Nine years, nine months, and twenty-nine days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, nine months, and twenty-nine days since the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and fourteen days since the arrival.)
Unlike the Guardian, the cabin Ysanne Isard had chosen for herself in the past was marked by modesty, minimalism, and recent renovations.
The swiftly repaired damage to the ship showcased the exceptional training and competence of the Tangrene shipyard workers.
However, the incessant clanking of droid limbs betrayed us completely — over two hundred thousand crew members, out of the standard complement, were droids.
B-1s, custom-built to operate the weaponry of such an immense vessel.
Creating a suitable crew from clones or assembling one from available officers or contracted Dominion military personnel would have been foolish, given the ship's highly ambiguous role.
The most that could be achieved was to gather the necessary number of organic crew members to form the critical and irreplaceable combat watch.
They were the ones tasked with commanding the ship in battle and overseeing the droids' operations.
And, it must be said, selecting even this number of sentient beings to manage the ship required an extraordinary effort from counterintelligence.
Loyal, devoted, ready to execute any necessary order, discreet, and, most importantly, competent officers and specialists had to be identified and monitored almost from the first days of the Dominion's establishment.
For the most part, this was the crew of the Torpedo Sphere, which briefly shone like a supernova on the galactic stage before vanishing into uncharted space, its crew redistributed across several ships to assess their combat readiness and training.
The results were not exactly stellar, but adequate enough.
Instead of stormtroopers — B-2s and droidekas; instead of most of the crew — B-1s, upgraded by Dominion scientists (or rather, by Imperial scientists in times long past).
The B-1s of the Lusankya (art obtained from the site, pun intended, on the artwork).
The initial partial automation of the Lusankya somewhat reduced the crew size compared to ships of the same class.
And, broadly speaking, things were fairly decent.
Unlike the Guardian, there was no need to scour the regular fleet for the best of the best, including originals and clones.
In the Battle of Rendili, the super star destroyer sustained minimal damage.
Its systems and hull were conscientiously repaired by the New Republic, and the necessary droid power stations were quickly installed throughout the ship.
"It's curious that this section of the ship's programming is tied to Ysanne Isard's genetic code recognition system," declared the Snowdrop Iceheart, entering the quarters and noticing me in the chair where the real Isard's slicer girl met her demise. "But you got here before I noticed."
"I have slicers too," I reminded her. "And electronic lockpicks, which our agents used to seize the ship at Rendili."
The clone nodded understandingly before handing me a datapad with open messages:
"Leonia Tavira reports that the ships have moved to the control point. The Republic's portion of the HoloNet is spewing venom after Captain Vivant's reports of desertion and the actions of the Imperial Ruling Council. As far as I know, Orinda hasn't even attempted to refute the message, merely stating it's nothing more than enemy propaganda."
"In other words, everything is proceeding as planned," I summarized. "Any news from Pellaeon or Erik Shohashi?"
"The man who disliked women with heterochromia left the base with his expanded squadron a few hours ago," replied the duplicate Isard. "Captain Pellaeon reported that in two hours, they'll finish loading all necessary supplies onto the destroyers, and they'll depart for the rendezvous point on schedule."
"Good," I said. "We'll reach the destination in thirty hours. Two more for the transit to the target. By the end of the next day, the operation should be complete. Has intelligence confirmed the data on enemy ship deployments and approach vectors?"
"Scout droids confirm the telemetry from buzz droids," Isard replied. "Confirmation arrived an hour ago. We have three more information exchange sessions ahead, so we'll have the opportunity to adjust anything just before the attack. Regarding the destroyers, intelligence performed even better — the datapad contains precise data and calculations for their arrival time from the moment an alarm is raised and a distress signal is sent."
"If it comes to that," I clarified, rising from the chair and nodding to Rukh to head toward the exit. "Once we're done, you'll be on your own. Last chance to back out."
The duplicate Isard gave a tight smile, looking at me with condescension:
"And miss what might be the most grandiose multi-stage operation of my or the original's career? Surely you're not serious?"
