Nine years, nine months, and the first day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, nine months, and the first day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Four months and twenty-one days since the arrival).
Former Inquisitor Reynar Obscuro, to be honest, looked rather unwell.
Even before, he hardly radiated kindness or warmth.
And now, despite the fact that I am under the protection of ysalamiri, I still feel a certain… heaviness in his presence.
Or is this merely my own interpretation of his profoundly grim expression?
— Please, take a seat, Obscuro, — I said, gesturing to the chair across from me.
The meeting was taking place in the small conference room aboard the Chimaera, as inviting anyone into my personal quarters for a private meeting…
Let's just say I now reserve that privilege for those closest to me, and no one else. The former Inquisitor does not fall into that category.
— Your archaeological mission on Dantooine proved useful, — I remarked, briefly reviewing the files from the division heads. — Historical frescoes, ornaments, several statues… Not to mention a substantial supply of crystals for lightsabers, which will be needed for the Order's members.
— If that's praise, then thank you, — the man replied.
An interesting choice of words.
— Do you have something to say in case my words carry the opposite meaning? — I clarified.
— I do, — he responded dully. — Digging in the dirt and scampering through caves is not my task. I am an Inquisitor…
— You are a Shadow Guard, — I gently corrected. — Part of my personal guard, whose goals and tasks include eliminating particularly dangerous sentients with Force sensitivity. As well as carrying out other assignments I give you, related to Jedi, Sith, and other cults. Therefore, you do what is assigned to you. Your life was spared under these conditions.
— I remember, — the man sat frowning, looking at me from under his brow. — So, the mission on Dantooine was successful?
— We achieved the maximum possible outcome, — though I had hoped for something more, perhaps a holocron. But discovering a Jedi willing to train the Jenssarai according to the Old Order's program is also a success. At the very least, it will raise their general knowledge level, as much as possible. — So yes, successful.
Noted for the record — according to the reports, Obscuro prefers active missions. Very well, we'll leave artifact and knowledge recovery operations to the Jedi Eymand. He handles those well enough.
As does Mara Jade, who operates entirely autonomously, staying out of sight. Quietly, calmly, without fuss, she visits places of Jedi "martial glory," digging through ruins. Occasionally, she finds fragments, frescoes.
For now, it's all within the bounds of general cultural enrichment.
Of course, I'd hoped for more, as it seemed that Jedi records, holocrons, and the like were practically scattered underfoot across the galaxy. But it turns out, that's not the case.
Far more concerning to me is what the former Inquisitor himself represents.
Umakk is certain that Obscuro's destructiveness makes him an incredibly powerful adversary.
But at the same time, like a fire, it consumes him from within.
In other words, the man is destroying himself. Which I absolutely do not like — why would I need a conditionally disposable, highly specialized operative who could "burn out" at any moment? And, knowing the nature of the Force in this galaxy, that expression is far from metaphorical.
— Does your failure to train the young Jenssarai weigh heavily on you? — I asked.
A flash of rage flickered in the Shadow Guard's eyes for a moment.
Rukh, sitting in the corner behind the former Inquisitor, visibly tensed, preparing for potential conflict.
Pursed lips, a gaze hastily averted…
— You swore an oath of loyalty to me, — I reminded him. — If you intend to remain in my service, you will either need to be fully honest with me or be relegated to secondary missions and complete ignorance. I have no intention of trusting a subordinate who plans to hide things from me. History shows that such relationships end badly for leaders.
A bitter smirk appeared on Obscuro's lips.
For several minutes, he remained silent, then looked me fearlessly in the eyes:
— I intended to kill you and seize power in the Dominion, to rule like Palpatine.
At least he's honest.
— Don't claim exclusivity in this matter, — I advised. — Out of four Force-sensitive sentients, at least two wanted me dead upon entering my service.
Obscuro's eyebrows shot up.
— If you order it, I'll deal with the second, — he offered. — And prove my loyalty.
— Thank you for the offer and initiative, — I replied. — It would be far more effective if you proved your usefulness and loyalty through the results of your work. For instance, with a detailed explanation of the situation.
Reynar dimmed again. The spark of anticipation that had briefly flared in his eyes when he heard there was a potential candidate for elimination faded.
It was as if he had slipped back into apathy.
— There, on Dantooine, — he said in a hoarse, quiet tone, — I thought I'd find something valuable, something that would give me the power to overthrow you and rule. Then there was the fight with that Jedi, Umakk. And I had a Force vision.
It's as if all my "assassins" are working from the same playbook. Vision — recruitment — confession… This is starting to feel like a pattern. One I very much dislike.
— And what did you see?
— Darkness, — I don't know how he managed to say it in such a sepulchral tone, but it sent chills down my spine. — Madness, power, might, followers… All of it stood against me, you, and the others who serve you in matters of the Force. Jedi, Inquisitors… it didn't matter. I stood at their head. I commanded them. And they all died. As did you. At first, I didn't understand, but later, seeing this vision in my dreams, I realized you were killed by a direct lightsaber strike to the back. And I was the one who struck it. And I suspect I killed many of your other Jedi and followers as well.
Now that's something new.
— When I stood alone against the Shadow, I was certain I had enough power in the Dark Side to defeat it and take my rightful place at the head of all, — the man continued.
