Having listened to the story of the sentient sitting before him to the end, Seth merely shook his head in delight.
"Brilliant!" Overwhelmed with joy, the man could scarcely keep from jumping up and down on the spot, clapping his hands.
He gazed at Arista's saddened face, inwardly triumphant.
Approaching her, he tugged once more at the handcuffs that still firmly restricted her movements.
The man could scarcely believe his eyes—it was finally over.
One blaster shot to the head—and the problems with his niece would be resolved in the best possible outcome for him!
"How deftly you handled this girl!" he exclaimed to the man seated before him. "You rescued her from the bounty hunter you yourself had hired, convinced her that the Dominion would support her bid for power in the sector, gained her trust, and brought her to me! We must drink to that!"
Seth dashed to the decanter of Corellian whiskey and filled two glasses.
Returning to the coffee table before which all three sat on the soft sofas, the head of Kabul Industries handed one to the gentleman who, in just over a month, had resolved problems that had persisted for years!
"In broad strokes—yes," the man in black armor nodded in agreement, without even touching his drink.
"But why so long?" Kabul persisted. "It's been over a month since our meeting!"
"That's true," the man in black did not deny. "But to properly conclude the mission, it was necessary to gain her trust thoroughly."
"Did you orchestrate the break-in at my home by her and her accomplices?" Seth squinted.
"I needed to secure their support," the man replied. "You'll get your files back once the agreement is concluded between you and the side I represent."
As if I need them, Seth thought.
As though he didn't have copies.
"You promised me support, Bravo-One!" Arista said reproachfully, casting a venomous glance at the man seated beside her.
"I supported you," the agent agreed easily. "Morally."
"I could tell you where to shove that kind of support," the young woman flared up.
"Shut your mouth, niece," Seth growled at her.
Switching from the sour man's grimace to that of a genial host, he looked at the one Arista had called "Bravo-One." "Is the issue with her 'friends'—the terrorists—resolved as well?"
"The Gamorrean and the Jawa?" the man clarified.
Receiving an affirmative nod, he replied:
"Yes, they're no longer a threat to Kabul Industries. Nothing more endangers the mines from their side."
"Excellent," and here Seth clapped his hands. "Simply excellent! You've resolved a heap of problems for me at once."
"And I expect our agreement to hold," the man stated.
Seth shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Ah-ah," Arista drawled. "So that's it! You took the path of least resistance! Made a deal with him to capture me, and in return, he'd help the Dominion with the ore?"
"That's the plan," the man agreed, his gaze fixed on the Kabul seated opposite him.
"He's just a spineless womp-rat," the young woman said with disdain. "He's controlled by Moff Harsh and the corporates!"
"Shut your rotten mouth!" Seth bellowed, unable to hold back. "You and your father poured billions into building Kabul Industries' infrastructure, which you effectively handed over to that filthy convict and the shaft scoundrels for free use!"
"We were caring for the company's workers!"
"Who needs that care when it punches a hole in the budget?" Seth asked.
For a moment, he bored into the girl with his gaze, then suddenly asked:
"You think I'm a puppet, don't you?"
"It's common knowledge," the girl shrugged. "You can't do anything on your own or of your own will."
"But the mine explosion that killed your father and was supposed to kill you too—I managed that on my own?" Seth inquired mockingly, not concealing his triumph. "You're nothing more than idealists who think any of those filthy laborers cared about you. They used your free houses, free meals, insurance, payouts, and productivity was orders of magnitude lower than what they produce now, getting pennies and no guarantees. Under me, the company became what it should have been even under your father! A mining giant for the entire sector!"
"At least you had the guts to admit to killing my father," Arista said vengefully.
"I'll wring your neck too, niece," the corporation head promised.
"I'd appreciate it if we settled our business first," the man in black stated.
"Later," Seth waved a hand, realizing he needed to stall until the next comm session with Moff Harsh. "We've already discussed the preliminaries with you. All the ore will go not to the corporates, but to you."
"We discussed not all shipments with you," the guest raised an eyebrow. "But the sector's integration into the Dominion."
"Well, if you want to go to war with the Corporate Sector, be my guest," Seth equivocated. "But I need time to prepare all the documents, plans, and so on, hold meetings with the workers…"
The man in black armor nodded understandingly in time with each of Seth's arguments, then raised his hand, drawing attention.
"Or you're simply waiting for Moff Harsh to return with his Star Destroyer, and the Corporate Sector fleet will help with the defense," he said.