"Don't do something just to prove you're better than the deceased. The outcome might differ drastically from what you've calculated."
The smile vanished from the clone's face.
Though she didn't shift her position in the slightest, the woman now radiated icy warning instead of professional friendliness.
"I appreciate your concern, Grand Admiral," she said in an deliberately ornate and formal tone, "but I am confident in my abilities. As I am in the devised plan. Everything will proceed according to the overarching strategy of the future campaign. Otherwise, this plan would never have been conceived."
"There was a different plan initially," I reminded her.
"Well," she shrugged, "circumstances adjust plans. I don't think it's worth discussing. As I recall, you're due to depart the Lusankya shortly."
"The shuttle is already prepared," I assured her, stepping closer to the woman and looking into her eyes.
"I'm certain she'll come to you before you leave," Isard said almost inaudibly. "She tried not to show it, but equating us infuriated her. She'll try to stand out, to break from the typical approach and identification."
"No need for euphemisms or rephrasing anymore."
"There are no longer two Icehearts — only one."
"That's the essence of her character — working against the odds," I said.
Leaning forward, I kissed the Iceheart.
For a moment, our lips met, but a second later, we parted by mutual consent.
"I think it's time for me to attend to business," the duplicate Isard averted her gaze, not losing an ounce of her regal demeanor. "I… Thank you for everything. For believing, for continuing to believe, and for trusting. For me, as a clone of the Vex Queen, that means a great deal."
"Can one truly be considered a clone when the original is no longer alive?" I clarified.
But what intrigued me most was the question of whether our relationship might shift in one direction or another.
A surge of emotion could change everything significantly.
Which I'd prefer to avoid.
Entirely.
The woman looked into my eyes, slightly biting her lower lip.
"We'll see what you say when this is all over," she offered a slightly crooked smirk.
"Regardless of the outcome, my opinion won't change," I said firmly.
There was not a hint of deceit in those words.
The slightly younger version of Ysanne Isard smiled and leaned in.
But it was more of a friendly embrace.
No lofty feelings.
No teenage emotions.
This was a partnership between two comrades, forged in war, mutual respect, and adherence to certain rules.
Such relationships have no continuation, no happy ending.
Nor the cliché: "And they lived happily ever after."
And we both know we'll never cross that threshold or become a typical couple.
I don't need it.
She doesn't need it.
And most importantly — it's not what the Dominion needs.
At least — not now.
***
Iella Wessiri Antilles opened her eyes to a bone-chilling cold.
The left side of her body, on which she lay, felt numb.
Agent Wessiri immediately realized she was inside a ship's compartment — she was far too familiar with the Imperial design of detention cells.
"Luke, she's coming to," a familiar voice sounded nearby.
The Corellian woman propped herself up on her right arm, quickly realizing it was so weak it wouldn't support her effort.
She would have collapsed back onto the hard bunk if strong male hands hadn't caught her.
"Iella, thank the Force, you're awake," Wedge Antilles helped her sit up and wrapped a blanket more tightly around her.
Luke Skywalker appeared beside her, wordlessly draping another blanket over her.
The cold seeped through her entire body, and now Iella was openly shivering, her teeth chattering.
"A-are they t-trying to f-freeze us?" she asked, shifting her gaze from one man to the other.
"No," Skywalker said gently. "You were just brought out of a bacta tank. This was your fifth session, so it's a miracle you've woken up…"
"B-bacta?" Wessiri repeated, barely feeling her lips. "W-what bacta?"
"Our gallant Grand Admiral decided to play the good guy for some reason," Wedge grumbled. "We were told you were captured on the Lusankya in bad shape. They put you in a medically induced coma and performed several surgeries to ensure your bones healed properly. You've been unconscious here the whole time."
"I-I'm cold," the woman complained, giving a nervous smile to the familiar faces.
