Ten years, the second month, and the twenty-fifth day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, the second month, and the twenty-fifth day after the Great ReSynchronization.
(Nine months and the tenth day since arrival).
Irv tensely scratched his forehead with his nails, trying to figure out exactly where the error had crept into his budget calculations.
Because, as it turned out, after completing the current mining mission, the balance of the Colicoid Swarm and its command would be left without a single positive figure.
After repairs, refueling, and equipping the destroyer's wing with vulture droids produced by the Dominion on special order, along with the payments due to the crew members—the money that Thrawn would pay them for all their troubles—would simply fly away on the aforementioned expense items.
Although, by his estimates, there should have been about half a million credits left as an untouchable reserve.
There was a financial hole somewhere, and it infuriated him terribly.
He had to check the invoices over and over to understand what was happening with the financial reporting.
And when he had almost despaired, the answer was found.
Right where Irv didn't want to see it.
"I understand a lot, but here I have to admit my helplessness," Vain solemnly announced, traditionally without any preliminaries like a warning over the commlink or a simple audible notification from the door panel, bursting into the spacious room that had miraculously survived all these years and battles at the very top of the "dorsal fin" of the carrier star destroyer.
Irv raised his head, looking at his assistant descending the right wing of the stairs, who was glancing around.
"Pretty luxurious up here," he appraised the cabin's furnishings.
"The decor hasn't changed since construction," Irv commented. "Neimoidians know a thing or two about luxury. And bad taste. Rumor has it that Palpatine was held in just such a cabin aboard the Invisible Hand after General Grievous attacked Coruscant at the end of the Clone Wars. Though I did install my own desk."
The man leaned back in his chair, watching his half-breed friend study the labels on the bottles of liquor with an attentive gaze.
Then, sighing (apparently remembering he was on watch), Yazuo found a chair and heavily sank into it, making it clear that he could barely stand from emptiness and fatigue.
"And what do I owe for your visit?" Irv inquired.
"We've arrived at the destination point," Vain reported. "Know where that is?"
"I'm no astro-navigation genius, but I can look at directories," Irv said. "The northwestern edge of the Bosf sector."
"Rumor has it the Red Star is hunting around here somewhere," Vain said dreamily. "And the sector's already under Dominion control. Ah, if only we could meet up with Shohashi…"
"I don't think the Butcher of Atoan would be thrilled to meet a privateer, even one in Dominion service," the commander of the Colicoid Swarm summed up. "So, what's the plan for mining?"
"We've deployed the mass-shadow mines, the ships are setting up the barriers," Vain shrugged. "The crew's resting, the watch is playing sabacc… All as usual on corsair ships…"
"You lot, drop that pirate free-for-all on me," Irv raised his voice. "We have a good chance to prove ourselves loyal to the grand admiral. And I don't want anything to go wrong."
"You think he's stopped wondering what we're plotting behind his back?"
"I think it's no coincidence we're assigned to work inside the Dominion," Irv said. "Whether Thrawn has started trusting us or not, the end goal remains the same—we need to find a way to check the rest of the CIS planets and their bases, to search for anything still usable for further exploitation."
"You think Thrawn, with all he has, would need to buy old Separatist factories from us?" Vain was surprised. "Seems like he has everything he could need…"
"Let's assume that's true," Irv agreed. "But it doesn't change the core of what's happening, my friend. Building new factories—from foundation to roof—costs obscenely large sums. And when you're offered outdated but still functional equipment capable of producing weaponry, it's hard to resist. Upgrading is always easier than creating anew. Especially when you're exporting old but modernized armament across the galaxy—you clearly need plenty of industrial capacity. Thrawn has made many enemies, and I suspect he won't pretend to be dead for the rest of his days. Someday he'll emerge from the shadows—and I assume something grand will follow. Like a military campaign against the New Republic or the Empire. So yes, I think he wouldn't refuse even old factories. Especially since he loves giving new life to old toys. Buzz droids, B1s, droidekas, vulture droids, abandoned Imperial technologies like hybrideum-based cloaking."
"Maybe he just has a fetish for that?" Vain suggested. "Collecting old toys…"
"So far, all I see is that these 'toys' help him wipe the enemy's backside," Irv countered. "And I haven't heard of another factory in the Dominion producing second-model droidekas. No, only the one evacuated from Hypori is working. So if we find another like it—we'll get filthy rich."