— And in the end? — I pressed.
— The Shadow broke me, turned me into a puppet, — his voice dripped with the venom of hatred, pain, and disgust. — I admired Vader, his ruthlessness, his lethality, his intelligence, and his invincibility in battle. I thought I'd be like him when I became an Inquisitor and passed all the trials. But the vision showed me what I would become if I followed those ambitions. A cripple, a husk, a puppet… I don't want to be anyone's puppet. Nor do I want to be a cyborg like Vader. So I abandoned my intentions. Pride and ambition would lead me to become an even more helpless puppet than Vader. There's no glory in being a victor on the battlefield only to return each time your master tugs the leash. I… realized I was wrong. And so, I pledge my loyalty and swear that no temptation will make me raise my blade against you, Grand Admiral, and no action of mine, intentional or otherwise, will harm your plans. From now on, my life belongs solely to you.
After these words, Reynar looked at me.
But there was no longer defiance, impatience, or the thrill of the hunt in his eyes.
This was truly a broken and subdued man, one whom fate (or the Force) had helped avoid what he believed to be a grave mistake. His confession seemed to have drained all the pride, authoritarianism, egoism, and personal ambitions from him.
Before me now sat a weary man, deeply disillusioned with life.
And now he awaited my decision.
— Have you decided to pursue training in the Jedi methodology? — I asked, as his chaotic confession was somewhat… ambiguous.
— The Dark Side gives me power, gives me victory, — he said dully. — I don't know how to live without it. But I also know that it alone won't give me what I need to defeat your enemies. I…
— You're lost, broken, humiliated, and essentially asking for help, — I said. The former Inquisitor gave a barely perceptible nod.
— Before, I could always seek guidance and wisdom from Darth Vader, — it would be interesting to hear about those team-building sessions. — Now… what I was striving for is merely a prelude to my destruction as a free-thinking being.
— Why didn't you seek help from the Jedi Umakk?
— I tried to kill him, actually, — Reynar said listlessly. — And I don't understand his status. Friend or foe… I don't hope there's anyone who can help me find the right path, but… the remnants of my pride won't let me ask anyone but you.
He's unarmed, defenseless, unable to use the Force. If he has any hand-to-hand combat skills, he wouldn't have time to use them — Rukh would dismantle the former Inquisitor long before he could act.
Now, the million-Dominion-credit question.
What do I do with all this?
When I envisioned rebuilding the Jedi Order based on Jenssarai teachings, I didn't expect every other recruit to try to kill me. Did I miscalculate?
Fine, if this were a military misstep I could correct on my own. But no, it's far more "subtle."
If Mara's recruitment worked through simple psychology, and Tano was exposed due to Ventress and the guards near her, then Obscuro… he could have actually driven a lightsaber through my back, and that would've been the end of it.
And here…
As far as I recall, Dark Side adepts aren't prone to heeding visions or avoiding their fulfillment. After all, each of them believes that faith in the Dark Side's power grants them victory over any foe.
So the very fact that Obscuro listened to reason… is disconcerting.
On one hand, this could be an attempt to "cloud my mind," gain my trust, and position himself close enough to strike and usurp power.
On the other hand, he couldn't have failed to realize I could always find someone else to replace him, and this confession hardly fosters trust. It certainly shortens his lifespan if I deem him insufficiently convincing.
At this moment, I must decide — spare his life or execute him, given that he's helpless and defenseless, with Rukh already armed and sizing him up to carry out a hypothetical order to eliminate the threat.
All it takes is a single word.
And something tells me his emptiness and indifference are just the tip of the iceberg of an internal struggle, where bridges to his old life are burned, and he's unable to build new ones due to a personal crisis, a catharsis that has upended his existence.
His faith in the Dark Side is fractured, and he knows nothing else. Nor is he likely to accept anything else.
Such individuals are called a "broken arrow." The shaft is snapped, rendering the projectile useless, but the arrowhead and fletching keep a frugal archer from discarding it on the battlefield.
In hopes it can be repaired or repurposed.
The question is whether it's worth the effort.
— I appreciate your honesty, — I said, having formed my stance. — Your position is noted. You will soon leave the Chimaera, — and never again come within striking distance of me, — to carry out an important task for the Dominion.
The man lifted his gaze from the floor, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time.
It seems the news of his life being spared and his continued service under my command caught him off guard.
Considering who used to give him orders, he likely expected his honesty to result in his elimination.
— What will my new assignment be? — Obscuro asked.
His voice was dry, devoid of emotion, as if the man had lost all desire to live.
— Assassination, — I said, sparking unprecedented interest in him.
— Someone from the Dark Side Elite? — he asked hopefully, his demeanor shifting instantly.
— Not yet, — I countered. The man's head drooped in disappointment. — The planet Axxila is your new assignment. The local government is resisting integration into the Dominion. Resolve this issue.
— If a situation can be handled by an Inquisitor, it's not a problem, but a temporary inconvenience, — Obscuro assured me, brightening somewhat. It seems Master Umakk was right — Reynar cares for nothing but killing. And after that, more killing. — I'm ready to deploy at your first command.
