Nine years, nine months, and thirty-second days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fourth year, nine months, and thirty-second days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and seventeenth days since the arrival).
The roar that invaded his ears brought him out of oblivion.
Corran opened his eyes, immediately coming to consciousness.
His body responded with pain in all its parts, especially in the chest.
Corran took a convulsive breath, and at that very moment regretted it.
His internal organs seemed to tear apart, but the man was firmly convinced that he was clearly not dying.
Moreover, he almost immediately realized that he was not in his grandfather's house.
The interior directly indicated that the man was in a hotel room, which he had rented on Treasure Ship Row.
And therefore — he had been brought here.
And there was no need to guess for long who exactly.
The man shuddered when he heard the roar again.
The latter came from the direction of the entrance door to the room, and his brain quickly figured out the reason for it.
He only had to look at the interactive chronometer-calendar to understand — the rental time for the room had ended.
With difficulty, overcoming the pain, he slid off the bed.
The first thing he saw was his backpack, inside which he found a lightsaber, as well as several bacta aerosols.
All this belonged to him, but he clearly remembered taking the bag to his grandfather's estate. And the sword had been taken away by that red-haired bitch…
So she not only delivered him here from his grandfather's estate, but also took his things with her.
Where did such diligence come from?
It was all simple — the only answer he could come up with to justify the mercenary's actions concerned that agreement between the redhead and Rostek about preserving his, Corran's, life.
Horn took off his T-shirt, seeing in the mirror multiple burns from blaster hits — painful, but not fatal, spent both aerosol cans to dull the unpleasant sensations and treat the wounds.
It felt better, so he practically did not wince from pain when he packed the shot-through jacket and the T-shirt he was wearing at the time of the attack into the bag.
And only after he finished with that, as well as collecting his things, checking that he had not left any traces behind, did he head to the exit from the occupied room.
As he had assumed, behind the door was a security guard-bouncer: a Devaronian about two meters tall, and a maid — a pretty Zeltron.
Having apologized for the delay, Corran headed to the administrator's desk.
To avoid attracting attention to himself, he paid for those three hours that he spent in the room beyond the previously paid amount, incidentally learning that he had been delivered to the room late at night by the same trio: two burly men and a red-haired woman.
No, the administrator did not check their faces and documents, because the establishment does not meddle in clients' affairs.
He was considered a drunkard, whom his drinking buddies returned home after a heavy drinking session and get-together — a common thing for hotels on Treasure Ship Row.
Corran, trying not to show his wariness, chatted amicably with the administrator, after which he left the establishment.
He used several air taxi-flyers to throw off possible pursuers.
And only after making sure there was no surveillance did he choose a private cab driver and indicate the address that really interested him.
Naturally, he did not go to the Horn estate by direct flight.
He chose a neighboring address in order to properly examine what was happening around the territory belonging to his grandfather.
Judging by the fact that, having climbed out on the neighboring hill, he did not see a single forensics vehicle, the conclusion was obvious.
From the traces of fire extinguishing and the burned parts of the house dragged aside, rescuers had clearly worked here. From the seal on the gates, one could conclude that the PSS or other governmental special services had also been here.
The house was completely destroyed.
The park and greenhouse — as well.
The arsonists clearly did not work conscientiously, or perhaps the PSS or the government held back the emergency services, allowing the new Horn house to burn down just like the previous one.
If Thrackan Sal-Solo really intended to obtain compromising material on his colleagues and subordinates, and possibly on the Diktat himself, then he clearly would not fail to take advantage of the situation — to become the only person who possesses not only the compromising material, but also the decryption key to it.
Grandfather surely insured himself and besides the flowers he had copies and other contents, but at the same time at the moment Corran did not know if grandfather had insured himself with automatic decryption of the compromising material and its transmission, for example, to the Republican press or somewhere else, to destroy opponents even after his death.
Something told Corran that the absence at the fire site twelve hours after he himself arrived at grandfather's estate of forensics experts and special services indicated that they had done everything they needed.
They made sure that Rostek Horn would no longer send a single flower, and his house was razed to the ground.
A significant part of the service premises, which either were not damaged or suffered minor damage, stood open and clearly looted.
Corran knew perfectly well that looters exist even in prosperous neighborhoods, but something — the Force and experience working in CorSec — told him that this had clearly not happened just like that.
He waited until night, wandering around the city and biding his time in local cafes, pretending to be a tourist.
With the onset of night, having incidentally bought the necessary equipment in different parts of Coronet, Horn returned to the estate, again catching a private taxi driver and again ordering a ride to one of the neighboring estates.
From there he made his way to the familiar fence already in complete darkness.
Even during the day he had noticed that the estate's security systems were no longer working.
Therefore, climbing over the wall with the help of a grappling hook and rope turned out to be a simple and uncomplicated matter.
Immediately after that, he headed to the place that his grandfather had spoken about during their last conversation.
He had to make considerable efforts to restrain himself and not rush to the fire site, searching for Rostek's body.