"You still have several injuries," Luke explained, then hesitated. "Including nerve damage. I tried to help as best I could, but it seems I only managed to bring you out of the coma, not make things better."
"Better this than watching them regularly wheel her out of the cabin to who-knows-where," Wedge declared, sitting beside her and looking her in the eyes. "I hope you don't mind some hot caf?"
"C-caf?" Iella began to feel warmth under the blanket, and the right side of her body seemed to "thaw."
Along with the tingling, sensation returned to her tissues and the awareness of her own body.
That's when she realized it wasn't just the blanket separating her from the chilly air of the cell. She was also wearing a rather uncomfortable jumpsuit, like those worn by pilots…
It seemed someone had dressed her.
And now the woman blushed, thinking that this task had likely fallen to one of these two men, one of whom didn't even qualify as a "close acquaintance."
"Here, warm up," Wedge produced a large ceramic mug filled with steaming black liquid, its aroma unmistakable. "Caf, three portions of sweetener — just how you like it."
"Thanks," she said, warming up and ceasing to shiver or stutter.
Slipping her hands through the edges of the blankets, she took the drink and sipped…
The scalding caf flowed down her throat, filling her with vigor and fresh thoughts.
And the first of them was:
"The Imperials are serving caf in detention cells now?" she asked, looking at each man in turn.
"This isn't exactly a cell," Skywalker said with a guilty smile, stepping aside and out of her line of sight. "It's specially prepared quarters for high-ranking guest-passengers, found on nearly every Imperial star destroyer."
But the young woman had already figured it out.
What she'd mistaken for a cell was merely a small room in spacious quarters. Sparsely furnished: the only furniture was a metal cabinet and a standard bunk. Further along, recessed into the bulkhead, was a passage to a refresher.
And in the corner stood a soft chair, clearly dragged in from another part of the quarters. Judging by its condition, someone had been sleeping in it.
Following her assumption, the woman glanced at Wedge, and the Corellian, embarrassed, looked away.
"Where are we?" Iella asked.
"Aboard Thrawn's flagship," Skywalker said. "The Chimaera."
"Luke's been here since Ossus, and I was captured right during the battle at Sarapin," Wedge explained. "You were brought in later."
"Strange that we're not in cells," Wessiri remarked.
"I was initially held in one," the Jedi explained. "Then they moved me here."
"Same with me," Wedge confirmed. "Maybe they want to keep us all in one place."
"Or they're clearing the detention cells so we don't see something," Iella speculated. "Corran escaped the Lusankya, and we'll escape from an Imperial star destroyer."
"As soon as you regain your strength," Wedge cautioned.
"While I'm getting back in shape, Thrawn will steal the Lusankya," the woman shot back, glaring at her fellow Corellian.
"I've got bad news," the youngest New Republic general darkened. "Thrawn's already taken the Lusankya. You've been out for several days."
"Then we need to escape and lead the fleet to the Chimaera!" Iella said heatedly, suppressing the bitterness of defeat.
"We're working on it," Wedge assured her. "But we've been focused on bringing you back to consciousness."
"I'm ready, let's start!"
"Too soon," Wedge winced.
"Either way, we're guarded by two dozen of Thrawn's elite guards with heavy weapons and vibroblades," Luke said.
"Corran said Jedi can influence minds to distract attention," a plan for a swift escape began forming in the Corellian woman's mind.
Whatever they were being held for, one thing was clear — they wouldn't like what came next.
Iella had no desire to be a bargaining chip and understood perfectly that a Republic intelligence agent, a general, and a Jedi weren't being kept alive for no reason.
Most likely, since Thrawn had likely captured the Lusankya, he'd demand something else in exchange for their release.
"Even if Thrawn hadn't cut me off from the Force, I doubt I could trick two dozen armed and trained soldiers," Skywalker admitted. "Mind tricks only work on weak minds, and from what I know, they don't recruit dimwits for the guard."
"Thrawn can suppress the Force?" Iella was stunned. "How? Is that even possible?"
