Urai Fen, silently enduring the pain from his wounds and burns, burst into the tiny hangar bay compartment designated for crew ships.
He had no interest whatsoever in the shuttles damaged during the battle for control of the escort frigate.
He was dragging the resisting and kicking baroness toward that very coveted Lambda shuttle, which was regally positioned in the center of the compartment.
He had known about this personal ship of Sol Mon's from the very moment its owner acquired it—intelligence in all divisions of the Zann Consortium worked diligently.
"Don't resist, Baroness," he demanded, painfully grabbing the girl by the wrists. "It will only make things worse."
"Go to hell!" the headstrong woman cursed him in a most unaristocratic manner.
"So be it," Urai said, stopping and striking her on the back of the head, rendering the prisoner unconscious.
Ignoring the fact that blood was beginning to flow from her head, the Talortai raced toward the ship at the maximum speed available to him.
But, stopping about ten meters short, he realized something was wrong.
The communication antennas were damaged, and the hatch covering access to the main hyperdrive had been pried open so crudely that there was no doubt about mechanical tampering.
Almost immediately, he noticed a hefty translucent crate covered in a network of cracks, lying near one of the landing struts amid small parts and shards of broken glass.
Someone had deliberately sabotaged the hyperdrive generator.
Urai frowned and looked around.
There was no one visible nearby who could have committed such an obvious act of vandalism.
But he, as a master of camouflage, knew that meant nothing.
Just as his terrible wounds, which had nearly healed thanks to his innate regeneration, meant nothing.
The Talortai carefully laid the woman's body on the deck plating, realizing he would have to engage an unknown opponent in battle.
Whoever had done this to the ship was here.
Because if it had been one of the pirates, they would have flown off long ago.
But the enemy—Dominion forces—might have lain in wait.
And this enemy was few in number—that's why they had damaged the shuttle's key systems, understanding that the engines would allow Urai to break through any fighter blockade and escape.
A Class One hyperdrive could give him superiority over Dominion ships—he could even arrive at Etti IV much earlier than the destroyers reached their bases, even with a damaged antenna.
That's why they had taken it out of commission.
And it could have reported the incident to Tyber Zann—that's why they had destroyed the communication system antennas.
All that remained was to hope that the backup hyperdrive on this ship was still functional…
And in the next instant, he heard something fragile fall onto the deck and shatter to pieces.
Flying out through the opening of the boarding ramp in the process.
The Talortai tilted his head, seeing a man in black-and-blue armor descending the ramp with a vibroblade in hand.
A Dominion guardsman.
"You won't escape," he said in an artificial voice from the vocoder, assuming a fighting stance.
Urai moved one of his blades aside, inwardly lamenting that his camouflage system had been damaged by the flamethrower.
The tip of the massive blade hovered a couple of centimeters from the baroness lying on the deck.
"I need the ship," Fen said. "Or she dies."
"I don't care," the guardsman replied. "I'm not here to save her from death."
"Then why are you standing in my way?" the Talortai asked in surprise.
"You killed my blood and weapon brothers," the guardsman explained, slowly advancing.
"I've killed many," Urai replied with his beak, feeling the skin tightening on the right side of his face. "And I'll kill you too."
It seemed one of the Lambdas on this ship hadn't suffered as badly during the boarding through this hangar.
Possibly, if he dealt with this outsider quickly, he could escape, relying on his wits and the Force.
Strangely, the guardsman said nothing in response to the retort, silently transitioning to an attack with his vibroblade.
Urai parried the first thrust of the blade.
He slashed back but only left a superficial scratch on the guardsman's chest with his weapon.
The second blade missed entirely, but that was enough for the more agile opponent to counterattack.
Urai felt a cut appear on his right shoulder and sharply dodged to the side to avoid muscle damage.
And thereby had to retreat from the prisoner.
But he did so toward the shuttle he considered the least damaged of all in the hangar.
Fine, he hadn't managed to capture the faster ship, but a standard Lambda was decent enough.
The guardsman continued attacking, but his thrusts and "cunning" maneuvers didn't reach their target.
Urai had seen all this before.
When he killed the baroness's bodyguards.
Exactly the same.
And he had only one explanation.
And he knew how to use it.
"You're a clone," he spat in the opponent's face, catching his vibrating weapon with his crossed blades. "I've already killed ones like you!"
Now it was clear this wasn't just training based on uniform military tactics.
This was knowledge transferred from one source to other bodies.
Exactly what the Zann Consortium used.
This information needed to be urgently reported to Tyber!
He had to know that the Dominion had cloning cylinders!
This changed the entire operation against the holdings of the late Grand Admiral Thrawn significantly!
They had the ability to create copies of experienced and dangerous fighters, just like the Consortium!
They needed to strike now, before they made even more fighters!
Because against ordinary criminals, these clones were too good.
If Urai hadn't led the capture of the baroness's ship, Sol Mon would have wiped out all his soldiers right in the airlock.
"You're wrong, beak-face," the man in the blue-and-black armor stated. "I'm the original."
So the news that he was a clone wouldn't break this man.
Interesting, and after death, would his body be cremated with the armor, just like those Urai had finished off on the baroness's ship?
