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.
***
When the Grand Admiral left the medbay, Rukh caught the faint nod of his head toward the just-abandoned room.
The Noghri bodyguard's gray shadow was inside in an instant.
"Didn't expect it, guardsman?" Rukh squinted, purring ominously as he appeared by the bunk.
"I never doubted you'd come," Grodin smirked, lying back.
"The droid said you'd recover soon," Rukh said.
"The next one entering my room with that line gets broken a hundred four ways," the guardsman promised. "Talk like I caught a proton torpedo barehanded and survived by miracle. I've had far worse wounds."
"How bad?" the Noghri asked, intrigued.
"Once nearly lost my head," Tierce said gravely. "Dangling by the spinal cord. Vertebrae to dust."
"Really?" The Grand Admiral's bodyguard widened his eyes.
"Oh, Hutta in your kin, of course not, Rukh!" Thrawn's adjutant sighed. "Just shrapnel-stuffed. And this," he indicated the bandage covering his lower torso, "just a scratch. More bacta, stims—and it'll heal like on a rancor. Don't know why you're all so worked up."
"Yes, the Grand Admiral's genuinely concerned for your health," Rukh sobered unexpectedly. "When he left, he went to the droid. Before I entered, I heard him order the most comfortable recovery regimen for you."
The adjutant fell silent for seconds, peering into the Noghri's eyes.
"It happens," he said, wiping his stinging eyes. "Worried about the soldier—DNA and knowledge source for clone guardsmen and storm legion commanders. I figure after I carved up that Zann Consortium lieutenant, new clones with my face will be even better."
"That's good," Rukh said unexpectedly.
He raised his hand, but Grodin reacted on reflex, intercepting the limb too close.
Glancing sidelong, he crooked a smile, seeing the obsidian blade in the blocked Noghri limb.
"Well, even one-armed and one-legged, you still couldn't kill me," Tierce said.
"And I wasn't trying to," Rukh purred.
The blade in his hand spun, then the Noghri bowed lightly and placed the weapon on the bunk beside Tierse.
"Now explain that in detail," the former Imperial guardsman requested.
"When a Noghri hunter, or death commando, is wounded and recovers in his home clanhold, a weapon is always left by him," Rukh explained. "A custom from our ancestors, before Honoghr became a dead world."
"I assume to let the wounded defend himself while clansfolk are in the fields and predators lurk," Grodin said slowly.
"You're wise, guardsman," Rukh agreed. "It's one knife-brother's duty to the other—to ensure even a wounded brother-by-knife isn't left helpless."
Grodin coughed, turning away and wiping his face near the eyes again.
"Thanks," he said in a slightly choked tone. "That… means a lot. I got it right—you consider me a knife-brother now?"
"Yes, guardsman," the Noghri bowed again. "As the elder recognizes the younger."
At the end, he couldn't hold it, and the purring held back a smile and chuckle.
"You little bastard," Tierce gritted, grabbing the impudent Noghri by the scruff.
But he'd already nimbly evaded, ducked under the bunk, and surfaced fish-like by the door.
"Get well, younger knife-brother," the Noghri giggled, vanishing behind the door.
Tierce, reclining on the bunk, twirled the gifted blade in his hand, then examined it under the blinding ward lights.
"Engraving, eh," Tierce said slowly, eyeing the Basic inscription carved on the hilt. "Little punk. I'll borrow a flamethrower from the 'arsonists' and singe you, fulfilling Vice Admiral Pellaeon's cherished dream."
Wincing slightly from pain, Tierce slid off the bunk and began dressing, glaring angrily at the gifted blade.
Get well, my younger brother. One day your snow-white fur will darken too.
Nothing much, but one thing.
Youngest Noghri have light fur.
Elders—dark as night.
Essentially, Rukh called him a milk-drinker.
The little bastard was clearly bored without Pellaeon, amusing himself as he could.
Shedding the medblock garb and donning his usual uniform, the colonel decided that even skewered through, he wouldn't lie in the lazaret for the Noghri's amusement.
Something massive was brewing—Thrawn wouldn't have come just to chat otherwise.