— You will be provided with a starship, — I continued. — All necessary identification data for it has been prepared and is reliable for passing any checks. The crew has also been selected. The Chimaera will exit hyperspace outside the Axxila system, after which you may begin. Once the operation is complete, I expect your report. The operation's priority is secrecy. The method of assassination — lightsaber.
— I'm ready to execute the task, — impatience laced the man's voice. — At the cost of my life, I will fulfill your order.
As if he can't bear to remain aboard the Chimaera.
I can understand him, in a way: the quarters housing Tano, Umakk, Sabre De'Luz, and Obscuro himself are shielded by ysalamiri. That must cause them all some discomfort.
But for him, given his personal crisis…
Wait, hold on!
"At the cost of my life?!"
— Cancel the order to kill Axxila's advisors, — I said quietly, as realization dawned.
Alarm flickered in Reynar's eyes.
— You told me all this — about your intentions, your visions — so that I would order your execution, — my guess solidified into fact.
Now it all made sense.
Even broken, an Inquisitor and Dark Side adept would never claim he'd kill a few simple sentients at the cost of his life.
More likely, he'd dispatch them effortlessly, unleashing all the pain he's accumulated over time.
This man isn't just a "broken arrow."
He's in a crisis of faith.
His old world is shattered, the new one incomprehensible, his place in it unclear.
He has no attachments, no hobbies, no friends. His attempt to train an apprentice, to immortalize his name, failed.
And in such moments, by the "law of the genre," sentients either launch into a suicidal charge or are found by someone who "rewires" them into a weapon for their own ends.
And he didn't come to me for advice.
The very idea that a mere sentient could guide a Dark Side adept is blasphemous.
He came here so I would execute him for treason.
Instead, I spared his life and gave him a task.
And now he's just revealed he doesn't intend to return from it alive.
— As you rightly noted, — I said quietly, — your life belongs to me. You said those words willingly. And I will not allow you to commit de facto suicide simply because you cannot decide how to live further.
Obscuro remained silent, but his face betrayed a quiet, blind, uncontrollable rage.
Rage at himself for the slip that betrayed him.
— I had a conversation about you with Master Umakk, — what's the point in hiding it? Besides, the former Inquisitor needs to be "fixed." I understand his crisis — I've been through something similar myself. He has a task that must be completed urgently — the Cavil Corsairs are about to undergo a change in leadership. And I need to plant another "thorn" in my enemies' side. But a heroic death of a high-caliber operative in the process is not what I need. — Do you truly consider attachment to anyone a weakness?
— In the Sith Order, that's a postulate…
— You are not a Sith, — I pointed out reasonably. — And you never were. Don't take on more than you are.
The man looked at me grimly.
— In one civilization, there's a saying: "Breaking a single twig is easy. But a bundle of twigs bound together is much harder," — I'm not about to lecture him on twigs and bundles of kindling. — You are alone, and thus your existence lacks attachments. You have nothing to fight for. No ideals, no loved ones, no beloved. And so, your personal crisis leads you to what you believe is the only outcome — death. Because your old ideals are destroyed, and new ones don't exist. And there's nothing worth continuing to fight for.
The former Inquisitor stared at me with an absent gaze.
He heard my words, but whether he grasped their meaning was the question.
— That's why, — he said quietly, — I came to you. You have no attachments either. Yet you keep fighting. For what?
"What else is there for me to do?" — I was tempted to answer his question with a question. But I fear Obscuro wouldn't catch the hidden irony.
And yet, I don't know what to tell him.
Because I don't want to lie, but I cannot tell the truth.
At the same time, I can answer in a way that combines both mutually exclusive concepts — truth and lie.
— For life, — I said. — The New Republic is blind and prefers to rest on the laurels of their victory over the Galactic Empire. I've tried multiple times to reach their leaders, their heroes, to warn them honestly and openly of the coming threat. But they aren't ready to believe in Palpatine's return. Despite the fact that it's coming, and it's about to happen. I no longer rely on their cooperation in fighting our common enemy, only on my own strength. On the fleet, the army, industry, and you, — yes, it's impolite, but I pointed at the former Inquisitor with the index finger of my right hand. The white fabric of my glove gleamed like a tracer. — You and the other Force adepts, be they Jedi, Jenssarai, Sith, Inquisitors — anyone who, by their own conviction, is ready to join me and fight against a madman who intends to drown the galaxy in blood.
— I saw it, — Obscuro replied, barely audible. — Mountains of corpses, death, death, death, executions, burning planets, dying planets…
— Exactly, — I confirmed. — Alderaan will soon seem to the galaxy like a mere intermission before the main act of the tragedy. I have no desire to live among ruins or serve a madman. My faith in the Empire has been crushed and trampled. So I do everything myself.
"And I catch myself thinking that an echo of my father's overprotectiveness is awakening in me," — I thought. No, I need to stop this. This isn't a fifteen-year-old teenager who's "messed up" with the neighbor's girl; this is a grown, trained killer. Wiping his tears isn't my job.
If this continues, I'll soon find myself in the trenches.
— There are no universal solutions, Shadow Guard Obscuro, — and I need to come up with a proper form of address for the Shadow Guard. "Sir" is far too grandiose. Simpler, it needs to be simpler. — I cannot give you a ready-made recipe for life. Nor can I heal your emotional wounds. I don't feel the Force and don't even know what it is. That's a burden you'll have to carry your entire life on your own. If you're ready to confront your inner demons independently — you've already received your task. If you believe you're incapable of serving a noble cause without unconsciously pushing yourself toward suicide — it's better to leave the Dominion and try your luck elsewhere in the galaxy.
