Nine years, nine months, and thirty-third standard day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-fourth year, nine months, and thirty-second standard day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and seventeenth standard day since the arrival).
"I look like a fool," Vex hissed quietly as they rounded the corridor corner and continued their path.
"Keep your mouth shut, and it'll be fine," Reynar advised, pretending to adjust the uniform cap of a Bilbringi shipyard security officer.
This security service was new, hastily formed to replace the rank-and-file Imperial Security Bureau agents destroyed (and how did it happen that all the shuttles transporting ISB agents to the shipyards exploded so suddenly when the Noghri received orders to eliminate the Ubiqtorate?!), so there was no chance that everyone knew each other.
Still, it didn't hurt to be cautious.
That's why Reynar covered his face with his right hand while adjusting his cap.
And so, the pair of guards standing on the right side of the corridor didn't see his face.
Nor did the holocamera embedded in the ceiling above the law enforcers' heads.
Passing them, the duo—an officer and a Twi'lek woman in a pilot's outfit, her hands bound in cuffs—proceeded further down the corridor.
"They're staring at me!" Vex hissed again.
"That's because when I say, 'Buy normal clothes,' it means buy simple human garments, not a low-cut blouse and skin-tight leggings," Obscuro grumbled.
"I thought you meant clothes normal for me," Vex snorted.
"Sure," Reynar spotted two more guards at the target door but, using the Force, sensed they were merely bored with their shift in the remote part of the shipyard, watching the odd pair with curiosity. "I don't recall you ever wearing something like that."
"My life doesn't revolve solely around our missions," the girl declared, pushing a cargo container on a repulsor platform. "And anyway, if I wanted, I wouldn't work with you as a partner!"
"Then want it!"
"I don't want to!"
"Halt," one of the guards (a corporal, judging by his insignia) called out with a satisfied smirk. "This is the CGT security zone. Show your identification."
"Or we'll search you," the second guard chuckled stupidly, his eyes devouring Vex.
Reynar, forcing a smile, ground his teeth as he noticed his partner batting her eyes, drawing the attention of one of the guards.
"Of course," he replied, handing over a datapad. "Here's my identification."
The distant but not deserted corridor in the outer reaches of the Bilbringi shipyards housed both scanning equipment and the control systems for the aforementioned Crystal Gravfield Trap.
The target of this operation.
The Crystal Gravfield Trap (CGT) was a rare and costly type of sensor utilizing synthetic crystalline lattices.
This highly sensitive and expensive device was used to detect and identify fluctuations in the local gravitational field of a specific point in space.
High-quality CGTs could detect and identify fluctuations from hundreds of thousands of kilometers around the device.
As it happened, this once-common instrument at major shipyards now existed in strictly limited quantities across the galaxy.
One in pristine condition was known to be at the Tangrene shipyards—at least, that was its last known location.
Another had been on Svivren until about five years ago, when it was lost during a battle between the Empire, criminals, and local rebels.
And… one remained at Bilbringi.
With these devices in the hands of the New Republic, clearing Coruscant's orbit would not be a significant issue.
Such sensors were invented during the Clone Wars, when ships equipped with cloaking devices were first demonstrated. The Empire, obsessed with superweapons, explored this technology and built dozens of CGTs across the galaxy. These devices proved useful when a new wave of cloaking field research emerged.
Which quickly fizzled out.
Once all projects were deemed failures and shut down, the thrifty shipyard owners dismantled their CGTs.
At least, that's what they say.
In reality, Rebels destroyed them, as these sensors, even without cloaking, could detect ships long before standard ship or station sensors.
Since this interfered with their raids, the CGTs were the Rebels' primary targets.
"Your documents seem in order," the corporal drawled, also casting hungry glances at Vex, who silently flirted with the second guard. "But it says the chip shipment is to be delivered by Private Smith."
"I am Private Smith," Reynar said, pointing to the name patch on the left side of his now-acquired uniform.
"What are you talking about?" the corporal smirked. "I know Smith. Same height as you, shoulders a bit broader, face like a boiled rancor…"
"…and brains the size of a pea," Reynar thought, recalling the original owner of his uniform.
Despite his size, that guy broke quickly.
A Mind Trick—and he believed his squad leader ordered him to sleep for a day.