"I'm still of the opinion that honest work for any state won't earn you a mountain of credits," Vain expressed. "And how much time has passed? Almost thirty years since the Clone Wars ended. If our targets haven't been looted by other quick fellows like us, who knows what else happened to them. Remember Horrn—the planet's unstable, and with the wrong approach to exploitation, all structures could easily turn to ruins. And you want to spend heaps of time and money cruising on a star destroyer searching for old junk."
"They might be destroyed," Irv agreed. "But until we check—we won't know for sure. This and subsequent tasks will give us understanding of a simple thing—if Thrawn has started trusting us, he might let us hunt freely beyond Dominion borders. And then we can really spread our wings…"
"How? You yourself said there might be Dominion tracking devices on the Colicoid Swarm."
"That's why I need time to earn money, upgrade the ship so it takes as little damage in battle as possible, and then we can start various journeys," Irv explained. "Besides, we have not only the Colicoid Swarm but also the Gozanti."
"That flying durasteel safe?" Yazuo asked.
"A decent ship for small-force reconnaissance," the commander of the Colicoid Swarm said. "The mechanics finally finished disassembling it and checking for beacons. So as soon as we reassemble it—you'll head out on recon immediately after we get a new assignment. While I simulate vigorous activity for the Dominion's benefit—you'll make sure we check at least a couple of planets. After all, even if the planets have destroyed factories and CIS bases, nothing stops us from using them as our own base."
"Hope in the Dominion—but don't slack yourself?" Vain chuckled.
"Exactly," Irv agreed. "Thrawn's not bad, but as you rightly noted, he has a huge number of enemies. Almost half the galaxy on his enemy list… One of them might get to him. And then, if all his efforts—as often happens with Imperials—go down the drain, it's better to have the option to calmly wave goodbye to the grand admiral and his cronies and head far away."
"You haven't forgotten that the entire pirate and privateer community knows we worked for him?"
"I remember. That's why I'm saying—it'd be nice to have a spot to hole up," Irv reminded. "The galaxy has a short memory, judging by how often its inhabitants love strolling with garden tools. So the sooner we find a base we can quickly reach and hide in, preferably with some equipment on the surface compatible with the Colicoid Swarm's systems. Preferably with foundries—for armor casting. That's why I'm not hoping for shipyards but betting on droid factories. The difference in smelters isn't huge—and it can always be adjusted in the foundry's central computer. I've already fought on one side in a conflict where one part of the galaxy warred on another. I don't particularly want to watch what's left after this one."
"If," Vain emphasized, "that happens."
"If," Irv agreed. "If this guy who manages to set chairs on fire under every major player in the galaxy virtuously wriggles out and doesn't enter war simultaneously with all or several major galactic states wishing ill on the Dominion, then…"
"Then?" Vain clarified.
"I'll hang my privateer jacket on the back of this chair, park the Colicoid Swarm in some secluded spot, and go hire myself out to his regular fleet," Irv grinned. "Because the ability to exhaust enemies without fighting them directly is a very rare, almost lost art in our time."
"I had a higher opinion of you," Vain feigned sadness on his face. "Eh… And what about robbing and killing till the end of our days?"
"Hold your tears," Irv grinned. "These are just very general outlines to detail. The overall concept is—if Thrawn truly shows prudence and doesn't descend into megalomania, thinking he can war against all and win like Zsinj did in his time, then fine—I'll share some of the found CIS bases and foundries with him. If not… Well, then we'll have several bases, and one day we'll just go on a raid from which we won't return."
"Sounds as sneaky as promising to marry a drunk Twi'lek while stripping her in a cantina restroom," Yazuo declared.
Irv shuddered and winced in disgust.
"I don't even want to know where you got that comparison from. Better go to the hangar and oversee the Gozanti assembly. Pick a few reliable and loyal guys for your crew. I have a feeling—what we're doing now, mining things we're not privy to—is the prologue to something very big."
***
Major Tierce silently placed a deck with operational reports for the past couple of days on my desk.
"Perimeter is operating along the entire border, sir," he said quietly. "No new attempts at penetration detected. Scouts are moving toward the planets from which enemy fleets advanced for the attack. Data on those planets' defense systems will arrive in real time."
"Thank you, major," I said. "What about the investigation at that graveyard now outside our hull?"
"Analysis of comms system logs indicates the other frigates and star destroyers self-destructed shortly after the Merciless," what news. "At the same time, no enemy communication activity detected on any of our fleet's ships or the observation station."
"Interesting fact," I leaned forward, stroking my chin with thumb and forefinger, nodding for the major to sit opposite me. "So the decision for self-destruction was made by the ships' crews without higher sanction."