Obscuro remained silent, his gaze fixed on his hands. I wonder what he was thinking?
Recalling how much blood was on those hands? Or wondering what those hands could do besides kill?
Could he become a mechanic, a hover-taxi driver, or a farmer?
I doubt it.
So I acknowledge his point — he came to me because we're too alike.
We are those who forged ourselves. From the moment we entrusted our fates to the Empire, we became killers. Professional, trained killers in service to the state.
I've made peace with my fate and don't need another.
Whether he can is a far more interesting question.
— I will do it, — he said firmly. — The Dark Side is my weapon. I won't let ambition cloud my vision. I am your sword, your punishing hand. A Shadow Guard. I live to serve.
The former Inquisitor stood to his full, considerable height.
His gaze burned, his shoulders squared. His chin was raised, but it was no longer the haughty posture of superiority.
Merely an acknowledgment that he was not broken.
A punishing hand…
I should remind him I already have one, but I mustn't forget that Mara Jade's survival is information of the highest secrecy. Which has already been… significantly compromised.
Eymand, Tano… they know what they shouldn't.
But I'm confident that "Jedi" duo will stay silent if they somehow fall into the hands of the Dark Side Elite or Palpatine himself.
As for Obscuro…
For now, I don't trust him. Trust must be earned.
— A wise choice, — I agreed. I don't fully believe I've convinced this sentient, but I can't do more. I'm not an internet doctor diagnosing based on symptoms. I don't even feel the Force. Nor do I need to. Every Force user in this galaxy is either a saint or a beast off its leash. Those who control themselves and think logically are few and far between. And now is certainly not the time to send him to Dagobah to "reflect" or search for Darth Vectivus's tomb to prove one can live with the Dark Side without going mad. When you're a humanities scholar through and through, explaining galvanics to an engineer is a lost cause. So it is with the Force.
— You have your assignment, Guard Obscuro, — I reminded him. — Use the time before the operation begins wisely.
— It will be done, Grand Admiral, — the former Inquisitor replied crisply.
***
After Leia finished her report, the holograms of the Provisional Government members fell silent for a brief moment.
— Regrettable news, — Borsk Fey'lya declared. — We had high hopes for Lianna's support.
"As if I'm not aware," — Leia thought wearily, glancing at Lando, Han, and Chewbacca seated at a nearby table by the holographic communicator.
All three pretended to be engrossed in a game of sabacc, but even with her untrained eye for gambling, the Alderaanian princess noticed the deck in the center of the table hadn't diminished since she began her discussion with her colleagues.
"They'd make fine actors," — she thought, noting how diligently the trio feigned deep thought while staring at their cards.
— There wasn't much hope for Lady Santhe's support, to be honest, — Admiral Drayson stated. — She and her corporation are deeply tied to the Imperial Remnants. Particularly the Tion Cluster.
— Her reluctance to cooperate with us could be driven by a deliberate effort to sabotage our supplies to weaken us, — what's so fascinating about his claws that Fey'lya examines them in nearly every conversation?
— Are you suggesting the reports of raiders operating under our flag are fabricated? — General Madine clarified.
— I'm saying that Lianna's hostile policy began after Lady Santhe, by her own admission, met with Grand Admiral Thrawn, — the Bothan explained. — And he, as we know, is a master of deception. Thus, the story Lady Santhe shared with Counselor Organa-Solo, — Fey'lya spared the named woman only a fleeting glance, — about Thrawn's reasons for visiting Lianna could be mere disinformation. The true agreements may differ from what she claims.
As if a Bothan wouldn't know about such things.
— Whether that's true or not, we don't know at present, — Mon Mothma summarized. — The fact remains: we spent millions to acquire equipment from Lianna. And in reality, the contracts haven't been fulfilled. Incom Corporation cannot cover our losses in such a short time, and we have nothing to replace the Imperial equipment with.
— For now, we're only saved by the fact that some warships have been decommissioned by the Defense Forces, — Admiral Drayson said. — We've managed to redistribute starfighters, but…
— One day, we'll stop using combat starships as transports, — Mon Mothma continued. — Not to mention the hundreds of star cruisers under construction. We'll need to equip them all with various types of fighters.
— We could use equipment from storage, — General Madine suggested. — After Anaxes came under our control, some warehouses are filled with outdated weaponry…
— From the Clone Wars, — Fey'lya clarified. — Forgive me, but that's foolish. In their current state, they have low combat effectiveness, and modernizing them… we'd spend even more credits.
— Counselors, — Mon Mothma addressed the group. — Let's stay on topic. So, — she looked at Leia, — what can you say about the prospects of further cooperation with Lady Santhe and her conglomerate?
Good question… What could she recommend?
— The most obvious option is to divert civilian cargo transports and send them to Lianna to retrieve at least what's already there and sitting in their warehouses, — the princess said. — I received the invoices… To put it mildly, we'll have to pay penalties for the starfighters and interceptors stored at Santhe's facilities. And that sum is already estimated in millions of credits.