Remarkably impressionable, these testosterone-and-anabolic-fueled types.
"I'm new," he explained, channeling the Force into the corporal's mind with a characteristic gesture. "Hired a couple of days ago. Worked in section seven. They tasked me with escorting a civilian freighter pilot for inspection along the way."
"You're the one who couldn't dodge our transport?" the first guard whistled.
"Oh, boys, it's quite a story…" Vex began, her voice nasal, accompanied by exaggerated hip sways and gestures with her cuffed hands.
Reynar barely suppressed a shudder of disgust at the display.
But now wasn't the time.
He needed to keep pressing the minds of both guards.
These two… had a bit more gray matter than Smith.
"I'm flying along, delivering my cargo, when out of nowhere this huge thing pops up…"
"A super transport," the second guard supplied.
"A kilometer-long beast just jumped out?" the corporal clarified.
"Yeah," Vex replied. "Scratched all the paint off my baby! So I docked here, thinking I'd have a word with the boss of that jerk who cut me off!"
The corporal gave "Smith" a skeptical look.
"She was doing her makeup while approaching the dock, veered off course, and scraped the bottom of her ship against the super transport's hull," Reynar explained the "official version." "I'm taking her to section fourteen for detention. Thought I'd drop off the cargo at the CGT post along the way to save a trip."
"Smart move," the second guard nodded.
"Well, we weren't informed," the corporal said. "And the CGT is a restricted area. No detainees allowed, obviously."
"I'm not planning to bring her in," Reynar said. "Watch the girl while I quickly deliver the goods to the CGT shift leader and come back."
"Deal!" the second guard beamed, nodding so eagerly it seemed his childhood dream had come true.
"Don't rush," the corporal advised with a smirk, eyeing Vex, who played the stereotypical dim-witted but beautiful Twi'lek.
"Agreed," Obscuro nodded, pushing the cart forward.
Inside the cramped room, filled with equipment and control panels, he counted three operators, one wearing officer insignia.
"Sir, the chip shipment for you," he announced, gesturing to the container on the repulsor cart.
"Oh, right on time!" the officer exclaimed. "Command, as usual, demands heightened vigilance today, but the equipment only arrives a week later. Bring them here; we'll start installing…"
Unlike the security officers, this one was a career military man from Orinda.
Emotionally so repulsive that Reynar's occasional pangs of conscience didn't trouble him this time.
Or perhaps it was the officer's file, which detailed his transfer here to keep him away from fleet command for abusing subordinates?
Didn't matter.
"You won't install those chips now," Reynar said quietly but firmly, using a Mind Trick.
The man's gaze glazed over momentarily, ignoring the hand waved before his face.
"I won't install the chips now," he repeated in an emotionless tone.
"You'll open this container alone, one hour after I leave," Reynar continued, pressing the Force into the officer's limited mind.
After the officer repeated the implanted thoughts, Reynar clarified:
"Five minutes before opening the container, order the control room cleared," he commanded.
The officer confirmed.
"Before installation, place it near the outer side, where the sensors are," Obscuro advised, maintaining his Force grip.
The Imperial complied.
From experience, Reynar knew the officer wouldn't disobey the commands implanted in his mind.
And no one would disobey his orders.
Leaving the control room, Reynar retrieved Vex from the reluctant guards, and they departed that section of the shipyards.
Soon after, they left the shipyards entirely, aboard a different shuttle requisitioned from a nearby hangar.
The ship they arrived on would serve as evidence for investigators, pointing to the desired trail.
They reached the jump point exactly one hour after Reynar handed the baradium-filled container to the officer in the control room.
"Beautiful," Vex remarked, watching through the viewport as the expanding explosion vaporized the control room and the CGT complex.
"Change," Reynar said, tossing her a pilot's jumpsuit found in the cockpit. "My eyes hurt looking at that nonsense."
"All you can do is look," the girl snorted, watching the ship enter hyperspace.
And began changing.
Right in the cockpit.
Reynar held himself together, pretending to be fascinated by the hyperspace tunnel.
Then he snapped…
After all, was he a Dark Side adept or just out for a stroll?
***
Aurra Sing turned her head, her sharp gaze tracking the airspeeder that flew overhead.
The sporty vehicle vaulted over the rocky hill at whose base the Shadow Counselor stood, disappearing beyond the ridge.
