Ten years, the second month, and the sixteenth day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, the second month, and the sixteenth day after the Great ReSynchronization.
(Nine months and one day since the insertion.)
Slowly, ever so slowly, as if climbing a long, steep staircase, Mara Jade forced herself back to consciousness.
The sensation was as though she had just surfaced through dozens of meters of water, having endured the full delights of crushing pressure.
Her body ached as if a Star Destroyer had crashed down on her and then rolled around a bit for good measure.
The young woman struggled to open her eyes, peering blearily around in hopes of figuring out where she was.
Familiar interiors gave the answer almost immediately.
She was aboard Fire, her ship—honestly stolen from the Imperial Palace and once belonging to the hired assassin who worked exclusively for Palpatine's orders, Ennix Devian.
At the moment, she was in her own cabin, and, naturally, there was no one here but her.
Her mind sluggishly detached from its contact with the Force, refreshing her memories.
It took only a few seconds, but now she was, as they say, fully armed.
"Meditations are for Jedi," she muttered, sending a wave of the Force through her stiff limbs to warm the muscles.
The rigid parts of her body reluctantly yielded to persuasion and returned to her control.
With the grace of a dancer, the girl rose to her feet and, swaying slightly, headed toward the small table by her bunk.
Seizing a bottle of water, she drained half its contents.
Then she glanced at the parts scattered across the floor.
Most of them were exactly where they had been when she closed her eyes.
So she hadn't made much progress after all.
It didn't take long to freshen up and change into her combat suit.
The ship's chronometer helpfully informed her that she was literally half an hour from her destination.
Not the one she had been preparing for over an extended period on Thrawn's orders, of course, but still.
Grand Admiral Thrawn had made adjustments to her mission at the very last moment, adding a delivery task.
Fastening the lightsaber—once belonging to Jedi Master Mace Windu—to her belt, she moved toward the hatch leading from her cabin to the ship's common area.
She passed her hand over the lock sensor; the door obediently slid aside, and Mara stepped across the threshold… and froze in puzzlement.
"Hi, Mara," Ghent greeted her.
He was holding out a mug of caf, looking at her with loyal, slightly pleading eyes.
"How are you feeling?" he asked out of politeness.
"Don't get sick yourself," Jade muttered, snatching the cup of scalding-hot liquid and taking a sip.
The caf was supposed to be hot.
The one Ghent had handed her was barely warmer than a starship's hull in hyperspace.
Only slightly less radioactive.
"You do know caf is supposed to be hot, right?" the red-haired woman inquired, pouring the sludge into the sink on her ship's small galley.
"Sorry," Ghent said, frowning in concern. "Didn't think you'd sleep that long. And you were out of real caf. But there's instant. Want me to brew some?"
"About as much as I want a blaster bolt to the gut," the fiery-haired vixen admitted.
"I thought working for Thrawn would make you less sarcastic," Ghent pouted.
"Any more than Hoth could suddenly turn from an ice wasteland into subtropical paradise like Haruun Kal?" Mara caught Ghent's interested stare; realizing he'd been caught ogling, he ducked behind the couch, barricaded himself with his datapad, and began frantically searching something on her screen without lifting his eyes.
They'd had a similar scene before.
Only in a slightly different key…
Mara forced herself back to reality.
"Hope while I was out you didn't drag some blonde chick aboard my ship—who used to be an Alliance informant," she inquired.
Ghent looked at her over the datapad.
"No," he said slowly. "Why, was I allowed to?"
Mara gave him the most benevolent smile in her repertoire of "sardonic" ones.
"Only over my dead body," she warned.
Meeting her gaze, Ghent hurriedly buried himself in his personal datapad again.
"What are you doing there?" Mara asked, approaching the kitchen cabinets in search of something edible.
Finding a sublimated energy cocktail, she added water and waited for the powder to mix into an opaque bright-blue liquid.
This version was the tastiest she'd had in recent memory.
"Nothing special," the slicer replied. "Just the usual tasks courtesy of the Grand Admiral." He waved a hand toward the ceiling. "At least that's how it looks at first glance."
"And in practice it's far more complicated, tangled, and dangerous than it first appeared?" Mara clarified, taking a sip. "And you have to work at the absolute limit of your knowledge and abilities?"
"No, of course not," Ghent modestly brushed it off. "I just don't understand why they sent me on this trip. Pent dug up the data—my first clone and a terrible conversationalist. Some kind of neurotic… only interested in 'coding.' Nothing to talk about or swap stories with. Uncomfortable guy. We worked together on one project. You have no idea how exhausting it is to be around him!"
"I can't even imagine what it's like to work with someone whose only interests in life are 'ice-picking' and smuggler tales," Mara snorted. "Think it's pleasant to talk to someone hiding behind a datapad?"
"Uh…" Ghent seemed slightly embarrassed. Just a tiny bit. He completely missed the hint—the datapad stayed right where it was. "Well, probably. Why even talk to someone so utterly unsociable?"
Mara sighed ruefully and took another sip.
"We'll reach Trogane soon," Jade informed him, sipping the blue drink.
"Yeah, I know," Ghent nodded. "When you locked the controls and went to your cabin, I tapped into your ship's chronometer and duplicated the alert to my pad…"
Each successive phrase grew quieter and quieter as he watched the red-haired beauty sipping her blue liquid with growing alarm.
"Uh…" Ghent mumbled, chewing his lip. "Don't look at me like that! I didn't bring spare pants!"