— That will bankrupt us completely, — Mon Mothma almost groaned. — We've only just started turning a profit from trade, paid off the Alliance's debts to suppliers. Now all available funds are directed toward fortifying worlds, completing new ships for our fleet, and staffing crews for new starships.
— Not to mention that the Lusankya has already cost nearly a billion in repairs, — General Madine noted. — And the repairs aren't even complete. Another billion is needed in the next month to make the ship fully combat-ready.
"And someone claimed the work on Rendili would be inexpensive," — Leia thought, catching herself staring at Fey'lya's hologram. It was he who lobbied for Rendili and Bestine IV to join the New Republic. Now, major work on the Lusankya is underway at Rendili, alongside the reactivation of old ships that were slated for scrapping. At Bestine IV, extensive modifications are being made to several Star Destroyers acquired by the New Republic one way or another.
Han once mentioned that Ackbar ordered the automation of several Imperial-class Star Destroyers using programs from Hast's shipyards to free up crew members for new, under-construction starships like the MC80b, staffed with competent and experienced sentients.
And for this rearmament, the New Republic was spending nearly all its revenue. Beyond that, it had to sustain a massive bureaucratic apparatus for the young state, the Senate, pay for numerous expert councils, committees, subcommittees, delegations, provide aid to loyal governments across the galaxy, assist planets suffering from climate or technological disasters, and cover social payments and salaries for military and civilian specialists…
The reconstruction of the old Senate building alone drained billions from the fragile budget — and the repairs weren't even finished.
In her mind, Leia knew these massive expenditures were fueled by rampant corruption within the power structure. Law enforcement fought it as best they could, but their efforts were insufficient.
Thrawn's raids alone caused such financial losses that restoring the bases destroyed in his bombardments would take years.
And tens of billions…
She wished she could know in advance whether they had the credits or the time.
— Until Admiral Ackbar returns, we'll have to postpone our response to Lady Santhe's actions, — Mon Mothma declared. — For now, we need a more cooperative contractor with a robust industrial base willing to supply us with military equipment.
— We could use additional influential allies, — Leia noted. — We need more funding for many aspects of domestic policy.
— For now, the only ones offering us meaningful support are the Hapes Consortium, — Admiral Drayson said. — And even then, only due to the personal goodwill of the heir prince toward you, Counselor Organa…
Leia glanced sidelong at Han.
Her husband kept staring at his cards, but from the twitch of his ears, the princess could tell the Corellian had turned into one giant listening device.
She desperately wanted to put an end to the recurring mentions of her near-marriage to Prince Isolder of Hapes, which could have solved nearly all the New Republic's financial woes (the wedding gifts from each Hapan world alone included dozens of Star Destroyers, with riches worth nearly a trillion credits). But her colleagues brought it up at every opportunity.
As if anything could be changed without destroying the lives of two families — hers and Isolder's. In Leia's view, she and the prince were perfectly content remaining friends. Yes, the Queen Mother of the Consortium didn't allow the New Republic's foreign policy to rely on her state's vast wealth, but she didn't refuse aid either. Though that aid was largely symbolic…
And the financial streams of material assistance dissolved into endless transfers and expenditures for various needs…
— We do have potential allies, — Admiral Drayson noted. — Balmorra, for instance. Though settled by Hambarine colonists long ago, it's currently a neutral world. With its superb industrial complexes, this factory-planet could not only replace Lianna but surpass it.
Leia frowned.
Under the New Order, the Imperial governor turned Balmorra into a fortress-world, with factories producing Imperial weaponry deployed across its surface.
During Emperor Palpatine's reign, Balmorrans manufactured weapons for the Imperial Army, closely tied to Kuat Drive Yards, and were primary producers of AT-STs, AT-ATs, and most other Imperial armored and ground vehicles.
Yet, Balmorrans were unhappy being a raw-material appendage, a place where the Empire took everything it needed at low prices.
They yearned for access to the galactic free market to sell their renowned weapons technologies, which, to be fair, were highly advanced.
During the Empire's reign, free weapons trade was unthinkable — Imperial bureaucrats ensured manufacturers either worked for them or produced nothing without approval. The New Republic didn't enforce such strict rules, so free trade in weapons systems across the galaxy earned the new Coruscant rulers some political dividends.
Even during the Rebellion, the Alliance and Balmorrans shared mutual goodwill. Before the Battle of Endor, liberating the factory-world from the Empire's grasp was impossible. Heavily defended by the Imperial fleet and army, and effectively isolated, Balmorra couldn't act against Palpatine's will.
Instead of a direct military strike, the Alliance attempted sabotage, using night cover to evade Imperial sensor arrays. Only after Luke Skywalker and Rogue Squadron raided and destroyed much of the weaponry produced for the Empire did the Imperials retaliate, exposing the planet's defenses.
The raid occurred a year after the Battle of Yavin, and subsequent attacks on Imperial industrial worlds eroded galactic confidence in the Empire's invincibility.
Roughly three years ago, Balmorra finally threw off the Imperial yoke.
But they didn't join the New Republic, preferring to avoid significant political commitments. Instead, embracing free weapons trade, Balmorrans behaved like most companies in the industry…
— They sell weapons to both Imperials and anyone willing to pay, — General Madine stated.