A few seconds later, even the sound of its engines faded.
The woman returned to her task—cleaning her Nightstinger sniper rifle.
"We've been waiting too long," her companion's voice came from the shadows of nearby boulders, where he skillfully hid.
And that, despite his size and greenish armor, hardly suited for blending into the creamy-brown hues of Jaminere's desert.
"We've been paid enough to wait an extra half-hour for the client," Aurra declared. "But if you want, you can leave. I can collect the final payment myself."
"Only over my dead body," the bounty hunter warned.
"That can be arranged," Sing smirked, casting a probing glance at her companion.
"Don't overestimate yourself, Aurra," the armored man advised.
"I could say the same to you, Boba," the mercenary replied. "If it weren't for me, there'd be no contract on Lianna. You could at least thank me!"
"I haven't decided whether to thank you for the big credits for a not-so-tough job or shoot you for getting me captured by the Republic when I was a kid," said one of the galaxy's most notorious and effective bounty hunters.
"Oh, baby Boba, doesn't wiping out the head of Santhe/Sienar Technologies and causing a bit of terror on their planet, paving the way for an invasion and eliminating their corporate lackey family, make up for all those past hardships?" Aurra Sing asked with a mock-friendly smile. "Especially since it was my best shot—five kilometers, with an experimental Mandalorian rifle, right on target… You can count the shooters in the galaxy capable of that on one hand."
"Call me that again, and the next thing your mouth utters will be screams of pain as I roast you with my flamethrower," Boba Fett said indifferently, ignoring the rest of her words.
But don't be fooled by his calm tone.
Among mercenaries and bounty hunters, there was an unspoken code of honor and conduct.
The hard-earned fame and respect among peers and employers could be lost with a single broken promise.
After that, clients and fellow mercenaries in your "league" would turn away. The fate of those who earned massive credits for the toughest jobs but didn't value their word was to fall from grace and join the dregs hired for a few credits for trivial tasks.
Respect and the ability to fulfill commitments, to do what you promised with your word—that's what distinguished an elite bounty hunter from petty bandits and cheap mercenaries whose names the galaxy would never know, or if known, would never remember.
Unlike Boba Fett.
He was no longer the kid she abandoned during his hunt for Jedi Master Mace Windu.
This was a seasoned killer, a mercenary with the most dangerous, deadly, and intricate missions behind him.
There wasn't a region in the galaxy where Boba hadn't left his mark over the past nearly three decades.
And the fact that he'd been presumed dead for five years only added spice to the situation.
Falling into a sarlacc's stomach and surviving—something even a Jedi couldn't do, let alone an ordinary sentient.
Boba clearly lacked Force sensitivity.
Instead, he carried the blood—albeit cloned—of Jango Fett, the greatest bounty hunter the galaxy had ever known.
The greatest, of course, until Mace Windu decapitated him on the Petranaki Arena on Geonosis in the first battle of the Clone Wars, twenty-eight standard years ago.
That killing was the reason Boba hunted the Jedi Master for so long, even as a child, though no ordinary one.
It took Aurra a lot of time and credits to track down Boba Fett, whom everyone believed dead.
She had to spill plenty of brains to reach him, but the result was worth it.
"Heard what happened on Lianna?" Sing asked.
"I don't care," Fett replied. "I'm not paid for consequences. Not this time, at least."
"We're still waiting for the client," Aurra shrugged. "Might as well indulge in some news."
"Do what you want," Boba Fett said indifferently.
The man emerged from the shadows and headed toward his ship, named Slave II.
Slave II.
Previously, Boba, and before him his father, had another ship—Slave I.
That unique Firespray-31-class patrol and attack craft was stolen by Jango Fett some time before the Clone Wars.
He, and later Boba, modified Slave I so extensively that little of the original parts remained.
For some reason, Boba stopped using his best ship and now traveled in another.
Either a clever ruse to quell rumors of his survival, or he lost Slave I.
Aurra once had the chance to pilot that starship.
A fiendishly difficult task, to be honest.
To handle a craft like Slave I, you had to be a truly top-tier pilot.
Another engine roar reminded her why she and Fett were in this remote area of the capital planet of the Allied Tion sector.
The client for the attack was late.