"Thanks for the warning," Mara politely thanked him, suppressing the urge to clearly and distinctly explain exactly where she'd seen all his freelancing and tech-itch. "Remind me to hire a good slicer once you're off my ship."
"Uh…" Ghent started mumbling again. "Sure, I'll remind you. Why do you need one? If something needs reprogramming, I'm always up for it!"
"Yeah," she said with a professionally restrained smile, trying with all her might not to snap at the slicer—who also happened to be an old acquaintance. "That's exactly the problem, my dear nosy friend with the sticky fingers. I don't like people poking around my ship's systems without permission."
"I didn't poke too hard," Ghent blurted, barricading himself behind the datapad again. "You should be kinder to friends, Mara. You don't have that many as it is."
"I don't need friends," Mara replied with exaggerated politeness. "What I really need is for you to stop crawling through my ship's systems. Period. Forever. Got it?"
Ghent nodded vigorously, making his blue hair look like a small tsunami.
"Let's hope this time you don't forget my little request," the girl snorted, using the Force to yank the datapad from the slicer's hands. "Let me see what you're messing with."
"It's classified information, actually," he replied absently. "I don't think you're cleared to see it."
"And I don't think you were authorized to break into my ship's systems," Mara countered his feeble attempt to remember subordination. "Well now, let's take a look at what this is and how it's eaten…"
Scanning the open page, she frowned.
Then, flipping to the next electronic page, she continued reading.
And another.
And another.
"Where did Thrawn get this?" she asked in the tone she usually used on missions when she was still the Emperor's Hand.
"I told you," Ghent hedged, "Pent dug it up. I don't know where…"
"Don't lie to me," Mara warned. "Or I'll turn you into a gizka!"
"You can't turn a human into an amphibian!" Ghent's eyes widened. "That violates the laws of biology, anatomy…"
"There is nothing beyond the power of the Force," Mara narrowed her green eyes, demonstratively raising her hand for a finger-snap. "So, my young friend with the secret assignment? Going to talk?"
"What is there to say?" Ghent blinked rapidly.
"Where did Thrawn get the blueprints and specifications for Kuat's mass-shadow mines?" she demanded.
"I told you—Pent got them," the slicer babbled. "I don't know how. Probably bought them…"
"Kuat would sooner sell their own mothers for organs than let anyone glimpse their gravity mines," Jade stated confidently. "And you've got the full data set here—from bandage to bacta-patch. That kind of thing isn't for sale. Especially considering that three hundred years ago the succession crisis on Kuat erupted precisely because the then-head of Kuat Drive Yards blew herself up on her own mines while traveling the secret hyperspace lane from Molavar to Rotana. Without the correct identification codes those mines detonate, yanking starships out of hyperspace like a gravity-well projector and destroying them! That technology let Kuat protect their most vital secrets and fleet anchorage points—they would never sell that information. They have enough money to buy half the Core Worlds. Thrawn has neither the credits nor the tech that would interest the Kuati that much!"
"Probably," Ghent said quietly, looking at her with frightened eyes. "They don't tell me where anything comes from. They just gave me the chips with the files. Pent hinted he was the one who got them and was supposed to work on the tech, but the Grand Admiral decided it should be me…"
"What exactly were you told to do?" Mara demanded, pinning the slicer with her stare.
"Figure out how the IFF signal exchange system works," Ghent stammered. "As I understand it—either disable the mines remotely so they don't react to passing ships, or find the necessary transponder frequency for the recognition system…"
"So ships can fly past the minefields without taking damage," Mara realized.
Given that Imperial intelligence knew the Kuati produced these mines by the millions every standard week and sowed them across any space they didn't want enemy ships approaching, it was clear: the approaches to their facilities were mined so densely not even a minnow could slip through without the right code.
Looking at the blueprints, Ghent was studying one of the simplest barrier-mine designs.
Each more advanced mass-shadow mine was equipped with magnetic clamps and its own engines, so there was no hope that anything would remain of an intruder ship after the first detonations.
Until the ship was destroyed, the mines would pursue it, latch onto the hull, and detonate.
Over and over—until the entire ship exploded.
Or until the Kuati got bored and boarded the intruder to have a "heart-to-heart" with the crew and commander.
A terrifying weapon.
Despite the Empire's strict arms-trade controls, the Kuati—one of the Empire's primary military contractors—were allowed considerable leeway.
Including the production of such explosive defensive equipment.
Though, knowing Palpatine, it wasn't hard to guess he permitted such experiments and self-defense measures precisely to acquire proven, effective defensive weapons at someone else's expense for his own purposes.
The Emperor had secrets aplenty, so…
Mara felt a chill run down her spine.
Access to Byss was restricted.
Only with the correct identification codes could one reach it via the artificial hyperspace route.
And if the planet held the Emperor's most priceless treasures and artifacts, he certainly hadn't settled for two or three layers of defense.
Just remember that the Eclipse-class Star Dreadnought under construction at Kuat Drive Yards vanished from the slips and departed for parts unknown along with the best Kuati engineers, shipbuilders, and scientists.
Could the Emperor have incorporated mass-shadow mines into the defense system of the territory he had seized within the Galactic Core?
If so, Ghent's study of this technology meant the Grand Admiral was seriously considering a strike on Byss.
Penetration into the very heart of hostile territory.
That must be why Ghent had to figure out how to bypass the mass-shadow mines.
And Pent and his other clones (and surely not only them) were obviously developing countermeasures against Byss's other defense systems and the territories under the Emperor's control.
That was why anger boiled inside Mara.
Thrawn was sending her to the other end of the galaxy while planning to strike elsewhere?!