"Shipboard counterintelligence thinks the same," Grodin nodded. "For now, it's unclear if this is the initiative of sleeper agents programmed to destroy starships upon commander death, or some mechanism. Without factual data, we can only hypothesize."
"There can be as many guesses as you like," I agreed. "What about our new passenger?"
"Medical bay finished her scans, all tests per the filtration program completed," Grodin reported. "We can confidently say she's not a clone, has no hidden or implanted equipment, no cavities in bone tissue, no growths on internal organs. Her DNA sample matches the thirty-year-old padawan Maris Brood sample stored in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, a copy of which was available to Ubiqtorate."
And Mara Jade, before leaving the Chimaera's board, reported she sensed no hint of hidden thoughts or plans from her "ward."
Only poorly concealed animal fear behind bravado and demonstrative behavior.
"In other words, we've found another Jedi the Ubiqtorate couldn't reach," I concluded.
"That's correct, sir," Grodin agreed. "There's an interesting point."
"I'm listening."
"This woman had meetings—two—with Galen Marek."
"As if I didn't know."
"Source of awareness?"
"Her initial interrogation, conducted by me in a Force suppression zone, plus Ubiqtorate investigation data on incidents related to this sentient's actions."
"Good," I nodded. "Arrange a meeting for us in a few hours—when we jump to hyperspace for headquarters. Right now, I'm more interested in what our scouts found in enemy star destroyer and frigate debris."
"Not much, sir," Grodin replied. "We obtained samples of a dozen cloaking field projectors and can confirm they use stygium, as assumed."
"Are we familiar with the cloaking technology?"
"Yes, sir," the man nodded. "As well as the stygium source."
"Maramere," I stated confidently, as fact.
Though I was certain.
"Yes, sir. Stygium mined there," logical, since we knew some meres led by the convicted and executed Sol Sixxa and his group worked for the Zann Consortium in the past, supplying them stygium from Phantom Island.
"The cloaking technology is Neimoidian," Grodin continued. "Its source, like ours—a pleasure liner Siren, owned two years before the Clone Wars by Neimoidian Lord Tout controlling the Karthakk system. Sixxa killed Tout and downed his ship. Then retrieved part of the cloaking device and installed it on his personal ship."
That's who Captain Nym and Sol Sixxa initially fought before becoming what my subordinates saw.
"From Sixxa's interrogations, we know he obtained a prototype cloaking device two years before the Battle of Geonosis, starting the Clone Wars," Grodin continued, opening an archival file. "Then, after Yavin, he worked with the Zann Consortium, supplying stygium. Recently contacted again, but presented as Black Sun, demanding not only stygium but cloaking tech data. Which he provided—in exchange for support destroying other groups in the system, and later—us."
"We know the end—he supplied massive stygium, which we've turned to dust these past weeks," I said, looking at the flickering hologram of the Galaanus system on the other desk part. Four large ships and an ocean of debris. "After which we halted his operations."
"Anyway, apparently he passed cloaking device data to the enemy," Grodin said. "Whether we destroyed all enemy ships equipped with this tech remains open."
"Mark this as another direction for our scouts remaining in or soon heading to the Corporate Sector," I said. "Far more interesting: the Zann Consortium previously had cloaking tech. But didn't reproduce it, instead seeking another on the same principles. I want to know why. Send a request to the Ubiqtorate archive we inherited. If they studied previous Zann Consortium ship debris, I want copies of those records."
Pragmatic sentients—only they become long-term crime leaders—don't waste time and money chasing "upgrades."
Replacing one expensive equipment type with another must be justified.
Even with Maramere stygium supplies, projector production isn't cheap.
There was a reason the Zann Consortium abandoned old cloaking for another never mass-produced—prototype on the Siren.
It took us time to mass-produce and deploy.
Projector sizes and principles don't allow cloaking small ships.
TIE Phantom tech came "inherited" from Santhe Corporation, but cloaking fields not in blueprints—Imperial engineers developed them.
So we use upgraded ARC-170s as scouts, not building TIE Phantoms: still can't miniaturize projectors from the crashed ocean-bottom Siren on Maramere, used for the Guardian and Punishing Sword.
"I've already sent the request to Dominion Intelligence headquarters archive, sir," Grodin explained. "Results will be transmitted immediately upon receipt."
"Data from Tiragga's second moon arrived?"
