There are times when even Thrawn's Hand can take a break from her boss's assignments.
Very short ones, in truth, but they do happen.
Usually they coincide with sleep.
But this time Mara woke in a cold sweat, with a sense of distant тревога.
As if something threatened her.
Something insignificant on the scale of the universe.
But something that touched her interests.
The girl sat up in bed, listening to her sensations.
The half-dark of the cabin aboard a "Personal Luxury Yacht 3000"-class yacht seemed to wrap the girl in its icy blanket.
Built on the slips of SoroSuub Corporation, this vessel had once borne the name Lady Luck.
And it had belonged to none other than the famous Alliance hero, Lando Calrissian.
Lady Luck.
Dominion Intelligence had stolen the ship during the raid on the "Nomad's Nest" on Nkllon.
The intelligence operatives used it several times for their missions—after, of course, doing everything to ensure the ship could not be tracked, identified, or otherwise tied to its past.
And it seemed that during repairs, the yard crews had done something wrong—the heating in the living sections would periodically cut out.
And that was very unpleasant.
She had to unlock all the hatches in other parts of the fifty-meter ship and regulate the microclimate that way.
But Jade had already grown used to those sensations.
The sensations that had awakened her were nothing more than another malfunction in the cabin's heating system.
Fixing it in space during a hyperspace jump was impossible—a drydock and ruthless gutting of the ship's innards were required.
From the condition of the ship, decently armed by its previous owner, it was clear that Calrissian had intended to modernize the yacht.
But he never did—likely busy with more pressing matters.
Well, Dominion Intelligence engineers did it for him.
But for some reason, clumsily.
In fairness, the problems were only with the heating system.
Otherwise, this yacht was fast, tough, and well-armed.
Give her a couple of heavy turbolasers—and with a great deal of stretching, she could be counted as a very-very-very light cruiser.
So Mara limited herself to pulling an extra blanket closer and wrapping it tighter around herself.
But sleep did not return.
The feeling of тревога—of intentions to encroach on something that belonged to her—would not let go.
Again and again Mara listened to the Force.
Just as Maul had taught her, she cast everything superfluous from her mind, focusing on one significant thing after another.
But the Force offered no reply.
It could not be that Maul had misinterpreted the training records from an ancient Jedi holocron found on Ossus last year.
Mara herself had reviewed the recordings, for self-education.
With her, the holocron's gatekeeper—the imprint of an ancient Jedi's mind—had been far more talkative.
Perhaps the long-dead Jedi had prejudices against horned guys with Sith tattoos on their faces.
Or maybe he simply wasn't inclined to share wisdom with an overly temperamental Zabrak.
Mara, frankly, didn't care about the reasons.
She needed knowledge—and she got it.
For a full hour the girl tried to understand the cause of the signal from the Force, but she could not find the right answer.
All her few belongings—those she valued—were with her, and…
"And you say you're not a fool," Mara sighed sadly, addressing herself, collapsing back onto the bed and staring at the mirrored surface of the ceiling in her own cabin.
Objects.
Of course she valued them.
So much that she could even not care about them.
Sentients—that was the Force's message.
Someone among the sentients close to her was in danger.
Or almost in danger.
Mara began the search anew.
She pictured before her those she valued in one way or another.
Now and in the past.
Karrde? No, no reaction from the Force.
Gentz? Yes, Mara felt his excitement, but it was more like the tremor of an inventor and a discoverer.
Ahsoka?
"Ay," Jade hissed when, in response to the thread of the Force reaching toward the Togruta, she received a "slap on the palms."
Nothing threatened the Togruta.
Not in any lethal sense.
She was simply busy.
Deeply engrossed in something and, without ceremony, had blocked herself in the Force, severing contact with Mara.
Maul?
No, that was perfectly fine.
The horned one without the lower half of his body lived without troubles.
He flew where he was ordered, killed whom he was ordered. What's not an ideal life?
To be honest, Mara doubted that anyone in the galaxy could match Darth Maul in lightsaber combat.
Except perhaps Palpatine…
Involuntarily, the girl pictured the Emperor—but caught herself in time and threw the image from her head.
As if she needed to, by old habit, establish contact with that monster.
So then who?
"The last option is the right one?" Jade snorted, thinking of the Grand Admiral.
She deliberately put him at the end of the list of those she could truly worry about.
The Grand Admiral had already proven he could handle threats of all kinds.
And if something appeared that he could not cope with, then…
As always, Thrawn's image did not answer in the Force.
Just a black, impenetrable nothing.
Very similar to the Force's reflection when one thinks of a dead sentient—also darkness and no response.