Corran understood that the remains had been taken away for identification and confirmation of the deceased's identity. Only after that could those interested in grandfather's death sleep peacefully.
But Corran was not going to leave it like that.
In a sanitation suit, pulling on boots up to his knees, he approached the compost heap in the far part of the site.
Which no one had dug into, of course.
After all, what could be in a pile of bantha manure, which Rostek Horn received from the Coronet Zoological and Botanical Gardens in exchange, giving them his newest flowers in return.
Naturally, all this was used exclusively for favorable flower cultivation…
"In the end, it's fertilizer. And any plant must have fertile soil for roots to sprout. Don't be lazy, you'll like the result."
Grandfather stored information in plants.
Plants have roots that took everything necessary from the manure.
The guess was wild, but…
What if grandfather did not destroy the originals of his archives, but hid them where no one would definitely dig?
And if such an enthusiast were found, he certainly would not reach the ground.
As long as Corran could remember, this pile was always in the same place. For long years, decades.
Old manure was used on flowers, but before the pile could disappear, grandfather was brought a new one.
And, to be honest, the younger Horn could not recall a single day of his childhood when green lawn plantings poked through in the place of this foul-smelling peak.
It took a lot of time, effort, and sweat to shovel the huge, almost three-meter pile of bantha manure from where it was located further aside.
He worked tirelessly with a shovel with a telescopic handle, fully devoting himself to the process, mentally running through what had happened the previous night over and over in his memories.
And even though he was practically incapable of telekinesis — as it turned out, this was a feature of his family — this did not frighten the man.
His grandfather, Nejaa Halcyon, became a Jedi Master without the ability to move objects.
Shortly before his death, grandfather asked if he remembered the school course.
Corran could not boast of details, but the thought swirled in his head that nature strives to create viable offspring.
The Force strives for harmony — that's what he heard from Skywalker.
And since he is incapable of telekinesis, there is clearly some serious secret that helped his grandfather fight crime on Corellia.
It was unlikely to be just Mind Trick, with which Corran managed to avoid pursuit, escaping from the Lusankya on Coruscant.
There must be something else.
And if he is right, the answers are somewhere under this pile.
Ignoring the sweat soaking his jumpsuit, the burning drops flowing from his forehead into the corners of his eyes, making him wince, he took a break from his work, seeing in the precisely directed beam of the red lantern the base of the entire manure pile.
And it was not a lawn.
Not even bare ground.
A fairly large piece of plasticized fabric, on the reverse side of which metal gleamed in the lantern's beam.
It was not hard to guess what this device was.
A diffuser.
A material, or device, that redirects radiation or energy from an operating scanner, reflecting the signal or scattering it.
This method allows hiding what is behind or under the diffuser.
Smugglers often used such things at the peak of "fashion" for these devices. Until a device was invented to detect the diffusers themselves.
And the devices went to the scrap heap of history — at least in the Core Worlds and Colonies.
Because if the inspector or inspection team found a diffuser, they naturally did not calm down until they discovered what this thing was hiding.
Grandfather would not have slipped up like that…
Corran laughed quietly.
No, Rostek Horn was not such a simpleton as it might seem.
He did not use the compost heap for nothing.
It was clear that no one would dig in it — they would scan it with equipment.
And they would not find the diffuser because manure has the property of decomposing. And the process is accompanied by heat release…
Which prevents the detection of the diffuser!
After all, the diffuser scatters energy into the space nearest to it.
Including thermal!
And the compost heap retains heat inside.
In other words, grandfather simply made it impossible for scanners to work because they could not penetrate the pile with radiation, since the high temperature confused the equipment.
And even in CorSec they would not dig in bantha shit, let alone the PSS.
To his great surprise, under the diffuser he found earth.
After thinking, he stuck the shovel into it, feeling that the earth was incredibly loose.
This does not happen with soil that has not been touched for a long time.
Internal jubilation gave Corran strength.
That's why he felt the compost had not compacted!
Grandfather had looked here recently.
Possibly due to Thrawn's activity and the abduction of ships, he hid additional information, those very originals that Corran needed.
Inspired, he did not notice how he dug a medium-sized pit, the bottom of which the shovel hit with a clang.
It took several minutes to clear the bottom of the pit and stumble upon a metal hatch.
"This is getting more and more interesting," Corran said thoughtfully, straining his strength to open the heavy plug for entry.
To his surprise, it easily gave way on the hinges, glistening with good recent lubrication.
Once inside, he confirmed his fleeting assumption: grandfather had hidden an old bomb shelter.
A rusted ladder, mounted on the inside of the duracrete well cylinder, descending into darkness.
Reaching the floor, Corran illuminated the square-shaped room with the lantern.
To his surprise, he did not find inside a secret command center, shelves with boxes and media, a secret lair, or whatever else his imagination had come up with.
No, on the floor, in the far corner, there was a fairly large box, so old that even by appearance it could be called an old lady from the times of the Rise of the Empire.