"Wh-what?" Seth was taken aback. "Y-you, what, planted listening devices in my home last time you were here?"
"No," the man in black stood and approached Kabul. "I figured you'd be too paranoid, so search the whole house thoroughly and find them."
"Th-then how did you know?" The company head's eyes bulged as he watched Arista effortlessly slip the handcuffs from her wrists.
"It's simple," the man in black sighed, shoving Seth in the chest and sending him sprawling onto the sofa. "The Dominion monitors ships moving through the sector. That became possible thanks to the capture of the Republic observation station known as the Daksis outpost on the planet Jendolhun. Thanks to it, we know the Star Destroyer Cauldron is outside the sector. And thanks to your loose tongue, we also know you spoke with the moff. Even if you don't know where he and his ships are now, that doesn't mean our technicians can't trace the signal's origin point." He waved a hand, and to Seth's horror, assault rappels dropped onto the spacious attic, down which several more figures in black armor descended—this time with closed helmets.
Kabul silently watched as Arista approached the large transparisteel door to the floor and opened it for the soldiers.
Who quickly spread throughout the house's level, taking control of every room.
"Master Kabul…" was all he heard from his own protocol droid's voice before a blaster shot and crash informed him that his aide would say no more.
"You won't succeed!" Seth began to bluster. "The workers will stand by me!"
"After we release the recording," Bravo-One patted the Dominion emblem on his right pauldron, indicating that a hidden camera was concealed there, "only the most hardened scum will help you. And we'll find a way to deal with them."
"No one will stand up for him," Arista said, slapping her uncle across the face. "You monster! If I suspected before that Harsh killed my father, now you've confessed it yourself!"
"It was just a moment of weakness, nothing more," Seth babbled. "I'm not involved, I didn't do anything…"
"We'll sort it out," Bravo-One said. "So, while we bide our time, Master Kabul, perhaps tell us where Moff Harsh is? That might be the only way you can earn mitigating circumstances when we bring charges for that string of crimes you've committed."
"The Chilon Rift!" Seth blurted quickly. "I commed Harsh just minutes before you arrived. He said he had business there."
"What's this rift?" the Dominion agent furrowed his brow.
"A nebula in the north of the Mieru'kar sector," Arista said. "My father intended to fund mineral extraction developments there based on tips from some of his miners, but his death left the plans unrealized."
"Yes, yes," Seth nodded vigorously.
"Why are you so animated?" Arista asked, raising an eyebrow. "Father would never have even told you about something like that. We discussed the project alone."
"Do you know how to get there?" Bravo-One asked the young woman sharply.
"There's one dangerous route along neighboring sectors to a point on the galaxy's borders," she frowned. "But there are too many correction points. I don't remember them all. Father and I were shown by one of his miners, but he died a few months ago."
"Were you there?" Seth asked in surprise.
"Of course I was," Arista said irritably. "Or do you think Father's dream was to live forever under the Empire's thumb?"
"I'd wager the miner didn't die of natural causes," Bravo-One said meaningfully, boring into Kabul with his gaze.
"I'm innocent!" the man wailed, flailing his arms. "I didn't kill anyone! I'm not guilty of anything!"
"So Harsh has access to rich mineral deposits," Seth said.
"Shut your mouth," Arista advised, looking at the Dominion agent. "You're troubled by something."
"Let's step out," the man in black armor snapped his fingers, drawing the attention of one of his three subordinates in the living room. "Keep an eye on him and don't look away."
"Yes, sir."
When they reached the balcony, the girl closed the transparisteel door behind them, and Seth could no longer eavesdrop.
Gloomily staring at the armed guard, he began twiddling his mustache, hoping to devise a plan to escape this slippery situation.
***
Torin, inhaling the fresh air, looked at Arista Kabul as she approached him.
"You asked what concerns me," he reminded her.
"Yes," she replied.
"The location of the Chilon Rift on the backwater of the Mieru'kar sector," Agent Inek explained. "Essentially, Moff Harsh, with the right equipment, could establish an impassable bulwark and flashpoint there that would force us to divert forces to the northern approaches. Are you sure you don't remember the route coordinates?"
"I only glanced at the navicomputer a few times," the girl shrugged. "Why would I memorize them when I had Father, had the miner…"
"But now neither of them is around," Bravo-One said. "I'm sure the miner's death wasn't accidental—rumors of that deposit likely reached Harsh. How extensive is it?"