Possibly even daring to walk right up to the Emperor and kick him squarely in the rear?!
Without her?!
"Mara," Ghent called softly. "You know, I was just thinking… If the Kuati use these mines to protect their territory, it looks like we're about to attack Kuat."
"Thrawn isn't that stupid," Mara snapped, feeling a tingle in her fingertips. It almost seemed she could hear the crackle of electricity. She needed to calm down. It couldn't be that simple. Thrawn wouldn't deny her the chance to face the Emperor. Not now. Surely if he intended to attack Byss, it wouldn't be anytime soon. He wouldn't do that to her, knowing her feelings about Palpatine and her desire to kill the bastard with her own hands. "Kuat is practically on the front line—one side the Republic, the other the Pentastar Alignment, and the same Imperials. Relations with the Dominion aren't exactly warm with any of them. An attack on Kuat would bring both sides down on the Dominion's forces. Simply because they could. No, I think Thrawn has something entirely different in mind."
If only she knew what.
Mara tried to push the rising anger aside and clear her thoughts.
It worked, though not immediately.
So what exactly was the Grand Admiral planning?
Attack Byss?
Yes, with the fleet the Dominion currently possessed, it was possible.
But the problem was that four-fifths of the Dominion's ships simply lacked crews!
Thrawn had proven himself a genius of tactics and strategy, capable of winning even when outnumbered, but attacking Byss in the current situation would be at minimum foolish and short-sighted.
No, he clearly had something far more sophisticated in mind.
And surely a less grandiose target than Kuat or Byss.
But which one?
"How long ago did Pent obtain these blueprints?" she asked.
A wild thought visited the girl.
What if Ghent's assignment wasn't preparation for an attack?
But defense?
"Several months for sure," the young man said uncertainly. "I told you—it's classified. And he's a pain in the neck! Even if I asked, he definitely wouldn't answer."
So several months.
And yet the Dominion already had numerous industrial facilities—at least the ones Mara herself knew about.
It was entirely possible (and even obvious) that the Grand Admiral had a few—or a dozen—planets up his sleeve with fully robotic factories churning out these mass-shadow mines around the clock.
And sowing them across the approaches to key Dominion systems—both in the metropole and on the periphery.
Given that the Grand Admiral had decided to shift his focus from the Republic and Imperials to the Zann Consortium and was clearly preparing a major strike, wasn't he using Ghent to test the reliability of his own perimeter?
One could argue he could have simply said so outright, but this was a Grand Admiral!
Experience showed: there were very few instances where he did anything relying on only one outcome.
Most likely this assignment would have far broader consequences than a single operation.
Whatever the goal.
Mara frowned thoughtfully.
Good thing she had managed to calm down.
Now everything was perfectly clear.
Under Palpatine's command were thousands of ships—mostly line vessels.
Surely crewed by elite personnel.
A massive assault against a superior enemy force was nothing like Grand Admiral Thrawn.
He would not charge into an un-scouted, fortified enemy territory with a handful of ships, knowing he must first secure his rear.
And that rear was precisely what the Zann Consortium threatened.
Perhaps the mines were somehow connected to them.
The girl preferred to delve deeper into the documents, more to avoid Ghent's tense gaze than in genuine hope of finding answers to her questions.
And, strangely enough, with a cool head she immediately noticed a small detail that made Ghent's mission extremely dangerous.
"You know the mines' transceivers have a very short range?" she asked.
She certainly knew that in the early models it was indeed tiny.
Minefields were built on the principle of IFF signal exchange detected from moving starships.
The old mines didn't have time to react to ships appearing in hyperspace immediately, registering them so close that they detonated behind the departing vessel with no consequences.
That's why the first versions were designed with the assumption that the outer barrier line would work against ships approaching in realspace, while for those crossing lightspeed it would relay the intrusion alert to their deadlier sisters.
Given that hyperwave communication was far faster than any hyperdrive, at least the second barrier line would certainly trigger.
That's why Kuat had produced them in enormous quantities for decades—both before and after the Clone Wars.
"Not much good," Ghent confirmed his awareness. "Only ten units of distance. But I comfort myself with the hope they won't drop me in a spacesuit in the middle of a minefield."
"Right," Jade thought. "They'll specially get you a blockade runner or mine-clearer, equip it with particle shields…"
She didn't finish the thought—the alert buzzer announced only one minute remained until dropout from hyperspace.
Returning Ghent's electronic toy, the girl headed to the cockpit.
Settling into the commander's seat, she moved the hyperdrive lever to the "zero" position the moment the instrument panel showed the appropriate mark.
Fire slipped out of hyperspace's embrace, and before Mara unfolded the full glory of the Trogane system's defensive lines.
This world had never held any significant value for the Empire.
Even its surface garrison had been little more than a fiction—just a detachment of stormtroopers and a couple of army companies.
Thrawn had once pulled off a neat trick to revive the planet's economy—simply by showing interest in it.
And almost immediately after his departure following the "official refusal to support the Grand Admiral," Imperial warlords and private Imperial investors arrived on Trogane, pouring millions (if not billions) into establishing themselves on the planet.
The Grand Admiral's reputation had allowed him to simply and straightforwardly plant the idea in people's minds that Trogane held something interesting after all.
Until the Dominion's formation, the Imperials never managed to figure out the reason for Thrawn's interest in a planet with neither useful resources nor anything else of strategic importance.
Trogane had unconditionally joined the Dominion almost in the first hours after its creation.
And tens of thousands of local residents, no longer secretly but quite officially, enlisted in the Defense Forces.
