The expression on Councilor Mon Mothma's face could be compared to something midway between a willful effort to overcome pain and disappointment.
A half-meter hologram of the woman was projected directly from the floor in Ysanne Isard's personal quarters.
The hostess herself sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, attentively observing what the hologram was saying.
The barrage of sharp questions posed at the press conference dedicated to the launch of Coruscant's defense system and the transition from temporary authorities to permanent ones clearly caught her off guard. However, the speed with which she oriented herself only confirmed her deep intellect, quick-wittedness, and years of experience in senatorial demagoguery.
"You are interested in whether Rogue Squadron was destroyed on Sarapin?" she repeated, buying herself time to come up with a suitable answer. "We are waging war against a cunning and cruel enemy capable of using any scraps of information against us. I can say that we suffered losses, but I am not authorized to disclose details so as not to endanger the actions of our glorious military..."
"Speaking of disclosing details, are you really sure that the enemy is unaware of the results of the battle at Sarapin?" the reporter clarified. "Or at Brentaal IV? Why are you concealing the truth?"
"The Provisional Government reports all the information it deems necessary at this time..."
"Just as you informed everyone that Grand Admiral Thrawn had been attacking our patrols for half a year, assaulting and stealing ships, and that the Lusankya went on a test flight?"
"Listen..."
"You claimed that the New Republic was not involved in the raids against Lianna, the Pentastar Alignment, attacks on Imperial convoys, that Dominion military personnel were responsible, but what do we see? Our ships attacked Lianna, led by the Lusankya. And they arranged a bloody slaughter there, which continues even now..."
"This is disinformation from Grand Admiral Thrawn!"
"Are you sure about that? As far as I know from sources on the ground, Wookiee and many non-human race soldiers have been landed on the planet's surface. This is clearly not the Empire with its xenophobic attitudes!"
"Republican citizens who have been in captivity report that the Dominion cooperates with all races. Moreover, many settlers have gone there in recent months..."
"And how do you comment on the fact that you essentially set a trap for the Imperial fleet at Brentaal IV, and in the end, our fleet was bloodied while the enemy escaped? And now somewhere in the galaxy roams an entire fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers that answer to no one but their own command?"
"We are equally confident that this is disinformation from the Dominion..."
"And the investigation data on the death of the ruling councilors of the planet Axxila, killed by a lightsaber, is also disinformation? There are photographs of the corpses on the HoloNet, and it's definitely not a simulation."
"We do not deny the fact that they could have been killed with such a weapon, however, rumors of Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker's involvement in this crime are fabrications."
"Is that so? And where is he now? Rumors that he visits planets where corpses with lightsaber wounds are subsequently found have real confirmations."
"Jedi Skywalker is occupied with matters of restoring the Order..."
"Then perhaps you can tell us why you are holding this press conference and not General Madine? Is it true that he is leading the operation against Lianna aboard the Lusankya?!"
"I cannot comment on the actions of our intelligence..."
"Information is coming from the Tanium sector that in response to the New Republic's attack on Lianna, Grand Admiral Thrawn's ships struck at the blockade detachments. And the count of destroyed starships on our side has already exceeded three dozen."
"I cannot comment on the actions of our military..."
"Then perhaps you can explain the reason for basing our fleet in the Tanium sector, while the planets of this galactic region have withdrawn from the New Republic?"
"I cannot comment..."
"But this is clearly a matter of diplomacy, not intelligence or military. Why can't you say anything about what concerns your own field of activity?"
"Answers to your provocative questions..."
"Is it true that the Sullustans and Sluissi are already preparing to leave the ranks of the New Republic members because they are effectively carrying out military production at their shipyards and could become legitimate targets for the Dominion's regular fleet at any moment?"
"I don't know where you got such information, but the Sullustans and Sluissi are our good allies, along with the Wookiees and Mon Calamari..."
"In other words, you confirm that Mon Calamari ships and the Lusankya attacking Lianna, the Wookiee десант on the planet's surface—all this is the work of the New Republic."
"No, you misunderstood me..."
"Wait a minute, you yourself said that Wookiees and Mon Calamari are allies of the New Republic, and now they are attacking Lianna, which previously broke contracts with us due to the actions of raiders. Who are now led by the Lusankya attacking Lianna. And for whose search you kept significant forces in the Tanium sector but found no one! What are you intending to achieve, Councilor Mothma? To have our military slaughtered?!.."
The image of Mon Mothma froze, capturing a confused and, one might even say, frightened expression on Mon Mothma's face.
"Everything is unfolding as perfectly as possible, Grand Admiral," she said, smiling.
From the direction of the doors came a sound signal—the petitioner was announcing his desire to visit her quarters.
Isard unlocked the door lock from the panel in the armrest, attentively watching the figure of the entering military man.
"Do you have news for me, Colonel Niovi?" she inquired of the man who had shot Admiral Drommel.
"Yes, ma'am Director," he said in a quiet commanding tone. "Ground detachments are breaking through to the headquarters of Santhe/Sienar Technologies. The corporation's security service and armed units are offering strong resistance. The information center has been taken, and data carriers are currently being seized. The fleet has defeated the enemy's orbital grouping and has begun exchanging fire with the remaining defensive platforms. Our forces have cleared half of the Golans. Losses among combat droids are significant, but I have already given the order to commit reserves. Six cruisers are seriously damaged; the rest have minor issues. The battle continues."
"Good," Isard evaluated the actions. "Continue the work, Colonel. We must complete the operation exactly on schedule."
"Yes, ma'am Director."
Imitating a New Republic attack on Lianna, Grand Admiral Thrawn gave clear instructions on where and what forces should operate.