"The texts I studied only mentioned that a Jedi could do such a thing, but Thrawn clearly can't feel the Force," Skywalker said. "I think he's using those brown lizards that are practically everywhere on this ship."
"Lizards that can block the Force?" Wedge let out a whistle. "What's that about?"
"I repeat, it's a hypothesis," the Jedi noted. "But I can't think of anything else."
"They took your lightsaber too, I presume?" Iella asked without much enthusiasm.
"Last time I saw it, Thrawn was keeping it in a hidden compartment in his chair on the Chimaera's bridge," the Jedi said.
"They took everything from me too," Wedge spread his hands.
"Alright, but what does Thrawn want?" Iella asked. "Why is he keeping us on his flagship instead of sending us to a prison?"
"Who knows?" Wedge repeated his gesture.
"Last time, he forced me to watch him destroy Wedge's fleet," the Jedi Knight said with pain in his voice.
"Sick alien," Wedge blurted out. "Clearly gets a kick out of having power over you and doing whatever pops into his head."
"I don't think so," Iella said cautiously. "From what we in intelligence can tell, Thrawn, notably, has no interests beyond waging war. I doubt he takes pleasure in such pastimes."
"Who understands these Imperials?" Wedge spread his hands a third time. "Especially one as atypical as Thrawn."
"We've spent plenty of time trying to figure out his plans, to no avail," Wedge said with sadness. "Fragmented data, isolated operations, cryptic conversations with Luke. Either Thrawn's slowly losing it under the weight of his own ego and victories, or something's happening that we just can't grasp."
"Then," Iella looked at both men in turn, "I think it's time to start from scratch. We'll lay out everything we know, piece by piece, and maybe we'll find a way out and figure out his next target. While he's repairing his ships, we'll surely have a chance to escape."
It didn't escape the Corellian woman that both young men exchanged glances.
"What?" she asked. "Is there something else I don't know?"
"Military folks notice it almost immediately, but for those who don't live on ships, it's practically indistinguishable from normal conditions and…"
"Wedge," Iella cut him off sternly. "Can you be brief?"
"I can," Antilles nodded. "Touch the deck with your hand, and you'll feel a slight vibration. It happens when the main power plant is active on ships. A few hours before you woke up, everything was quiet. Now the Chimaera's 'awake.'"
"So, what does that mean?" the woman asked.
"Thrawn's flagship is ready for a hyperspace jump," Luke said. "Whatever target he's set for his next campaign, they're about to depart."
"But I swear by the afterburners of my X-wing, my guys battered his fleet so badly he should be in repairs for at least a couple of weeks," Wedge declared with characteristic Corellian fervor. "The Chimaera took a beating too. They don't have their own production in the Dominion, so they'd need to source parts from somewhere. I doubt they've got them stockpiled at every base. But even if they do, the repair speed… either they're going into battle in poor condition, or we've underestimated the size of his fleet again."
"Or we're missing the bigger picture once again," Skywalker said sadly. "Maybe they're heading out to decide our fate. And a prisoner exchange doesn't require a fully functional star destroyer."
"Booster Terrik would approve of your words," Wedge chuckled, lightening the mood as he exchanged a glance with his fellow Corellian. "I think the best course of action is to wait. And figure out how to escape."
"Agreed," Wessiri supported. "I assume they didn't leave your droids with you either?"
"Unfortunately, these Imperials are a bit smarter than we're used to thinking," Luke Skywalker sighed heavily.
***
"Any complications in executing the secondary mission, Grodin?" I asked the hologram of the guardsman.
He had contacted me himself as soon as he left the target and sufficiently covered his tracks.
However, he had significantly missed the mission's deadline.
He reached out during the second control window, missing which would have meant the potential collapse of the campaign.
"Negative, sir," he replied. "Everything was executed precisely — new data for the clone database has been delivered to the information center for storage. However, it was established that the enemy, specifically Mon Calamari ships, periodically visit the Munto Codru system. Routine search patrols that cease as soon as local authorities engage the patrol commander in debates about the safety of their borders."