The absence of dust on it indicated that someone had also touched this coffer.
You did not need to be a Jedi Master to understand who exactly.
Opening the box, Corran was already prepared for the smell of something old, decayed, or crumbled to dust over these years in darkness and dryness.
But instead, he discovered that inside were things tightly packed in transparent polymer bags.
Clothing, excellently preserved, washed and ironed.
Corran did not open it, noting that even the bags showed no trace, not even a hint of dust.
Probably grandfather had rearranged something here.
Whether he did so and took care of the things of his friend, whose wife he married, and whose son he adopted, or whether the Jedi did it, fighting alongside whom against enemies, Nejaa also died, Corran did not know.
And probably would never know again.
When he took out the clothes, he realized that below there was another compartment.
Carefully removing the partition, he smiled as he looked at the antique items that opened to his gaze.
A first aid kit, with marks of a Corellian company that produced such devices during the Clone Wars.
Personal hygiene items, a travel set of cutlery.
In the recesses, he also found a stack of coins, quite old in appearance, but not having lost their value.
Batteries for various devices that Corran would hardly ever even see with his own eyes.
A very old military-style comlink, with an almost erased symbol of the Grand Army of the Republic.
However, these items were not the only ones.
Corran saw that in the bottom there was a compartment containing static holograms, on which he could make out the same man in various companies. From the familiar lightsaber hilt on his belt, Corran guessed that he was seeing an image of his real grandfather for the first time.
Rostek had slightly embellished the truth, saying that Corran and his ancestor were similar. Both had typically Corellian appearance, but the eyes and chin — identical.
The static holophotos captured both Nejaa himself and his friends. Quite often the same comrade appeared — an unknown Caamasi. Judging by the appearance and weapon — also a Jedi.
Corran almost teared up when he saw a photo of a young Jan Dodonna, then still dressed in Republican uniform.
When Corran ended up on the Lusankya, Jan, the senior over all prisoners, asked if he could have served with Horn's grandfather.
Then the Corellian did not understand that Jan was talking about his real grandfather, Nejaa, and attributed Dodonna's words to Rostek.
Now everything fell into place.
Perhaps Corran convinced himself that they were not similar. It was unlikely that from eyes and chin alone someone could remember a person with whom they fought side by side thirty years ago.
There were many shots.
Some related to the Clone Wars period, the second remained a purely family chronicle.
One of the last shots captured Nejaa, Corran's grandmother, pressing their faces to each other.
Such a logical, but sudden moment of truth almost made Corran tear up.
He had never seen his grandmother so close, looking with such loving eyes at anyone except Rostek Horn and her son.
And in the last photo, Corran saw the three of them.
Rostek, his wife — Corran's grandmother, and their child. For one — adopted, for the other — biological.
For Corran, they were all relatives, and little Hal Horn — his father.
A lump in his throat came on its own.
Memories flooded in.
During his work in CorSec, he had more than once heard from those interrogated that the Empire had broken their lives.
Corran treated their words without due attention, sometimes even laughed, for which they cursed him, wishing that one day he would experience on his own skin everything that they themselves had gone through.
Corran laughed, believing that the Empire could not harm those who faithfully served it.
How wrong he was.
Even before Darth Vader began exterminating Jedi left and right, his grandmother and grandfather Rostek were forced to hide their past to save themselves and little Hal Horn, Corran's father.
Because of the Empire, the Horn family lived their whole life in monstrous fear of being exposed.
If anyone found out that Hal Horn was the son of a Jedi, Rostek Horn would face execution. His wife would face execution.
What they would do to Corran's own father, the Corellian did not even suspect, but assumed that it would be much worse than what actually happened to them all.
Rostek Horn — a man of unprecedented courage.
He, together with his wife, kept the secrets of the Halcyon family for decades and made sure that this Jedi line did not end.
Corran felt tears flowing down his face.
Rostek Horn had no children except Hal Horn.
Who was not his own flesh and blood.
All his life, the one Corran called grandfather loved and protected the wife and son of his friend.
And made not the slightest attempt to have common children with grandmother.
A lump formed in his throat that Corran could not just remove.
With each thought, with each understanding of what Rostek Horn had done for the Halcyons, Corran realized that his grandfather was one of those heroes for whom memorial plaques would never be placed in museums or parks.
Their feat would never be announced or sung.
They are heroes for their family — and they need nothing more.
From this, the bitterness of loss became even more unbearable, burning inside like an ulcer.
Now, having learned what a great sacrifice his grandfather, his whole family, had made, he mourned that he could not meet and talk with him, tell him how dear he was to him, hug him and simply talk about the weather.
Enemies pursuing their goals took away his hero grandfather.
Corran felt the tears on his face drying.
He collected and put the holophotos in his pocket.
For a moment, it seemed as if Nejaa Halcyon was looking at his angry grandson disapprovingly.
But that could not be.
Static photos do not change the image.