"You're not shining with skill either," if there was anything new Urai had learned about fighting humans, it was how easy they were to provoke and enrage, clouding their minds and leading to defeat.
But the original of the clones, for some reason, didn't respond.
Instead, he unexpectedly raised the hilt of his sword upward, changing the angle of the blocked blade's attack.
And deprived Urai of an eye, along with the left part of his face.
The Talortai roared in pain and retreated backward.
But immediately blocked the strike he expected the opponent to deliver to take him out of action.
Protecting his supporting leg with his weapon, Urai began to spin to deliver a side strike with his left blade, but the opponent proved more agile than he thought.
Dodging the strike overhead, he thrust his blade into Urai's right foot, grabbed the raised left knee for the strike, and straightened up, forcing the Talortai to lose balance.
The vibroblade sliced through the right foot like a hot knife through butter, and the lieutenant of the Zann Consortium crashed onto his back.
He rolled aside, avoiding a sword strike to the lower torso and shifting weight to his left leg, then looked at the opponent.
"If you're so good, why were your clones so bad?" he asked, not giving up on trying to unbalance the opponent.
Instead, the Dominion guardsman launched an attack with the vibroblade at the legs, forcing Urai to defend.
Dragging his wounded leg, the Talortai parried the vibroblade thrusts raining down on him.
He no longer paid attention to the numerous cuts the opponent inflicted, leaving them to his regenerative abilities.
He understood he was starting to tire.
The battle in the bridge and recovery from damage after the cold weapon throw by the traitor Sol Mon, burns from the flamethrower operator, fresh wounds—all this depleted his internal reserves, steadily weakening him.
He needed to attack the opponent, destroy him, and escape before reinforcements arrived.
Obviously, since there were no soldiers or droids here, the guardsman had come to fight alone.
That was his fatal mistake.
Urai timed the moment when he could strike an open spot in the opponent's armor and thrust his right blade there, directing the left to hit the head.
But to his surprise, the opponent paid no attention whatsoever to the deep wound in his side and the damage to his helmet.
Instead, he jerked aside, freeing the edge of his abdomen from Urai's blade, and delivered a vertical strike to the Talortai's extended arm.
The vibroblade easily severed the flesh, cutting off the right arm perfectly even at the elbow.
Before Urai could comprehend what had happened, and his screaming brain realized he had lost the limb, the same fate befell the left arm closer to the wrist.
Both mighty blades clanged as they fell to the deck.
The guardsman kicked them aside and, with a spinning kick to the head, sent the stunned Talortai to the deck.
Unable to cushion the fall, Urai crashed face-first onto the deck, then felt his left limb being tourniqueted.
Next came the rolling of his mutilated body onto its back.
Before Urai could figure out what was happening, a metal cylinder was shoved into his beak, prying it open so that its walls and teeth couldn't touch each other.
The beak was then bound with sprayed synthflesh from an aerosol.
"He's going to take me prisoner!"
Such a thought flashed through the lieutenant of the Zann Consortium's head in horror.
He perfectly understood why the opponent was bandaging the stumps of his severed limbs and blocking his teeth—to prevent him from dying of blood loss and using the poison capsule implanted in a molar of every high-ranking Consortium and Defilers member.
So they would interrogate him.
And quite possibly try to clone him to extract some data.
This couldn't be allowed.
Years of work—down the drain.
If the Dominion learned even a little of what Urai knew, the life's work of the sentient dearest to him—Tyber, who had become practically a brother to the Talortai over the years—would be destroyed.
Urai tried to bite the poison capsule—failed.
The opponent had already bandaged his wounds and was now, having torn off his cuirass, pouring bacta into the abdominal wound.
Unfortunately, it was no more than a through wound to the muscle framework, which would heal.
A few severed vessels, possibly a vein—nothing that would prevent him from surviving until help arrived.
Especially with a medkit on hand.
So the guardsmen's armor was a bit wider than it seemed—and that's why the strike hadn't reached vital organs.
Watching the guardsman provide himself medical aid, Urai exerted all his effort to clamp his beak.
The metal container buckled, cracked, but didn't shatter.
He felt bacta pouring into his mouth, and it was humiliating—that meant his regenerative abilities would increase manyfold.
Urai coughed, and the guardsman flipped him onto his stomach, not allowing him to choke on the bacta.
Yes, they wouldn't pump his stomach from something like that.
The Talortai's eyes and the guardsman's visor met for a second.
The tip of the Talortai's tongue poked out from behind the spacer in his beak.
"No!" the guardsman understood the intent, striking the face to disorient the Talortai.
But it was already done.
The razor-sharp lateral edges of Urai's beak had nearly severed the end of his long, flexible tongue.
Blood gushed into the throat as the guardsman futilely tried to remove the sticky, hardened synthflesh to reach the throat.
Urai knew he would succeed before the Talortai drowned.
So he did the only thing left to preserve Tyber Zann's secrets.
He used the nearly severed tip and his snake-like flexible tongue to suffocate himself.
When the guardsman finally pried open his beak, the torn-off tip of the long tongue was lodged so deep in the throat that removing it without surgery was impossible.
And the guardsman's attempts to crack open the Talortai's rigid ribcage yielded no desired result.