"Father believed hundreds of planets perished in the rift due to gravitational and other anomalies," Arista said, spotting Tech the Jawa and Grissom the Gamorrean waiting for them by the steep airspeeder they'd arrived in. "Scans and analyses show nearly every metal in the galaxy's periodic table is there. And calculations indicate a planet with gas deposits near the asteroid fields in the nebula, but we never learned what kind."
"In other words, you could build ships there and, most likely, fuel or even arm them," Torin licked his lips.
"Well, probably," Arista shrugged. "I'm not strong on shipbuilding."
"You don't need to be," Torin said. "I think you understand that if Harsh gets the chance, with such an outpost and knowledge of escape routes, he'll strike the sector."
"But we agreed the Dominion fleet would be here!" the young woman reminded him.
"That's true," Torin agreed. "The problem is elsewhere. Our intel shows both Harsh and your uncle work not just for the Corporate Sector, but for criminals with far-reaching plans."
"Big news," the girl smiled. "Every other corporate is a criminal by definition. The list of laws they break daily, each for their own sole gain, could fill a standard deck's memory—and that's a highly capacious data storage device."
"The Dominion intends to stop them and restore fair dealing rules to the Corporate Sector, severing crime from sector governance," Torin said.
Arista snickered into her fist.
"Good luck," she wished. "Even the Empire couldn't manage it. Don't get me started on the Old and New Republics."
"One way or another, we'll do it," the man declared.
"Who's against?" Arista asked in surprise. "It sounds maximalist, given the Corporates' fleet numbers—rumors say one and a half thousand, maybe even two and a half, all manner of starships. I don't know your forces, but if you pull off the impossible and the Corporate Sector becomes a place of honest deals, then… Well, I don't know. Maybe the Dominion won't ever have to worry about its economy—just live off deal dividends."
"It's something else," Torin interrupted her effusion. "The Chilon Rift is in our rear."
"And?"
"I assume they could strike our sectors from there," Torin pressed.
"So what can I do?" Arista asked in surprise.
"The Dominion has a device that might help you recall the coordinates," Inek explained.
"Smells like vivisection," the girl tensed.
"No, it's painless," Torin stated. "I've undergone the procedure myself more than once."
"So you want to stick my head in some machine and poke around in my memories?" the girl recoiled in horror.
"In broad strokes—yes," Torin confirmed. "Don't worry, no physical violence or pain."
"Until you said that, I wasn't scared," the girl declared, considerably unnerved. "They always say that—don't worry, it won't hurt. Then—hold on, just a bit longer, almost done, it'll be over soon."
Torin, not believing his ears, looked in surprise at the sweet girl who had just said such a thing…
"I'm sorry you haven't had luck with the men in your life, Arista, but…"
"Men?" The girl flushed. And a second later, her face turned crimson with anger. "How dare you?! I was telling you about a visit to the local dentist! There was this old guy here about ten years ago, working with what seemed like a pre-Republic drill that bored instead of burning the tooth! All us kids on Otunia were terrified to go to him, but we had to, since the water here was awful until Father bought industrial filters for the pump station! We've known each other over a month, held over a hundred meetings with miner groups, and you think I'd say something like that?! You're a boor, Bravo-One!"
"That's why I don't give my real name to women anymore," Torin sighed. "I apologize, Arista. I understand how absurd the whole situation looks, but believe me—your decision could affect the lives of millions of sentients. I ask you to come with me…"
"After voicing those thoughts—no way I'm flying anywhere with you!" the girl declared, hands on hips. "It's enough that I'm giving you half the company for help the miners could have handled themselves."
"They couldn't have," Torin stated, unclipping a portable deck from his belt and showing it to her. "See the number in the right column?"
"Two hundred six," she said. "What is it?"
"The number of Dominion Intelligence agents already dead by now, eliminating Moff Harsh's footholds on the planets," Torin declared. "Two hundred six of my comrades-in-arms. Each a superbly trained fighter, like those who stormed this residence, and your uncle didn't even flinch. Two hundred six died fighting Harsh's stormtroopers. How many unprepared miners would have perished? Without special gear or combat skills? And we're just starting—our forces have entered the sector and are conducting full-scale cleanup operations. I simply can't risk bringing highly classified equipment here that could be damaged or captured by the enemy."