While waiting for the rest of the payment, Aurra had already caught up on a HoloNews broadcast, where the anchor described how a brilliantly executed New Republic operation to eliminate Grand Admiral Thrawn's allies allowed them to seize a significant portion of Santhe/Sienar Technologies' production facilities, losing only seven ships, which were boarded by the Red Star squadron's flagship, the Crimson Dawn fast dreadnought.
Which had been taken from the New Republic by Grand Admiral Thrawn a few months prior.
The report mentioned a series of terrorist attacks on the planet, sabotaging its planetary defense systems.
New Republic special forces also assassinated Lady Valles Santhe just before the attack, disorganizing the planet's defenses. The Republic fleet, led by Lusankya, completely destroyed Lianna's fleet, while ground forces, though limited, managed to occupy significant territories…
Timely intervention by the Dominion fleet forced the New Republic to retreat, taking their plunder.
"Judging by the fact that Lusankya and most of the New Republic fleet withdrew, the Coruscant government still fears direct confrontations with the Dominion, even with numerical superiority," the anchor reported. "According to our information, the Dominion fleet arrived to aid Lianna only after a request from Moff Joshua Victus, who led the planet's defense after Lady Santhe's death. Data received by our editors indicates that Grand Admiral Thrawn had warned Lady Santhe of the impending New Republic attack, but his warnings about the treachery of the Coruscant government were ignored. We also know that the Crimson Dawn squadron, under Rear Admiral Erik Shohashi, known as the "Butcher of Atoan," destroyed the New Republic's second echelon forces and troop transports in the Tanium sector. This likely explains why the ground operation was conducted with a limited contingent. By mutual agreement between Lianna and the Dominion, for their assistance in thwarting the enemy's occupation plans, Lianna transferred all military and other assets under Republic occupation to the Dominion. Whether this means Grand Admiral Thrawn will hunt for the equipment and resources stolen from Lianna remains unknown. The office of Counselor Mon Mothma, a candidate for the first head of state of the New Republic, declined to comment. Her main opponent, Counselor Borsk Fey'lya, was more forthcoming, stating that the New Republic did what it had to in the situation. The military operation against Lianna will weaken the Imperial Remnants and destabilize the Dominion and other enemies of the New Republic supported by Santhe/Sienar Technologies…"
The anchor paused, touching his earpiece, clearly listening to his editors.
"Breaking news," he continued with a smile. "We've just learned that Philipp Santhe and his son Kashan have surfaced on Lianna. They are the son and grandson of Lady Santhe. For a long time, nothing was heard of them. It was assumed they were either killed or had cut ties with the Santhe family, so many didn't even know they were alive and entitled to inherit what remains of Santhe/Sienar Technologies. Philipp Santhe has already called for the Imperial Remnants to aid Lianna in defending its borders, to which a prompt response came from the Allied Tion sector, of which Lianna is formally a part. Let me remind you that due to a terrorist attack at the Santhe family residence on Lianna before the Republic's invasion, all other family members perished. Their bodies have been identified, and there's no doubt that this, like Lady Santhe's death, is the work of Republic special forces. In the past, Lady Santhe canceled all contracts with the New Republic due to their attacks on Lianna's transport caravans. The New Republic, as usual, denied this, baselessly accusing the Imperial Remnants. Data from Lianna shows that the attacking ships were ones the New Republic previously claimed were lost in battles or captured by Imperial forces. Was this an Imperial provocation or a cunning New Republic move to achieve their goals? The answer is clear. Grand Admiral Thrawn's words about the New Republic's double standards and their use of influence and resources to gain absolute power in the galaxy, replacing the Galactic Empire, are confirmed. It's worth noting that the New Republic's ground assault was only possible due to terrorist acts and sabotage of planetary defenses. A similar incident occurred during the destruction of the planet Caamas…"
A roar in the sky made Aurra switch off the holotransmission.
She looked up, watching a standard Jaminere Lambda-class shuttle land ten meters from the hill where she and Boba Fett were positioned.
The ship settled onto the sandy surface, its landing gear sinking slightly.
"Here's our reward," Aurra said cheerfully, setting aside her assembled sniper rifle.
She stood, casually smoothing her reddish-orange hair with one hand while discreetly unholstering the blaster at her lower back.
Boba Fett, gripping his weapon more firmly, silently watched as two figures in dark, almost black cloaks with hoods descended the landing ramp.