"Is our information center at risk of being compromised?" I inquired.
It was there, on Munto Codru, that we stored the genetic samples and personality matrices of our clones.
As our "computer guy" at headquarters put it: "backups."
One copy and an untouchable reserve to restart everything if the cloning labs were discovered and destroyed.
Munto Codru was ideal for this purpose.
Difficult to access, with minimal transport traffic.
The locals had learned the hard way what it meant to meddle with the castle I had commandeered for the base.
No issues were expected from them, and none had arisen so far.
But as for the location's tactical vulnerability in case of an enemy attack…
This was pure psychology.
How many commanders would dare search for the enemy's main secret right under their noses? None.
Especially the Mon Calamari, whose sector borders Munto Codru.
The Mon Calamari sector defense fleet is staffed by natives of Dac. Their psychology and mindset don't allow them to easily reconsider their military doctrines or worldviews.
The Imperials conditioned the Mon Calamari, and other New Republic commanders, to believe that their secrets are hidden as far as possible from potential enemies.
"Proof by contradiction" applies here as well.
"I took the liberty, sir, to stay longer to ensure the facility's safety," Grodin said. "The facility is currently not at risk."
The reason he didn't request my permission for this step didn't need to be stated.
The information center was completely isolated from any communication systems. Right under the enemy's nose, the last thing needed for exposure was Imperial encryption — that would surely prompt a New Republic landing or reconnaissance team scouring Munto Codru's plains.
"Very well, thank you for your initiative," I said. "Were there any issues with the primary assignment?"
"Negative, sir," Grodin continued his report calmly. "Object Number One is under reliable guard and will be delivered on time."
"What about the source material for Objects Two through Five?" I asked.
"Destroyed, as you ordered."
"Return to the Chimaera, Grodin, but first, you'll need to alter your course," I ordered, sending him an encrypted file. "At these coordinates, a courier will be waiting with data banks, necessary equipment, and instructions to complete the mission. Once you're done, the data vaults will self-destruct automatically."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," the guardsman's hologram saluted.
"The instructions must be followed precisely on schedule, Grodin," I emphasized the importance of the mission's changes.
"Then that's how it will be, sir," Tierce declared.
"In that case, I can only wish you luck."
"Thank you, sir. But I don't need it. Luck is the residue of a plan. And I have a plan of action."
Allowing myself a faint smile, I switched off the holoprojector.
Well, then, the bets are placed, and there are no more bets.
"Sir," Rukh's voice called from the darkness. "You have a visitor."
"Is that so?" Intriguing. Nothing like this was anticipated.
I activated a switch and displayed the feed from a hidden surveillance camera, positioned to capture everything happening outside my quarters' door.
"It gets more interesting by the minute," I remarked. "Let the Hand in, Rukh. It seems she's decided to pay her visit earlier than expected."
***
When the airlock doors closed behind her, Mara Jade no longer looked as calm and confident as she had through the camera lens half a minute earlier.
"I expected you later, Lady Jade."
As a gracious host, I gestured for the Hand to take a seat on the couch opposite mine.
Without hesitation, the woman took the offered spot.
Judging by subtle cues — her posture, hand movements, and facial expression — she was diligently rebuilding her confidence, mentally cutting off any retreat with an internal dialogue.
"So, to what do I owe this unscheduled visit?" I asked, looking into her eyes.
"Unscheduled?" She raised a slender eyebrow. "I thought you just said you were expecting me."
"This meeting wasn't in my schedule for this time," I clarified. "But that doesn't mean it's a surprise. You want to talk — I have time to listen. Speak or leave."
Mara demonstratively squared her shoulders and tucked both red strands of hair behind her ears.
How interesting.
Grooming gestures?
And for what occasion?
Her behavior was supposed to be entirely different.
In line with her character.