"Yes, sir. Captain Pryl from Thunder handled verification. Probe droids confirmed Imperial-pattern landing craft on the planet. Evidence of enemy technicians and soldiers at simulation positions for several standard hours."
"Ensure Captain Pryl destroys all probe droids entering Tiragga's second moon atmosphere," I warned. "Also deploy warning beacons and defense force patrol starfighters. Minefield restoration around the moon per plan. I want additional forces, including Mieru'kar defense ships, transmitted for restoring Moff Harsh's fleet course to Tiragga's second moon per tracking stations and listening posts."
"It will be done, sir."
"Any additional news from Captain Astorias on mining?"
"Stormhawk, Black Pearl, and Colicoid Swarm have completed mine barriers outside the sector in Shaltin Tunnels. Captain Irv is deploying in Bosf sector at the first task force destruction site—that is, where the secret path from Bosf to Chiloon Rift begins. Captain Tiberos reported to Captain Astorias on mine barriers at Sertar and Thanium Worlds sectors border—that is, remote-controlled minefield in Shaltin Tunnels' initial third."
Sectors Vil and Sertar, through which the hyperspace route Shaltin Tunnels passes.
"Stormhawk is placing mine barriers on Hydian Way near Corporate Sector and Aparo sector borders. Red Star operates within Happih sector, deploying on borders with Kvimaar and Aparo," the major continued.
Corporate Sector (Aparo sector, like Happih, southwest along Hydian Way, flowing into other sectors)
"Krueger is mining Calamit sector borders."
Western neighbor of D'Astan sector ready too.
"Void Wanderer performs similar in Nembas sector, while Captain Stormaer handles Kvimaar sector mining."
Calamit sector (between D'Astan and Gordian Reach)
Nembas, Kvimaar sectors north along Hydian Way.
"In other words, primary task of mining routes to sectors from which attacks on Dominion originated, and their Corporate Sector link established, completed," I summarized.
"Exactly, grand admiral," Grodin said.
"Well," I steepled my hands. "Preparations for the next phase begun, major."
"Yes, sir," the major nodded. "Corporate Sector reliably blocked, as are its satellites—separated from each other."
"Not all," I reminded. "Inform me when hyperspace routes along Listhol Path from Kvimaar to Chorlian mined. And prepare orders for fleet special forces groups—we'll soon need to disable relays in those sectors."
Only when all these sectors reliably isolated by remote-controlled minefields can we say we've cut the Zann Consortium from their puppets.
And satellites—from each other.
"Sir, Vice Admiral Pellaeon asked to remind that completing first phase will take several weeks—factories can't produce mines in the quantities you request," Grodin said.
"He also asked not to destroy starships simulating runs to Tiragga's second moon," I recalled.
"Yes, sir."
"Unfortunately, I can't fulfill his wishes," the admission was casual. "But no worry. Soon we'll have several new Confederacy-era factories."
"Captain Irv hasn't abandoned his intent to secretly locate them?" Tierce clarified.
"And never will," I stated. "He fancies himself the last Separatist warlord entitled to CIS legacy. And believes only he can dispose of the war losers' property."
"Prize rights to those factories and property passed to the Empire, sir," Tierce reminded. "Dominion can't claim legal rights."
"Can't," I agreed. "Until the final Empire combat capability question resolved. But we live in times when jurisdiction matters less than combat-ready star destroyers. Soon our fleet will grow. Have you prepared the plan for Operation Double Signal?"
"Yes, sir," Tierce confirmed. "It's in item fifteen of the deck summaries."
"Thank you, major," I said, checking the chronometer. "You're dismissed. In three hours, ensure our new guest is delivered to my apartments for conversation."
"It will be done, sir," Tierce echoed.
The major silently left my apartments.
Disabling unnecessary holograms, I activated a Naboo aria recording, accompanying it with Alderaanian material art holograms.
Interesting hybrid.
Just like the one living by the same principles.
Well, let's review the reports.
***
"Maris, we're among the last Jedi. As long as we're alive, the Order lives. I can't allow the Empire to capture or kill you."
The words echoed slightly off the apartment walls, boundaries shrouded in darkness as if nonexistent.
Only a pair of snow-white sofas, a coffee table between them, and the maddening aroma of caf.
The Iridonian native, homeworld of Zabrak species, looked with unconcealed trepidation into crimson eyes like two fiery demon maws about to pounce.
And then she'd pay for all she'd done in the past, repeatedly approaching the invisible barrier separating a Jedi Knight from falling to the Dark Side of the Force.
Which she had crossed.