Corran was about to collect things into the box, but remembered that he had not found a single information storage that he assumed to discover in this secret bunker.
It took some more (quite a long time) before Corran found what he was looking for.
Once again marveling at the intelligence and foresight of his grandfather.
Peeling off the labels from those very unidentified power cells, Corran teared up again, seeing that in the opened plastic boxes were hybrid seeds.
Many seeds.
Hundreds.
Unable to hold back his triumphant laughter, preceding a punitive campaign against those who deprived him and his family of a normal life, without fear and losses, Corran Horn for the first time noted the fact that anger and rage inside him drove away the darkness, flooding the dark bomb shelter with light.
Unbeknownst to himself, the man destroyed yet another common trait connecting him with his grandfather.
Nejaa Halcyon, even on the brink of death, was not the owner of amber irises.
On this day, almost nine full years after the Battle of Yavin IV, Corran Horn, heir to the ancient Jedi Halcyon lineage, set foot on the path of the Dark Side of the Force.
***
Moff Victus, wiping sweat and soot from his face, looked at the tactical hologram of Lianna.
The command center had been recaptured, and only because the enemy, seeing that the mercenary guards were accumulating large forces, began evacuating from the city.
Now the commander of Lianna's defense was watching as landing shuttles rose upward, carrying away from the surface of the homeworld of one of the galaxy's largest shipbuilding companies a significant part of the equipment necessary for producing the TIE series technology.
Fighters, interceptors, bombers, Avengers, Defenders, a number of small-series machines…
Now Lianna is unable to produce this.
Because the equipment stolen by the enemy costs trillions of credits, and for the most part — created directly on special order from the Lianna government.
He was reported many things…
That enemy regiments were moving to the southern hemisphere to subjugate the remaining factories — and the mercenaries were unable to stop them.
What a shame — to have ten mercenary regiments, but they are unable to withstand several enemy десант battalions, hung from head to toe with heavy weapons and using Imperial military equipment.
The very one they refused to transfer to Thrawn.
That the fleet was defeated and out of more than a hundred mighty and first-class starships, no more than a few remained, severely battered Vindicator-class heavy cruisers.
That the orbital defense stations fell without destroying a single enemy star cruiser.
Yes, more than two dozen ships received serious damage and are unlikely to leave the planet's orbit soon — the Republicans are bustling, trying to get them in order. Look how transport ships shuttle between star cruisers and the Lusankya — surely carrying spare parts to repair the damaged starships.
Defeat and betrayal.
Pirates, mercenaries, and Moff Grann did not come to their aid.
Joshua had no doubt that this was Grann's plan: the Lianna system is part of the Allied Tion sector. Formally, of course.
Grann has a large number of mines, sources of practically all metals necessary for production, but no workers and specialists of such high qualification as on Lianna.
Now it costs him nothing to make his fleet arrive in the system after the Republicans and capture what remains of the impregnable Lianna.
Unless the Republicans plan to occupy the planet and are waiting for reinforcements — not for nothing are their forces now controlling the orbital defense stations.
And even the vaunted Thrawn, promising support, did not arrive until the complete defeat of Lianna…
"Sir!" came the cry of the operational duty officer. "New starships have appeared in orbit in sector seven."
"Ah, the scavengers have arrived to take the last," Moff Victus grimaced, indifferently looking at the designated part of space.
And a triumphant smile appeared on his face, rivaling deferred retribution and bloody reprisal.
Next to the hologram of Lianna and its orbit appeared a meter-tall white-blue figure of a man in a tunic resembling Imperial.
But with Dominion chevrons sewn on the shoulders.
"Rear Admiral Erik Shohashi, Dominion regular fleet," introduced himself the man who brought with him a fast dreadnought, half a dozen Star Destroyers, a dozen Acclamator-class assault cruisers, and an Interdictor-class Star Destroyer. "Moff Victus, do you still need Dominion assistance?"
"Yes, Rear Admiral," Joshua gnashed his teeth, seeing that the Lusankya, as well as the last combat-capable ships of the Republican fleet, had jumped into hyperspace. The enemy left behind only ground units, occupied orbital stations and assembly shops, as well as two dozen battered ships that had already begun exchanging fire with the Red Star squadron. "Your help is very timely. But you still missed the main enemy."
"If you don't like something, we can leave," Shohashi replied calmly, looking fearlessly into the eyes of the man responsible for Lianna.
In the past, this insolent upstart would never have dared such a thing!
A Moff in the Empire meant law and power, army and bureaucratic apparatus in one person.
And some squadron commander did not even have the thought of being rude in response…
But the times of the Empire are gone.
It rotted just like everything in this galaxy.
Even mercenaries and pirates.
"Crush them, Rear Admiral," sighed Moff Victus, acknowledging his complete powerlessness in the situation. "We would need your ground units in one of the hemispheres — the enemy is breaking through to our ground vehicle factories and test stands…"
"Dominion stormtroopers are ready for landing," stated Shohashi. "We will begin as soon as you agree to our terms."