And now Mara observed on the planet's orbit two dozen Golan defense stations, around which swarmed numerous light craft—Corellian corvettes and frigates, several ancient Consular-class ships still bearing the scars of the Clone Wars.
In addition were numerous planetary defense guns and anti-ship batteries emplaced on the surface itself.
And an impressive garrison of stormtroopers supported by armor and regular army units, recently stationed here.
Unlike the metropole systems, garrisons on periphery planets consisted not only of local recruits and volunteer militia.
But also one or two full legions, completely equipped with weapons and heavy equipment, supported by several squadrons of interceptors and strike gunboats, likewise on duty.
Not counting the numerous TIE fighters stationed in the hangars of the Golan platforms.
Mara sometimes wondered how, given the shortage of stormtrooper personnel, the Grand Admiral had managed to fill the garrisons of the periphery planets.
Makem Te, Trogane, Columex, Kelada, Chasin, Garos IV…
Each required a garrison—and given their distance from the metropole, it had to be large enough to repel an invasion of comparable strength.
We're talking about a full legion of stormtroopers on each listed planet.
In Imperial times one could station a company or two of army troops or stormtroopers on backwater worlds—sector bases could always send reinforcements.
If not to save the defenders, then at least to punish the attackers upon arrival.
Under the conditions in which the Dominion existed, such luxury was unforgivable.
Mara did not possess complete information on how many stormtrooper legions the Dominion currently had at its disposal, but she knew for certain that after Sluis Van the Dominion Stormtrooper Corps had suffered heavy personnel losses.
Yes, Thrawn no longer needed to resort to forced conscription—there were plenty of volunteers for regular army service. True, they first had to serve several months in the Defense Forces and earn the appropriate reputation.
But from the periphery, both humans and other sentients poured into the army and fleet of the Defense Forces with even greater enthusiasm than under the Empire.
The problem was that the planets Thrawn controlled outside the metropole were not particularly populous. And after grueling service in the Defense Forces (little different from Imperial conscription), the percentage of those wishing to continue a military career on a professional basis dropped significantly.
But the influx of volunteers was sufficient for manning planetary and orbital defensive installations.
The question was—where did Thrawn get the extra six or seven legions of stormtroopers when even the regular fleet ships (whose crewing consumed the output of all cloning cylinders) were understrength? On Star Destroyers, instead of the regulation legion of stormtroopers, at best a regiment was stationed.
Even if Thrawn had reorganized some fleet marine stormtroopers into ground units, the numbers still didn't add up.
One couldn't form six full-strength legions from a conditional eight, station them on planets, and still crew the Star Destroyers with battalions or regiments—especially when the active regular fleet already numbered nearly a hundred.
Not just Imperial-class, of course—a significant portion of the currently active destroyers were captured New Republic Victory-class ships whose crews were occupied with patrol duties in the metropole as part of combat coordination training.
But the fact remained—somehow the Grand Admiral had acquired a huge number of troops. At minimum six legions, which he stationed on periphery planets.
And there were other systems whose affiliation with the Dominion was unknown to the wider galaxy…
Presumably combat units were stationed there as well.
And the question arose—where exactly was Thrawn getting them from?
Mara decisively banished the unnecessary thoughts and tuned her ship's transponder to a specific frequency that should be instantly detected by the scanners of the local squadron's flagship Star Destroyer.
Several pot-bellied transport ships undergoing customs nervously edged away from the six regular-fleet Star Destroyers guarding the system.
One Imperial-class, four Victory-class, and one Gladiator, behind which could be seen a trawler-cruiser aiming its bow toward the system entry vector.
And that's not counting the dozens of Defense Force ships flying throughout the system, clearly ready to attack at any moment.
With the corner of her eye Mara caught sight of some enormous object drifting in orbit, surrounded by a swarm of small craft and a dozen cargo barges.
But from behind a Golan's bulk she could only make out the general shape of an almost two-kilometer cylindrical object to which five supertransports were currently docked—capable of carrying even a Star Destroyer engine in their holds.
The comm beeped.
"Star Destroyer Red Gauntlet to private yacht Fire," came the voice of the duty officer. "Transponder signal acknowledged. Omega-gamma-seven. State confirmation code."
Several bulbous-nosed TIE interceptors unmistakably appeared to starboard.
Mara recited the sequence of numbers and letters of the ancient Tionese alphabet, completing the sequence.
"Response accepted," the duty officer replied dryly. "Your vector is six. Altitude three-seven. Station commander has been notified of your arrival, Hand of Thrawn. You will be given a landing vector upon approach to the object. Good day."
With that the controller signed off.
"So what now?" asked Ghent, appearing on the bridge.
"Fly where they told us," Mara said, steering the ship onto the indicated vector. "I could give you an orbital tour, but something tells me the local defense commander wouldn't be thrilled."
"Even with your status?" Ghent was surprised. "I thought Thrawn's personal agent could fly wherever and do whatever she wanted."
"Yeah, I thought so too," Jade snorted.
"What changed?" the slicer inquired.
"One time I came out of the refresher and found Thrawn sitting on my couch," the red-haired beauty sighed.
"Oh… and?" Ghent's eyes widened.
Clearly the guy was expecting a gripping tale like the smuggler stories he loved hearing while working for Karrde.
"And… my world was never the same again," Mara sighed sadly, realizing her course led straight to the two-kilometer cylinder now resolving into the features of an archaic warship.