Not that she regretted it, but still…
For some reason now, sitting in the dimly lit bay—Grand Admiral Thrawn's personal apartments—she felt helpless.
The Force absence atmosphere surrounding her since placed in her assigned cabin aboard the star destroyer now felt like stepping out in frivolous attire into frost on Ilum, where Jedi harvested lightsaber crystals.
Maris had never been there, but her first mentor, who found and trained her, described that secret world in such detail it sometimes chilled her.
"That's an exact quote?" Grand Admiral Thrawn asked in an impassive tone, as if discussing a cup of caf, not sentients' lives.
"Y-yes," she stammered slightly.
"Well," the grand admiral said calmly, impassively sipping caf. "Your mentor was right. If you'd fallen into Empire hands, the best fate—an Inquisitor. But most likely, you'd simply be killed, accused of some crime against the New Order."
"Not very encouraging," Maris thought.
"And… what awaits me joining the Dominion?" she clarified, biting her lips.
Something had shaken her confidence they'd welcome her with open arms after a bow and spouting timeless loyalty phrases.
"Alternatives roughly the same," Thrawn said. "Depends on how useful you can be to the Dominion."
Maris briefly recalled her words to Thrawn's Hand just before parting.
Yes, two days ago she was simply escorted to a cabin, then medical checks, interrogations, more checks…
The Zabrak smoothed her hair, batting eyes and advantageously displaying her body to the man.
"I can be very useful personally to you, Grand Admiral Thrawn," she exerted maximum effort for her voice to sound languid, provocative, challenging…
"Thank you for the offer," Thrawn didn't bat an eye at her behavior. "But I'll decline."
"Oh come on," every man's weakness—women. And damn what that redhead bitch thinks. If there's a chance to cozy up better with the new boss, why not? "I can be extremely grateful for my rescue and useful in moments of serious stress."
"I'm not accustomed to repeating twice, Lady Brood," Thrawn spoke in a monotonous yet deep tone that the Zabrak involuntarily felt herself breathing with anticipation. Not just a voice—a timbre of a being used to control, command, issue orders. "And I won't make exceptions for you. Your next such hint will end with a noose around your neck and hanging from the Chimaera's antenna en route."
The smile on Maris's face withered as quickly as it appeared.
She felt herself involuntarily cringing in shame, glaring at her own exposed body parts.
"Sorry," well, direct refusal means nothing yet. Men love "melting" when a woman feels great shame. "I… didn't mean to offend you. I understand you have your Hand for that, your longtime partner, obviously, but…"
"Those tricks won't work on me, Lady Brood," Thrawn said. "Nor your feminine charms. I appreciated your seduction attempts but abstain from the offer. I have no desire to wallow in filth."
Maris felt as if thrown from a high mountain straight into an icy lake.
No one had ever shot her down like that.
"Per your interrogation, you were accepted into the Jedi Order for training in infancy," Thrawn continued as if nothing happened.
"Yes," the Zabrak said absently, staring straight ahead.
What just happened not only knocked the ground from under her but shattered her ego to pieces.
"Jedi loved taking young children under three to indoctrinate their dogmas," she continued. "My first teacher followed the same rule."
"You're speaking of Master Shaak Ti?" Thrawn clarified.
"No," Maris shook her head. "My first master was a man who took me for training on his ship, Gray Pilgrim. When the Great Jedi Purge began, we felt the ripple in the Force. He ordered me to await his return, took a fighter, and left. I never saw him again. He contacted once, said Jedi destroyed by Sith. One—Darth Vader—once a Jedi who betrayed us, became a Sith Lord hunting survivors. I waited for news awhile, but teacher didn't return. Ship supplies running low, I decided to act. Find and kill Vader for what he did to the Order. But couldn't—I encountered Shaak Ti, who shifted my focus from revenge to survival."
"You both fled to Felucia," Thrawn continued.
"Yes," Maris felt dry mouth. "Master Ti trained me there, befriending locals—aboriginal tribes with Force connection. We hid from Sith for years—Ti told me Darth Sidious led the purge, Vader just his puppet, executor. I learned much new about Jedi arts from her, unrevealed by my previous master. But at some point I realized she was morally broken. Grateful for mentorship, but internally preparing for war with Sith. Ti noticed my Dark Side inclination but couldn't stop it. Nothing helped, and I realized Jedi not as strong as told. Even local shamans eyed me like tainted… Training continued, but one-sided, uncomfortable, not realizing my full potential. When Starkiller arrived, whom Ti and I first mistook for Darth Vader, I begged her on my knees for a chance to fight him. Master refused, ordered hide. I obeyed, and all I saw—how some kid wiped the floor with a Jedi Master across Felucia. Then she just died, without completing my training."