"Terms?" Joshua was taken aback. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Sir, you are speaking on an open channel," his operational duty officer warned him. "Your conversation is heard by the entire population in the bomb shelters…"
"What a cunning bastard!" Joshua mentally cursed, realizing he had been cornered.
"What do you want?" he asked quickly.
"Grand Admiral Thrawn once offered Lady Santhe protection and asked her to sell one of the orbital assembly shops for TIE series flight technology," stated Shohashi.
"You will get the shop," agreed Victus, realizing that Shohashi deliberately did not order the activation of the gravity shadow generator on his Interdictor to exert psychological pressure on him.
After all, every now and then enemy ships were leaving the system even now.
One or two every minute, but leaving!
Now only fifteen remained!
"And also Grand Admiral Thrawn during his visit to Lianna warned you that the New Republic would attack you," Shohashi said as if nothing had happened. "He said that when you call him again, you will have to give everything he asks."
"This is blackmail!"
"This is — a fair price for how arrogantly and disdainfully the Lianna leadership treated the needs of the Empire," Shohashi said sharply. "You, Lady Santhe, and other officials allowed yourselves to close doors before us when we asked for technology supplies. You inflated prices for your products and profited in every way from the Empire's suffering! The time for inevitable retribution has come. No Dominion military will allow themselves to be walked over and will not become your obedient gizka, running at the first whistle. You insulted Grand Admiral Thrawn, you ignored his warning of the impending attack… And where has this led you?! Back to Thrawn."
Twelve ships…
"Hutt take it, Shohashi, what do you want from me?!"
"I will take with me everything currently occupied by Republican ships and ground units," a simple phrase that sounded like a sentence. "Otherwise, if technology is more important to you than people's lives, stay with your problems yourselves."
Moff Victus staggered, clutching his heart.
He had been given operational reports…
He knew that under enemy control were all thirty orbital defense stations and orbital assembly shops, the remains of shipyards, parking lots with ships full of resources and ore that the Republicans had not yet captured.
He understood that the Republicans controlled all planetary shield projectors.
He had no doubt that their merciless Wookiees still controlled the AA systems: ion cannons and planetary turbolasers.
If he agrees, then after the inevitable victory, Rear Admiral Shohashi will leave them with nothing!
Lianna will turn into a planet with rich industry, huge reserves of precious metals (also under Republican control!) and some of the best specialists in the galaxy, will become a desirable target for any reasonably strong pirate fleet…
He felt stuffy, and he tore at the collar of his tunic.
That's why Shohashi is delaying.
He is simplifying his work — the less he has to fight, the fewer losses he will suffer.
And he will take everything by force…
Or the Liannans who are now enraged by the revealed truth will give it all to him.
The end of Lianna is the same — the planet will be looted, robbed, the population — magnificent specialists — will flee from here, scattering throughout the galaxy…
They simply have no way to survive this crisis.
This is the end of everything.
Moff Victus collapsed into the arms of the running operational duty officer, convulsively gasping for air like a fish on the shore.
"So what will your answer be?" asked Shohashi.
Joshua felt a prick and for a moment his strength returned to him.
"Lianna will be reborn," he promised, feeling the pain in his heart overwhelming him.
"Certainly, Moff," assured him the Rear Admiral. "The Dominion will see to that. But reasonable beings more capable of understanding the current reality will stand at the head of the corporations."
"The enemy has only seven ships left!" shouted the adjutant. "Hutt damn you, where are the medics?!"
"I… agree," whispered Joshua, feeling his strength leaving him. "You will get… what you want… I want to watch… how their… ships… burn…"
"With pleasure, Moff Victus," stated Shohashi.
His hologram disappeared, and in its place appeared a volumetric projection of the unfolding battle.
The Moff was seated in the command chair, which he had occupied for many years by right.
He practically did not feel his body, and consciousness was fading.
But he enjoyed the picture of how the fast dreadnought Crimson Dawn tore all seven enemy star cruisers to pieces, and the assault cruisers landed troops on orbital stations and broke through the enemy's clumsy barrage fire, descending right next to Republican positions and taking them prisoner.
Taught by bitter experience, the Republican army did not even try to fight, instantly laying down arms as soon as Dominion stormtroopers appeared on the planet's surface.
"How good it is," Moff Victus said weakly, smiling.
The final act put everything in its place.
"No, how beautiful it all is, huh?" he uttered, only on the threshold of the third heart attack seeing the true picture of what happened. "This guy is good…"
These were the last words.
The mighty body could not withstand the strains of the truths revealed to him.
By the time the medics arrived, the heart of the arrogant Moff, who only at the end understood the rules of the game with Grand Admiral Thrawn, was torn to pieces.
***
After the hologram ended, I could not resist commenting.
"Lady Jade," I said, fully controlling my voice. "What do you think your assignment was?"