"All the more curious and curious," Jade narrowed her eyes, recognizing the ship's bow. "Invincible-class heavy dreadnought. Looks like your worries about a spacesuit in a minefield were unfounded, Ghent. Wherever you're headed, you'll travel in comfort. Albeit not very quickly."
***
The ceremony preceding the negotiations resembled a cheap farce.
But Leia, watching the next troupe of musicians with boredom, understood that Lord Bonteri had spent a very tidy sum on this spectacle.
It was simply unclear why.
Showing off?
Flaunting his wealth?
Or arrogantly demonstrating aristocratic snobbery that had become utterly alien to Leia in recent years?
One way or another, the already difficult negotiations were postponed for an indefinite time.
Musicians, dancers, jugglers, illusionists, singers, knife-throwers…
From the outside it began to seem as if she had fallen into some pre-industrial aristocratic festival celebrating a blood alliance or a successful hunt.
Ostentatiousness, lack of taste, and a ve-ry archaic way to occupy guests who were already bored after the first or second act.
Leia looked wistfully at C-3PO, for the first time in her life envying the protocol droid's ability to endure all these cursed procedures with the dignity of a stone statue.
In the past she would certainly have shown interest to observe diplomatic etiquette…
BUT SIX HOURS STRAIGHT?!
By the Force, midnight had already passed—what sane person holds negotiations at this hour?
She glanced at Lando, who, like her, was dressed in expensive finery and regarded the proceedings with the impeccable manners of a true aristocrat.
He kept exchanging remarks with Bonteri, discussing the dancers' outfits, the jugglers' skill, and the musicians' artistry.
Typical male conversation that kept circling back to the merits of different troupes of Zeltron, Twi'lek, and Togruta dancers.
The first two were to Lando's taste, as they were to most of the galaxy's male population.
Bonteri actively favored Togruta.
Why his opinion differed from the norm was of no interest to Leia.
She was certain that if Han were beside her, he would have described her pastime as nothing less than "serving diplomatic penance."
The young woman literally felt the weight of the event and endured these moral tortures only out of duty to the Alliance, constantly reminding herself that the House of Tion had a trait of ostentatiousness and showing off their status to guests.
Finally the bit musicians finished another piece and disappeared behind an improvised curtain.
"Minister Organa Solo, did you enjoy the performance?" Bonteri inquired.
He turned to the waiting and bored Leia, watching her with a slight squint.
"It was beyond praise," the young woman replied modestly, taking a conciliatory sip of fruit juice.
"Some of the best masters of their craft in our employ," Bonteri boasted. "Each a treasure in his own right. Unique talents that would have withered had my House not noticed them and taken them into service."
"So they're not even hired performers," Leia thought.
Court entertainers, then.
By the most conservative estimates, the services of such permanent troupes at one or another noble House in the galaxy cost a fortune.
Bail Organa had once said that if he followed that tradition and kept court artists, he would never have been able to finance the Alliance for the Restoration of the Republic.
"Indeed," Leia said. "You have an eye for talent."
"It's not about talent," Bonteri declared with unexpected seriousness. "It's about seeing to the root of problems. I found them in their hour of need and brought them to the House's court. Their skill was honed by the galaxy's finest mentors. And now, when they perform in our sector or others, my House's name resounds across the galaxy. Sentients see that we patronize the arts. Others know we welcome countless technical specialists and give them work. Even Imperial officers who abandoned their former ambitions have chosen to serve my House. Because they made the right decision. And have never regretted it once during their entire term of service. Remind me—what arts or sciences did your family patronize on Alderaan, Minister?"
Leia ignored the barb, refusing to give the cad the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassment.
"Viceroy Organa had different tastes and preferences," she said, pretending renewed thirst. "He cared for refugees. For instance, he sheltered some of the few Caamasi after their world was cold-bloodedly destroyed by the Empire."
Good thing she hadn't insisted on bringing Chewbacca—otherwise the Wookiee would have ripped the head off the Lord of Tion's filthy neck.
"Yes, yes," Bonteri replied indifferently. "We've heard about your adoptive father's hobbies. On the one hand—welcoming refugees; on the other—training and financing fighters against the regime. For example, he was very fond of hunting…"
Leia endured this jab as well. A direct reference to the death of Lord Tion, killed by Leia when he uncovered her Alliance ties. It had been passed off as a hunting accident… So the House of Tion still hadn't forgotten.
Leia mentally ran through several calming exercises Luke had taught her and only then continued:
"I see you have time not only to patronize numerous arts but also to collect all sorts of gossip," she said in an icy tone.
"Though everyone has their flaws and virtues," Bonteri smiled charmingly. "They say your real father liked to choke people with the Force. And to renegotiate the terms of his deals."
Lando, who had decided to sample the appetizers at that moment, choked; only Bonteri's hearty slaps on the back kept him from dying of asphyxiation at the festive table.
All the while the head of the House of Tion looked Leia straight in the eyes.
And in his gaze she felt the icy breath of hatred and contempt.
This time she failed to restrain herself in time.
"I thought it was considered improper among aristocrats to pry into others' personal lives," she said through clenched teeth.
What her own father had done to the galaxy, to her, to her loved ones, in her understanding deserved no forgiveness—not even the fact that he had died saving the galaxy from the mad Emperor.
To this day she could not sleep peacefully at the mere mention of his name.
The moment she closed her eyes, she saw again the walls of the Death Star's prison cell.
And the black sphere of the Imperial interrogation droid.
Getting closer.
And closer.
And closer.
"I thought we gathered here to discuss entirely different matters," Lando said, taking advantage of the rapport he had built with Bonteri during the performance so his intervention wouldn't seem out of place.