She frowned, recalling that the client was supposed to be alone.
Instead, there were two, and no sign of a case with aurodium.
This clearly alarmed Boba Fett.
Aurra noticed the air near the nozzles of his jetpack shimmering with fuel exhaust.
"The job's done," Aurra shouted to the cloaked figures. "Santhe is dead, her family destroyed, planetary shields down. Where's the payment?"
"Philipp Santhe and his son survived," came a voice from under one hood.
"Their deaths are extra," Boba Fett stated. "We were ordered to eliminate those in the residence, and only them."
"No investigations or hunting runaway kids," Aurra Sing confirmed, keeping her eyes on the strange pair.
Her Jedi abilities told her these were no ordinary sentients.
"You'll get your money," said the figure, clearly the leader of the pair. "But first, you'll come with me."
"I don't think so," Boba Fett retorted, instantly shifting into a combat stance and firing at the cloaked speaker.
In the next instant, a double-bladed red lightsaber appeared before the bounty hunter's target, deftly parrying the first shot and three more as Fett rose three meters above the sand.
His Mandalorian jetpack roared, ready to carry him out of reach, but it sputtered as Aurra Sing's Force-enhanced aim struck true.
The pierced jetpack smoked, losing lift, and the Mandalorian, firing at the betraying mercenary, crashed onto the sand.
He sprang up, drawing a blaster pistol to replace his lost rifle, aiming to finish the wounded Aurra Sing, but his weapon flew from his hand.
Fett aimed his flamethrower at the cloaked pair, but a sudden sand tornado, conjured from nowhere, spun him around.
The bounty hunter lost his bearings, firing blindly but hitting nothing.
The vortex of sand and air, clearly created by the second cloaked figure with outstretched arms, tore equipment and weapons from the Mandalorian, scattering them across the area.
Finally, the figure who had spoken extended a left hand, yanking Fett from the storm and hurling him against the rocks.
Fett staggered to his feet, pulling another blaster, but Aurra, now in cover, turned it to scrap with a precise rifle shot.
The bounty hunter prepared to use another tool from his arsenal when the Force threw him against the rock again.
Then lifted him and slammed him back with the speed of a turbolaser bolt.
This repeated five times until Fett finally lost consciousness.
Aurra, applying a bacta patch to her shoulder, burned by Fett's accurate shot, glanced at the arriving pair.
"He shot me!" she hissed at the lightsaber-wielding figure, who had holstered his weapon and thrown back his hood, revealing a red-and-black head crowned with bony horns.
"Then you're weak if a mere Mandalorian got the better of you," Darth Maul sneered, using the Force to lift Fett's unconscious body and guide it toward the open maw of the Lambda. "You should train before taking on someone stronger than a common thug."
"Oh, I'd love to blow your horned head off, Maul," Sing rasped through gritted teeth, slinging her rifle over her back. "I hope you realize this guy needs tight security to reach the destination intact, or we'll have problems."
"There won't be any," Maul declared, gesturing to a repulsor device resembling a sarcophagus floating toward the prisoner. "It's no secret to me that this bounty hunter is feigning unconsciousness to wait for the right moment…"
At that moment, Maul drew his lightsaber and parried a dart shot from Fett's wrist gauntlet as the "suddenly revived" bounty hunter attacked.
He was half a meter from Darth Maul, with every chance to land a fatal blow on the one holding him aloft.
A perfectly timed ambush.
It seemed the impacts against the rock had knocked Fett out, but he regained consciousness as he was telekinetically moved toward the ship. He acted the moment he saw the carbonite chamber, realizing he wouldn't be kept conscious for the journey.
The tiny metal dart should have struck the Zabrak's head but vaporized upon meeting the crimson blade.
"Act, Streen," Maul shouted, deflecting more shots.
The man beside him raised his arms, and Jaminere's cloudy sky unleashed a lightning bolt that struck the galaxy's most famous bounty hunter.
Fett convulsed as if demonstrating the galaxy's most intense spasms.
Smoke from fried electronics and the stench of burned flesh rose from his gear.
With a hand gesture, Maul stripped the Mandalorian of his armor and jetpack, struggling briefly with the helmet, before the scorched and scarred (from the lightning or the sarlacc's digestive acids) dark-skinned man was placed in the "coffin."