— As does Kuat, and everyone else, — Fey'lya countered reasonably. — We have a free market, General, not a state monopoly on weapons production.
— I believe General Madine means that despite all the Alliance did for Balmorra, we're just another client to them, — Leia said. — So we shouldn't expect a warm welcome or discounted prices. It's essentially the same as continuing purchases from Lianna.
— Not quite, — the Bothan's hologram squinted. — Balmorra is in the Colonies, about ten thousand light-years from the Galactic Core. Whereas Lianna…
— Counselor, — Mon Mothma said patiently, addressing Fey'lya. — Let's skip the preamble. Everyone here is well aware of what the Colonies are and their distance from the Core. Please state your point more concisely.
— Gladly, — the Bothan replied. — This region is much closer than Lianna. We won't need to expend significant resources to escort equipment convoys from Balmorra to our bases. We save on logistics.
— An interesting proposal, — Mon Mothma said after a moment's thought. — But we don't know if the Balmorrans will agree to produce the equipment we need. Or if Incom will provide the necessary licenses and technical documentation.
— They need to be convinced, — the Bothan noted.
— It's easier to teach a bantha to talk than to convince a weapons manufacturer to produce a competitor's designs instead of their own, — General Madine countered. — Not to mention that Balmorra's current export lineup is primarily Imperial equipment. Tanks, walkers, speeders…
— The Empire spent billions placing mobile factories across many worlds, — Drayson noted. — Can we dictate to sentients who've freed themselves from tyranny what they should or shouldn't sell to survive?
"Polemics… nothing but polemics," — Leia thought. — "Exactly what Grand Admiral Thrawn all but said outright."
The princess shook her head, pushing away troubling thoughts.
— Am I to understand the Provisional Government wants me to negotiate with Balmorra's leadership? — she asked.
— Yes, — Mon Mothma confirmed. — Balmorra is the foremost ally we'd like to approach. Counselor Fey'lya, — the Bothan looked at her in surprise. — I want you to formally request whether Incom Corporation is willing to license the production of X-wings outside their facilities. You don't need to mention Balmorra — they may not agree. But if we could secure a license and produce fighters at government-controlled facilities, that would be ideal.
"A pipe dream," — Leia thought.
Incom Corporation profits handsomely by manufacturing its X-wings and other machines independently, rarely licensing them, unlike Sienar Fleet Systems in the past. It's in their interest to produce exclusively at their factories, allowing them to dictate prices to buyers.
An alternative manufacturer, especially one receiving corporate secrets… Balmorrans, with their passion for weaponry, could easily create their own version of the T-65, producing starfighters alongside ground equipment.
That would collapse Incom's monopoly.
No, they'd never agree to that.
— I doubt anything will come of it, — Fey'lya seemed to think the same. Well, credit where it's due, he occasionally has sensible thoughts. — I'd propose addressing the Lianna issue instead. We cannot allow anyone to think they can take our credits, equipment, and fighters, then dictate terms for retrieving them. — Especially since Incom itself sells to the Imperial Remnants. Those A-wing interceptors have long been spotted in the Pentastar Alignment and Imperial Space!
— So, you have a proposal, Counselor? — Mon Mothma asked. — An alternative to the suggestion…
— The simplest one there is, — the Bothan snorted. — General Solo's task force is near Lianna. Our property, fully paid for, is being illegally withheld. We must conduct a military operation to reclaim what's ours!
Leia tried not to look at Han, who coughed as if choking.
But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Calrissian toss his cards on the table and walk out of the Falcon's lounge.
— A military operation against a neutral planet is essentially imperialist policy, — General Madine reminded. — The very thing Grand Admiral Thrawn accused us of.
— He can accuse us all he wants, — Fey'lya pressed. — The fact remains: Santhe chose to play his game. First, she meets with Thrawn. Then attacks on our convoys begin. Yet her employees are sent to evacuation shuttles or pods without violence. Only our property is taken…
— Not only, — Leia countered. — Based on the data I received, the attacks initially targeted random corporate ships. Now that Lady Santhe halted exports, yes, only ours are hit…
— That doesn't change the issue, — Fey'lya said irritably. — First, they seize our property and refuse to release it. Then we learn Lianna is building a new Death Star. And survivors of the latest raids note that Dominion ships use only new TIE-series craft. Even at its peak, the Empire couldn't equip Star Destroyers solely with TIE Interceptors. And now they can?
— Santhe claims Prince-Admiral Krennel had illegal production lines for that series… — Leia reminded.
— Especially since you saw how many TIE Interceptors Krennel deployed against you at Ciutric IV, — Admiral Drayson supported her. — He was clearly producing them…
— Can covert agents confirm this? — Fey'lya asked innocently, addressing the Republic Intelligence director.
"Scoundrel," — Leia thought.
Fey'lya knows full well that since General Cracken's death, most agents operating in sectors outside the New Republic have been cut off from communication channels. Some, as Drayson reported, requested to return to Coruscant to reconnect with handlers, but most haven't, waiting for leadership to make the first move.
Drayson explained that's how foreign residencies work, and interfering would only expose agents. Sooner or later, they'll activate reserve channels and signal.