When medics arrived on the scene, the lieutenant of the Zann Consortium was already dead from asphyxiation by his own tongue.
***
The door to the compartment slid open, admitting the familiar figure in black-and-blue armor into the dimly lit room, after which the bulkhead hissed back into place.
"Grand Admiral," Tierce, entering the small briefing room, saluted. "The prisoner has been delivered."
"Bring him in," I ordered.
Tierce didn't even stir, obviously using the comlink in his helmet.
The bulkhead hissed again…
The guardsman stepped aside, and then a dark-skinned man, half-naked with an elaborate hairstyle, flew into the open door as if kicked hard in the rear.
Something like dreadlocks, but with multicolored beads, rings, or coins woven in.
The man glared viciously at the two guardsmen who followed him in and took positions on either side of the entrance, demonstrating to the prisoner that leaving the compartment would require eliminating them.
Which he, unarmed and clearly beaten, couldn't do.
Looking around, he spotted in the gloom the dome of a gray-and-blue astromech, on whose dome perched a ysalamiri I was stroking.
And only then did his gaze shift upward…
"Be damned!" the pirate's eyes widened so much it seemed they might pop out of his skull. "Thrawn!"
"Good day, Captain Mon," I greeted my interlocutor. "It seems it's time we talked."
It seemed I hadn't managed to keep an even tone, and the notes of disgust I felt looking at this butcher were discernible after all.
"Y-you're dead!" the pirate blurted. "The Jedi sliced you to pieces."
"I'll keep that in mind," I nodded, pointing to the chair at the far end of the rectangular table separating us. "Sit down."
The pirate awkwardly shook his hands, which were secured in massive cuffs.
"I'd like these things off," he grumbled. "They make me uncomfortable, and I have no great desire to talk…"
He expressively snorted out bloody contents from his thoroughly crooked nose.
He'd recovered from the stress quickly enough.
"You're aware that spreading antisanitary conditions and filth in a host's home is rude?" I inquired.
"Yes," the pirate smiled, revealing several gaps in his string of pearl-white teeth. "But my nose is stuffed."
"And there's a lack of basic respect," I added, looking at my adjutant's helmet. "Lieutenant Colonel Tierce, please: teach our guest some manners."
The guardsman moved forward silently and wordlessly, simultaneously handing his vibroblade to a nearby trooper.
As soon as his hands were free, the faceless warrior thrust out a hand, striking the recoiling pirate in the solar plexus.
Sol Mon began gasping for air, doubling over at the waist.
Grabbing him by the hair, Tierce struck him in the face with a knee without winding up, sending him reeling backward.
The guardsman shifted to be parallel and to the right of the pirate, then struck him on the front of the throat with an open palm in a armored glove.
Almost instantly, Tierce positioned his left knee to press on the popliteal fossa of the pirate's right leg, forcing him to drop to his knees on the floor.
"R7," I addressed the astromech. "Be so kind as to help our ill-mannered guest tidy up."
The astromech, who before the upgrade work and full memory scan followed by its purge (including all backups) had been called R2-D2 and served the Skywalker family for several decades, rolled forward.
The ysalamiri on his dome yawned sweetly as the droid approached Sol Mon.
Positioned in front of the pirate, he extended a small hose from his chassis and poured cleaning solution onto the deck plating.
Immediately after, a panel in his dome opened, and out came a small snow-white towel rolled into a tube.
Sol Mon favored the droid standing before him with a look full of disgust and indignation.
But his gaze was shifted slightly upward and full of surprise.
It seemed he recognized the droid and didn't understand how it had ended up in my hands.
Well, I had no intention of enlightening him.
"Either you clean up after yourself, or you'll be sent to breathe vacuum right now," I explained.
"You can pretend you won't space me after you ask all your questions," the pirate grumbled nasally.
"The longer you resist logic, the more inclined I am to do it," I confessed.
The pirate, giving me a look full of murderous intent, realized his actions had no effect on me whatsoever.
Grabbing the towel, he began cleaning up his mess.
R7 meanwhile returned to his starting position.
Five minutes later, when the pirate—unexpectedly—had cleaned everything to a mirror shine, ruining the towel with blood and chemicals, of course, Grodin yanked him up by the hair and forcefully seated him in the chair.
The pirate eyed suspiciously how the guardsman carefully smoothed the fabric on the edge of the table in front of him.
But his hate-filled gaze had exactly as much effect as the previous one on me.
In other words— a waste of time and facial muscle elasticity.
"So, let's begin," I said. "You attacked a Dominion ship…"
"Yeah, if I'd known! Am I some gungan or what? Why would I pick a fight with the Dominion…"
Tierce, who hadn't released the pirate's hair, yanked him forward, slamming his face into the table with one pull.
"Interrupting is equally rude," I explained. "Continue. I want to know who and when gave you the coordinates of our ship."
"It was me who…"
This time, realizing the next face-to-metal impact might drive nose cartilage and bones into his skull, the guardsman pressed the pirate's forehead to the tabletop.
"I was told the time," Mon said, returning to position and wiping blood with his hand. "And the place."
"Who?" I asked.
"The one you let slip away," the pirate smirked.
"Urai Fen," I nodded understandingly. "Tyber Zann's right hand."