Interesting—does Thrawn know about this trait?
Well, there was no way to "check" the Grand Admiral, so perhaps danger threatened someone else?
Mara started thinking who else to picture when she felt the Force as if pulling her back.
It wasn't hard to guess that Jade was supposed to think directly about the last candidacy in her search.
And that was Thrawn.
Obviously the Force could not react to him directly, because he traditionally kept himself within a Force-repelling field, stroking his ysalamiri.
Therefore, the "pulling back" was a kind of hint.
Sleep vanished as if wiped away by a hand.
So danger threatened Thrawn directly.
That fact drove away the last remnants of sleep.
Mara tossed aside the heap of blankets and slid down onto the cabin's deck plating.
If she had done it barefoot, she would have burned herself on the cold metal.
But it wasn't her first day in this world.
Furry socks—essentially leg warmers—saved her from the cold.
The girl unceremoniously grabbed her neatly folded combat suit, her lightsaber, a belt with "gadgets," and headed for the yacht's bridge.
Once in relative warmth, the red-haired beast shrugged off her silk pajamas (yes, she had the right and the means to allow herself that!), changed, and slid in behind the communications console.
It took only minutes to contact the Guardian.
The duty communications operator answered her.
Judging by his phlegmatic manner—a clone.
He requested her identifier.
Received it.
Checked it.
Confirmed its authenticity.
After which he diplomatically advised her that if she wished to speak with the Grand Admiral, she should wait until he finished his business.
And no, he would not give her the coordinates of the flagship's location.
No, he knew she had provided him with high-level access codes.
No, they would not help her obtain information about the ship's location.
Why?
Because the data she was requesting had a higher priority than the codes she had provided.
Mara had no others.
And she suspected that Thrawn had, by order, forbidden disclosure of the Guardian's location.
So she would not succeed that way.
"Then immediately inform him, once he is free, about my call," the girl said. "This concerns his personal safety."
"Acknowledged."
After saying goodbye to the imperturbable operator—who had, in fact, done everything correctly, rebuffing her by every confidentiality clause and regulation—Jade drummed her fingers on the control panel.
She could not reach Thrawn directly—at the moment she was not on assignment, and therefore had no communications codes for him.
Who knew that отпуск was not what she needed right now?… All right—she really wouldn't like to do it this way, but…
In truth, she wasn't sure the Force was warning her specifically about a threat to Thrawn's life.
No, there was something here—something that touched both her and Thrawn, some kind of interconnection…
Something personal…
So she slightly "embellished" her information.
Perfectly understanding that regulations required the communications officer to grab his legs and sprint, headlong, toward the Grand Admiral with a data pad whose screen would display Mara's warning.
And maybe then…
The comm panel beeped, announcing an incoming holocall.
From the Guardian.
Priority—Grand Admiral identifier.
"I very much doubt this is Thrawn himself," Mara said, activating the device.
Of all things, the Grand Admiral was not a coward.
And he hardly would have simply set aside his business to talk with her about vague warnings.
Not that kind of… Chiss.
And she was not mistaken.
The hologram of the same communications operator looked back at her.
"The Grand Admiral expects you aboard the Guardian at any time convenient for you," he reported. "Coordinates are transmitted via encrypted channel Alpha. Decryption codes—via channel Sigma. Confirm receipt."
Mara glanced at the files and immediately sent both documents with the data into the decryptor.
"Received," she answered.
Coordinates of spatial position lit up on the decryptor's monitor.
"I'll be there soon," the girl reported.
"We'll be expecting you," the communications officer replied matter-of-factly.
And the hologram dissolved.
And Mara went to interrupt the current hyperspace jump and set a new course.
Well then—she would buy her little house in a quiet corner on Tragan later; right now the Force and her inner voice told her that Thrawn's Hand needed to get as close as possible to Thrawn himself.
How? What? Why?
Those questions would remain unanswered by the Force.
She would have to find them on her own.
And that was something Mara knew how to do better than anyone in the galaxy.
And if not—then she would find someone who did it better than she did and, after that meeting, would still become the best of her kind.
***
The first желание, when I heard the Baroness's proposal—besides coughing—was to tell the lady that I had already been married and had no desire to conduct similar experiments on my psyche again.
And to cut the connection.
In principle, that's exactly what I did in my прошлой жизни…
But now the conditions were different, the realities different, the circumstances different.
And I am different.
So remarks like that would not only be inauthentic, they would also raise additional questions about my "surprised reaction."
Therefore, the role had to be played to the end, exactly as planned.