— No, — the Intelligence director replied. — But we know Krennel supplied TIE fighters to the Imperial Remnants. Our spies report a delivery to Orinda is imminent…
— Details don't matter, — Fey'lya said dismissively. — The key is "fighters," not "interceptors." You can debate all you want, but my view is simple — Lianna is secretly supplying Thrawn with top-tier equipment. Possibly even what we sent for repair or ordered ourselves. They're fighting us with our own credits!
— Counselor, — Mon Mothma's hologram rubbed its temples. — These are mere speculations.
— More plausible than what Lady Santhe is trying to sell us as pure credits! — the Bothan persisted. — How many slaps have we taken from Thrawn? How long will we be beaten like children? We're a state of victorious democracy, and no one has the right to treat us this way! We must retaliate! Show we can stand up for ourselves! Otherwise, sectors will keep breaking away…
"And yet, as commander-in-chief, Fey'lya advocated for defense," — Leia recalled.
How easy it is… Push for an offensive, knowing you won't answer for the results.
Bothan politics in all its glory.
— Counselors, — Leia quickly interjected. — Lianna's defenses are strong. Overcoming them requires an entire fleet, and our forces are focused on defense. Besides, Admiral Ackbar took significant forces for a battle and…
She fell silent, realizing she'd touched a sore spot.
Rogue Squadron pilots reported Ackbar's defeat, noting his flagship escaped one trap only to fall into another. Unfortunately, they could only confirm Ackbar broke through, damaging a Dominion ship, before being destroyed themselves.
Home One is likely heavily damaged, as it hasn't made contact.
The princess tried hard to believe Ackbar survived and wasn't captured.
Supporting this was Thrawn's unusual silence on the HoloNet. Either he has nothing to say, or he's preparing another information bomb.
— We all hope Gial Ackbar survived, — Mon Mothma said, looking directly into Leia's eyes. No words were needed — if the Mon Calamari died, the power struggle for Defense Forces commander would resume. — The idea of a military operation against Lianna may have merit, but not with General Solo's forces or at this moment. To declare war and pursue conflict with Lady Santhe, we must recognize she has the support of Moff Gronn in the Tion Cluster. Not to mention other possible agreements. With Grand Admiral Thrawn, for instance. If anyone's forgotten, Lianna is close to worlds controlled or allied with the Dominion — Makem Te, Trogan, Columex, Kelada… The likelihood of Dominion starships in that part of the Perlemian Trade Route is high.
— So you suggest we just sit and wait while Santhe hands Thrawn all the ships listed in our orders? — Fey'lya clarified.
— I propose a measured, rational approach instead of reckless aggression, — Mon Mothma said firmly. — We'll assess all risks of intervening in Lianna's affairs before making the right decision. I believe in democracy and common sense. Thrawn has scared us and caused great harm, but we mustn't panic. We cannot afford to see every non-democratic, independent world as an ally or supporter of our enemies.
— That's why we haven't attacked the Dominion's satellite worlds, — the Bothan grumbled.
— That's been discussed repeatedly, — Mon Mothma stated. — Beyond their strong fortifications, most are civilian territories. All they can offer Thrawn are taxes and recruits.
— As if that's not enough, — Fey'lya pressed.
— Perhaps that's why Thrawn succeeds — he has no morals and attacks any planet with even a training center of ours, — Admiral Drayson said. — Our actions must show we're his opposite.
— For the first time, we're fighting not just on the battlefield but in the minds of our citizens and the galaxy's population, — Mon Mothma declared. — Thrawn seeks to paint us as aggressors, imperialists — in such a war, words without actions have little impact. So I'll say this once, and I hope everyone remembers: we will not initiate military action against neutral or conditionally neutral planets or states without guaranteed, objective evidence of an impending attack on the New Republic. Unverified information has already cost us too much — I won't pay more.
Fey'lya's grim expression wasn't hidden even by the simplified holographic channel.
— I hear you, Counselor Mothma, — he said.
— Leia, — the red-haired woman looked at the princess. — I ask you to travel to Balmorra and negotiate. They may have something to aid our fight against the Empire. I'll task my staff with contacting anyone who can offer support — the Verpine, for instance. We need to know what we can count on.
— Very well, — Leia nearly mentioned her children on Coruscant but realized it was pointless. Jacen and Jaina would manage without her for a while, especially since Winter insists they're fine. And the Alderaanian would have to work hard. Not for Mon Mothma or Fey'lya, but so her children could grow up in a galaxy where wars were just scary bedtime stories. — I'm ready to depart.
— Let General Solo and his ships escort you, — Mon Mothma recommended. — Return to Coruscant immediately after Balmorra. I'm sure if Admiral Ackbar survived his encounter with Thrawn, he's rushing to the capital. Such a battle must have given him much to think about…
"So no one will even question Fey'lya about why his deal with Isard led our fleet into a trap," — Leia realized.
— I declare this meeting adjourned, — Mon Mothma announced. — Admiral Drayson, if you don't mind, let's discuss protecting our interests…
As the hologram faded, Leia felt her husband approach and gently embrace her from behind.
— Don't worry, — he advised. — I've already ordered a course for Balmorra. We'll be there faster than you can imagine…
— Lando shouldn't have heard that, — Leia lamented.
— What, kick him out every time you talk to your colleagues? — the Corellian teased.