"Until he croaked trying to hold power in the crumbling Zann Consortium," the pirate added.
Noted.
"Continue."
"When we arrived at the rendezvous, the battle on the ship was already over. Urai Fen apparently somehow got aboard the frigate, then staged a massacre on it, and sent us the coordinates. My guys just finished off the droids, losing quite a few boarders in the process," the emboldened prisoner spoke quickly.
"Further," I demanded.
"Urai sent us the coordinates, we headed there on the captured escort," the pirate said. "Intercepted the baroness's ship, stormed it. Lost many again. Then laid in a course for the Corporate Sector. And that's when you intercepted us."
"So you weren't aware of the operation's objectives and were following direct orders from the commander—Urai Fen?" I asked after hearing his outpouring.
It sounded so logical it was hard to believe immediately.
"There's that Imperial cleverness," the pirate grumbled. "I told it straight."
"Except why you undertook this mission at all," I had to remind the prisoner that we "weren't that clever." "What reason did you have to cooperate with Black Sun? Why not refuse the attack on a Dominion ship on territory bordering ours? Why follow Urai Fen's orders?"
Simple questions, and I even knew the answers.
But this was the classic "he doesn't know that I know," giving the pirate a chance at candor.
On which his future fate directly depended—whether he realized it or not.
So these questions had to be asked.
To plant in the pirate sitting opposite me the hope that he might fool us.
After all, supposedly, we knew nothing about him or his past.
It was even interesting what story he'd invent to save his life.
Let's see how inventive he was.
"So, who stands against Black Sun?" Sol Mon shrugged theatrically. "Those guys don't joke around. They say act, so you act. Otherwise, nothing awaits you in this life. Defying Black Sun is signing your death warrant. I'm a free pirate with no ties to them, but I still have a head on my shoulders."
"Enough," I said, realizing no constructive conversation would happen with this sentient.
"I understand that since I got caught, Kessel awaits," Sol Mon sighed theatrically. "Nothing to be done. Believe it or not, I was sorry to kill your people on the ship and the baroness's bodyguards. It doesn't pleasure me to rob sentients and demand ransom from families of those I kidnapped for their relatives or valuables. But the galaxy is so harsh after the Empire's fall that everyone scrambles as they can. I was going to join the mercenaries you were recruiting about half a year ago, but when those rumors reached me, I tried farming in another part of the galaxy. And when I emerged into known regions a month ago, everyone was talking about your death. I decided to head back to the Outer Rim again, having seen on the Empire's example how quickly what a great man built crumbles. But then Urai contacted me and demanded I work for him. We'd crossed paths before when I smuggled, so he knows me. That's probably why he decided to rope me in…"
Such a tearful tale that it only evoked disgust.
And indicated how deeply Sol Mon was entangled in Black Sun operations.
"The name of the planet," I inquired.
"What?" the pirate was taken aback. "What planet?"
"The one where you farmed," I explained. "As it happens, I'm new to the galaxy and unfamiliar with many worlds."
"Ah," the pirate grinned. "Zonju V, of course. The Luminari Pirates run it. That's how we met. A blooming little world, quite suitable for agriculture."
Understood.
Another lie.
Zonju V was a desert world where only the crime rate could grow.
But that wasn't the main point—the pirate said he was acquainted with the "Luminari."
And noted that they "run" it.
In the present tense.
Meaning at minimum he was unaware of what happened to his "friends" on that planet.
Well, now it remained to probe his degree of acquaintance with the mentioned pirate group.
"Why Kessel specifically?" I asked.
Sol hesitated for a moment.
"Well, that's where the Empire sends all pirates," he mumbled, confused, averting his gaze.
"Indeed," I nodded. "But I suspect you're heading there for an entirely different reason."
"I wouldn't even mention it if I'd known I could become your mercenary, like Tiberos or Vain, or Irv…"
Noted.
"I doubt that," I said. "But thanks for confirming my assumptions."
"Assumptions?" the pirate's nasal speech and battered face were somewhat irritating.
"Hypotheses about how widely and quickly information spreads in pirate circles that they're working for the Dominion," I explained. "It seems the Zann Consortium learned of it quite quickly, since it went down the chain to a rank-and-file executor."
The pirate's eyelid twitched.
"The Consortium is destroyed," he said uncertainly.
"I think you, as a former supplier of stygium crystals from the Karthakk sector for the Zann Consortium's military-industrial needs, learned of it faster than anyone," my words reflected horror in the pirate's eyes.
"Whether you know that Black Sun is no more than a front between executors and the Zann Consortium is for Dominion counterintelligence to determine," I continued. "Of course, you've already realized you won't be going to any Kessel. That Black Sun and Zann Consortium base is already shut down and under our control."
Sol Mon processed the long sentence for about a minute, then nodded with the look of a mortally offended professional in the best sense.
"Of course, I get it. But about the Zann Consortium, meaning they survived, that's the first I've heard. You're probably mistaken," he added venomously, challengingly meeting my eyes. "You're not as infallible as you think, Grand Admiral. It's easy to deal with Republican troops. But the criminal underworld is far more complex."
"Indeed," I smiled coldly. "Grappa the Hutt has already told us how deep the sarlacc pit goes."