The lid closed, and the hiss of the carbonite injector sounded.
A few seconds later, Boba Fett was a statue.
"Now he definitely won't escape," Darth Maul smirked, using the Force to send the carbonite figure into his ship. "Take his starship and head to the base. The Grand Admiral awaits our return."
Choosing to keep her thoughts about her colleague—who merely played the client while she turned the galaxy upside down to find their prize—Aurra Sing, muttering curses, headed toward Slave II, hoping it would be easier to pilot than its predecessor.
***
It seems I'm developing a habit of giving second chances to those who've proven themselves in the past.
Or perhaps Mara Jade's erratic performance is rubbing off on me.
Her case is clear—I overestimated her, thinking she wasn't as incompetent as some claimed until she began training in Jedi ways.
Some sources say this woman "could and did," while others, especially in the books up to the Thrawn Duology, depict her making such foolish and recklessly risky moves that her survival can only be attributed to the will of the Force.
Take the episode I recalled minutes ago: while training under Kyle Katarn, Mara Jade tried to pull him back from the Dark Side during a duel.
And left herself open to a lightsaber strike.
A similar, well-known incident occurred about four thousand years ago when a Jedi named Exar Kun fought his master. The master left himself defenseless, and Kun struck him down with a lightsaber, fleeing Ossus to embrace the Dark Side, leaving the galaxy to weep. The Massassi were enslaved, star clusters exploded, Ossus burned…
All because the master tested his student's loyalty. And even after the lightsaber strike, he survived. Kun, believing he'd killed him, thought there was no turning back and went all in.
The more you dig into memory, the more you suspect something's wrong with these Force-users: either they're born without brains and thus have the Force, or the longer they train in it, the less brain they have left.
A question for Mara Jade.
We'll see what she becomes after training.
For now, I had to decide the fate of a young man known as Bravo-II.
"You disobeyed a direct order, agent," I reminded him.
"Yes, sir," he replied.
"Colonel Wessiri was to be taken alive."
"Affirmative, sir."
"But you ensured that didn't happen."
"Yes, sir, I killed him."
"The reason?"
Sergius lifted his gaze from the polished metal table in the interrogation cell and met my eyes:
"This man tortured Molo Himron. He was behind the destruction of his group. He was an ally of Isard and used his position to brutally eliminate her opponents without cause. Because of their actions, Lieutenant Colonel Himron chose to end his life, fearing he'd become a "sleeper agent" during captivity," the agent answered quickly, believing his response was justified. "I'm not excusing myself, sir. I disobeyed orders, unable to control my emotions. But I worked with Molo and his group for years, overseeing their operations. They were more than subordinates to me, and I fully realize that's wrong. The Ubiqtorate taught us to treat operatives as expendable, their survival valued only by the mission's importance. I can't do that, I don't know how, and I won't. I deliberately killed Colonel Wessiri to avenge Himron and his people. His brutal death was an emotional release for me. I'm ready to face any punishment."
In truth, this wasn't an answer.
It was a polished, reasoned report.
It could be quoted and entered into the final ruling of a closed tribunal.
Which it was.
Counterintelligence worked quickly, precisely, without delay.
No need to review the entire verdict—just a couple of pages listing testimonies and violated regulations, orders, and charters…
The outcome was clear—a death sentence.
From a formal standpoint.
From a human, military moral perspective of an ordinary sentient, his reasoning was understandable.
An operative on a mission is prepared for anything.
Including torture.
Including death.
Molo said as much.
"You're mistaken, agent," I declared. "Molo Himron chose to end his life, seeing no other option."
"That was due to Isard and Wessiri's actions," Sergius stated. "And the potential danger Molo posed upon return."
"Among other things," I agreed. "But the decision was his. He could've spent his life in a medical facility, letting us study him and develop countermeasures to conditioning."
"That's not life, sir, that's existence."
"Whether it is or not is a matter of perspective," I said conciliatorily. "I disagreed with Himron's decision but allowed it because I understood his logic. Why didn't you try to kill me or those who didn't stop him?"
Despite my confidence otherwise, Sergius didn't even pause to consider.
"Your actions, like the Major's decision to die, are consequences. The cause lies with Isard and Wessiri."