"You gave me a super star destroyer," no preamble, straight to the point, Hand-style.
"Yes," I replied. "Not much time has passed for that fact to get lost among others. Did something dissatisfy you after your tour of the ship?"
"There is that."
"In that case, address Ryan Zion, the shipbuilder. He'll make any individual adjustments to the design."
"Zion can't help with what I want," the woman declared.
Looking at her with a hint of surprise, I noted that Jade was in anticipation.
In her mind, what she was about to say should surprise and unsettle me.
Well, she'd be disappointed.
"Then speak."
Mara took a deep breath, donning the most polite and biting smile in her arsenal, and said:
"With all due respect, I'm refusing your gift."
"Very well," I said, shrugging. "Anything else?"
The triumphant expression fell from her face as swiftly as dry leaves fall from trees in a strong autumn wind.
"I refused a super star destroyer," she said with emphasis, glaring at me.
"My hearing is fine, Lady Jade," I informed her. "It's my prerogative to offer. It's yours to refuse."
The corner of Mara's mouth twitched.
"And you won't even ask why I'm refusing a ship worth a fortune and capable of replacing an entire fleet in combat?" Her voice carried confusion and offense.
"Perhaps because you're a covert operative, and a nineteen-kilometer super star destroyer, even with stygium crystal cloaking, isn't exactly a discreet mode of transport?" I clarified.
Her mouth fell open.
Then she snapped her teeth shut, and dangerous sparks of anger danced in her eyes.
"You did this on purpose, didn't you?"
"You realize that framing the question like that doesn't simplify the possible answers?" I countered.
"You gave me the Fellblade, knowing I'd refuse it!" Jade blurted out, clenching her fists in fury.
"I anticipated such an outcome," my explanation did little to soften her evident distress. "To know the outcome for certain, I'd have to be a Jedi. Thanks to my genetics, that's not the case."
"You played me for a fool," she grimaced. "You gave both me and Isard identical toys, then brought us together so she could confirm it in her signature mocking-polite manner. And you knew exactly how I'd react to being equated with her."
"The Force doesn't make you unpredictable, Lady Jade," I noted. "Neither you nor any other Force user. So, no need to be angry or upset. You wanted me to stop equating your contribution to the Dominion with Isard's? Very well, I won't. Unlike her, you returned one of the three super star destroyers we possess to the fleet. I value that and am grateful for your wise decision."
"Don't you ever get bored?" Jade asked unexpectedly.
"In such moments, I study intelligence reports on the New Republic's internal affairs and their efforts to eliminate me," my admission elicited a slight chuckle from her. "You're too quick to dismiss it. There's plenty of intrigue in those encrypted messages."
"Palpatine also amused himself by reading intercepted senator communications," Jade said. "And thought he knew everything about them. Shall I remind you what happened to him in the end?"
"No need, my memory's intact," I replied.
"Still, doesn't it get tiresome always being right?" Mara pressed. "Always winning. Always knowing everything in advance. Always being several steps ahead of your enemies. You don't live — you exist. War and everything tied to it is your only passion. Honestly, I wasn't even that surprised when I realized you and Isard…"
"The boundaries of propriety are flexible, Lady Jade, but you're pushing them so hard you're about to break through," I warned. "You won't like the consequences."
The mischievous glint in her eyes faded, replaced by a guilty look.
"I apologize," she muttered. "I… really crossed the line."
"I'm glad you recognize that with one warning," I said. "There won't be another."
Repeating the same orders endlessly diminishes the weight of your words.
Repeat once, and you'll have to repeat a second time. Then a third, fifth, and tenth.
That parrot game can go on for quite a while.
For those who've forgotten what Mara Jade looks like (or what passed for her).
Though, to be fair, I'd be lying if I said I never repeated myself as Thrawn.
It happened. More than once.
But it was always accompanied by a lesson.
Because, as practice shows, information sinks in best through pain, blood, or physical exhaustion.
Through auditory channels (for those who have them) — less so.