A significant portion of the captured Dominion star cruisers participated in this battle. Under the control of Mere race crews, they performed quite adequately in combat, while the main part of the work to clear enemy orbital stations was assigned to combat droid units, which were previously produced and used for boarding military and transport ships.
The ground part of the operation was carried out by assault teams consisting of alien militants. A significant portion of the "disguised" Republicans were undoubtedly stormtroopers from Colonel Niovi's unit. Dressed, like the other fighters, in Republican military uniforms.
Of which there was a large quantity in the prisoner-of-war warehouses.
When she was left alone in the quarters created exclusively for the one who gave her life, Ysanne mechanically touched her hand to the scar left after the original's attempt to kill her.
She had spent a lot of time familiarizing herself with the memories of the real Iceheart.
To learn and absorb what happened after Isard activated her clone.
Although the work was only just beginning, there was still plenty of time.
The more secrets she learned now, the fewer surprises awaited the Dominion in the future.
***
Unlike half of the New Republic's task forces, the one designated "Kappa," the last in the list of all those Coruscant had in the Tanium sector, avoided destruction by Dominion forces.
At least that's what its commander thought, evidently understanding that the nine flagships of other groups, and especially the flagship of the entire blocking fleet, were not simply maintaining radio silence right after the order to advance.
The attack should be a big surprise for the enemy.
Especially after receiving the message about the troubles that befell them immediately after Lianna reported an attack on itself by "armed ships of the New Republic."
Task Force "Kappa," the tenth and last in the blocking fleet, was at the greatest distance from Lianna at the moment when the operation commander informed of the appearance of the Dominion's "fake fleet" posing as Republicans.
And ordered the attack on the enemy to begin.
A Mon Calamari MC80 star cruiser, four Nebulon-B escort frigates, six medium transports—a force capable of occupying a small moon. And as part of the entire blocking fleet, such an armada could once and for all disable Grand Admiral Thrawn's allies.
That's what the task force commander thought until all eleven of his ships were yanked out of hyperspace by a suddenly appearing gravitational anomaly from nowhere.
Even before the stars finally turned into distant glowing points and the light tunnel ceased to exist, the task force commander understood what was happening.
And the Sullustan felt decidedly unwell when he saw before him a deployed blocking formation consisting of an Imperial-I class Star Destroyer named Red Gauntlet accompanied by six Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, equally divided into detachments on the triangular Imperial-design ship's sides.
Visually, it was hard to understand, but behind these starships on the screen of the tactical monitor that came to life after the jump, one could make out an interdictor cruiser, whose operating gravity wells were the cause of Task Force "Kappa" exiting hyperspace.
"To battle!" commanded the task force commander, but the first strike was delivered by a squadron of TIE bombers that attacked the Republican ships' flagship long before the radiation trail faded from the star cruiser, allowing the crew to behold the full depth of the trap they had fallen into.
A dozen cumbersome bombers launched proton torpedoes, leaving the ship no chance to survive the ambush as a single piece of armor and technology.
A chain of explosions ran along the "spine" of the star cruiser, piercing the hull, decks, bulkheads, and partitions.
Metal cracked, melted, blew out, and deformed in dozens of different ways.
The fiery wave of detonations vaporized plastic and the bodies of sentients caught off guard.
A huge burst of flame erupted from the ship's hangar deck, letting everyone around know that the star cruiser's air wing was destroyed.
And experienced military personnel understood that the MC80 itself was no longer viable—inside it, munitions were exploding and fuel was burning.
Internal explosions manifested one after another, the consequences of which were increasingly amplified by the accurate turbolaser salvos from the Star Destroyer.
The heavy cruisers engaged in battle with the escort frigates.
Although speed was on the side of the latter, power and experience favored the former.
The Dreadnouts' turbolasers had already inflicted serious damage on the ships at the very moment the Republican starships exited hyperspace.
The work of the deflector fields was merely a delay of the inevitable, but the ambushed Republicans realized they needed to fight to the last.
The Red Gauntlet ceased tormenting the star cruiser, thereby dooming its crew to an unenviable fate of death in vacuum.
Bombs and precise shooting destroyed all firing points without exception, ripped open blisters, and reached the MC80's reactors.
The ship lasted a few minutes after the shelling ceased, after which it detonated, illuminating the blackness of space with the brightest flash, momentarily blinding the scanners of nearby ships.
But this was not enough to save the lives of the remaining New Republic ships.
TIE fighters from the heavy cruisers were already frolicking, ripping open the hulls of transports and harassing the gunners of escort frigates.
The death of the star cruiser rallied the last New Republic starships, but it was not enough to escape the ambush.
Deflector shields weakened under the hurricane barrages from Dominion ships, armor blackened and burst...
Hulls began to be dotted with black spots of soot, and around the Republican starships formed a large number of debris of all sizes and shapes.
The Red Gauntlet chose the nearest frigate as its victim and unleashed its full power on it.
The aft section of the New Republic ship could not withstand the onslaught, and the deflectors gave way.
Green needles of turbolasers pierced the armor in dozens of places, exposing the tender interior.
Oxygen vortices burst outward, but hardly anyone paid attention to them anymore.
The New Republic fleet was dying, and therefore, with the doom of those facing their own execution, the sentients stoically held out to the last.
The battle lasted twenty-seven and a half minutes and resulted in the Dominion losing only a few fighters.
The New Republic, however...
Task Force "Kappa" was the tenth and last in the series of attacks arranged by the starships of the Red Star squadron.
Two hours after the start of the attack on Lianna, in the nearest ten sectors, the New Republic had nothing larger than a suborbital patrol cutter left.
***
With a furious roar that preceded an act of monstrous cruelty, a huge Wookiee covered in chestnut-colored fur, hung with grenades and pouches, raised a young guardsman above himself so that all Liannans entrenched in the corridor could see him without exception.