Here Leia forced herself to stop, sensing that irritation with Bonteri was getting the better of her and giving him the opportunity to draw her into his petty games.
Protocol required her to show every diplomatic courtesy to the emissary.
Right now she most wanted Han or Luke beside her.
Or to possess Darth Vader's ability to cow an interlocutor with a single glance or gesture.
But she had neither the stylish black armor nor the intimidating helmet.
"I think we should proceed to the purpose of our meeting," Leia continued. "Idle festivities are hardly suitable for official discussion of the situation and your wishes, Lord Bonteri."
The emissary's eyes most resembled drunken cherries when he turned them toward her.
"Of course," he said, giving Lando a withering look. "Follow me, Minister. We'll speak privately."
With those words he had just shown Calrissian that their pleasant chat and discussion of feminine charms had meant absolutely nothing to the head of the House of Tion.
If before Lando's intervention it might have seemed they had found common ground and shared values, now…
Now it looked as if the noble House's representative had merely alleviated his boredom by deigning to converse with a commoner.
"Oh, Great Force, what baseness!" Leia thought. "He's literally wiping his feet on us, knowing an alliance with the Hegemony is to our benefit."
"I'll wait here, Minister," Calrissian said quietly, having lost all cheer and festivity by the time they reached the doors of the luxuriously appointed office, behind which—leaving one guard outside—the head of the House of Tion disappeared.
"Sit," Bonteri ordered, pointing to a soft chair to the right of his desk, behind which he himself took his place. "Let's talk."
Leia was simply stunned by what was happening.
An unheard-of affront to the Alliance!
Unprecedented audacity.
No properly bred aristocrat, when dealing with an ambassador of another state, would allow himself a commanding tone—much less point out where the host wished the guest to sit.
"To the Sith with all this diplomatic etiquette," Leia thought angrily, sinking into the chair opposite Bonteri.
He merely smirked, appreciating her defiance of his wishes.
"I was wondering how long you'd last," he smiled crookedly.
"Patience is something my father taught me," Leia said proudly, gratefully recalling Bail Organa.
"And I thought your real father wasn't known for patience," Bonteri snorted. "He punished the slightest infraction."
Leia decided to ignore this latest barb and the continued identification of her with Darth Vader.
"I have to admit, I was waiting to see when you'd leap from your seat, pull out a lightsaber, and start swinging it, smashing everything around," Bonteri said dreamily, puffing on his cigar.
Leia braced herself to cough, but to her surprise realized the tobacco smoke didn't bother her at all.
On the contrary—the scent was unusually pleasant, not harsh, with a hint of fresh flowers.
Clearly the smoker had shelled out for elite varieties.
"Of course, if you'd really wanted to see that, you could have just asked," she said. Well, if the conversation was about audacity, why not?
"Thank you, but that's just a desire inspired by the past," Bonteri said. "Childhood memories, youthful infatuation…"
Leia hesitated:
"You were in love with a Jedi?"
Tactless, of course, but Bonteri himself was no model of diplomacy and good manners.
"A very, very long time ago," he said dreamily. "But in the end I chose service as a senator from Onderon, and she chose to continue her apprenticeship. With your father, by the way."
"What?!" Leia gasped.
"You didn't know?" Bonteri raised an eyebrow. "When your father was still a Jedi, he had a Padawan. A Togruta he called 'Snips.' Her name, of course, was Ahsoka Tano."
Well, now at least Bonteri's fondness for Togruta made sense.
But Leia was hearing for the first time that Anakin Skywalker had ever had a Padawan.
From the records and chronicles she and Luke had managed to restore, their father in his "Jedi years" had not been noted for patience, wisdom, or a desire to mentor—as Obi-Wan Kenobi had remarked in his journals.
"No, that part of my family history has a few gaps," Leia admitted.
"It's never too late to fill them," Bonteri said, tapping ash into an ashtray carved from a single huge gemstone.
Leia mentally estimated that the cost of such a "trinket" could equal that of a light cruiser.
"A remarkable piece," the head of the House of Tion declared, twirling the ashtray in his fingers. "A gift from a wealthy trader who decided to enter our market and showed me respect by presenting all this."
He gestured with evident pleasure at the artworks surrounding him.
"Very nice," Leia replied dryly. "But you invited me here for diplomatic talks, not to boast about your wealth."
"So far as I know, you are working in that direction," Bonteri continued as if he hadn't heard her rebuke, "but trying not to advertise your relation to Darth Vader. And studiously avoiding the fact that he was once the Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. Curious how it turns out—your father, while a Jedi, actively hunted his fellow Order members."
Leia blinked, once again stunned that the head of the House of Tion knew so much about her family.
"Everyone has their little secrets in the personal category," Leia replied, suddenly feeling helpless.
The New Republic and the Alliance carefully skirted that page of her biography to avoid unnecessary negativity.
And it turned out someone knew their entire backstory and wasn't shy about flaunting it.
Lord Bonteri continued:
"If you want my opinion, the Emperor was wrong not to eliminate all the Jedi. Unfinished business creates extra difficulties."
"Surely the Jedi Knights inspire such fear in you?" Leia asked quietly.
Though the topic was not to her taste, she hadn't lost hope of prying out additional information.
The head of the House of Tion took a deep drag and exhaled a cloud of fragrant smoke.
"Not in the least," he said. "But I consider the Jedi a relic of the past. And relics must be discarded if they cause difficulties in the present and problems in the future. Using a former Jedi to destroy the Jedi was an extremely unpopular decision. Probably why the Emperor gave Darth Vader his new name."