The pirate froze with his mouth open.
After a few seconds, speech returned to him, but coherent thoughts lagged.
"You mean… that is… Grappa the Hutt is cooperating with you?!"
"Any problems understanding my speech?" I inquired coldly of the pirate.
"No… er…" Sol Mon swallowed nervously, his Adam's apple jerking under his smoothly shaved chin, adorned with bloody streaks. "Admiral, this… with all due respect…"
"Don't throw around lofty words, Mr. Mon," I interrupted, unwilling to listen to the pirate's bleating. "Pirates respect no one except those stronger than them and from whom they currently depend. Your attempt to portray yourself as a victim of circumstances won't succeed. The Dominion is well aware of your activities. Both in the framework of cooperation with the Zann Consortium on exporting stygium crystals from the planet Maramere in the Karthakk sector, as I said, and your role as observer with Grappa the Hutt. It's no secret to us that in your masters' interests, you kidnapped prominent figures to deliver them to leadership. Perhaps they value you so lowly they didn't tell you the truth about the Zann Consortium's revival. Perhaps you're lying—our interrogators will find out. The question is whether you'll tell everything you know voluntarily and go to a labor colony, or we'll extract the information ourselves. And then you'll truly go to Kessel."
"But… what would I do there if the planet's under your control?" Sol Mon blinked.
"Take direct part in extracting the spice we and the entire galaxy need," I explained courteously. "In any case—for capturing a Dominion ship, murdering the crew, abducting the head of a bordering state, and killing the bodyguards we provided her and her father, Dominion citizens— no bright future awaits you. You'll be in the mines exactly until you die there. As will the surviving members of your crew. Of course, after they give exhaustive testimony."
"But… how… this…" the pirate faltered. "You're supposed to not use slave labor and even returned all New Republic POWs. You can't just send people to the mines. Without trial…"
The pirate shut up, realizing without hints the absurdity of his stated viewpoint.
"That's true," I agreed. "But you misunderstood. No one will drive you to the mines—the Dominion's spice extraction process is being revised. But the energy spiders living there, which produce that very spice, are always hungry. Or you, with your criminal connections, didn't know that spice isn't ore, but a byproduct of the spiders inhabiting Kessel's mines? They feed on live organisms, then weave their webs from the purest spice, so vital to the galaxy."
I paused dramatically, allowing the criminal to grasp the full "delight" of the situation.
"What do you want?" Sol Mon asked hoarsely, not meeting my eyes but wiping bloody snot with the towel soaked through with his own secretions.
"I've been candid with you," I had to remind. "And I demand candor in return."
"Specifically what?" the pirate asked quickly. "And what preferences will I get for it?"
And thereby revealed his fear.
Excellent.
Now he could be molded into whatever the soul desired.
Without giving even a minute's delay for him to ponder what was said and spot the trap.
"I'm interested in the names of all those your group captured," I explained the obvious. "Place, time. Where and how you delivered them? Who participated in transport? Who targeted the objectives? What happened to the captured sentients? What exactly did you do in Grappa the Hutt's gang? Your Black Sun contacts are no less important information."
"Urai Fen reported the targets," the pirate replied. "My group arrived at the specified time and place. Mostly we caught targets after exiting hyperspace or before jumping. Often worked with the Luminari pirates," oh, interesting… "They helped us capture the toughest targets, intercepting them right on the road."
The Luminari pirates were one of many pirates and mercenaries the Dominion had already encountered.
The very ones with one interdictor cruiser who participated in hiring the late Prince-Admiral Krennel to repel the New Republic's attack on the Ciutric Hegemony.
They were also known for having a base on the planet where Grand Admiral Octavian Grant had retired on Republican pension until Grodin Tierce kidnapped him.
Precisely them our auxiliary forces crushed at Zonju V.
They didn't surrender, so there was no one to interrogate there.
"Are the Luminari pirates also part of Black Sun?" I asked.
"Well, yeah. Most of the criminal world walks under them. You've exposed and finished them all, as far as I know. All Black Sun fighters who took part in the operation in the Ciutric Hegemony. And your fight against Black Sun logistics and forces, destroying their ships and bases, won't destroy the organization, no matter what you claim on the HoloNet about exterminating all pirates and securing your Dominion. It infuriates Black Sun leadership—that you're destroying their fighters and depriving them of income. So why be surprised they send agents to your territories to incite uprisings? If I were in charge, I'd want to finish you too. Maybe the mass killings of low- and mid-tier bounty hunters scared the Bounty Hunters' Guild, but not Black Sun. Or, if it's more convenient for you," the pirate smirked, "the Zann Consortium. So your game of 'dead man' won't throw off those who want your head on a platter for long."
Now it became clear that my crusade against crime had exposed a significant problem.
No wonder Tyber Zann had it in for me.
Unwittingly, I had been exterminating his fighters.
But I did it to secure the Dominion and gain popularity with locals, not to spite the Zann Consortium.
Awkward.
But now there were no doubts that negotiating with Zann, even if we met in person, wouldn't work.
Explaining my actions' reasons to him would be foolish and dangerous.