"I don't see the connection between your proposal of marriage and guarantees of your personal safety," I said, trying to speak in an everyday tone, as if stating a fact of no particular significance.
If there was logic in her words, it was practically elusive.
At least to me.
By the wrinkling of Pellaeon's face, it was clear that he, on the other hand, did have an idea what was being discussed.
The Baroness arched a thin eyebrow.
"Well, how could there not be, Grand Admiral," she narrowed her eyes, clearly taking my reaction to her words as the first step toward capitulation. "From time immemorial, representatives of influential families—industrialists, aristocrats, monarchs—have concluded dynastic marriages with one another, dictated by political or other benefit. A marital alliance like that between two influential sentients is far stronger than legal documents. And in our troubled times, those are worth no more than the flimsi they're printed on."
The last part was an obvious demonstration of her knowledge in the area of philosophical thought.
But not far from the truth.
The New Republic president's behavior regarding the agreement with "Pellaeon" was an illustrative fact.
And the way the Baroness transformed from "a victim of arbitrariness" into a triumphant shrew suggested that everything happening now was the implementation of, if not the main plan, then certainly the backup plan.
Which suited her completely.
"An interesting proposal," I said, evaluating the situation from all sides.
"More than, Grand Admiral," the Baroness smiled.
And her smile carried the same pragmatic soullessness as an ледяная sculpture.
"Our union benefits both sides at once," the Baroness said, taking my silence for further capitulation. Seeing hesitation, she pressed her advantage. "By уничтожив all aristocratic Families except mine, you automatically deprive sentients in the sector of alternative courses for public sentiment. House d'Asta will become the forward driver of the sector's development and—if you wish—its governance. Small formalities of changing from aristocratic management to the Dominion's state apparatus will go unnoticed. After the war, sentients will have plenty to do—rebuilding the economy, industry. Of course there will be those who dislike the смена власти—from aristocratic to… whatever it is you propose. And a political union between us will be that formality which will allow you not to waste time calming the sector, and will give me a guarantee that I will not be disposed of when I am no longer needed. The population will see that a political marriage has been concluded, understand that their traditions are, in fact, being respected, and therefore one should not expect any harshness from the Dominion. After all, Baroness d'Asta will not allow her subjects to be wronged. We have always cared for the sector we ruled. For its benefit, its population, its safety. Centuries of rule prove that. And what awaits the sector with the Dominion's arrival? An Imperial regime, inexplicable border closures, total militarization, crushing war levies, drafts into military service… Who knows what you have in mind after your policy of isolationism?"
The Baroness blinked dramatically.
Well.
Appreciated.
She knew how to intrigue.
"How does marriage give a guarantee that you won't die from, say, choking at dinner?" Pellaeon couldn't hold back.
"The d'Astans have lived under aristocratic rule for too long," Fina cooed. "And they have seen couples try to get rid of one another. Poisonings, contract killings, blows to the head with jewelry boxes, falls from heights, illnesses, an unfortunate meal—whatever you can придумать—all of it has happened before. And it is part of our history. As are the numerous forensic examinations of corpses performed by the best doctors. The cause of death is established in no time. Therefore, I think you understand that it is not to your advantage to get rid of me and replace me with a clone—they will learn that during DNA analysis at autopsy."
The girl was smiling.
Triumphing.
"So I am your best option," she put on a show of modesty. "Marry me—and your problems in the sector will be minimal. Carry out your plan—and you will spend an ocean of money, time, and resources. And you may need them in any other direction."
"Is that all?" I уточнил.
"Yes," the Baroness said with feigned modesty. Then she put on an expression as if she remembered something. "I hope you, Grand Admiral Thrawn, as a well-brought-up man and husband, will not leave your wife without a wedding gift? For example, give me, as a small personal allotment, the d'Astan Sector—where, like a diligent wife, I will скучать alone in my father's palace, waiting for my faithful husband to return from another victory."
And the main thing—how beautifully she sang it.
You even start to believe it, bit by bit.
Well, almost.
"This time—that's all?…" "Yes," the platinum-blonde lady nodded with a sense of duty fulfilled. "If you have any questions, you needn't wait to receive a copy of the marriage contract and can ask me now. In fact, I can give the order right now and we'll be married on Nez-Piron at the nearest possible time…"
Grasping.
Smart.
Purposeful.
A bitch.
You definitely wouldn't be bored with one like that.
And just imagine how much dishware would be smashed while discussing the location of the family vacation.
But that was all lyricism.
The current situation was far more complex than it seemed.
The Baroness had decided to solidify her position not merely in the sector, but in the state as a whole.