"A couple of punches to the face replace thirty minutes of explanations I don't have time for," an officer I once knew used to say. Always busy, he only knew how to teach military science with his fists.
Experience showed that those thirty minutes of detailed explanations about sector firing assignments, instead of punches and "You shoot there, and you — there!" could have saved his life during the First Chechen War.
His life, and that of the entire unit that never returned from the checkpoint.
But that's all beside the point.
"I assume, beyond discussing the Fellblade and my personal life, there's something else on your mind, Lady Jade," I said.
"Since I'm already here, perhaps you'll share the details of my next assignment?" the redheaded firebrand asked. "I know the briefing was scheduled for another time…"
She trailed off, unsure how to further justify her request.
Her position was clear — caught in an awkward situation, Mara Jade wanted to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere and shift to work to push this conversation out of her mind.
"Of course," I said, pulling an information crystal from my uniform pocket. "This contains the coordinates of a villa belonging to the current head of CorSec, Rostek Horn. Your target is Corran Horn, a fledgling Jedi and the last free pilot of Rogue Squadron. He must deliver information preserved by his biological grandfather, Jedi Nejaa Halcyon. However, I'm certain there will be an ambush at the rendezvous point, so you'll need to retrieve the information stored in the DNA of flowers in Rostek Horn's greenhouse and deliver it to Master Bre'ano Umakk for integration into the Jensaraai Order's training process."
"Storing information in flower DNA?" Mara Jade was surprised. "That's an unusual method."
"Quite ingenious," I gave my assessment of the Corellian's cleverness. "Which is why I'm certain Horn the younger will confide in his grandfather, who will prompt him to plan a trap during the information transfer. Can you handle it alone, Lady Jade, or will you need support from guardsmen, stormtroopers, Jensaraai, or the Shadow Guard?"
"I'll take two guardsmen, with your permission," the woman declared. "Corellians can be quite stubborn."
"In that case, you have carte blanche to use any means to obtain the information," I expanded her authority. "But there's a condition. Corran Horn must survive at all costs."
"As you wish, Grand Admiral," Jade agreed. "But allow me to voice my opinion."
"Of course."
"Keeping Jedi alive for 'breeding' isn't the wisest move," the Hand stated. "Sooner or later, he'll mature. Corellian upbringing, Jedi skills, CorSec experience… Corran Horn could become a major headache for us."
"That's exactly what I need," I said. "Corran Horn is destined to be one of the New Republic's enemies. But he doesn't know it yet."
"I understand," Jade pursed her lips. "The death of loved ones has sometimes driven Jedi to the Dark Side of the Force. Which led to them being hunted by their own former Order."
"I'm glad you're familiar with Jedi history, Lady Jade," I said. "That'll make your task easier."
"I'll depart for my ship immediately. I'll need a shuttle to get…"
"You'll find the Fire in the main hangar, section fourteen," I said, watching her move toward the exit.
Mara Jade froze for a second, turned, and looked at me…
"My ship was brought here to Tangrene?" she asked, surprised.
But her eyes asked a different question: "Why did we take a shuttle when we could've traveled in comfort on Ennix Devian's old bucket?"
Naturally, I wasn't about to tell her I needed time for the ship to be inspected by local specialists and fitted with additional equipment.
The current act is nearing its finale, and I want to be certain I won't have to repeat the same words or actions twice.
"Do you really think I have the time or inclination to make you run around the ship's decks for something so petty?" I asked.
"Of course not, Grand Admiral," she pursed her lips. "Permission to proceed with the mission?"
"Proceed," I permitted. "And begin."
As she stood in the doorway, she paused, hearing my voice:
"Regarding your question, Lady Jade," I said. "No, I don't get bored. I do what I must and observe the results. If apathy or boredom ever overtakes you, take this advice."
"I will, Grand Admiral," Jade replied quietly and left my quarters.
Well, that's that.
The bets are placed, and there are no more bets.
***
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