Moff Victus cursed, changing the power cell in his blaster at that moment. The other fighters took cover behind an improvised barricade of furniture.
But through the gaps in this protection, they saw the Wookiee begin to lower the struggling man from his enormous paws.
At the same time, taking a step forward and kneeling on one knee.
Joshua understood that this could not be true, but he shuddered when he heard the monstrous crunch of breaking spine and bones of the man, who screamed in pain so that panic appeared on the fighters' faces.
Throwing the corpse aside, the giant Wookiee opened fire from a handheld blaster repeater.
The defenders lay down.
"Filthy animals!" cursed the moff, having reloaded his weapon.
He turned, found the nearest space free of furniture, and began shooting at the advancing enemies.
The Lianna guards supported him with their weapons.
The Wookiees, having lost several of their own, retreated to the corridor intersection, hiding behind corners and firing from there at the barricade.
Expensive equipment items began to ignite.
The plastic on them melted with an acrid haze, causing some fighters to cough after inhaling the caustic smoke.
"Sir!" shouted the squad commander of the guards to him. "They report that we have lost the twenty-second orbital station. The Republicans have captured control of the orbit and assembly shops. Our ships with cargo and equipment are under their control!"
"Any good news?" shouted the moff in response, over whose head a blaster burst whistled.
"The Sixth Guard Regiment, together with police special forces, has retaken the information center! The Eighth Regiment suffered heavy losses but captured control of the sixth industrial sector."
"The equipment?! Is the equipment intact?!"
"No, sir!" replied the guardsman. "The machines have been dismantled and are likely already on enemy ships. The conveyors are either destroyed or mined."
"These beasts are stealing our equipment?!" the moff cursed.
Santhe/Sienar Technologies possessed some of the most modern production mechanisms in the galaxy.
The company's leadership strictly ensured that outdated mechanisms were not used, betting on timely updating of the machine park.
It seemed that the New Republic had decided if not to capture Lianna, then certainly to leave the population without industry.
"That's not all, sir! The Sixth Regiment reports that all servers and other data carriers have been removed from the information center. We no longer have the archive!"
This was a fiasco.
All technical developments created over the years of the company's existence under one name or another were lost.
And this meant that for months, if not years, Lianna had lost the ability to produce what it knew how to.
The fleet destroyed.
The capital in flames.
The archive captured by the enemy.
Orbital factories and defensive stations under enemy control.
Equipment either destroyed or captured by the enemy...
This was collapse.
"We need to gather all forces into a fist and counterattack!" he shouted. "We cannot allow them to take all this off the planet!"
Of course, without high-class specialists of various professions, even the most modern machines were no more than scrap metal.
But Moff Victus had no doubt that the New Republic would find a way to revive the stolen goods.
If only they were not stopped in time.
The strike on the planet was unexpected for the Liannans.
While the guard and police forces evacuated the population to bomb shelters to avoid unnecessary casualties, the New Republic десант only attacked.
Joshua knew what heavy losses the guard and police forces were suffering in the current clash...
And cursed the day he supported Lady Santhe's proposal to maintain a mercenary army and police for the planet's security, not to mention the ship crews of the fleet.
While exclusively Liannans worked at the enterprises, their peace was ensured by those who were professional and smart in the process opposite to creation.
Simply wasted money—because the mercenaries: whether guard or police, only entrenched in the capital in the first hours of the battle, allowing the enemy to freely occupy productions and loot them.
And only now, by Joshua's own order, did they decide on a counterattack against enemy forces.
Two battalions of Wookiees landed in the capital, where they captured administrative buildings.
The remaining forces attacked directly the factories and industrial complexes located on the outskirts and beyond the capital. For the most part, the assembly complexes were now simply being stolen by the enemy.
And now Joshua had no doubts about the New Republic's guilt.
They perfectly understood that Liannans were not so easy to conquer.
And even if the planet were conquered, they would have to try hard to motivate the local residents to work for the invaders.
They decided to simply steal everything.
Criminals.
Thieves.
Scoundrels.
Democracy had already found dozens of new epithets and comparisons for itself.
And yet Thrawn had warned...
Perhaps he himself was to blame for what was happening—his war pushed the New Republic to a desperate step.
But such claims were laughable to the point of hiccups.
Everyone makes their own choice—and bears responsibility for it.
The Republic attacked—and now it was unequivocally the enemy.
But where were those Hutt-spawned allies?!
Neither the pirates nor Moff Grann's fleet!
And yet both should have arrived at the battle site more than fourteen hours ago!
It turned out he was right, objecting to Santhe: they should have entrusted the protection of the planet and citizens to the citizens of Lianna themselves, as it was under Sienar, rather than turning local residents into a planet of high-class specialists.
And now they were all in bomb shelters while Lianna was being looted.
Wonderful!
Simply magnificent!
Oh, how right Thrawn was...
Joshua smiled bitterly.
If he did not want the New Republic to loot Lianna in both hemispheres, he needed help.
The loss of productions in this hemisphere was, of course, a great misfortune.
But to lose everything...
"Contact Grand Admiral Thrawn!" he ordered. "Send a signal to Ciutric IV! Inform him that we are under attack and request immediate assistance."
"I hope he has forces nearby to arrive before the Republicans drive us back to the stone age," flashed through the moff's mind, on whose shoulders too much had fallen in the past day for one man to bear.
Why did he swallow his pride and call for help from the one whose alliance proposal he rejected?
Because the Grand Admiral seemed to be the only one who could keep the situation under control!
The other nearest Remnants did not even stir to come to the aid!
"It will be done, Moff Victus!"
***
Over dinner, Corran finally couldn't hold back and asked the question that had tormented him since he heard about the Jedi heritage and his grandfather's greenhouse from Thrawn:
"How are they connected?"