Realizing that, precisely to neutralize possible problems with the local population, I had intended to place her at the head of the territory—but as a reporting official of the Dominion—she shifted to the "offensive."
Playing one trump card after another.
Indisputable trump cards.
Under other circumstances.
Credit where it's due—in this fragile lady there was enough strength, skill, and knowledge to pull off, if fairly simple, still multi-step undertakings.
Now it became clear that the whole conversation about saving the lives of the aristocracy for condemnation was bait for the information I heard here and now.
She proposed an option she consciously assessed as unworkable in order to get a reaction and understand what we actually planned.
She got that information.
And decided to use her trump card—aristocratic origin—as a lever of pressure.
Leaving alive the local aristocracy that had подняла a rebellion was something I was not going to do in principle.
Under no circumstances.
It was a time bomb.
And it was only a matter of time before it went off.
The bloodlines of the rebellious aristocrats (which in fact meant all the aristocrats of the d'Astan Sector) would be cut off in the near future.
Except the Baroness's House.
She was completely right.
The population, accustomed to living under aristocratic rule, would at minimum be suspicious of being governed by Dominion officials.
Even an allied one, but still…
That was why I wanted to make her the local analogue of a Moff…
And in return I received from the Baroness an actually more fitting and productive proposal.
But there were nuances here that she hadn't noticed while building a logical trap for me during her appeal.
Well then—those were exactly what I would present to her now.
"Without any doubt, Baroness, your plan deserves a certain degree of attention," I said. "The one who devised it is rather clever. It is practically a military operation."
"A fairly successful maneuver," Gilad Pellaeon muttered. "You know we need order in the d'Astan Sector. And you know we will take measures to achieve that with minimal casualties."
He looked me in the eyes.
"Sir, as a member of the Triumvirate, I think that, even if the Baroness's proposal is brazen, it will help us accomplish our goals."
The Baroness completely ignored the Vice Admiral's words, with an air as though there was furniture beside her rather than a living man.
What a… strange chemistry between them.
Mutual irritation, demonstrative hostility…
Interesting.
"Thank you, Grand Admiral," the aristocrat answered with cold politeness. "A small reminder that you should not treat me as an appendage to the sector you actually need. I am no small political figure on this dejarik board. And not the weakest."
A small challenge with an implied hint.
Noted.
"As you say, Baroness," I agreed. "However, regarding your proposal, there is a nuance. Even several."
Judging by how Pellaeon оживился, the Vice Admiral clearly felt relief that the Dominion, at minimum, had something to counter this suddenly emerged opponent.
"Really?" a smile appeared on the girl's face. "And what are they? I'm sure they are not critical aspects. Otherwise I would have noticed them at once."
No, she hadn't noticed.
Because, unlike most sentients in the Dominion, she knew a little more.
And that was the cause of her "shortsightedness."
"To begin with, you have assessed the possible political consequences quite correctly," I said, hearing the noise of a door behind me.
Turning my head, I saw the communications officer, who without any fuss handed me a data pad with a text message on the screen.
Reading the report did not take long.
So that's how it was.
A threat to security.
"Arrange the meeting," I ordered, returning the device.
The comm officer nodded just as silently in acknowledgment and quickly left the command bridge.
Amusing…
To report a threat to personal security during negotiations with a Baroness who was trying to marry me.
A coincidence?
Doubt it.
But, to continue.
"Indeed, a political marriage between the Dominion's leadership and Baroness d'Asta will suit both sides," I added.
"Which is exactly what I said," the platinum blonde smiled. "So what is the problem then?"
"The problem is that you are not Baroness d'Asta," I explained. "And any DNA analysis will prove it. Public disclosure of information of that kind will entirely strip you of substantial support among the local population of the sector, as has already been said. From a liberator you will become an invader."
That the настоящая Baroness had очевидно died during our attack on Smark, when the original bodies of clones of Imperial and Republic officials held prisoner were destroyed, was something it was prudent not to tell the only clone of her currently at my disposal.
And possibly the only one in the galaxy.
"If you do that, you will lose the chance for a peaceful and bloodless subjugation of the sector to the Dominion," the woman said quickly.
"Maybe so," I agreed. "Or maybe not. Circumstances are not always what we want them to be. Which, in fact, is what the second and third nuances point to."
"And how do they sound?" the Baroness's clone smiled theatrically, demonstrating her supposed composure.
Her actions were understandable—she was doing her utmost to appear unruffled, though she understood that even the first point alone was enough to make her nobody in the sector.
And that was only the first of the nuances.