"How was Master Ti killed?"
"Hubris blinds," she told me," Maris irritated, but felt no power surge usual in such situations. Turns out even her anger couldn't overcome what made the Zabrak Force-insensitive. "Instead of fighting to the last, Shaak Ti merged with the Force, falling into a sarlacc's maw. But then I thought she jumped to escape and wait—everyone knows sarlaccs digest prey for thousands of years. Pretty cool move for such an experienced Jedi. But killing the sarlacc after Vader's acolyte left Felucia, I found hundreds of recent victim corpses in its stomach. None resembling Shaak Ti. Only her rags she passed as clothing."
"So Master Ti did die?"
"When I joined the Zann Consortium, they explained that burst Shaak Ti used after jumping into the sarlacc wasn't distraction. That's how Jedi merge with the Force. Like express transition."
"Indeed," interest first appeared in Thrawn's voice. "What happened next?"
"I subjugated locals and their war beasts," Brood continued. "Thought that key to victory… But miscalculated. When that acolyte returned to Felucia second time, the planet—this pure evil—corrupted me, and I finally fell to the Dark Side. I captured the Alderaan senator who arrived seeking Shaak Ti. Lured the acolyte with the hostage, thinking Dark Side would give power to eliminate him."
"But it didn't work."
Thrawn wasn't asking.
Thrawn stated.
"Yes," Brood said. "Despite all my abilities, my power—he defeated me like Ti before. I escaped only by fooling him, telling the simpleton I'd renounce the Dark Side if he spared me. He bought the manipulation, and I fled into Felucia's jungles. Wandered long, then found by Tyber Zann and Admiral Sykes during their conquest of Felucia. Couldn't leave the planet, practically went feral among aborigines who through the Force drove me mad with mental sends, images showing my fall to the Dark Side caused hundreds of their kin to die by Starkiller's hand. That's what they called Vader's sent acolyte to destroy Shaak Ti."
"Do you know why he came to Felucia the second time?" the grand admiral inquired.
"To rescue Senator Organa, whom I held captive," Maris reluctantly admitted.
"And why was he needed, Alderaan's vice-king?" Thrawn clarified, piercing her with his eyes.
"I… I wanted to lure Starkiller with him…"
"Really?" the grand admiral's voice suggested as much belief as a nexu's vegetarian promise. "So you knew Starkiller and Bail Organa cooperated after Vader tried killing Starkiller? Knew they formed the Rebel Alliance with others? Knew any of what I just said?"
The question barrage hammered like nails into her coffin lid.
And the grand admiral's eyes burned like crematorium furnaces for that coffin.
"No," Maris squeaked.
Now she began understanding Mara Jade's words—forgetting a meeting with Thrawn would be impossible.
"You captured the senator to trade his life for yours if meeting Vader," Thrawn said.
The Zabrak raised a frightened gaze to him.
"How do you…?"
She didn't finish, head drooping.
"All correct," she quietly agreed. "I chickened out. Again. Realized all my desires to kill Vader—worth nothing."
"Explain."
"Among Chevin, the apprentice is always weaker than the master," the Zabrak said. "Gains strength to destroy the teacher and take his place. Starkiller strong, but not even an apprentice. More like a servant, powerful and merciless. I realized when losing my tonfa fighting the sarlacc and barely surviving."
"If barely handled a large beast mostly buried, realization comes that a true Sith Lord who killed hundreds of Jedi—not in your league," the grand admiral commented.
"I realized only death awaited meeting Vader," Brood continued. "And seeing that senator, Organa, seeking Shaak Ti, realized only an Empire traitor would act so. Seeking Jedi then was state crime. I captured him, ready to hand to Vader to save my life."
"Interesting," Thrawn merely said. "Continue."
Maris thought she misheard.
"Um… That's all?" she looked bewildered at the Dominion grand admiral.
"If expecting lectures on 'good and bad,' wrong star destroyer," Thrawn cut. "I want your account of meeting Zann and Sykes. And what you did for the Zann Consortium."
"Nothing special," the Zabrak said quickly. "Minor errands, nothing serious…"
Thrawn sipped caf, set the mug down, crossed legs, and said.
"Fear."
Brood fidgeted on the sofa.