Rostek, sitting on the other side of the table, smiled, looking at his grandson with understanding.
"Directly," he said. "How well do you remember your school course in botany and biology?"
"Enough to distinguish a tree from a rancor," Corran admitted his capitulation.
"Then, for you to better understand everything I've said, I'll have to remind you of something," warned his grandfather. "Any hereditary information is passed to the new generation in the genetic code of an organic being. Most genetic codes in the galaxy consist of four nucleotides paired together. It is with their help that the genetic template is ensured, passed from generation to generation, creating life. You, me, the tree from which this table is made," grandfather tapped on the tabletop, "the plants in my greenhouse, the grass on the lawn, birds, beasts, and so on. I won't go into specifics; this is just a highly simplified basis of genetic perception."
"Honestly, after the Imperials, on Isard's orders, infected Coruscant with the Krytos virus created by a mad geneticist, I've been a bit averse to this science," Corran confessed.
"To each his own," agreed grandfather. "Anyway, nucleotides form DNA chains. But over time, in the process of evolution, over millennia and millions of years of evolution, most nucleotides in DNA encode information that is genetic garbage. This is ballast, which I learned to alter."
"To create and improve your flowers?" clarified Corran.
"Initially, that's how it was," agreed grandfather. "But when the need arose, I began synthesizing entire chains of nucleotide pairs. And replacing the "genetic garbage" with them, while leaving the pairs inert so they wouldn't affect the plants. If one has imagination and a desire to study my flowers at such a level, one can notice that one chain of pairs equals zero, the second—one..."
Corran, busy with a piece of steak, coughed.
Clearing his throat, he drained a glass of water and looked at his grandfather suspiciously:
"Did you really do that?"
"Yes," smiled Rostek.
"You digitized the Jedi data, translated it into nucleotide pair encoding, which you implanted in place of the "genetic garbage"?!" as if not believing what he was saying, clarified Horn the Younger.
"Exactly," smiled grandfather. "And with each division of the plant's genetic material, the flower, the encoded information increases in quantity! Of course, the sequences are not an open book. This is a cipher, the solution to which only I know."
"This... This is incredible!" Corran admired. "But then it turns out that in the plants, this information can change, even perish!"
"Yes, sometimes mutations or other factors damage DNA sections, and such information becomes fragmented, sometimes useless, but I always have a stock of stable seeds in the greenhouse, and growing a healthy plant is not difficult," smiled grandfather.
"You're a genius!" Corran said with admiration.
"Don't overestimate me," waved off Rostek. "Just an old CorSec man with imagination."
"I bet the Jedi archive isn't your first experiment," Corran narrowed his eyes.
"Of course not," declared Rostek. "My entire archive is in the plants. All the dirt, all possible machinations of those I watch—that's what started this encryption. No one would ever think to look for information in plant DNA. Everyone is more accustomed to thinking it's stored on infochips or flimsi documents."
"So the flowers you periodically send to your enemies—that's their dirt?!"
"Of course," agreed Rostek. "Working with your grandfather, Nejaa Halcyon, I learned enough about the Jedi to grasp a simple lesson: nothing is random. The Force, whatever it is, is something unimaginable that gives the desired to those who seek, who need... Encoding information about the Jedi heritage in plants, I was sure that either your father, or you, or your descendants, or any other Jedi in the galaxy would eventually receive it all. Your grandfather taught me to believe and hope."
Corran looked at Horn the Elder with love.
"Tell me about Nejaa," he asked, pulling a silvery cylinder from a hidden pocket and handing it to his grandfather. "This is his lightsaber, right?"
"Oh," universal sorrow appeared on Rostek's face when his grandson placed the Jedi weapon in his elderly but still strong hands. "How...? Yes, it is, but... Where did you find it? The Jedi took it after delivering his body to Corellia!"
"It so happened that, escaping from the Lusankya, I ended up in a museum," Horn the Younger reluctantly turned to his memories. "And... Skywalker says that the Force itself led me among the closed exhibition dedicated to the Jedi, right to the stand dedicated to my grandfather. There I first learned his name and felt unity with something close, kindred..."
"Your father said something similar when I told him about his father," Rostek wiped away the tears welling up in his eyes.
Quickly composing himself, Horn the Elder looked attentively at his grandson:
"When I first saw you on the veranda, I couldn't understand who you were. Excellent disguise, by the way. But what struck me most was how, by darkening your hair and gluing on a beard, you became like Nejaa..."
The smile on Corran's face faded.
"I don't look like him," he said, sinking into the chair. "Nejaa is a hero, and I... My wife and father-in-law are missing, and instead of searching for them, I listened to command, the Force, a mad old clone, Thrawn, Skywalker, Thrawn again... Sometimes I look at what's around me and want to break with the past, taking my dear people with me: Mirax, Wedge..."
"Booster Terrik?"
"Oh, I don't love my father-in-law that much," joked Corran. In an instant, his smile turned to sorrow again. "Thrawn said that Iella is with him."
"You mentioned," confirmed grandfather. "Do you think she's his prisoner? Do you think he didn't lie?"
"I doubt it," Corran admitted reluctantly. "At first I believed, then cooled off during the flight, thinking Thrawn was just puffing himself up for significance and greater manipulation of me. Then I realized that this guy has never lied to me once. Nor to those he dealt with. And then I got really scared—because then he told the truth about capturing the Lusankya too."
"Which leads to the thought that the alleged New Republic attack on Lianna is just another farce?" clarified grandfather.
"Most likely, yes," confirmed Corran. "When you told me that the Diktat wants to befriend Thrawn, I thought they would be unstoppable because of CEC. After all, Star Destroyers built by Corellian hands would clearly be the best in the galaxy. And now it dawned on me—if Thrawn really only speaks the truth, won't the situation with Balmorra repeat?"
