the Star Destroyers had begun shelling the complex's periphery. Soon, they'd be informed of Luke's escape, and...
Luke forcibly suppressed his fear. It was utterly unclear why the enemy would continue annihilating the locals now that he had escaped...
His heart bled at the mere thought that the enemy might need no logical justification.
The Imperials could wipe out a species on a whim. Or in retaliation for failing to achieve their goal.
But, regardless, the young Jedi could not aid the Kallidahin.
— R2-D2, let's get out of here, — Luke voiced his assessment of the situation, switching to manual control and sharply veering the craft away from approaching TIE fighters.
Closing his eyes, Skywalker focused. Amid the whispering, ethereal web, a cluster of life sparks appeared aboard an *Immobilizer 418* Interdictor cruiser, its generators blocking his escape route.
— R2-D2, find the nearest edge of the Interdictor's gravity cone, — he ordered, throwing the X-wing into a steep dive that churned his stomach.
The droid chirped, and a diagram appeared on the screen.
— Wow, that's far! — Luke whistled. — No choice... Hold on!
— Unidentified starfighter... — an Imperial ship attempted to contact him.
The rest was drowned in the roar of engines at full thrust. Only R2-D2's questioning chirp barely reached him, likely concerned about the green plasma beams exploding in the vacuum nearby.
— No! To the Sith with the deflector! — Luke barked. — We need extra speed!
He didn't add that if any Imperial ship truly intended to vaporize them, the shield wouldn't help at this range. But R2-D2 likely understood.
Luke glanced at the range indicator. The X-wing remained within the Interdictor's gravity well and, at current speeds, would stay there for another couple of minutes. He needed to distract and blind the enemy urgently... The nearest Star Destroyer was altering course to approach from behind.
— R2-D2, quickly reprogram one of the proton torpedoes, — Luke said, a mad idea forming. Han Solo's influence, no doubt. — Launch it with inactive engines and no active homing. Can you do that?
An affirmative signal sounded. Was there anything in this galaxy R2-D2 couldn't do?
— Great. Warn me when it's ready and launch it.
He slightly adjusted the starfighter's course. With active targeting, only the laziest Imperial wouldn't spot the torpedo. But if it was inert, with homing systems off and not scanning the hull, it would go unnoticed until it was too late to react.
Following the droid's signal, Luke released the deadly projectile, relying more on the Force than technology. As Ben Kenobi had taught.
Mentally crossing his fingers, Luke thanked fate for his luck. They were nearly out of range and could escape if the freighter's debris shielded them from the Interdictor for a few more seconds.
R2-D2 emitted a warning trill. Luke checked the translation, then the long-range scanner, and felt his insides clench. The droid issued another, more insistent trill.
— I see it, I see it, — Luke growled, wrestling with the controls to evade rear fire.
Of course, the Imperials would employ this tactic. With Luke as their primary target, they'd spare no effort to capture him. The Interdictor was already adjusting its gravity well generators to keep the X-wing at the center of their formation.
— Hold on, R2-D2, — he shouted, and, too sharply for the compensators, yanked the X-wing ninety degrees, veering perpendicular to its original course.
An indignant chirp and scrape sounded from behind.
— Quiet, R2! — he snapped at the astromech.
To starboard, the Star Destroyer lumbered belatedly around its axis... For the first time since the engagement began, laser flashes appeared.
Luke made a snap decision. Speed alone wouldn't save him, and the next mistake could be his last. The TIE fighters were closing in.
— Activate the deflector, R2-D2, — he ordered, focusing entirely on his signature elusive maneuvers. — Optimize the balance between generators and reactor.
R2-D2, like a parent to a wayward child, issued a trill, after which the deflector's power rose inversely proportional to the ship's dwindling speed. The pilot, observing the Interdictor crew's reaction, gave a satisfied smile.
Luke's risky gambit seemed to have worked. Thrown off by the Jedi's daring maneuver, the *Immobilizer 418* fell for the provocation, its gravity shadow generators now aligning in a direction opposite to Skywalker's current trajectory.
The Imperials had engaged all four generators, making it impossible to realign them quickly.
If he could stay out of the nearest Star Destroyer's range for a few more seconds, he could exit the interdiction field and escape into hyperspace without fear of engine damage.
— Prepare for the jump, — Luke commanded R2-D2. — Don't worry about the destination—we can make a short hop to a neighboring system and figure it out from there.
R2-D2 issued confirmation...
There was no time to showcase piloting prowess. Luke opened himself to the Force. The computer was calculating options, while the inert torpedo was...
It was immensely difficult, but the Jedi reached out to it.
And it was exactly where it needed to be.
The monitor flashed the long-awaited signal. At Luke's command, R2-D2 detonated it.
A fiery protuberance erupted at the Star Destroyer's bow, causing decompression and a gaping wound in the hull. For a moment, it drew the Imperials' attention—even the TIE pilots pursuing the X-wing hesitated.
And the Republican craft was momentarily free of danger. For a fleeting instant, but still...
— Punch it! — Luke roared.
And the stars before the young Jedi blurred into the dead shimmer of hyperspace.