"For instance, the second nuance directly concerns the aristocratic practices of the Houses of the d'Astan Sector," I continued. "In particular, we are talking about consummation of the marriage. I am sure that many sentients in the galaxy will be surprised by the fact that a member—albeit a former one—of the Imperial Ruling Council, Baroness Fina d'Asta, one of the pillars of the New Order in Imperial Space, decided to marry a представитель of a non-human species."
How… sweet.
It turned out platinum blondes with pale skin (cosmetics, of course) could turn even paler.
Or was that natural camouflage to blend skin tone with hair color?
"I am sure this fact will raise quite a few questions among the local population," I continued. "And among the Imperials. The HoloNet will be filled with a great many pseudo-analytical exposés commissioned by our ill-wishers. They will drag all your dirty laundry into the open, Baroness. And, I fear, the only proof and refutation of the fact that the marriage is fictitious will be…"
"I will not go along with that barbaric custom!" the Baroness shouted indignantly. "No demonstrations of sheets from the marriage bed!"
Despite her попытка to restrain herself, she failed.
My left eye twitched on its own… Pellaeon's eyes actually went wide, and he looked at the Baroness as if she were insane.
Obviously he wasn't far from the truth.
"Allow me to finish," I asked. "Studying the culture of your people, your sector, I undoubtedly encountered this ancient custom. But I assure you—it was not part of my plans…"
"All the better," the Baroness exhaled with relief.
"Especially since such shows are not only insulting, they also provide no objective proof," I continued. "The only thing that will indisputably refute any talk and gossip about the fictitious nature of the marriage for political purposes is the appearance of joint children."
Even Pellaeon's jaw dropped.
And the Baroness began to flush rapidly.
"My species is not widely represented in the known part of the galaxy," I continued. "Therefore, a couple of heirs, with whom you will stroll around the palace grounds, carefully wrapping their blue-skinned little bodies with glowing red eyes in swaddling cloth, will be the best proof…"
"Over my dead body!" the Baroness blurted out, no longer restraining herself.
Gilad Pellaeon was already openly smiling.
"Speaking of that," I said, pulling from my pocket a code cylinder kept separate from the others, and pressing it to the holoprojector.
In the same second, a展开 text file appeared before my interlocutors.
"What is that?" the Baroness frowned.
"A death certificate," I explained. "A small but very important legal formality, which could not fail to arise after Luke Skywalker went to work with his lightsaber on the bridge of the Chimaera during the Battle of Sluis Van."
For the first few weeks of the current year, a copy of this document—"accidentally" finding its way into the HoloNet—was forwarded between users more often than holovideo of baby banthas.
"And what does that mean? You're alive!"
"As you have already noticed, Baroness, legal niceties and factual circumstances sometimes diverge, despite the fact that they concern, in essence, the same thing."
"But, as I understand it, someday you will emerge from the shadows and…"
The Baroness fell silent.
Judging by her pressed lips, she understood the obvious.
"That will happen later than the d'Astan Sector is, one way or another, joined to the Dominion," I explained. "Since in that case a marriage would already be a pure farce, only one option remains under which our union in marriage, as you desire, is possible."
"It suits me," the Baroness muttered, stubbornly forcing only her own viewpoint.
"As you wish," I shrugged. "But I consider it my duty to warn you that in that case people will speak of you as nothing other than insane, склонной to necrophilia."
This time Pellaeon did not hold back.
The Vice Admiral was literally torn apart by laughter so hard that he doubled over and stepped out of the holoprojector's capture zone.
The Baroness's face changed—by the shades of white-blue in the hologram one could see how her complexion shifted.
Well, and one could also use imagination and understand human physiology to have a full picture of what was happening to one's opponent.
"Are you mocking me, Thrawn?" the Baroness hissed злобно, trying to pretend she was not at all bothered by the Vice Admiral's continuing cackling in the background.
"I have no such habit, Baroness," I answered.
"The New Republic will not agree with you," she snapped.
"Because they are enemies," I parried without ceremony. "And with them my conversation is short. If it will be convenient for you, I can record you among my enemies. But I do not guarantee you will live long enough to inform anyone of that fact, which will pursue you to the end of your life."
"Stop threatening me, Thrawn," the Baroness ground out. "I want to rule my sector, and I will get what I desire!"
"In that case, Baroness, I ask you to behave prudently," I said calmly. "And not to forget the fact that the last time a ruler of a state in this part of the galaxy tried to solve his problems at my expense and obtain what did not belong to him by right, it ended with me becoming the ruler."
Fina d'Asta pressed her lips so tightly that I could barely see them.