"You mean his attack right after Coruscant?" clarified grandfather.
"Yes," nodded Corran. "He took everything he needed from the planet, including Separatist factories. Imagine how strong he will be if he robs Lianna's production capacities?"
"Exporting the production of an entire planet is not such a simple task," stated Rostek. "If he intends to rob under the guise of a New Republic attack, he will either occupy the planet for several days, possibly a week, or take from them what is most valuable in such matters as industry."
"Equipment," understood Corran. "No better, actually."
"Don't say that," said grandfather. "To make the equipment taken from the planet work, first you need to build a factory, train workers... That's if you don't have to flee with your tail between your legs, of course, abandoning the loot."
"Something tells me that won't happen," sighed Corran. "This guy has everything... Turning out too well!"
"And things in the New Republic are far from good."
"As here on Corellia," noted the young Horn.
"Unfortunately," confirmed Rostek. "The common people haven't deteriorated that much in these times. The Diktat actually suits only the rich, while the middle class and the poor... They fondly remember the times when Bel Iblis had a say here. Honestly, I expected him to outdo Thrawn as soon as he became commander-in-chief. But so far, his only success is the half-victory-non-defeat at Brentaal IV."
"There are "rats" in the Imperial Palace," confessed Corran. "Wedge told me about it. Intelligence is looking for leaks, has been for some time, but to no avail. The Imperials learn about our affairs before they reach the executors."
"Wow," Rostek's eyes widened. "Then why isn't anyone looking for enemy informants?"
"Because either we don't have such specialists, or we're simply powerless," sighed Corran. "That's why I didn't report to anyone about the agreement I made with Thrawn. Safer that way."
"Logical," agreed grandfather. "But we need to get rid of such filth. Have you ever heard of a beast called a "wolf"?"
Corran shook his head negatively.
"It's a member of the canine family, a predatory species," explained Rostek. "Actually, not much is known about them outside the planets where they live. I can confidently say that seventy percent of the galaxy's population has never heard of such wolf breeds as sungwa, corrina, the dark wolf of Shriluur, renan, otherwise called the "blood wolf of Rena," the Ieretian camberwolf from Jereta VI, the snow wolf of Cabaira, or the wolves of Vake..."
"And what's this clarification for?" asked Corran, momentarily pondering that one of the breed names sounded like his name.
"Zoologists sometimes call wolves "sanitarians" of the habitats where they live," explained Rostek. "Wolves are predators, but not the strongest. Often they kill weak, sick, old animals—those who, if long in the population of their kind, could somehow cause the death of the entire herd or pack. In their time, spy hunters were called "wolves" for cleaning the "herd.""
"Yes, we could use such critters," agreed Corran.
"And how Corellia needs them now," sighed Rostek. "However, let's not dwell on the sad. You asked me to tell about Nejaa, so... I have much to tell you. About the underground on Corellia fighting the Diktat, and about the surviving Corellian and other Jedi whom I helped save all this time... Honestly, I wanted to postpone this until tomorrow, so we could talk about it while turning the compost heap, but I see you're not patient. Just like all Horns, no point hiding it..."
"You have many servants," Corran was surprised. "Surely no one to turn the compost?"
"We'll do it as grandfather and grandson," smirked Rostek. "After all, it's fertilizer. And any plant needs fertile soil for roots to sprout. Don't be lazy; you'll like the result."
Corran was about to express doubt, but they were interrupted.
"Director Horn," delicately coughing, grandfather's servant named Tosruk appeared in the dining room. "Another flier has arrived at the estate. Departmental from the Law Enforcement Service. They report they have important information regarding your grandson, Corran Horn."
Considering that this name was undesirable for pronunciation by third parties even in grandfather's house, for the servants "Keiran" was Corran's childhood friend.
Despite Tosruk being the only servant left in the house (the rest of the staff grandfather dismissed at nightfall), the rule was not broken.
"Invite them in," ordered Rostek, exchanging understanding glances with his disguised grandson. "And activate the house's automatic protection. I doubt these guests are who they claim to be."
"No need," came a voice from the opposite end of the dining room. "Your security center is disabled. Don't move, cooperate, and no one will harm you without extreme necessity."
From the passage leading to the kitchen emerged a pretty girl of middle years with a mop of stunningly red hair.
She was dressed in a form-fitting combat jumpsuit of fabric armor with plastoid elements enhancing her protection from blaster fire.
"Good evening, Horn family," she said, waving her fingers, and the hilt of Corran's lightsaber flew into her palm. "We need to talk, guys. And you'd better cooperate."
***
"All ships are restored and ready for transit," Captain Pellaeon concluded his report.
"Good," I said, shifting my gaze to the one sitting a couple of meters from me, under the guard of Moff Grann's guardsmen. "Prepare a shuttle to deliver our prisoner to laboratory four."
"Decided to cut me into pieces?" the man immediately bristled, sporting bruises and hematomas received during the assault on his flagship several hours earlier.
"Oh no, Moff," I said. "A more refined fate awaits you. You will serve the Dominion and prepare the Allied Tion sector for annexation. Not now, but soon."
"I won't even think about it," he snorted.
"Correct," I agreed. "No need to do what is not characteristic of you. Everything has already been thought out for you in detail. Take him away."
A pair of guardsmen, unceremoniously grabbing the man under the arms, dragged him from my quarters.
"Report, Captain," I said.
During the time spent with Pellaeon, it no longer took much effort to guess when he had something to say to me.
"Dispatch from Grand Moff Ferrus," he said. "Moff Victus asks us to provide support to Lianna in repelling the attack on the planet."