— No, of course not… — Leia flushed. — It's just… I know how uncomfortable this is for him.
— Hey, — Han kissed the top of her head. — Calrissian may not look it, but he's a tough guy. He'll survive. Though he's clearly not in love with the New Republic.
— That's the problem, — Leia turned to face her husband. — I wanted to ask him for a favor.
— Just one? — Han raised an eyebrow.
— For the New Republic's benefit, — she clarified.
— Uh-oh, — Solo released his embrace. — Spill it, what's your plan?
"He won't like this either," — Leia thought grimly.
But she had to say it.
— We're stumbling in the dark about Thrawn's actions and the strength of his allies, — she said.
— Because our intelligence isn't as good as it thinks.
— Yes, but there are those in the galaxy who gather information from any source, on both sides of any border…
— Not who I'm thinking of, is it? — Han darkened.
— Exactly, — Leia pursed her lips.
— I don't think my salary covers his fees.
— He's suffered from Thrawn's actions too, — the princess countered. — I think he'd be glad to help us understand what Grand Admiral Thrawn is planning.
— Or where to hit him hardest, — Han offered an alternative.
— That too, — Leia sighed. — Believe me, I don't like this either, but what other options do we have? Wait for Fey'lya to push the Senate into war with Lianna? Then watch another of Thrawn's holorecordings, boasting about crushing our fleet and thanking us for the fine ships he'll use against us?
— It could be worse, — Solo grimly said. — If Ackbar's dead, Fey'lya will rush for the commander's seat again. And Thrawn outsmarts him better than Winter does when she gives the kids a pacifier.
— That's why we need Karrde, — Leia sighed. — No one has to trust him fully, but…
— I'll talk to Lando, — Han said. — Remind him his problems stem from one red-eyed, blue-skinned sentient, not just the New Republic's fools. Chewie, — he looked at his old friend, who'd been silently cleaning his monstrous weapon. — Go prep the Falcon for flight. Something tells me Lando won't just agree — he'll demand my ship.
— I was thinking of taking it to Balmorra, — Leia noted.
— No way, sweetheart, — Han's signature grin was soothing. — I've got carte blanche to deliver you to some of the galaxy's best weaponsmiths with pomp. So, if you'll allow, let this general move your things to my bedroom. The one perk of living on this bucket is that my bed's almost as big as the Falcon.
***
After I finished the briefing, Chief Engineer Nick Reyes of the "secret Lok shipyards" was silent for a few seconds.
— I see no major issues, sir, — the man's hologram flickered slightly — encryption sometimes acted up. — We have plenty of hybridium after camouflaging both orbital workshops, so replicating "Asteroid-II" won't be a problem. We have enough skilled workers here on Lok. I can't promise it'll be quick, but in a week or two, we'll complete all necessary work, including drilling and installing the "core."
— Glad to hear it, Chief Engineer, — I said. — I'd like a brief report.
— We've reconfigured the "Predator" production lines for the Scimitar project, — Reyes said. — We can likely produce one unit per day. Scaling up at this stage isn't feasible, as the assembly line is patched together and prone to breakdowns. And assembling PLAE units is slow, practically manual work.
Five Scimitars per standard week? Not much.
I'll have to abandon the idea of replacing TIE bomber squadrons with them, at least at current production levels. But I can distribute them one or two per Star Destroyer as high-speed bombers for near-unblockable strikes on enemy targets.
— We've also started producing Lambdas and Sentinels, — so I now have a reliable supplier of transport and assault ships. Excellent.
— The first engine batches for Star Destroyers were sent to Tangrene, and confirmation came that they've been installed and perform excellently under load. Both orbital workshops, as I mentioned, are equipped with cloaking systems. We're now working on orbital defense platforms, then moving to other system stations per the list. The planet's resource deposits are sufficient to sustain all production complexes. Captured ships are fully combat-ready. We've finished work on another batch of dreadnoughts and are starting modifications on damaged escort frigates to our specifications.
— In other words, no problems? — It feels almost unsettling to ask.
— Standard work process, sir, — Reyes's hologram shrugged. — We have many eager workers from Lok and Maramere for the shipyards and upgrading old fighters on the planets. I sent a request to Moff Tavira, but since the opportunity's here, may I ask your opinion?
— Have the candidates passed all required checks? — I clarified.
— Every single one, sir, — Reyes confirmed. — After freeing Karthakk from pirates and gangs, the locals… well, they don't exactly love us, but they're keen on employment.
— Consider my approval for their hiring granted, — I said, noticing the door to my quarters opening. — Are the details in the report?
— Yes, sir.
— Thank you, — Lieutenant Tschel stood patiently at the door. — Keep up the work, Chief Engineer.
As the hologram faded, I turned to the acting commander of my flagship Star Destroyer. — Operational summary, Lieutenant?
— New transmissions from Delta Source, sir, — the young officer handed me a datapad. — The second file contains reports from the buzz-droid surveillance team.
— Thank you, Lieutenant, — I said.
After the door closed behind the officer, I decrypted the data using the code cylinder.
— Let's see what the day has in store, — I muttered, beginning to review the dispatches from the cunning trees of the Imperial Palace.
And half an hour later, Intelligence Officer Rederick was unceremoniously woken and summoned for a briefing.