"Fine," Arista raised her hands. "I'll fly with you. But I'll take Grissom and Tech along."
"Agreed," Torin said. "I'll contact Rear Admiral Shohashi and request a ship for the flight to the capital. You'll meet our supreme commander and ratify the treaty integrating the sector into the Dominion."
"I definitely can't speak for the whole sector," Arista warned. "Otunia and a couple systems dependent on Kabul Industries, sure, but the bosfs—they'll never cooperate with Imperials. Even former ones."
"Let our diplomats handle that," Torin stated. "Thank you for helping us."
He drew his blaster from its holster, flipped it butt-first, and extended it to the girl.
"Uh… what's this for?" Arista blinked.
"A gift," Torin smiled. "Consider it my apology for misinterpreting your words. Henceforth, knowing you have a Mandalorian blaster, I'll be more careful with my thoughts. It kills with one shot. Quite rare—I bought it on the black market. Not a disintegrator, of course, but it penetrates even heavy-armored droids."
"And you're giving it to me?" Arista clarified.
"Yes," Inek nodded. "As a sign that… Well, I already said, no need to repeat."
"A blaster's a blaster," the girl shrugged, aiming at the sky. "Angular, like a brick with a handle."
"No need to fire," Torin hurried to stop her, but too late.
The lady's finger had already squeezed the trigger.
A white-yellowish lightning flashed in the sky.
"Excellent shot," Inek forced out, gasping in disbelief at his own eyes and ears.
The Gamorrean and Jawa immediately looked their way, but Arista signaled that all was well.
"Indeed—powerful," the girl smiled. "Thanks for the gift, Bravo-One. I'll go talk to my uncle."
"Just don't shoot him," watching Tech and Grissom continue conversing, the man vowed never to leave broken weapons near the Jawa again.
Gifted, he called it, a broken expensive trinket.
Kabul family estate.
***
"How is he?" I asked the medical droid tending to my adjutant's wounds.
You look at an ordinary-looking human.
Who led the swift assault on the captured ship, realizing we couldn't linger long on enemy territory.
Who captured the pirate who executed our people on the escort carrier—and that Sol Mon had been involved, from his slips.
According to one, he'd supposedly arrived at the ship after its crew was already slaughtered by Urai Fen.
But shortly into the conversation, he let slip that he was guilty of murdering the Nebula-V's crew.
I didn't even dwell on it, knowing the pirate was lying and catching him would be pointless—I just needed to absorb and file the information.
Grodin didn't just capture Mon; he extracted info on Fina D'Asta's location, who kidnapped her, and Urai Fen's cloaking device.
And Fen's involvement in the death of his first-generation clones guarding the baroness.
And made a preemptive decision—disable the ship the Zann Consortium lieutenant intended to escape on.
Cut comms so he couldn't warn his "patron."
Disabled hyperdrives so the Talortai (that's Urai Fen's species) couldn't flee.
Logical—if Fen had won, he couldn't have gone anywhere; our pilots would disable his sublights, then boarding.
Dealing with droids and 501st Legion troopers—even with Fen cloaked—wouldn't have worked.
Speaking of which…
Pity THX-0333 fried the cloak almost completely, but hope the techs can restore it or at least schematic it.
For now, it's clear it runs on stygium crystals.
Continuing Grodin's merits, note he not only beat Urai but attempted to take him alive.
And rescued the baroness, whom I'll need to interrogate thoroughly.
He even escorted Mon to me, actively aided the interrogation, returned the scum to his cell, and only then went to medbay—when the bacta bandage could no longer staunch the bleeding.
"The wound is minor, blood loss slight," the med-droid stated. "Several vessels damaged, but the lieutenant colonel will live. Time needed for recovery."
"Can I speak with him?"
We watched the patient through one-way glass, so the adjutant didn't suspect observation.
But I wouldn't bet on it.
Grodin is Grodin, after all.
Judging by Rukh's face, if I hadn't asked, he'd have done so inevitably.
"Yes, of course," the droid gestured invitingly to the single room's entrance.
"Wait here," I asked the Noghri, to his evident displeasure.
But Rukh obeyed the order.
"Sir!" Seeing me, Grodin tried to straighten but the painful wound prevented sitting up.
"At ease, Colonel," I said, settling on the chair by the bunk. "The med-droid says you'll be good as new soon."
"I failed," Tierce grimaced but sat up anyway. "Got so close, but couldn't take such a valuable prisoner alive."