Her gaze darted around the surrounding dimness, but everywhere she looked, she imagined mighty figures of guards in blue-black armor, and a gray-skinned short ugly one whose single glance sufficed for lifelong nightmares.
"I don't understand what you mean, grand admiral," she mumbled incoherently, feeling palms sweat.
"You understand perfectly, Lady Brood," Thrawn countered. "Fear—what drives you. After your teacher's battle, Master Ti with Starkiller, it seized you. Fear of death, precisely. That's what led you to the Dark Side. Fear of ending existence. It's so strong you'll cling to any survival chance. Took hostages to trade their lives for yours. Betrayed those sworn loyalty to avoid death. But I'm deeply convinced working for the Zann Consortium convinced you not fear of death. But thirst for power. Triumph over weaker. Even a coward strong with a squad of thugs behind, unstoppable. Moreover—you're a cowardly liar who even after a decade can't tell truth that your own all-consuming animal fear finally led you to the Dark Side. Felucia planet, which you blamed for your fall—irrelevant."
"Are you a Jedi?!" Maris looked horrified at the blue-skinned sentient, desperately calling to the Force.
"No need for the Force to understand who's before me," Thrawn didn't answer. "Conclusions drawn immediately after you opened your mouth and told your desired version, aimed only at gaining my attention and portraying yourself accidental victim of insurmountable circumstances."
Such words never left her inner world unchanged.
She'd heard almost such a tirade once before.
And what followed…
"Anything to add to previous?" the grand admiral clarified in a tone like compiling anamnesis in a poorest Outer Rim clinic.
Maris felt an icy lump inside; felt unable to say or do anything.
Fear bound her.
Realization that for first time in long months, she'd been exposed, turned inside out, nose rubbed in her black soul, then hands wiped on it during dissection.
And now discard what remained of her into a deep pit and bury, to avoid dealing with such scum.
"Well," Thrawn said. "What I heard suffices to understand who you truly are."
The Zabrak felt goosebumps the size of a rancor she'd tried riding against Starkiller in their second Felucia meeting.
"The Dominion doesn't value liars, traitors, cowards," Thrawn said. "No place for them in our armed forces. We have our own Jedi Order variant, raised learning predecessors' mistakes. Road open to all thirsting to learn. And serve the Dominion…"
"I thirst!" Maris assured the grand admiral, lunging forward to grovel on knees before the nonhuman. "Desire to serve the Dominion bursts from within. I burn with shame for past deeds! I beg redemption for sins! I ask to teach overcoming weaknesses…"
Before her knees touched the floor, two completely unrelated things happened simultaneously.
First, she saw a gray-skinned shorty appear between her and Thrawn as if from underground, dark clumps in hands forming combat knife outlines.
His arms moved incomprehensibly fast, and instead of surprise exclamation, she felt breath cut off, pain spreading in concentrated circles from her throat.
Then Maris felt herself soaring like weightless fluff.
She looked in surprise at the receding figure of Grand Admiral Thrawn, feeling herself flying backward.
And peripherally saw two massive blue-black figures flanking her.
And slammed back into the sofa back, nearly flipping it and continuing flight.
Saved only by Imperial ships welding soft furniture to the floor.
The Dominion wisely adopted this.
"I wasn't finished, Lady Brood," Thrawn said casually, gesturing both guards situation stabilized.
The giants silently dissolved into apartment dimness as they appeared.
The Zabrak felt her biceps ache as if nearly crushed in vices.
Now she understood exactly where the guards grabbed her.
And her brain precisely recalled what happened.
As soon as she lunged—Thrawn shielded by the gray-skinned ugly twirling blades so fast she mistook his weapons for darkness clumps.
And instantly two guards yanked her back…
Yet they were beside her, previously outside her vision.
And she hadn't even fallen to her knees!
In mere two instants, in a Force-null space, those she hadn't seen shielded Thrawn!?
Does that even happen?!
She'd seen no such reaction speed in ordinary sentients—nor in encountered Jedi except Starkiller.
But even he couldn't outpace her here without being in her sight.
"Continue," Thrawn said routinely. "I've conducted recruitment talks with many sentients, and you stand out. For the worse, of course. Among them were those fearing for lives, committing wild, illogical actions. But you surpassed all."
"Thank you," Maris said hoarsely.
"Not a compliment," Thrawn stated. "No doubt as Zann Consortium operative you committed many foul acts—against the Empire and galaxy's peaceful civilians. Escaped justice by miracle. The Dominion prides itself on pursuing justice even for old crimes. But our counterintelligence won't need to dig deep. Your participation alone in two Dominion attacks—grounds for execution."