Twice as foolish to tell him I wasn't Mitth'raw'nuruodo and hadn't "figured out" Black Sun fighters, but merely destroyed pirate bands I considered independents to show the Dominion's people that attacks on our worlds were punishable by death.
Reputation was now playing against me.
Tyber Zann had evidently used Prince-Admiral Krennel's mercenary search to slip him his own fighters disguised as scattered bands.
I suspected the ultimate goal of the whole operation was destroying the military, capturing or secretly subjugating the Ciutric Hegemony to the Zann Consortium.
Then Zann would have a powerful industrial cluster, as the Hegemony in its past borders supplied itself with everything necessary at 100%.
And through trade in Imperial fighters, Zann could penetrate deep into nearly every Imperial Remnant.
Holy moly!
If not for my "destroy pirates—righteous deed," Zann could have subjugated all Imperial Remnants in a few years!
Now it was clear why he operated in such multi-layered conspiracies!
In the past, the Consortium had to use not the most powerful shipyards, and their fleet significantly lagged behind both the Imperial and Rebel Alliance armed forces.
Subjugating the Empire, Zann could not just seize nearly a third of the galaxy but acquire advanced tech, military factories, and vast mobilization resources!
No wonder they kidnapped and cloned Imperial and Republican officials, aristocrats, and military!
In one fell swoop, if even a dozen or a hundred sectors across the galaxy declared for the Zann Consortium, handing over resources and allowing "zombification" of their soldiers and officers like with the Defilers, it would be a force not so easily destroyed!
If in the past Zann bet on secretly controlling planets, limiting to rare battles, now his priorities had changed.
And I, unwittingly, found myself at the center of countering his organization, which turned out far more branched than I initially thought.
A miscalculation that could have been fatal for me!
Because it was assumed Zann wouldn't war with the Dominion over a couple of attacks on his territory and capturing one droid factory.
Destroying the Rossum factory's production capacity and attacks on nearby "raw material" sectors were meant to weaken Zann and prevent him gaining strength.
But the problem was he had strength!
No need for a Keldabe II fleet or Crusaders if you could send hordes of mercenaries and thugs from across the galaxy, whom you didn't pity and didn't need to spend time training, preparing, equipping.
I'd come to roughly the same conclusion, but with a caveat on quality auxiliary troops via the Cavil Corsairs.
And in the end, it turned out my "small strikes" and superiority in armed forces weren't just the tip of the iceberg but its peak.
And I'd long been, unwittingly, stepping on Zann's corns.
Naturally, he thought I was waging war on him.
Since he didn't even know I wasn't Mitth'raw'nuruodo and hadn't grasped the connections.
A very delicate situation.
"For what purpose did the Zann Consortium kidnap Feena D'Asta?" I asked the pirate.
"They didn't tell me," he replied.
His shifty eyes didn't escape me.
One nod—and Mon's face slammed into the table again.
A dent had formed in it by now.
"Good try," I said. "Try again, and this time I need the truth."
"Urai just let slip that she wasn't acting as ordered. And that she was fighting Black Sun troops instead of letting them take the sector under control," Mon wiped blood. "The girl had been kidnapped and recruited before, but apparently she decided she could play a solo game."
A contentious issue— was she truly fighting for her father's inheritance, or was it that the woman intended to seize power in the sector and hand it to her masters, remaining nominal ruler.
Having bodyguards with her, controlling her every step, ensured "loyal actions" on her part.
Essentially, we were doing the same as Zann—using her as a symbol, but in our own interests, fully controlling "loyal forces'" activities in the D'Astan sector.
This gave us an advantage—while the woman was officially listed as kidnapped, we had opportunity to check her memory and detect hidden "implants."
I didn't think Zann simply replaced interesting personalities with plain clones—they were surely processed like our cloned fighters under the GeNod program.
Or per Isard's "manual."
Either way, it didn't change the risks.
Most likely, the Zann Consortium didn't "surface" in known events because Palpatine and his paranoid inner circle fully or partially eliminated "sleeper agents," scattering the army.
Not because it was "extra force in the galaxy," but because their activities threatened the Empire's existence.
Essentially, as I assumed, that's where all of Palpatine's and his Dark Empire's excess forces "went"—to fight the Zann Consortium.
And possibly, the subsequent fractures of the Empire into petty fiefdoms after Palpatine's defeat were due to Zann's "sleeper agents" programmed to declare regional independence.
But they didn't receive further commands from leadership and suffered defeats one after another from New Republic forces.
Hutt, even the Empire's fracture after Endor could be dictated by this, not banal "every warlord was dumb enough to declare independence."
A fantastic hypothesis, but with clear underpinning.
The Zann Consortium, operating from the shadows, covering with numerous "fronts," kidnaps influential sentients for subsequent radical "processing."
One of which processings Feena D'Asta, a member of the Imperial Ruling Council, underwent.
And the Council, in turn, wasn't just a "front" as many thought.
It was an organ controlling one of the Empire's most combat-ready Remnants.
So fanatically devoted to the New Order that locals might even ask: "Why are we fighting the New Republic side by side with pirates?"
They'd say "it's necessary," and all would believe.
The problem was far deeper than it seemed.
Because blooming separatism hotbeds within Dominion sectors could be nothing but delayed activation of Zann Consortium "sleeper agents"!