"As planned," I nodded. "Inform Counter-Admiral Shohashi to prepare his ships for transit. He knows what to do on site. Designate a rendezvous point with our cargo ships and the Eternal Wrath. The equipment for the Golan platforms must be delivered intact. Also send a signal to the Lusankya—they should be ready to conclude this performance."
"Lady Isard also sent a report," Pellaeon stated in an even tone. More phlegmatic than before. "The corporation's data servers have been fully evacuated. Industrial equipment has been seized from factories in the planet's northern hemisphere, near the capital. As indicated by intelligence, these are factories producing components for the TIE series technology."
"Which are then assembled in orbital shops," I understood. "Excellent, let them evacuate all this on combat-capable ships to the rendezvous point with us. We will escort it all to the metropolis and deliver to Moff Ferrus. Is that all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Request the movement of the main fleet," I ordered. "We are moving to the climax of the entire Operation Crimson Dawn, Captain. Everything must be played precisely as by notes. No one will forgive us mistakes."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral."
"Summon the commanders of the Star Destroyers who have transferred to Dominion service. I will have a frank conversation with them about their future."
"I will send messages immediately, Grand Admiral."
After the ship commander left my quarters, I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes in the habitual semi-darkness that had surrounded me since I found myself in this galaxy.
The most interesting part begins...
And what intrigues even more is that no one has guessed what outcome we will reach.
Including Pellaeon, Shohashi, Dorja, Ferrus, and the others...
Which means everything is being done as it should.
It remains only to finish everything properly.
***
Before Corran could react, Rostek leaped from his seat, and in Tosruk's hands appeared a small but powerful blaster, spewing a red bolt of energy.
A lightsaber appeared in the girl's hand, and its violet-crimson blade parried the shot so that it struck Rostek in the thigh.
Grandfather stumbled in his attempt to stand, but Corran was already beside him.
He caught Rostek at the moment when Tosruk fired a second time...
The blaster bolt burned Horn the Younger's calf, and he collapsed to the floor with Rostek.
A moment later, Tosruk collapsed too.
His eyes expressed surprise, and his neck was twisted at an unnatural angle.
In the place where he stood were two colorful figures in LES armor with blasters at the ready.
Their closed helmets did not allow seeing faces, but by their manners, Corran understood that both were professionals who could burn this house and everyone in it.
And they clearly wouldn't have headaches or nightmares about it.
"That was foolish, gentlemen Horn," said the red-haired girl, sitting on the chair where Rostek had been. "Lift them."
Both operatives obeyed the order and seated the men on chairs that had stood lonely at the dining table.
At that, for attempting to grab one of their weapons, Corran received a rather painful blow to the ribs.
As soon as they sat, their hands were passed through the latticed back of the chairs.
Plastic ties squealed, and wrists touched each other.
Corran tried to free his hand, but it didn't budge a millimeter.
Experienced captors did everything to constrict blood flow from arms to palms—and fingers began to go numb.
A couple of seconds later, plastic restraints were fixed on his ankles too.
The same procedure was performed on grandfather.
"Who are you?" asked Rostek.
"That's not important," waved off the beauty, crossing one leg over the other. "The right question is: "Why am I here?" Does anyone want to ask it?"
"Or we can just stop the comedy," suggested Corran.
"Oh, what double standards?" laughed the girl. "So your adoptive grandfather can have fun sending blackmail material in his flowers to those blackmailed, but I can't? Really, Captain Horn, I had a better opinion of you."
"You were eavesdropping," stated Rostek.
"You say it like it's something bad," shrugged the girl. "But since you're so categorical, perhaps I'll get right to the point. I need your archives and decryption codes for the data in the plants."
"Who do you work for?" squeezed out Horn the Younger.
"And you still haven't figured it out?" the girl was surprised. "And this is the CorSec elite? I admit, I'm disappointed in you, Captain Horn. Director Horn, do you have your versions?"
"Too little information to state anything," he said, looking at his grandson.
"Then let me give you a hint," the girl smiled charmingly. "How long do you think the investigation of the battle arranged by Thrawn in the Sarapin system took?"
"According to my information, it's completed," said Rostek.
"Yes," the girl batted her eyes. "And my leadership was so impressed by Captain Horn's act, who, without thinking, deserts from the New Republic Defense Forces for the second time, and even makes a deal with the enemy, that the cup of patience overflowed. Your stories about coming to grandfather to save your wife, father-in-law, and friends are, of course, tearful and all, but you could have gotten help in the New Republic. After what happened on Sarapin, the Provisional Council is tearing and throwing in search of a way to defeat Thrawn. And handing over Jedi data is quite a tempting goal. For me. But they need to find someone to pin a couple of accusations and responsibility for all failures on. I think a Corellian who secretly sympathized with Thrawn's "proper Empire" is just what they need. And your desertion, and unwillingness to search for your wife and father-in-law—all will fit for accusation. I think we can even tie in that you couldn't avenge Isard for the execution of Jan Dodonna, with whom you befriended during captivity on the Lusankya. You know, the data from Sarapin's satellites are so easily processed. I know a couple of slicers in intelligence who will supplement with files that Thrawn promised to give you Isard for execution. Amazing, isn't it, that such a genius as Thrawn considers himself didn't think to destroy them and keep your agreement secret. Either he doesn't value you much, or he deliberately left a trail for us. In general, I've found so much in this assignment... A traitor, Jedi archives and heritage, a traitor grandfather, potential alliance with Corellia... And your archives on Corellian criminals and corrupt officials will be a bonus for Republic Intelligence. Oh, I'll definitely be bathing in aurodium after this assignment."
"Do you really think we'll believe that the Republic sent you after my grandson?" smirked Rostek Horn. "And even more, that you got permission to work on Corellia from the Diktat?"