He'd learned of his condition to gauge if he could count on his most loyal fighter and guardsman.
And if so, the situation clearly exceeded tolerable "hospital time."
Plus, easier to repay the little bastard for this show on his feet.
Resolutely silencing the protesting droid, the colonel self-discharged from the shipboard lazaret, returning to duty.
***
One simple truth must be acknowledged—compared to what I previously knew of Tyber Zann, what I'm learning now is progress.
Development not just striding in seven-league boots, but charging like a rhinoceros.
Soon reaching scales where "a charging rhino's blindness isn't the rhino's problem."
Of course, much remains unclear, but the situation is shaping into quite the intrigue.
So, let's turn to my memory's history and the Imperial archives at my disposal.
Gaps in one can be filled from others, and there are plenty.
Tyber Zann was born on Anaxes thirty-four years before the Battle of Yavin.
Worked in the family firm specializing in converting outdated Old Republic and Imperial military tech for civilian use.
Imperials note that upon Academy admission, Zann's file had more marks for illegal gambling than family business.
Thus, one can infer an adventuring nature, thrill-seeking, rejection of routine and desire to eradicate monotony from life.
Also, per ISB—unconfirmed—that in youth, to arm his sabacc buddies, Zann tried stealing a weapons shipment from a parental company warehouse.
Security caught him and informed his father, who, as punishment, arranged his cadet enrollment at the Imperial Academy on Carida.
But no official data on the incident.
Of course not—publicizing a family business theft and inquiry could've closed doors to placing the child out-of-sight in the famed Imperial forces for beating nonsense out of die-hard adventurers.
Now to the ISB departmental investigation on Carida itself.
"Operating from the Academy, Zann created a new smuggler network—the Zann Consortium. Lax object security let him steal Imperial weapons and ship them off-planet to a partner who sold them black market, causing damage in the amount of…"
Official testimony.
More like indictment lines.
These very data formed the basis of Zann's tribunal.
And the author—cadet Thrawn.
That is, Mitth'raw'nuruodo, who uncovered Zann's scheme.
Interestingly—default judgment, as Zann had vanished from Carida Academy by then.
Why?
To ISB operative reports.
"Zann exploited assigned powers for training missions to build a smuggling contact network. The operation became one of the galaxy's largest, drawing attention from more powerful criminals, namely Jabba the Hutt."
Enter the crime king.
Jabba coordinated Zann's capture during a smuggling run shortly before graduation. Luckily for Tyber, his partner (likely Urai Fen, but official docs omit name or even species) intercepted the Imperial alert on the impending arrest.
So Jabba "fed" Zann to the Imperials, eliminating the upstart to strangle competition in the cradle.
Tyber evaded prosecution then, but Zann was forced to leave the Academy for disrespecting its requirements.
In other words—given a chance to leave "honorably," which he took.
Only afterward did cadet Mitth'raw'nuruodo provide detailed data on his activities.
Evidently, Carida brass had no intent to publicize.
I suspect the Emperor's favor to Mitth'raw'nuruodo played, and the tribunal proceeded.
From Imperial Intelligence archives.
Per them, Tyber Zann did ally with Jabba the Hutt.
Subsequently running smuggling ops for the Hutt in exchange for transports and ships, while hiding assets from his criminal biz partner.
Simply put, Zann never intended permanence and planned to "screw" the companion ahead.
Revenge for Carida or not—history's silent.
But anyway, Imperial Intelligence notes Zann stole a certain artifact from Jabba, acquired for an indecent sum.
The galaxy first heard of the "Zann Consortium" when its flotilla ambushed a Mandalorian warlord.
The latter's ship boarded, he himself captured.
Zann got what he wanted—talk in the underworld, boosting new useful contacts, allies, wealthy clients.
Followed by info Zann stole something extremely valuable from Jabba.
I'd bet that's the artifact that bankrupted Jabba on acquisition.
Artifact theft, fortunes sunk.
Battle ensues, Zann loses most forces and "suns" on Kessel.
Whence Urai Fen springs him.
New dawn for the Zann Consortium.
Post-Jabba conflict, Tyber Zann—under threat of executing the last—forces truce.