And this was no joke—it was a direct threat to the state's security I created.
And this in turn led me to the question of actualizing work on expanding cloning capacities and relevant specialists.
If my Isard was to be believed, all integrated implants "reset" upon cloning.
Thus, even if there were Zann Consortium "sleeper agents" among the military, upon cloning they wouldn't become so dangerous.
Essentially, that's why clones now worked with clones—specialists cloned from the originals.
Well, I had a chance to test my thriller hunch in practice.
"Who is Makus Kaynif?" I asked.
The pirate's face went whiter than chalk.
"You even know about him," Sol Mon muttered.
"As well as that the Zann Consortium conducts subversive activities in the Dominion," I explained. "And that Makus Kaynif is somehow linked to the cloning cylinders with which the copy of Baroness D'Asta was created. I want to know where this happens, who performs the cloning, and on what equipment."
"Even if so, no one keeps me informed of such," the pirate drawled doubtfully. "Kamino's been inaccessible to everyone for years. Your cloning assumptions are baseless, Admiral. Cloning a human, as far as I know, takes years. And between delivering prisoners and their return, not even three weeks passed. Well, some were held much longer, about four-five months. But they came back looking younger than before…"
The pirate trailed off, apparently realizing such procedures weren't done to hostages for nothing.
Despite just saying (if not lying) he knew nothing of cloning, he had just confirmed my assumptions about what happened to captured sentients.
Three weeks—that was fifteen days.
Time during which clones were created on Spaarti equipment.
But using ysalamiri to block the Force.
And this was a far more alarming bell than I'd like.
So Myrkr wasn't as secret a planet as I'd thought.
I didn't recall those lizards inhabiting anywhere else but the planet where Talon Karrde had previously settled.
But one shouldn't forget that Karrde, though he spent long years on the planet, didn't know everything about local fauna.
Yes, he knew vornskrs hunted Force-sensitives and used it precisely for that.
He knew ysalamiri fused into trees with their bones at a certain time.
But he didn't know how exactly they'd affect cloning.
Because he hadn't experimented with it.
And since Jedi in the past avoided Myrkr, the question arose—how did Thrawn himself learn of these lizards on the planet and their effect on cloning?
The books didn't tell, left "off-screen."
I, to my shame, hadn't pondered such either.
I suspect anyone involved in ysalamiri-clone interactions didn't ask where the Grand Admiral got such info, taking it as given.
So, three weeks…
Now it was clear why there was no alarm over Feena D'Asta's disappearance.
She hadn't been absent for years.
And this confirmed either she was cloned via Spaarti tech, or Zann had more advanced cloning cylinders not requiring ysalamiri.
And if so, I was slandering.
And then it "hit" me.
Mon handled deliveries of vital cargo for the Zann Consortium.
"You've already seen a ysalamiri, Mr. Mon, haven't you?" I asked, pointing to the dozing lizard on the astromech's dome.
"That filth?" He looked at the creature. "First time seeing it."
"When you first noticed the approaching droid, recognition appeared on your face," I explained. "It seemed directed at the droid, but you recognized not it. But the lizard on it."
"No-no-no," the pirate protested but shut up, receiving a cuff from the guardsman.
"Let's just correlate this with the Zann Consortium trusting you with delivering the galaxy's rarest material—stygium," I reminded. "And only you, despite the Karthakk system being a pirate haunt in the past. Thus, you were trusted by leadership. So I think in the Zann Consortium you were far from the lowest rung. And I assume you're acquainted with ysalamiri too. So, answer the questions, mister. If you've forgotten them, Lieutenant Colonel Tierce, standing behind you holding your hair in his fist, will remind you."
"No need," the pirate whined nasally. "I remembered, remembered. Yes, I handled delivering those lizard critters for Urai."
"When?" I asked.
"Well, a few years ago, when the Zann Consortium was just forming," the pirate furrowed his brow.
"So after Tyber Zann escaped Kessel?" I clarified.
"Yeah…"
"To whom and where did you deliver them?"
"To Makus, and I took them," the pirate twitched his broken nose. "To one of Black Sun's planetoids."
"The planet's name," I demanded.
The pirate noticeably grew nervous.
"Wait-wait, Grand Admiral," he said. "You've learned a lot already, so let's talk about what guarantees I have to survive betraying my employers."
So, as I assumed, the pirate had "perked up," seeing they weren't throwing him to the energy spiders this second.
My mistake—underestimated how quickly this scum thinks.
"Guarantees are out of the question," I said. "Until our conversation ends and all necessary answers are obtained."
"Then I won't say another word," Sol Mon snorted. "I know your type. First milk you dry, then toss in a cell. Been through that stage… Argh! It hurts!"
Lieutenant Colonel Tierce didn't wait.
He simply ground the pirate's battered face into the table again, then wrenched his arms back over his head.
And now pressed the cuffs downward, bringing the bound wrists toward the pirate's lower back.
While holding the pirate face-down on the table with his other hand.
For tendons, pectorals, and triceps—not the most pleasant procedure. Hell, outright painful and injury-prone.
Sufficient motivation to start answering my questions. Credit where due, I got lucky with Grodin. He understands me from half a word.