"I cannot lose control of the sector," she said. "If only in memory of Baron d'Asta! Even if not by birth, I am still his daughter by blood. And I defend the interests of his name, his House. Not to mention that it was he who advised me to marry you, to transfer the sector under the Dominion's protection on certain conditions, to protect the d'Astans' population from Imperial and any other harassment."
That was a mistake.
"You should not hide behind the name of a man who did not even know you were not his daughter," I noted dryly.
"You can always scan my memory and find the fragment of my conversation with him about the wedding," the Baroness twisted her lips. "I can undergo a memory scan at any time convenient for you… Or will you ignore the last request of a man who supported you in a difficult moment, gave ships, financing, provided everything necessary for you to continue your struggle?"
"That is precisely why I will ensure that nothing threatens the d'Astans from other forces in the galaxy," I cut in. "As for marriage… I am sure the Baron positioned me as your spouse for only one reason—at that time I was the sole ruler of the Dominion."
Pellaeon's laughter in the background died down on its own.
"I don't understand…"
How amusingly she wrinkled her doll-like face…
"At present, the Dominion is governed by a Triumvirate," I reminded her. "Grand Moff Felix Ferrus, Lieutenant Colonel Astarion, and Vice Admiral Pellaeon. Worthy men and professionals in their fields. Representatives of the human species—which removes most of the questions. Unmarried men. I think you should consider approaching one of them with a request for a fictitious marriage. Consider that you already have my approval as their commander. All that remains is to name the chosen one."
Oh, and I even knew what would happen next.
Not that I, like any other man, would refuse to be the husband of a beautiful—even if spiteful—woman from whom one could expect anything.
But there were circumstances under which even a fictitious marriage between us could be the last bright moment in the Baroness's life.
And it so happened that she truly was necessary to the Dominion for the bloodless annexation of the d'Astan Sector.
"Sir," Vice Admiral Pellaeon's hologram appeared in frame, showing a puzzled expression. "I must note that my marital status is not so simple. I have a son…"
"Whom you have not officially recognized," I thought. "And you have not bound yourself in marriage with any woman. Once famous as a ladies' man, attached to no planet and content to be the commander of a warship."
"I'm sure," d'Asta said with a stretched smile, looking triumphantly at the gray-haired man, "I will be a suitable stepmother for him."
"Sir," Pellaeon lost the last traces of amusement and drew himself up as if at an inspection. "Please forgive me, but I am definitely not fit for this role—a fictitious husband…"
Gilad fell silent when he saw that the Baroness unceremoniously grabbed him by the arm with a независимый air.
"Take it проще, Vice Admiral," I advised. "It is only a successful maneuver. You know we need order in the d'Astan Sector. And you know we will take measures to achieve that with minimal casualties. As Supreme Commander-in-Chief, I think that, even if the Baroness's proposal is marked by an uncharacteristic directness in stating interests, it will help us accomplish our goals."
Gilad looked at me with a stone face.
Slowly digesting the words I had said.
Which were an interpretation of his own words, spoken to me minutes earlier.
"I think that, as justification for our union, we can, over time, declassify part of the operation to liberate the sector from the rebels," the Baroness предложила in a tone as if discussing the choice of a dress for the evening. "After all, someday it will be possible to say that it was Vice Admiral Pellaeon who stood behind the destruction of the rebellious aristocrats and the pacification of the entire sector."
"Not the entire sector," Gilad ground out through clenched teeth, looking directly into my eyes. "I have been assigned command of the operation only before the capture of Serenno."
Everything about Pellaeon suggested that the Vice Admiral had not, for nothing, long been the Grand Admiral's student.
Even if he had not put all the circumstances together, he had certainly guessed that the rotation of the "General" had not happened for nothing.
"We won't go into details," the Baroness said with visible relief, apparently discarding everything I had said to her earlier. "They interest few people, in truth. Thank you, Grand Admiral, for being able to provide me with colossal help."
With those words, the woman stepped beyond the projection zone.
Pellaeon followed her with his eyes, then looked back at me.
Judging by his question and tone, the Baroness had left earshot.
"Sir!" Gilad addressed me with poorly скрываемым irritation. "Permission to speak openly?!"
"Permission granted, Vice Admiral."
"That lady is a real thorn in a tender spot," Pellaeon raged, not choosing his words. "And to marry her—even formally—that's… That's… That's not in my plans!"
"Because it contradicts your habit of not binding yourself to one woman for a long time?" I clarified.
"Yes," the Vice Admiral answered automatically.
Pellaeon choked when he realized what he had said.