Leia continued the debate:
"The Emperor, to whose memory you are so reverent, also possessed the Force, as did Darth Vader."
"The Emperor possessed special powers," Bonteri replied as if stating the obvious. "Besides, he was the Emperor. And Vader ultimately proved a traitor. As I understand it, he was one of those responsible for the Emperor's death. Another confirmation of the harmfulness of all things mystical."
"And yet the Jedi survived, and their Order will be restored. My brother is working on that right now. In a few years the new Jedi will return to their mission—protectors of the galaxy."
"Let them," Bonteri replied, taking another drag. "When their Order of conjurers and charlatans rises again, tell them not to set foot on Ciutric Hegemony territory. Otherwise they'll simply be exterminated here like wild beasts or madmen."
"Isn't that asking a bit much while proposing an alliance?" Leia narrowed her eyes, completely failing to understand what this boor wanted from her.
"I want all our neighbors to hear me," Bonteri declared in a tone that brooked no argument. "We have no intention of indulging the desires of the Alliance, the New Republic, or the Empire—whatever they call themselves now. All that interests us is exclusive territorial integrity and the wholeness of the Hegemony within the borders historically violated."
"First and foremost by the Emperor," Leia noted. "Whom you just spoke of so admiringly."
"You're as much a politician as he was, Minister," Bonteri reminded her. "And politicians, as we know, are prone to making unpopular decisions. But I will not cease to respect Palpatine for some encroachments on the historical and territorial interests of the Ciutric Hegemony. As a politician and organizer he was incomparable. Neither before nor after him were such talents born."
"But nevertheless you approached us with an alliance proposal…"
"Negotiations, not alliance—we were misunderstood," Bonteri stated, taking another drag.
Leia, who had personally seen the official note, silently let yet another jab pass.
No, the message had explicitly spoken of alliance.
Which she did not fail to remind him.
"Agreements are revised, Princess," Bonteri declared. "Especially in light of recent events."
"What are you talking about?" Leia tensed.
"I can well imagine you're not aware of recent events in the Thanium Worlds sector," Bonteri continued. "So I'll explain. It so happened that my representatives found common ground with the government of that sector and its worlds. We began negotiations for peaceful merger. Since the Thanium Worlds are in a rather precarious position—lacking sufficient armed forces of their own—we offered them support. Again, to avoid alarming the Alliance, we sent not our military fleet of Imperial-built ships but our mercenary forces. Which the Alliance struck and completely destroyed some time ago."
"That can't be," Leia shook her head.
"So someone else in the galaxy has Mon Calamari star cruisers?" Bonteri inquired. "No need to even mention the New Republic—they have enough problems of their own. And not a single spare capital ship. You, on the other hand…"
"We would never attack a neutral state!" Leia insisted forcefully.
"Is that so?" Bonteri snorted, activating his workstation and turning the monitor so she could see what was written on the screen. "Read—this is my intelligence data."
The young woman needed only a few seconds.
"Some kind of nonsense," she gave her verdict.
"And I don't think so," Bonteri said menacingly. "And the sectors we were negotiating with don't think so either. From your base on Lantillies five MC80a Liberty-type Mon Calamari star cruisers launched. Exactly the same number of ships, exactly the same design, struck our base on Galidraan. Then retreated. Our reserves pursued—and were intercepted, destroyed, and completely annihilated."
"Grand Admiral Thrawn once captured our ships and used them in provocations more than once," Leia blurted the first thing that came to mind.
"Yes, but Thrawn is dead," Bonteri stated. "And according to our information from a reliable source, all Mon Calamari star cruisers in the Dominion's possession were sold by Vice Admiral Pellaeon to the New Republic. In exchange Pellaeon received a large quantity of Imperial ground military equipment. And this happened long before the attack. Almost immediately after the New Republic abandoned Coruscant and rolled back to the Mid Rim, if not further."
"What is this source?" Leia asked.
"Trustworthy," Bonteri replied.
"You expect me to take your word for it?" the former princess refused to yield.
"Why not?" The head of the House of Tion ejected an information chip from the computer. "Here—all copies of the documents. Including the identifiers and engine frequencies of the Mon Calamari star cruisers that were in the Dominion's arsenal. As you can see—none match those spotted by our observation stations at Galidraan."
"The Dominion could have had more ships," Leia understood her words sounded so pathetic she didn't believe them herself.
"With the same success I could claim you carried out the attack and are now clumsily trying to shift suspicion," Bonteri parried.
There was nothing to counter that.
Leia took the chip with the data, intending to check everything thoroughly.
"And now?" she asked.
"The situation has changed," Bonteri declared. "No one will understand if I conclude an open alliance with those who, to put it mildly, have fouled the air we all breathe. The Thanium Worlds, Indrexu, and Keldrath refuse further negotiations with us. The Cronese Mandate is openly arming itself, considering us weak. The Allied Tion has also broken off unification talks, though Moff Gronn certainly wouldn't dare oppose me given his sector's complete military depletion. This does not suit me. These territories are historic Tionese interests. And they must be ours."
"The Thanium Worlds ceased to be part of Tion after the death of Xim the Despot," Leia stated. "So…"
"That's precisely why I was conducting peaceful accession negotiations," Bonteri cut her off harshly. "And everything was going well until your military got itchy fingers. Now I'm seen as weak. And I have no desire to spill Tionese blood to correct what you have done!"