"N-no need." The Zabrak shook. "P-please! I'll d-do everything possible, a-anything y-you w-want!"
"I see no desire to cooperate from you," Thrawn spread hands. "Mentioning your Zann Consortium involvement, you instantly decided to deceive me. Naively. As if we don't know you commanded the task force blockading Bosf sector. As if we don't know you had your own apprentice, abandoned to us for your escape. As if we don't know Zann has other Force adepts besides you. His eastern galaxy plans. Operations in Imperial and Republican worlds. Moff and commander replacements with clones."
Maris was literally shaking from fear.
She knew uninvolved in most Thrawn mentioned—others did that.
She always remained small fry, executing only routine missions.
Because no one ever saw her capable of more than potential expendable coin.
Except Sykes trying to make her operational commander—only due to field commander shortage preparing Dominion attack.
And now she understood she'd become the scapegoat for all Zann Consortium crimes.
Unless she could give what they didn't know.
Some information to save her life!
Something very important!
"Don't kill!" she wailed tearfully. "I'll tell everything! All I know of Zann Consortium plans! Your redhead bitch didn't capture Sykes, and he knew much! Shared with me! I know almost as much as he!"
"Hand had no need to capture Admiral Sykes," Thrawn replied. "Her task—locate Consortium rear base coordinating Dominion attacks. She succeeded. A prisoner… I have no time, desire, or need to extract Zann Consortium plans from him. Whatever Tyber's considerations, they'll change once he realizes his fleet destroyed."
"But I know their bases and…"
Thrawn showed her an infochip.
"Full copy of Merciless central computer data," Thrawn explained. "All Hand needed to do—she did. And more."
Maris widened eyes.
Everything she could say, tell, trade for life—undoubtedly on that infochip.
Except one.
What Sykes would never record.
"That's not the main thing," she said quickly.
"And coincidentally you know what?" mockery almost in the grand admiral's voice.
"Yes," she replied. "Because anyone speaking of it or recording—killed via Force. Crumpled instantly like flimsi, not living person."
First time she saw interest on Thrawn's face.
As if favorite execution descriptions drew his attention to her words.
"Continue," he ordered.
"Zann not acting alone," Maris said quickly, realizing faster interest—faster weight in his eyes. "He has a chief advisor. Never shows face. No one seen him except Zann himself. I'll tell all I know of this hologram lover and sentient crumpler if you promise no harm and allow learning from your Jedi."
"Demand disproportionate to provided info," Thrawn shook head. "I know enough of Zann's advisors."
"But not this one," she stated. "I saw him once—only because Force-sensitive. He invaded my thoughts, turned my mind inside out, then discarded like used thing. This… Powerful and terrifying sentient. He… Said I'm cheap, not worth time. 'Stone not worth cutting.' That's what he said about me… He's strong. Insane. Virtuoso Dark Side master. But despite madness, he helped Zann rebuild Zann Consortium when nearly destroyed. Saved Zann's life and since helps subjugate galaxy, staying in shadows while appearing only for advice—I saw them talk a couple times—or evaluate new candidates for Zann's personal operatives, mostly former Imperials presented as trusted. Sykes said this advisor helped Zann Consortium recreate mind-wiping tech and perfect it…"
"Name."
Now Thrawn's voice showed direct interest.
Hope ray inside Maris.
"Promise that…"
"Say the name before handing you to my Dark Guard, who'll turn you inside out," icy tone threat acted like another icy lake dive.
"Sykes said he calls himself after a dead Imperial warlord," Thrawn's face features sharpened, as if knowing the answer awaiting her utterance.
Maris decided delaying not in her interest.
"They call him Shadowspawn," she said. "Spawn of shadow."
Thrawn briefly closed eyes.
Maris saw Dominion grand admiral's skin tense over cheekbones.
And through gloves visible knuckles of clenched fists.
It lasted seconds, apparently symbolizing this nonhuman's highest emotion display.
Comparable to ordinary sentients screaming in rage, breaking furniture realizing something clarifying everything yet confusing more.
"Thank you for cooperation, Lady Brood," Thrawn said in same routine tone, looking exactly as a minute ago. As if no boiling emotion seconds. "You've earned your chance to arrange life in the Dominion. Advise using it wisely. Nothing saving your life before—lies, betrayal, flirtations—won't help now. I have a sentient in mind to make you the best version of yourself."
"Um…" Maris felt better believe Thrawn's words and take as action guide. "As you say…"