"Or perhaps it's that I sent him on that mission."
"With all due respect, sir, by that logic, the cause of his death could be his enrollment in the Academy."
Oddly, with a formal logical approach, such an irrational conclusion could be drawn.
"I won't hide that you're a valuable agent, Sergius," I said. "There aren't many Bravo-class specialists in the Dominion. You must be punished for this failure to prevent recurrence."
"It won't happen again, sir," Bravo-Two said confidently.
"Why not?" I asked, curious.
"I no longer have personal ties to any subordinates, sir," the former coordinator replied. "Only the Dominion's interests."
"Many clones of Molo Himron remain," I reminded him.
"They're just a face and memories, not him," Sergius replied calmly. "To me, they're nobody."
Hmm… Honest, at least.
"So, you propose I release you on your word that you won't disobey again?" I clarified.
Mentally, I noted that my elite agents, almost universally, had a bad habit of ignoring secondary objectives while pursuing primary ones.
It'd be tempting to dismiss them all to a Hutt…
But there's a problem.
Not that "there are no others."
The issue lies in their training system.
Imperial Intelligence, and military too, trained agents to focus on the mission.
Without regard for consequences.
Either because consequences were ignored or because cleanup crews handled them thoroughly.
I pondered long on why only a few agents acted with such care that they earned respect.
Like Agent Cross or Torin Inek. Or Steben, when he was still in intelligence, not counterintelligence.
It's simple.
Those two were trained under one program, while Rederick, Sergius, and lesser agents of other classes were trained under a "simplified" one.
That's why Mara Jade is so… erratic.
They're used to someone "cleaning up" after them.
Because they operated within the Empire.
And if needed, a Star Destroyer could always be called to solve problems with a stormtrooper's boot.
A rigidity reinforced with every training cycle and cemented in practice.
Well…
I'd love to say, "We didn't have that!"
We did, and how.
On a planetary, national scale, but the same.
It's tempting to philosophize that universes created by minds raised in rigid systems produce equally rigid literature.
Which, for me, became reality…
If only I knew why.
"No, sir," the agent replied. "I'm not proposing anything. I deliberately disobeyed for my own selfish satisfaction and moral fulfillment. I knew this man could've been a valuable intelligence source or even an instructor for our pilots. But my sense of justice wouldn't let that scum live. I did what I did, knowing execution awaited."
So simple, straightforward, and honest.
Lost a friend—took revenge. Knew it violated orders, understood it could disrupt command's plans, chose to kill a valuable prisoner for his conscience.
A conflicting feeling.
From a human perspective, I understand and support him.
From a legal and charter perspective, I understand he can't be excused and allowed to continue.
Because for any military, an order is sacred.
The Empire and Dominion charters don't allow a soldier to refuse a lawful order based on personal moral or ethical objections.
Unlike some charters in my past world.
Leniency would signal to others that orders aren't absolute, that they can be circumvented.
Like an avalanche—it starts with a pebble.
That's why the Empire executed all who disobeyed without hesitation.
It's a military machine.
The Rebels, with their "righteousness," dissect every incident, democratically examining all sides, digging into irrelevant details…
And yet…
Consider conscience.
I've forgiven errant subordinates before.
How many chose duty over conscience?
Kill the enemy or spare them to follow orders?
They followed orders and duty.
If I make a different decision now, contradicting theirs, the concept of adverse consequences suggests it'll eventually come out.
Then captains I-Gor, Abyss, and Rear Admiral Shohashi will ask, "Why the Hutt should I follow the charter if the Supreme Commander doesn't?"
The wider the gap between leadership and troops, the harder it is for one to understand the other.
"In that case, you understand I have no choice but to order your execution," I said slowly, watching the man's reaction. "My duty as the Dominion's Supreme Commander demands it."
"Affirmative, sir," the agent replied dully.
Sergius didn't beg for mercy.
He didn't plead for a lesser punishment or suggest alternatives.
He knew the Imperial charter allowed only one penalty for such an act—death.
The severity of the sanction matches the severity of the consequences.
Colonel Wessiri, due to his closeness to Isard, could've answered many questions. The crew, even the commander of the captured Star Destroyer under the Iceheart's command, provided little insight into her affairs. Stubborn fanatics. Experienced and skilled…
Logically, I should send them to Grand Moff Kaine to lead the charge against the New Republic.