"Your accusations are baseless," Leia rejected the insinuations. "The Alliance would never attack neutral worlds! We espouse Republican values, including freedom of self-determination…"
"When you attacked Lianna, were you also espousing those values?" Bonteri inquired. "And no need to tell me it was the New Republic. And the Ciutric Hegemony was attacked by the New Republic too. Whose government included everyone who now leads the Alliance. So forgive me, but I have a living example of your General Bel Iblis conducting unsanctioned military operations against the Empire. Which, incidentally, is why Grand Admiral Thrawn attacked you. So let's speak in legal terms. We have identical situations—covert attacks carried out by your forces."
"Under the identifiers of our forces," Leia declared.
"Even if under your flags," Bonteri said indifferently. "Why you did it is your business. But there will be no open alliance between us. Not for the next few years, at least."
"Then I see no point in continuing this dialogue…"
"And yet there is a point," the head of the House of Bonteri declared. "Help me unite the territories around Tion, including Lianna which you occupy, and your Alliance will receive regular funding to continue the military campaign. I will allow your ships free passage through Ciutric Hegemony territory and all sectors that join it. Duty-free trade and numerous other trade concessions. I'm sure my proposal will interest you one way or another."
"I need to discuss this with the head of state," Leia said, realizing the negotiations had clearly gone beyond even what had been agreed with Mon Mothma and Bel Iblis. "I'm certain we can provide proof of our starships' non-involvement in the attack on your mercenaries."
"I hope they will be so convincing that even the most skeptical sectors and planetary rulers will unanimously believe you," Bonteri smirked. "Don't miss your chance, Princess. A year or two of secret fruitful cooperation, mutual formal reconciliation, and no one will even remember that you once blundered. Give me what I want, and I will support you in your war with the Empire—repair your ships if necessary and supply the weapons you need to continue the fight. If the need arises, we will gladly help you in a civil war with the New Republic. But only after you restore our historic borders. As I see them."
"And exactly how are we supposed to do that?" Leia asked. "If they don't want negotiations with you, why would they respond to us?"
"What do I care how you turn their attention and achieve the desired result?" Bonteri smirked. "To survive you need markets for your products, weapons, and equipment. Not to mention money, which you need like air and immediately. I am prepared to provide all of that. In exchange I demand the return of Tionese territories. As far as I'm concerned, you're quite good at organizing diversions against superior enemy forces. I think if unknown forces start eliminating radically minded generals and rulers in the neighboring sectors, the population will crave stability and peace. Which the Ciutric Hegemony can provide."
"He's essentially forcing us to get our hands dirty by acting as aggressors," Leia realized. "While he presents himself as the protector of the weak and downtrodden."
A win-win situation.
In the latter role the Rebel Alliance had managed to defeat the Empire and proclaim the New Republic.
"I will speak with Alliance leadership," Leia said firmly. "You will receive an answer as soon as it is formulated."
"Excellent," Bonteri smiled. "That suits me. But I don't advise delaying too long—a week or two I can wait. After that I'll solve the problems myself."
"So why not solve them without our help?" Leia thought, deciding to use the Force to read her interlocutor's intentions, but with horror realized she could not.
The cold that had permeated her the entire time she was in the House of Tion's residence grew even more vile.
She couldn't help but wince.
"No need to turn up your nose, dear Princess," Bonteri said, misinterpreting her reaction. "That cloyingly sweet political life Viceroy Organa accustomed you to is over. Relations are built purely on mercantile benefit. Grand Admiral Thrawn and his Dominion have shown the entire galaxy what happens when states and sentients act solely out of pragmatic self-interest. Get used to it—you're unlikely to encounter a friendly atmosphere in negotiations anywhere else."
***
The interference from the cloaking field was no longer even noticed.
A holographic recording appeared before me, sent by one of Captain Hoffner's clones.
"Vice Admiral Pellaeon, the negotiations in the Ciutric Hegemony have taken place," he addressed the Dominion's military commander.
It so happened that certain agents—like Hoffner or Ferrier, and their clones—were not trusted.
Therefore even in direct communication with some of them I use a masking program developed by Mr. Ghent to fool the Republican commander who delivered the Bellator-class fast dreadnought straight into our hands.
That is why they, and many other sentients, believe they are speaking with Pellaeon.
"Leia Organa Solo received from Lord Bonteri a copy of the recordings transmitted to him," the recording continued. "The Alliance mission has left Tion. They have been given conditions—within a maximum of two standard weeks either accept the proposal and help Tion seize the neighboring sectors, or Lord Bonteri will act independently. Confirmed connection between the destroyed task force in the Thanium Worlds sector and Bonteri himself. To the Alliance it was presented as a group of mercenaries hired by Bonteri to guard the Thanium Worlds. Detailed report attached to this file."
The hologram dissolved.
I silently transferred the data from the message to an information chip, erasing all traces of communication.
Plugging the chip into an isolated datapad, I immersed myself in reading.
Yes, I don't need to be present at every hot spot in the galaxy to control the execution of my plan.
After all, right now my interest lies in the eastern part of the galaxy.
Death and fury will arrive in the northeast and a number of other worlds, sectors, and territories a little later.
When the owner of all the gifted treasures learns where they are now.
And then we shall see how convenient it is to pull chestnuts from the fire with someone else's hands.
But for now…
Let us read what is happening in the Ciutric Hegemony and how masterfully Lord Bonteri has led Leia Organa Solo by the nose.
There is clearly much of interest there.
And at the very least the fact that ysalamiri are present in the House of Tion's residence.
Which already says a great deal.