I think in known events Mitth'raw'nuruodo bet on genetic experiments involving precisely this Imperial guardsman for similar reasons.
"Whether you want to or not, you'll tell everything you know," I warned. "The question is how painful it will be for you."
"Smark!" the pirate nearly whimpered as Tierce dragged his face across the towel on the table, adding pain. "I took those Sith-spawned beasties to Makus on Smark!"
"Where exactly?" I asked.
"There's a base on the planet," the pirate croaked. "Some warehouse inside a huge mountain."
"How to find it? What defense systems?"
"I don't know what guns are there! Never saw them!" the pirate whimpered as his elbows went nearly parallel to his lower jaw. "The mountain's distinctive anyway. Huge!"
A mountain, presumably inside which were Spaarti cloning cylinders.
Ring any bells?
And I had suspicions about not having to see "Wayland 2.0," but in Black Sun's execution.
"Release him, Lieutenant Colonel," I ordered.
The pirate gratefully returned to a more familiar state.
"Some questions remain unanswered," I said. "But interrogators will handle that."
"I knew you wouldn't let me go," Sol Mon bared his teeth.
"Undoubtedly we will," I objected. "But first you'll undergo memory copying procedure. Our specialists will work with the data files, learning what you decided to hide. And immediately after, you'll be released if no further questions arise."
"What, just like that, released?" the pirate asked incredulously, glancing sideways at me.
"Of course," I replied, somewhat distorting objective reality by incompleteness of information. "Kessel Administrator Morut Dul underwent the same procedure. When all questions were clarified, he was released. Why waste even small money on housing criminals who betrayed their own and would certainly betray us if opportunity arose after leaving counterintelligence offices? No, you'll be released, and your life will depend solely on you."
"Heh," the pirate grinned, touching his nose. "So you scared me with energy spider tales. You're a master at brainwashing, Grand Admiral."
"I'll take that as a compliment," I said. "Lieutenant Colonel."
Grodin turned his faceless helmet toward me.
"Take this man to a cell and coordinate his delivery to the memory study lab. Then—organize his delivery to Kessel."
"Kessel?!" Sol Mon yelled. "You said you'd release me!"
"And I keep my word," I noted. "As I said, scum like you's fate is to become energy spider feed."
"But you promised to release me!"
"And you will be," I repeated implacably. "To Kessel's mines. As already said: 'your life will depend solely on you.' Whether they eat you or you survive in the mines—doesn't concern me. The spiders must be fed. And spice must reach medical facilities."
"Bastard!" the pirate tried to lunge at me, but Tierce was much faster.
Extending a hand, he habitually grabbed the pirate by the hair and yanked back, then broke his right knee with a side kick.
Like a sack of rags, he dragged the cursing and whimpering criminal away from the table ruined by his thick skull.
When the door closed behind them, I looked at R7's blinking optical sensor.
"Check your databases for everything you know about the planet Smark," I ordered, rising from the table. "Report immediately."
My answer was a "pew-fwee" in binary, which I didn't know.
And somehow never found time to learn.
Seeing the droid rocking side to side, startling the ysalamiri, I finally noticed the computer on the desktop.
Powering it up, I asked the droid to repeat.
"Well, well," I said, getting the answer to my question. "Too close to be coincidence. Good job, R7."
The droid blinked all available indicator colors, expressing joy at the praise.
Yeah, this wasn't the loafing hero R2-D2.
"Captain Tschel," already in the corridor and nodding to Rukh who had fallen in behind and to my right, I addressed my comlink.
"Yes, sir?"
"What's the status of our escort frigate?" I asked.
"Fully cleared. Confirmed KIA of three Fourth Special Forces squad members, including the commander. Only the 'igniter' survived."
Sad.
I liked TNX-0297.
No matter how many clones of Colonel Selid we made, none would match the brave sergeant.
And our genetic material was running out.
"Ship status?"
"Forty percent of maneuvering engines operational. Primary hyperdrive damaged, backup active."
"Form a crew and send to our nearest base in the Corvo sector," I ordered. "Contact them—have them send escort. The Chimaera and Eternal Wrath are linking with the Krueger, Death's Head, Point of No Return, Twilight, and their escort squadrons. Notify the commanders of the listed ships of rendezvous in the Axxila system in three days. Other search groups—stand down and return to base. We've found what we were looking for. Also connect me in an hour with Captain Pryl."
Thunderflare was closest to the space point I needed.
Of all regular fleet ships, it was the last I'd want to use, filled with cadets and conscripts on practice.
But if delayed, the Zann Consortium would clearly understand their plan to kidnap the baroness had failed.
And we couldn't interrogate Urai Fen anymore.
"Aye, sir."
"And one last thing," I said. "Upon return to base, relieve the Motivator's commander of duty and hand to DSB. I want to know why this officer delayed his ship's dispatch and why it allowed the stolen ship to nearly reach the target."
Tschel was silent a second, understanding that if the Chimaera and Eternal Wrath hadn't taken position in secret from the other search groups (possible only because we were conducting a covert inspection of Dominion core sectors), Captain Sol Mon and Baroness Feena D'Asta would already be in Zann Consortium hands.
And my paranoia sensed this was no accident.