The girl, on whose hologram the painful look after treatment in the bacta tank was still visible, like a naughty schoolgirl, lowered her gaze, averting it from the line of my eyes:
"To seize information concerning Corran Horn's Jedi heritage," she said.
"That was the key point of the mission," I reminded. "But, in addition, there was a stipulation that during the meeting a trap prepared for me would be discussed. It was assumed that you would study it and thereby contribute to another defeat of the enemy."
"Yes, sir," agreed Jade.
"Instead, you attacked them during the conversation," I stated. "Killed Rostek Horn. Arranged a shootout in the estate, after which you completed your mission with arson. I confess, I am impressed by your understanding of the term 'secret mission.' With the same success, I could have sent a squadron of Star Destroyers there — they could have burned the Horn estate less spectacularly, but no less effectively cope with the task."
"The mission objectives have been achieved," the girl said firmly, demonstrating that she by no means doubts her rightness. What a number it would be if I left that without reaction. "And even overfulfilled. I obtained data on the Horns' Jedi heritage. Obtained the key to decrypting Rostek Horn's genetic encoding. Captured the archive of compromising material on Corellian officials. And also — fulfilled your wish, playing the role of a secret agent of the New Republic sent for Corran Horn's head. Rostek Horn died at the hand of a Republic agent, which will further incite Horn to despise his former command. If everything goes well, he will start revenge and first of all this will lead to instability in Corellia itself. Which will take it out of the galactic political arena for some time. Or — turn it into a place of confrontation between the New Republic and the Diktat."
The logic is correct, and the role prepared for Horn assumed exactly that, coupled with the confrontation of Republican Jedi with their Corellian brethren in reason.
The problem is that the fertile ground for this and the appropriate time have not yet come.
There is nothing better than forcing the New Republic to be distracted by multiple conflicts at its borders.
Coupled with what is prepared for them, Coruscant will turn its Defense Forces into fire brigades that will rush from sector to sector to prevent the state from falling apart.
And then it will be possible to do what is planned, without fearing that the enemy will somehow gather large forces to counter the Dominion.
Unceasing crises, losses, and lack of progress — that very necessary thing that is guaranteed to destroy any state permanently in crisis.
On one side — the Empire, on the other — Corellia, on the third — internal squabbles, on the fourth — the Dominion, picking up sectors tired of hopelessness.
Hybrid war — what the military of my homeland experienced like no one else.
Conclusions must follow from defeats.
Mandatory.
Those who do not make them due to their shortsightedness, arrogance, or natural unteachability — are doomed if not to defeat, then to substantial and sensitive losses.
"Perhaps I am not too versed in the affairs of secret agents, but is performer excess part of 'my wishes'?" I asked.
"I exceeded my authority, I do not deny," the girl pursed her lips. "However, you told me that you intend to make Corran Horn an enemy of the New Republic. I played the role of a hunter for his head. I fed him a lot of information about what the New Republic was doing — and he can easily check all this, find confirmations and be even more disappointed in his government. In addition, his grandfather told him about the underground, the surviving Corellian Jedi and the tyranny of the Diktat, — here's such a pun. — I used this information to lay a thread of connection between the New Republic and the ruler of the Corellian sector — Thrackan Sal-Solo, saying that I work with his knowledge and obtain the compromising archive including for him. I also told a story that Corellian corvettes are not stolen, but deliberately transferred by Corellians to us as a sign of support. I perverted the postulates about the reasons for young Corellians moving to the Dominion. This will further make Horn believe that the Republic, not having victories on the front, decided to obtain them by such a vile deal. And the murder of his grandfather — the only living person who was important to him, will shake Horn's already unstable psyche, forcing him to think irrationally. Thus, my performance not only eliminated the stabilizing factor of Corellia's external and internal policy, but also cast a shadow on the Diktat's government, the New Republic, ensured the receipt of necessary data. Yes, Horn ended up wounded, but not killed. The guardsman made only a few truly lethal shots, after which he reduced power. The Corellian only lost consciousness from several painful burn wounds, but nothing more. We evacuated him to the hotel he rented so that he would not fall into the hands of law enforcement."
Well, I admit.
If this was improvisation, it was magnificent.
If she thought up something like this during the flight to Corellia, then hats off, gentlemen.
The plan is magnificent.
Jade in the best traditions of propagandists of false values, perverted the facts, adding even more doubts to them, generously seasoning the truth with lies.
Indeed, who would believe that simultaneously and in the same handwriting on the shipyards of the Corellian Engineering Corporation, Corellian ships were precisely stolen.
No, this looks more like a deliberate transfer of military property from one regime to another.
After all, to this day no one has learned that five hundred clones of Niles Ferrier nicknamed "Sly" are working in the galaxy, who are engaged in stealing Corellian ships.
Unfortunately, the only current working scheme for these clones consists in declaring a contamination threat in the area of the needed ship and subsequent theft during the evacuation of repair personnel. By the time the dispatchers figure out what's happening, the "Sly" clones will already be far away with new ships.