The artifact, a Sith holocron, stays with Zann to unlock its secret later.
He hires a Dathomirian, freed from her homeworld, to decipher the Sith artifact's secret.
Zann gets dragged into a scrape with Prince Xizor and Black Sun over Bespin tibanna theft.
Xizor aims to frame Zann to Darth Vader as the thief, Zann frames Xizor.
Later Vader kills Xizor partly over the Bespin heist, Black Sun suffers first major leadership losses.
Meanwhile, Zann Consortium ensnares planets in loops of corruption and ties.
Zann's attempt to sell his artifact—the holocron—predictably a trap. Mitth'raw'nuruodo's fleet engages Tyber Zann's.
In battle, one of Zann's underlings steals the artifact from him and delivers it to Thrawn, who then escapes on his Star Destroyer, abandoning the remaining ships to fate. After defeating the left Imperial fleet, Tyber returns to base.
A telling moment, really.
Per which Mitth'raw'nuruodo rather cavalierly dismissed the Zann threat, costing several warships.
Hardly resembling the future Grand Admiral who preempted threats.
But anyway, Mitth'raw'nuruodo didn't.
Later, it culminated in Zann's post-Endor assault on the under-construction Eclipse SSD at Kuat orbit.
I remember that from my past life, confirmed by local sources.
Post-Endor and Kuat raid, the Zann Consortium takes a double hit, defeated by both Empire and Rebel Alliance.
And oddly, that's enough to shake the corruption chains from the galaxy and shatter the Consortium.
Now it turns out Tyber Zann merely went to ground to safeguard himself.
Likely, what I gleaned of this sentient—what was destroyed was the Consortium's most inert, inefficient part.
Judging by Zann's current scope—he grasped perfectly: sacrifice the small and obvious to those bent on his destruction, or the organization falls wholesale.
Result: now we have.
Recruitment via "Black Sun" front of merc and pirate bands.
Allowing concealment of at least the brain center and core, combat wing of the Zann Consortium—the infamous "Vulture" agents, processed so only speculation on Tyber Zann's brainwashing programs.
Must conclude: he commands the full industrial and economic might of the Corporate Sector.
Plus—fighting for mineral deposits, like the Chilon Rift.
Not just an inexhaustible asteroid cluster of minerals, but surely a military base to strike the Dominion's rear.
Rothana and Kamino need no mention—discussed dozens of times.
One might think to emulate this guy—controlling the underworld so effectively from shadows.
But only a hardened criminal like Zann himself could control crime that efficiently.
Can't half-dabble in crime.
You either live it or die.
Neither suits me.
Fundamentally clashes with my past view of him.
If I once thought him mere gangster, now—local Professor Moriarty.
Qualitatively different planning and execution level.
The Zann Consortium has changed utterly.
Questions mount, but key ones few.
First—current link between Zann and Hutts?
If yes, countering this man becomes even more surgical.
Because the Corporate Sector power he surely wields—even the Empire, with its colossal fleet of tens of thousands of Imperators alone, reckoned with.
Add Hutt Space's fleet and forces—and downright grim.
Launching open, full-scale opposition against Zann, clearly intent on destroying the Dominion, and if my Chilon Rift suspicions hold, with direct path to my rear sectors, would be suicide if he has Hutt clan backing beyond thugs and pirates.
Sadly, Grappa the Hutt can't illuminate these nuances—not his level.
Second and chief question—the list of those Tyber Zann cloned and replaced.
Minimum: Fina D'Asta.
Maximum…
If my theory that the "parade of sovereignties" of Imperial fragments is mere show and Zann puppets, then even grimmer.
Fighting free-thinkers is one thing, "brainwashed" executors another.
Because Zann's already effectively warring on me, and I yet know his backstab potential.
But work on this is underway.
Before me appeared Third's hologram.
As always—chewing something on the go.
"Third," I addressed the girl.
"Grand Admiral," she saluted with a meat chunk on her fork.
Her food-stuffed cheeks rhythmically worked, chewing.
"Autopsy complete?" I inquired.
"Uh-huh," she replied.
"And genetic analysis?"