But that would expose my game with Isard.
And from there, it's a short step to revealing my double-dealing.
Wessiri could've been a genetic template for a generation of TIE Avenger or TIE Defender pilots. In flying the latter, he had no equal…
He could've been a donor for a Fel clone replacement, as I discussed with Erik Shohashi.
The GeNod program could've used his clones in countless ways.
An experienced veteran interceptor pilot, unlike the rushed trainees who gained experience in combat.
Yes, no longer green cadets, but still…
I looked into the man's eyes and saw no regret for his actions.
He knew what he was doing and the consequences.
An officer ready to answer for his mistakes.
It only seems everyone is ready to take responsibility for their violations.
In reality, bold speeches turn into apologies, excuses, and attempts to avoid punishment…
An honest and honorable intelligence officer—that's what the Dominion needs to survive.
And one ready to avenge fallen comrades.
No soldier is more motivated than one who's suffered personal losses in a war they didn't start.
That's why my people prevailed in the past.
"What about the Dominion?" I asked.
"I don't understand, sir," the agent replied.
"The Ubiqtorate abandoned you and Himron's group due to your loyalty to my actions," I reminded him. "You disobeyed my order to avenge Molo Himron's death. There's a conflict of interest."
This time, the man paused.
"You're right, sir," he replied. "That was a major lapse on my part. Emotions overruled rationality."
So many correct conclusions from a man who erred once for selfish revenge over the brutal murder of his friends and comrades…
"You are pardoned, Agent Bravo-II," I said, rising from the table. "The death sentence is revoked. You are reinstated in service."
Judging by his expression, Sergius was prepared for any decision but this.
He looked at me, bewildered, then stood, realizing that pardon and reinstatement renewed his duty to uphold the charters.
"Resume your duties immediately, agent," I ordered, studying the man who deserved forgiveness more than others I'd given second chances.
"It will be done, Grand Admiral!" he replied sharply.
He was wholly loyal to the Dominion.
The investigators confirmed it.
The Jenssarai confirmed it.
I saw it too.
One mistake shouldn't end the life of a man devoted to a cause of state importance.
Colonel Wessiri was undoubtedly valuable.
But there's something many of my subordinates don't know.
Isard's mind was copied before Shohashi eliminated her.
Not about the clone aboard Lusankya traversing the galaxy.
I mean the final imprint scan conducted upon her arrival at Tangrene.
Yes, losing Wessiri impacts other plans, but Sergius fulfilled the key part of the order.
Lusankya was captured and delivered to us.
It already played a major role in Lianna's destruction.
Which had to be destroyed.
I don't care about the mercenaries' lives.
Lianna's residents were unharmed.
The equipment was removed, and soon Shohashi will arrive at the fleet base with Lianna's reserves, orbital assembly yards, and Golans.
The task, for which I kept Lusankya's capture secret, is complete.
I won't ruin a life over empty formalism.
But I can't let word of this pardon spread either.
"Officially, Agent Bravo-II, you were convicted of disobeying the Dominion Supreme Commander's order, killed a valuable prisoner, and were executed," I placed a data chip with the tribunal's verdict before him. "The method of execution—firing squad—was carried out an hour ago, after I approved the verdict. The body was cremated, the ashes scattered."
The man looked at me with understanding and… veiled gratitude.
"Understood, sir," he replied. "A precedent must be set."
"Precisely, agent," I said. "From now on, Agent Sergius no longer exists. You will assume the identity of one of your clones who died on a mission and continue covert operations under their name. Their life is your life. There's no going back—only through the crematorium."
"Understood, sir," he replied. "What is my assignment?"
"Incredibly simple and complex at once," I said. "You're returning to Sluis Van to finish dismantling Talon Karrde's organization."
"When do I depart, sir?" the agent asked.
"Your ship is ready, Agent Bravo-XI," I replied. "Your companions and further instructions await aboard."
No, I didn't know I'd decide to spare this man's life by the end of our talk.
I simply hoped.
Sometimes, hope is all we have: faith in those on the front lines.
Otherwise, we cannot endure.
Otherwise, they'll crush, overrun, divide, and destroy us.
Believe in your army and fleet—they alone will support you in dark times.
They—and your own skeletal structure.
***
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