"I don't care what you believe," coldly stated the redhead. "We've done things much worse than what you talk about. We extracted Bothans from captivity, secretly buying them from Thrawn, bought coordinates of Thrawn's location from Isard and sent a fleet there under Admiral Ackbar's command, set a trap for Isard, Thrawn, and the Empire in the form of the Lusankya, hunted convoys, imitated Thrawn's tactics... Negotiating with the Diktat is not such a big problem. The main thing is to find a person who cares enough about his reputation and agrees to cover us in exchange for getting your dirt, Director Rostek. Thanks to your impatient grandson for not having to dig up the entire estate territory. It will be enough to just take your greenhouse, taking the seeds. Not quite what we promised Sal-Solo, but it will do. I think he'll have the patience to listen to the recording of your conversation with your grandson, check your words about genetic encoding, and find a dozen or so cryptographers for decryption."
Grandfather paled—his facial skin became the same color as his hair, grayed with years.
"If so, why do you need us?" asked Corran.
Something didn't add up, but he couldn't figure out what.
Probably that the girl confidently wielded the Force and a lightsaber.
While claiming to be a New Republic agent, although the latter boasted of the only Jedi...
"You don't hear me well," stated the redhead. "First, I need the encryption keys. Breaking genetic encoding is surely a long and complicated matter; let the Diktat handle it. And the dirt on Corellian officials would be very useful to us. Your sector has played too much at independence. We don't like it. Especially coupled with your officials' secret game helping Thrawn."
"What are you talking about?" asked Corran.
"About stealing ships," stated Rostek. "You're poorly prepared if you think that's how it really is."
"Don't flatter your ego, Director," advised the redhead. "Apparently, you're completely susceptible to senile dementia if you think normal sentients will believe that the theft of three to five hundred Corellian corvettes and frigates, aka gunships, can be committed by just one gang of hijackers without support from above? And by the same scheme, at different ends of the shipyard, almost at the same time. Don't try to brainwash me, Director. Whether you know it or not, Corellia is secretly transferring light ships to Thrawn, staging it as "hijackings." And so it happened that vengeful Corellians somehow didn't undertake to investigate the incident. Yes-yes-yes, we readily believe that hundreds of thousands of young men and women, specialists, pilots, military just decided to leave Corellia and move to the Dominion."
"They relocate in whole families," stated Rostek. "Because they think it's better there."
"Oh, stop hanging noodles on my ears; they ruin my hairstyle," grimaced the girl. "In what century did people start believing the tales of rulers and those in power about how everything is good in their state. Half a year ago, Thrawn had nothing. And now—a dozen systems, a dozen and a half sectors and—suddenly—order, legality, and developing economy. No rebellions, uprisings, dissidents... If you believe the Dominion is the last abode of law, order, and prosperity, then you're clearly stupider than your grandson, who found nothing smarter than to fly to you while being wanted by counterintelligence for treason."
"My grandson is a smart and insightful person," stated Rostek with nostalgia in his voice. "He perfectly understood that I was only recounting facts from the point of view of propaganda and the opinion of settlers."
"For those not from the Horn family, one always has to explain basic theses," confirmed Corran.
Honestly, he hadn't even thought that his grandfather, seasoned by years in CorSec, could take Thrawn's and his minions' propaganda for something truthful.
There wasn't even much to ponder—Thrawn knew how to beautifully describe even the most wretched moments like no one else.
"Anyway, let's return to the main motive of my appearance here," smiled the redhead. "The decryption codes."
"You won't get them," stated Horn the Elder. "Under no circumstances. Even if Palpatine himself resurrects and tortures me."
"Well, you won't live to that moment," stated the redhead, looking at Corran. "So I understand you didn't tell grandfather that Palpatine is alive?"
"Retell another of Thrawn's propaganda?" snorted Corran. "I don't want to waste his time."
"Only a fool would believe such a thing," supported his grandson Rostek.
"Oh, at least somewhere my opinion of you hasn't fallen below the floor tiles," the redhead said with feigned relief, smiling at both Horns. "Break the grandfather's right arm."
Corran rushed to help, but a strong blow to the jaw slowed his resistance.
The Corellian didn't give up, so one of the executioners switched attention to him.
Several blows to the chest knocked the wind out of him, after which he hung helplessly on the chair.
With a disgusting crunch, Rostek's right arm broke, on which the second executor delivered a quick and clearly strong blow with a coat rack.
A wave of restrained pain ran across Rostek's face.
"I can do this all night," promised the redhead. "Or..."
Corran suddenly flew into the air, caught by the Force.
An invisible grip squeezed his throat, and he began kicking his feet against the chair legs, only now realizing he couldn't feel his feet either.
A carbon dioxide fire started in his lungs.
His face began burning from the inside, as did his lungs, which already lacked oxygen after the blows, and now there was no possibility to take the simplest breath.
"How much interesting the Force holds, eh, Corran Horn?" asked the redhead. "By the way—Darth Vader's favorite technique. If I were a Jedi, I'd have been scolded for this long ago. Good"
"Who the hell are you?" hissed Rostek.
"A special agent of my government," explained the girl, explaining nothing. "Your grandson doesn't have much time before he starts suffocating."
"Leave him alone!" said Rostek.
"Codes."
"First, let him breathe!"
"Codes!"
"Black bones of the Emperor, woman! If he dies, you won't get anything from me?!"
"Grandpa, you're overestimating yourself," smiled the redhead. "As I said—getting the codes is my whim, not the main task. Well, I won't get much money for delivering him alive to the New Republic, so what? I'll give them a couple of your flowers and tell them what to do. Let them rack their brains. And I'll give Sal-Solo your greenhouse. They have enough money to hire good slicers and crack this nut. So it's in your interest—to tell me the code. Then I'll leave your grandson alive."