Affirmative head nod.
"On all objects I specified?" I pressed, somewhat irritated by such tactlessness.
But given her unique work specifics—certain protocol breaches are permitted.
"Uh-huh," she said mouth-full.
"Kindly chew your mouthful and speak without culinary impediments," I requested, patiently tolerating the young woman's quirks—and unique specialist's, in her way.
With visible effort, Third swallowed what she'd been masticating, then looked with undisguised regret at her steak remnant and resolutely set it aside.
"No physiological changes in the corpse on autopsy," she explained. "No poison capsules either. Telomeres normal, matching overall organism wear."
In other words—the corpse of Moff Delurin, controller of the warlike lizard planet, isn't a clone.
Already good.
"Grand-Moff Ferrus and his team?" I asked.
"Grand-Moff's original human too," at those words, I eased a bit. "Well, his clones… are his clones. All match creation ages."
So at minimum, Grand-Moff cleared.
"The candidates he selected," I reminded. "What of their telomeres?"
"Well, those as Admiral Trommer, Grand-Moff Heizer, Moffs Winsel and Jarnek—original humans too. But the 'rejected' category, like Grand-Moff Nivers—they're clones, no doubt…"
Ah-ha…
Curious combo.
So those run through counterintel and Jeensaari gauntlet—real people, while those butchered, largely for "unclear threat hidden in mind depths" per the Jeensaari in POW filtration—clones?
Note the thought.
Does this mean Jeensaari can somehow sense such "sleeper agents"?
If yes, fewer worries re: military—they all passed Jeensaari and counterintel.
"Check DNA analyses of former Imperial POWs in the 'rejected' category," I ordered.
Actually, blood samples were for medical health checks.
And, if uncooperative refusal, suitable clone made unbeknownst—never happened in practice.
Now, seems we'll recheck all DNA samples, from top officers to privates.
Colossal work.
"Continue checks," I ordered. "Shelf all current projects, use full capacity for second-wave cloning donor samples on telomerics."
Meaning: first check wave includes all our scant generals, colonels, formation and Star Destroyer commanders, unused specialists as donors.
Essentially—the "fresh acquisitions" genetic database, not yet proven themselves, thus not cloned.
Why waste costly reagents studying blood of one who might be decent commander but won't excel?
First wave I'm calm—officers and specialists repeatedly scanned and cloned.
Their telomer check—given.
But they're few; second wave—vast potential donors.
Can't check all at once.
Not reagent cost (oddly expensive in my past and this life).
But sheer time.
E.g., checking half a hundred key donor names took Third near half a day.
And hundreds more samples ahead.
Not quick.
"We'll work," the girl couldn't resist and bit the steak. "Oh, right—forgot. Another confirmed analysis came in."
I.e.—mismatch on telomere length vs. real age.
"And who?"
"Moff Gronn's corpse," Third replied. "Path-droid established death by fast-acting toxin in a molar, not blaster shot."
"Thank you, Third," I said. "Report all clone detections personally to me, Colonel Astarion, Grand-Moff Ferrus, and Vice Admiral Pellaeon. And all this stays secret."
"Got it," Third mumbled, chewing nonstop.
Can't fix her, pointless scolding.
So I just shut off the holoprojector.
QED.
At minimum, some moffs—clones.
With "Consortium-style" self-elimination.
Curious…
And the "rejected" ones like Grand-Moff Nivers—clones entering prison, or swapped inside Republic cells?
Sol Mon said he kidnapped both Imperial and Republic "brass."
If swap in cells, I even know why.
Grand-Moff Nivers, like the whole "moff barracks"—freed from Republic prison in second or third wave.
First: combat officers—naval, then army.
Bureaucrats—last ops.
Odds Zann foresaw I'd free moffs too, thus slipping me "Trojans"?
Note that thought.
A plan to turn Zann's own actions against him began forming.
Yes, the guy may have wisened post-near-demise after Endor, but forget not: he's extremely reckless, not one to "sit quiet."
He needs motion, action—hence warring me since his pirates smashed in the Hegemony.
Well, it'd be nice to egg him further, give chance for a proper backstab.