"Sir, I…" For the first time I had seen him so flustered. "I will strangle her with my bare hands after some stunt like this. My life is bound to the fleet, not to digging in the ground on Nez-Piron, or reviewing reports for her transport company. Or whatever it is aristocrats do in their weekday days. I am a soldier, not this sort of thing."
"Take it easier, Gilad," I advised, allowing Pellaeon to listen more carefully to my words—yes, precisely because of the unusual address by first name. "The marriage is fictitious and no one is forcing you to spend all your free time with your young wife. You are, after all, one of the Dominion's leaders. The brain center of all the armed forces. Circumstances are such that you will need to spend a great deal of time on duty. And competent sentients—both from overt and covert security—will keep an eye on the Baroness's behavior. Besides, I am confident she will not pose a serious threat to us in the future."
"Because she's a clone?" Pellaeon уточнил.
"Yes," I answered. "Be that as it may, even in that status she did everything to prevent her House from losing power and authority. That is worth something from a certain point of view. Another matter is that she did not manage it without outside help. We will watch closely how she behaves. And besides, I think that, even if the Baroness's proposal is brazen, it will help us accomplish our goals."
"What if she is carrying out a program implanted in her by the Zann Consortium?" Gilad asked. "And her actions will be dangerous."
"We will eliminate the threat."
"But then a forensic examination will find that she is a clone," Pellaeon reminded. "And if we do the impossible and obtain another clone—already from her—then it will age and die even faster. In any case, sooner or later her body will end up on an autopsy table and the deception will be exposed."
"That is possible," I did not deny the obvious weak point in my plan. "But there is a nuance."
"What nuance, sir?" Pellaeon asked.
"A forensic expert needs the corpse in order to examine it," I explained. "No body—no problem. In the end, the Dominion may, once again, fail to save the Baroness, kidnapped by treacherous pirates or followers of the rebellious aristocrats she defeated. In any case, you, as the inconsolable husband, will have every right to bring down all available Dominion might upon the heads of those who committed this crime. But I repeat—only if the Baroness acts against us. And only in that case will countermeasures be taken."
The stone expression of a man doomed to marry a young beauty slipped from Gilad's face.
And a cunning smirk appeared on his lips.
"That's all," I ordered. "Proceed with the очистка of Serenno. By the time I return, the d'Astan Sector must already be part of the Dominion."
"It will be done, sir!"
***
New Republic President Fey'lya listened with a pleased expression as Admiral Duplex delivered his report.
"Enemy forces have been уничтожены or compelled to surrender," the Zeltron said in a weary tone. "Ground forces are occupying the industrial planets and stations deployed by the enemy in orbit of Hambarine. The sector is fully under our control."
"Dig in on the new lines, Admiral," the Bothan ordered. "And prepare to develop the offensive. We must liberate Coruscant as quickly as possible, to show our citizens how strong we are."
"I will do everything I can, sir," the Zeltron answered listlessly. "We have significant ship damage, heavy personnel losses… We need rest, repairs, and reinforcements."
"Do not slow the pace of the offensive, Admiral," Fey'lya ordered. "According to our intelligence, the enemy is beginning to regroup and withdraw part of their forces from occupied lines. Take advantage of this and finish off the retreating troops."
According to New Republic intelligence reports, the forces of the Five-Star Confederation, finding themselves in a dire position after the destruction of the Reaper task force, had lost what remained of their initiative.
Infighting among commanders led several influential warlords—veterans known since Imperial times—to decide to abandon part of the occupied territories in order to strengthen their positions closer to Coruscant and the more important Core Worlds.
That played into the Republic's hands—they could occupy territory abandoned by the enemy almost without a fight, declaring it their victory.
Actions like that would increase public trust in the government and solidify Fey'lya's own position.
"Yes, sir," the Zeltron's hologram dissolved.
Well, even if not at the first attempt, he had understood that arguing with his president was foolish.
Fey'lya returned to routine work when his secretary reminded him that, for the second hour now, the sentient he had summoned was waiting for an audience in the president's antechamber.
"Let him in," the Bothan said раздраженно.
To be honest, he had already forgotten he had invited this man and made him wait.
In any case, he wouldn't break.
The one who entered was dressed in simple clothing, sharply different from what he wore on duty.
And from what, according to historical chronicles, Jedi Knights had worn in the past.
Simple dark garments that some farmer on Dantooine or a not-wealthy townsman somewhere in the Mid Rim might wear.
Long light-blond hair to the shoulders.
An unremarkable face…
And a lightsaber on his belt.