"And won't hand him over to the New Republic!" quickly said Rostek.
Corran shook his head.
Even though everything inside burned from lack of oxygen, even though he wanted to sleep, even though rage boiled inside him, he disagreed with grandfather making this unjustified step.
He was not one of those who worked small.
The archives clearly contained very important information.
In the hands of the Diktat or the New Republic, it could only harm Corellia and its inhabitants.
Better to die than like this...
"Let's make a deal," licking his lips, said Rostek. Corran, if he could, would groan in disappointment.
He knew grandfather loved him madly, but to such an extent...
"Now that's Corellian," smiled the young woman.
"You'll get the dirt archive, Jedi information, decryption codes, but leave my grandson whole and unharmed," quickly said Rostek. "You'll tell your employers you killed him but couldn't take the body off Corellia. Give Sal-Solo whatever you deem necessary, but in a day—when we leave Corellia. Deal?"
"Boring you are, grandpa," sighed the redhead. "Deal. Decryption codes."
And Rostek spoke. He spoke not very long, explaining how to decrypt his genetic encoding.
Several times the woman interrupted him, again cutting off oxygen to Corran, catching grandfather in a lie.
There was no doubt she was trained in the Force.
With its help, the woman sensed lies.
Grandfather, also realizing this, stopped equivocating.
Corran didn't even try to intervene, indifferently and doomedly watching the proceedings, realizing his helplessness and the red-haired bitch's complete victory.
He understood the main thing.
In the Empire, there were rumors that the Emperor had Force-wielding agents like Darth Vader.
Their existence was carefully hidden, but people Corran trusted gave their examples of meetings with these sentients.
Inquisitors...
And then he remembered how Wedge told that when forming Wraith Squadron, he learned that the New Republic specifically sought Force-sensitive people.
Remembered stories about a separate Alliance group led by Jedi Rahm Kota.
Remembered numerous rumors about Jedi serving the New Republic at one time or another.
About how Skywalker ran on Coruscant assignments, periodically disappearing from sight.
And now rumor attributed numerous murders to him...
Finally remembered how Skywalker himself, luring him to learn Jedi ways, told about another descendant of a Jedi line, Kyle Katarn.
Who works for Republic Intelligence and performs a responsible task that cannot be entrusted to other agents...
Corran realized how cruelly he had erred in his ideals.
The New Republic was no better than the Empire.
It picked up the reins from Palpatine's dead hands, changed the signs, decorated the facade, and that was it.
Corran felt a seed of rage growing inside him toward those who had led him by the nose for so long.
Hypocrites...
Tales of democracy—nothing more than a pretext to lure as many peoples as possible into their prison and manipulate them from behind the scenes, not as openly as Palpatine did.
"Well," the red-haired woman rose. "That was a wonderful conversation, Director Horn," she looked at one of her companions who had left a few minutes earlier. "Encoding checked?"
"Yes," he replied. "I checked it on the equipment in the greenhouse. Full archive."
"Wonderful," she smiled. "My work here is done. I honor my agreements—your grandson remains alive."
"Thank you," replied grandfather, watching as the trio headed to the dining room exit. The girl let both operatives go ahead, staying with both Horns.
"You're a soulful old man," suddenly the feigned smirk slipped from the girl's face as she looked into Rostek's eyes. "I was ordered to kill you, but I won't. Disappear, and pretend you died here."
"Thanks for the advice," said the man.
The Force stirred warningly inside Horn, momentarily pushing aside his anger.
He saw grandfather free his hands, break the chair with a kick, then dive fish-like to the floor—where Tosruk's blaster lay, which no one even noticed.
At the same time, a small piece of sharpened metal fell onto Corran's knees. A small blade that grandfather used as a cufflink!
Corran rose as best he could, dropping the blade to the floor, then collapsed, breaking the furniture.
He lay on his back, almost immediately found the blade, and began sawing the ties behind his back, trying to free his hands.
Meanwhile, battle raged above them.
Grandfather, taking position behind the table, fired at the girl, skillfully avoiding reflections of shots.
But at one moment, when Corran had only a few seconds left to freedom, a blaster bolt touched his grandfather, burning a hole in his throat.
The man collapsed to the floor like a log.
Corran, having cut the bonds, heard the woman hiss in pain.
"Ma'am, are you all right?!" asked one of her support fighters.
"And trust old men," she hissed. "Curly Sith... How fast! Definitely dealt with Jedi before! How it hurts... Right in the stomach. Let's go... Ow..."
The sound of a falling body was heard.
And Corran decided!
He jumped up with blaster in hand, seeing that the girl was half-conscious, supported by one fighter, while the other held the shattered dining room at gunpoint.
The Corellian pulled the trigger, seeing the opponent's blaster barrel turn toward him.
And heard the dry click of an empty gas cartridge.
Now it was clear why the blaster shots were so powerful—it used more gas than others.
"Hutt, no..." said the girl, but her words drowned in the roar of an assault blaster rifle.
"And there's no salvation," thought Corran, as if in slow motion seeing the approaching blaster bolts.
In such moments, he regretted not spending an indecently large amount of money on buying blaster-absorbing coating and making a vest from it...
The scorching shots tore his inner world as he tried to dodge the line of fire.
The man slid down the wall, feeling his body grow cold.
"Sith," he heard through the fog the redhead's voice. "This one was to be left alive... Shit situation. Burn everything here to Hutt. And the greenhouse too! First after taking all the flowers and seeds! Move it! Ow, how it hurts... Force-Forcey, make nothing hurt? Why can't we absorb all these energy shots, huh?"
Corran Horn fell into darkness, pondering the same question.
So even hereditary Jedi are not perfect.
And how does Skywalker manage all this...
***
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