Since the scheme is quite typical and there will clearly be no second chance to fool the Corellian dispatchers, the main theft was carried out in a large batch.
At the same time.
Which gave rise in the enemy's heads to the thought of the non-randomness of what happened; Mara Jade simply took advantage of the situation to turn it to our advantage.
To indicate that she works on Corellia with the knowledge of Thrackan Sal-Solo — another very subtle, and at the same time extremely interesting way of pouring thin streams of oil on the fire.
Based on the guardsmen's report and Mara Jade's story, it turned out that the red-haired vixen voiced Sal-Solo's name as the person who coordinated her work as a New Republic agent on Corellia.
Thrackan Sal-Solo was a cousin of Han Solo and frankly hated the latter.
Based on what we know about Corellia, Thrackan Sal-Solo, after an unsuccessful attempt to make a career in the Imperial fleet (due to Han Solo's involvement in Alliance affairs), turned to the path of politics.
Two years before the Battle of Yavin, Thrackan became the Diktat's deputy in the Corellian sector.
And… He remained so to this day.
But this did not hinder his ambitions at all. On the contrary, sometimes in routine matters he overshadowed the Diktat, who is no longer young, has survived more than one political crisis, and has many ill-wishers.
But he is strong, knows his enemies, relies on the power of the military and radicals — and this is the main mass of Corellia's combat-capable forces.
Therefore, Mara was absolutely right to name Sal-Solo.
He clearly has "something to hide," and therefore a high-ranking official involved in machinations, an ambitious underling of the Diktat dreaming of becoming the ruler himself, clearly fits into the logic of the story.
The Diktat as such a figure would raise many questions, but Han Solo's cousin…
This cruel little human can easily legalize the work even of the hated New Republic on Corellia. For something weighty.
For example — compromising material on all significant people of Corellia. Having such information in hand, with its help he can easily take the Diktat's place, ensuring loyalty from a significant circle of officials and military.
I have no doubt that if this legend were true, Sal-Solo would do just that: use the compromising material to obtain help from a "stronger" ally in current events in the form of the New Republic, then direct their capitals to strengthen his position as dictator and calmly separate Corellia from the rest of the galaxy, restoring the long-forgotten sovereignty of this proud state.
A more than explainable position that has a right to exist in the existing concepts.
So in this part, Mara also worked "well."
The story about a Republican agent-liquidator who received an assignment to capture Corran Horn…
On one hand, it seems like nonsense to those unfamiliar with the dark dealings of the New Republic.
For example, according to the records of the now deceased General Cracken, kindly restored by Admiral Drayson and stolen during the attack on Coruscant, it follows that the Republican Intelligence has an impressive number of sabotage-reconnaissance groups, mercenary agents, like Kyle Katarn.
The intelligence of the "bastion of democracy" engages in such dirty work that it's hard to imagine how they remain such righteous people at least in words.
However, this is not surprising, given the fact that at least almost the entire bureaucratic apparatus of the Empire transferred to their service.
And among the military and law enforcement, security forces and adjacent authorities, there is a fairly impressive percentage of Imperial military personnel and other specialists.
So, if Horn digs, and he will definitely dig, then "news" awaits him, which after this conversation the Dominion Intelligence will plant in the right places.
The idea with the story that she tracked Horn thanks to data from artificial satellites of Sarapin is also quite viable. There really are satellites there.
Meteorological, for communication, for telecommunications, and so on.
Equipping several of them with spy equipment costs absolutely nothing except time. Horn will not dare to check such a thing — on Sarapin now you can't push through the Central Worlds fleet units that provide protection for the planet during the period while defensive structures are being restored.
So this part of the "legend" is also viable.
Of course, sound logic also indicates that this agentess could be sent by me. Because obtaining such data — Jedi archives and Corellian compromising materials is also in my interests. Yes, Jade indicated that she was initially interested only in the deserter, then she became interested in the Jedi archive (which is logical for one who uses the Force), and the Corellian compromising materials — that's already a wonderful addition, for which they will pay extra.
A quite correct and competent position for a third-party mercenary agent, or special agent.
Of any intelligence.
This moment is a slip — and if you think precisely in my direction, you can turn the situation exactly as it is in reality.
Well, nothing is irreparable.
As long as there is desire, and there is.
And the corresponding resources are also available.
It is necessary to simply give this story more plausibility and that's it.
The version put forward by Jade, allegedly from the New Republic, that Horn is a traitor and has defected — does not withstand major criticism.
If you know the whole backstory.
And taking into account all the arguments, desertion, cutting off communication channels with the New Republic… Yes, this could work.
In a period of crisis, and having learned that Horn survived — the only one from Rogue Squadron, but did nothing to inform the command — could lead to such conclusions in the command.
Especially in connection with how often he arbitrarily left the location, disappeared for a long time, did not undertake legal methods to search for his wife and father-in-law, disappeared after the failed trap on Isard… Yes, there is a rational grain in Jade's words.