"It's not your fault, and you know it," I said. "You beat someone your clones couldn't."
"I think it was because he had the cloak," Tierce stated. "I saw over a dozen serious scars on him—only our combat knives leave those. So they fought him while he was cloaked."
Possibly strikes inflicted before death.
"I was just lucky THX-0333 fried his camouflage," the colonel said. "Otherwise, who knows…"
"History has no subjunctive mood," I noted. "What happened, happened."
"Yes," Tierce said bitterly. "The prisoner died. Bit off his own tongue and stuffed it down his throat!"
"That only proves we have much to learn about capturing high-level Zann Consortium operatives," I noted. "We only learned of poison capsules from Dominion agents, not the Imperial Intelligence database, where countering the Zann organization gets a whole skimpy section. As far as I know, cases of prisoners killing themselves this way are statistical outliers, not some percentage."
"True, sir," Tierse nodded. "It just doesn't compute."
"That's our enemy," I reminded him. "I think you'll enjoy your lazaret time devising new instructions for capturing such Zann Consortium prisoners."
"At minimum, for humans or physiologically similar species, I have a countermeasure," Tierce said, surprising me greatly. "Pneumosyringe with a knockout dose of tranquilizer. After immobilization—neck jab. Seconds, and the target's unconscious."
"Intriguing proposal, but needs refinement," I noted. "The Zann Consortium, past and present, employs many alien species. What knocks out a human might kill a Jawa. Won't affect a Herglic or Wookiee at all. A Talortai with his rapid metabolism and regeneration might be immune to doses lethal to other species."
"The tactic isn't perfect," Grodin agreed readily. "Needs work. And account for some criminals having artificial excretory organs. Such implants could filter tranquilizers from the blood easily."
"The key is recognizing the problem," I said. "And wanting to solve it. Answers don't come free—they require work. And you've started. Just don't stop."
In truth, devising how to capture a prisoner hell-bent or programmed to die if captured is tricky without such "mistakes."
Action breeds reaction.
In the past, we only knew about poison capsules.
And bacta tubes blocking jaw compression—that's the simplest countermeasure devised.
Tierce knows full well he accomplished the impossible.
Not only did he defeat a stronger, more dangerous foe in combat unaided, but he took every measure based on his info to prevent suicide.
That the Talortai would sever his tongue with his own beak—I wouldn't have guessed.
Because suicide fundamentally contradicts any sentient's base instincts, whose biology aims the opposite.
Yes, capturing Urai Fen could have shed light on much— that's why Tierse "swaddled" him.
But a corpse yields little…
Well, we have what we have.
No sense weeping over the Talortai's body—let the pathologists work and tell us what species this is (the HoloNet has only a few photos and the name) and its vulnerabilities.
Because my memory helpfully recalls Urai Fen claiming his entire species is Force-sensitive.
And if they're such mighty warriors, "à la Jedi," we're in big trouble.
But only if Tyber Zann knows his lieutenant's homeworld and can recruit them.
"They preferred destruction over capture," Tierce nodded understandingly. "Better that than reporting failure to eliminate the threat. Wouldn't get rewarded for that."
"Yes, the formalized Imperial bureaucracy—military included—is infamous," I agreed.
"Palpatine would've skinned me alive for such a failure," Grodin admitted.
"Then we're lucky the old maniac's still holed up," I smiled restrainedly.
"He'll show soon," Grodin grumbled. "Once he realizes all his Remnants are led by no more than idiots without tactics or strategy grasp. Though I suspect his Byss company isn't much better."
"We'll handle problems as they arise," I said. "You heard Sol Mon's revelations about Smarc?"
"Planet, mountain, cloning cylinders," the guardsman nodded. "Description strongly resembles Wayland."
"Perhaps the Emperor had another cache?" I suggested.
"If so, nothing known to me," Tierce shook his head. "Possible those cloning cylinders are Kaminoan, not Spaarti?"
"No direct proof or disproof yet," I reminded. "Just indirect info that clones could take fifteen days or several months."
"Contradictory data," Grodin ruled.
"More than," I agreed.
Though by then, I was beginning to suspect the reasons for such a wide "spread" in timelines.
But again, just my hypothesis for now, needing stress-testing before scattering guesses.
"Get well, Grodin," I said, patting my adjutant's shoulder. "We have much work ahead."
Visible or not, damn it.
And after what Bravo-One reported, even civilian words run out.