The problem is that the New Republic lives on emotions, irrational.
Well, in this part too, we will have to "work on it."
What Jade emphasized that "everything is good in the Dominion" — this is just propaganda, adds plausibility to her version that she does not work for me. An Imperial agent is unlikely to so sharply and accurately criticize the Empire.
And for Republicans, the Dominion is the same Empire.
Jade correctly noted — there are enough problems inside the metropolis and on the periphery. We accept settlers, but are not fully ready to provide them with everything necessary.
That is why a significant part of migrants is in filtration camps and is released from there as new housing complexes with the necessary infrastructure are built for them, and accompanying work is carried out.
The current counterintelligence staff is insufficient to fully check all entering the Dominion — so far we manage to catch obvious spies and establish surveillance over suspects.
The economy is developing, but the civilian sector is far behind the military, on which the emphasis is placed first.
We export a significant amount of goods to ensure market presence, but the basis of our currency's stability and the reduction against its background of significant dissatisfaction among those categories of population that traditionally "against" and "it was better before," are held solely by military victories and the prosperous pro-Imperial thought among citizens: "Oh, the Republicans are washing in blood!".
Such revanchism, coupled with the use of convict labor and a large amount of construction equipment purchased for us by Bothans, allows building the necessary facilities in huge quantities.
But this is not enough.
So far, we manage to control the discontent of the peoples joined not entirely by their will, but no one pretends that everything is rosy. At least at meetings.
Propaganda, understandably — everything is told in the best way for the right "picture."
But it is precisely to this "picture" that we strive.
As soon as all the necessary Academies and full-fledged local governments start working, the internal economy will close on self-sufficiency of the population, it will become easier… And more difficult at the same time.
That is why I need a fairly large fleet — including small fast ships that can promptly arrive in systems with centers of discontent.
The coming year will clearly be critical.
And let the majority of the Dominion's population now be quite satisfied with life, receiving what they did not have in the past — order in the Outer Rim, regular patrols, employment in the development of the Dominion, absence of large pirate gangs (but not their complete extermination, unfortunately) and decent payment for their own labor.
In general, of course, the assignment can be considered conditionally successful.
But for it to be so in reality, I will have to work, including using contacts that became available to us after the destruction of the real Isard.
And this is a certain risk.
But otherwise, everything done will be just a fizzle that satisfies absolutely no one.
And first of all — me myself.
"Immediately deliver all the information you obtained and plant samples to the base," I ordered. "Along with the equipment, of course."
"It will be done, sir," said Mara.
"And finally, Hand," I said.
The girl looked into my eyes upon returning, and it did not escape my gaze that she was biting her lower lip.
But she does it not at all from feminine tricks — from the expression on her face, it is clear that she understands that there are slips on her part.
Working for the Emperor, she could not care about consequences at all — the Empire cleaned everything up.
And, to be honest, based on what I knew about her, Palpatine up to the failure on Tatooine did not entrust her with anything particularly serious.
Mitt'rau'nuruodo was right, saying that she was nothing more than a courier for Palpatine.
Her missions were built on the confrontation of a gifted against various kinds of simple sentients.
And behind her was the full might of the Empire if necessary.
The same uncovering of a conspiracy in one of the sectors, when she clashed with Disra, almost cost the lives of the innocent, as well as the residents of the capital city.
Because the girl was almost misled about the identity of the culprit, and in the confrontation with the enemy-conspirator she managed to unleash fire from an AT-ST in the city center.
But later, becoming a Jedi, yes, she became much stronger and more effective.
At least in my opinion.
Well, her limit is now guaranteed known to me.
Yes, she perfectly understands what she is doing, but strains herself to seem better than she actually is.
That is why she contacted immediately after leaving Corellia with all the trophies — to preempt the development of unfavorable consequences for the common cause.
This is good.
She understands that she overdid it, paid for it, and confessed to the deed before the mistake became irreparable.
So she is able to think adequately.
She just needs to be directed in the right direction, nothing more.
A secret agent who is effective in one out of three assignments is such an operational means of solving problems.
It's time to take her preparation seriously.
Mara Jade needs full-fledged specialized training.
With a mentor or mentors who know the subject excellently and can direct impulsive natures.
It seems that the girl decided to "overfulfill" the task in order to earn approval and prove that she is better than Isard.
"Upon return, be ready to make a choice — either devote yourself entirely to the work, without such improvisations, after which it is still necessary to clean up after you, or actively develop. You worked well on Corellia, objectives achieved, but your improvisation requires work to sweep traces. This is an indicator that you should more closely engage in improving your skills. Is the remark clear to you?"
Jade's face hardened, but she nodded in agreement.
"That's all," I replied. "I will be waiting for you at the appointed place, Hand. End of connection."
Mara Jade silently bowed, and her hologram disappeared.
But the problems left after her — did not.
Truly the truth: "There is no worse enemy than an ally with initiative."
Though carve it in granite.
***
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