Fey'lya and his entourage sometimes felt that this sentient, despite loyalty to the New Republic, tried to imitate—or match—Luke Skywalker.
And, in fact, they had much in common.
Affected simplicity bordering on absolute disregard for status and position.
Both understood technology.
Both flew X-wings.
In their time, both became leaders of their own squadrons and distinguished themselves on battlefields.
Both trained under representatives of the old Jedi Order…
Even both their lightsabers had blue blades.
Yes, Skywalker later acquired another, with a green one—but who cared about such details?
Fey'lya had done much to improve the ratings and reputation of the New Republic.
Without the slightest pang of conscience, using the tricks that had worked before.
A Jedi in New Republic service was serious leverage for strengthening his political rating.
Especially when the Jedi did what he was told.
"Come in, sit," Fey'lya said, forcing a polite smile, gesturing the man toward a chair beside his desk. "First of all, allow me to congratulate you on the successful completion of the mission, Mister…"
"X2," the man replied in a calm voice, settling into the chair.
The Bothan grimaced.
"I believe we agreed on a more euphonious name," he said, smoothing fur that had rippled with irritation.
"You asked me to think about it," the Jedi gave the more accurate interpretation. "I said that my designation is X2. The Kaminoans gave it to me when they created me. I know no other. And I do not want to know."
Jedi Knight X2.
Fey'lya mentally covered his interlocutor with choice profanity.
"X2" was a number.
A call sign.
An operational nickname.
But not a name suitable for press appearances.
As soon as sentients heard it, they would start asking awkward questions.
And a very inconvenient truth could surface.
X2 was a clone of the long-dead Jedi Knight Falon Grey, who had served in the old Jedi Order.
Shortly before the Clone Wars began, Grey was wounded, and his master, Jedi Rahm Kota, took him for treatment to the nearby world of Kamino.
Without the Jedi's knowledge, the Kaminoans created two clones from Grey's DNA—X1 and X2—who were trained under a clone-soldier program.
Both participated in the Clone Wars, earning reputations as valuable and experienced soldiers. In the final days of the war, X2 took part in the Battle of Cato Neimoidia, where he was ordered to kill his commanding Jedi Master when Supreme Chancellor Palpatine issued Order 66.
X2 complied, killed the Jedi, and joined the Imperial stormtroopers, serving the newly formed Galactic Empire; however, unlike X1, he was not fully certain of that choice.
After several months of service to the New Order, X2's doubts grew much stronger during an assassination raid against a fugitive Jedi hiding among the simple villagers of Dantooine.
Learning that X1 planned to kill innocent people who had sheltered the Jedi, X2 deserted the Empire.
It later turned out that the Jedi hunted by X1 and X2 was the very Falon Grey—their original.
The Jedi and X2 were смертельно wounded by X1, but Grey managed to save X2's life with his Jedi tricks.
The next fifteen years X2 spent on Dantooine, working as a simple farmer, until he was found by Grey's former master, Rahm Kota.
The Jedi recruited the clone of his student into the Alliance to Restore the Republic.
Fighting on the Alliance side, Grey took part in many major battles of that period.
He was part of one of the many sabotage teams that hindered the construction of the first Death Star.
He freed Wookiee slaves from Imperial captivity.
He freed on Geonosis a group of Rebel saboteurs who then joined the "Gray Squadron" he formed, a pale analogue of the then-famous Rogue Squadron.
He fought on Yavin 4, opposing an Imperial ground landing during the Battle of Yavin.
He even took part in the attack on the first Death Star, trying to cover Skywalker from pursuing Imperials, but failed and was forced to withdraw.
He fought on Hoth.
He fought his brother, X1, also Force-sensitive but an ally of Palpatine.
X2 considered it his duty to eliminate X1 as a threat to the galaxy, but he was beaten to it—last year Grand Admiral Thrawn dealt with his "brother" in the Battle of Mustafar.
He fought at Endor and distinguished himself there with heroism…
And when the split within the New Republic came and former Alliance fighters were sifted out from the true democratic state, X2 and his squadron remained loyal to the legitimate government.
And even news that Rahm Kota had appeared again and served the Alliance did not shake X2's confidence that his actions were correct in service to the New Republic.
No matter where you looked—an icon.
A cover man.
A hero of holoreports.
If only he had a more звучное name, not that stupid number.
If journalists dug into his past, there would be a small scandal—Imperial clone soldiers were infamous for cruelty, lack of principles, and carrying out orders by any means.
"Well," Fey'lya said. "Congratulations on a successful mission. Thanks to you and your squadron, threats from Grand Moff Kaine and his strike group have been eliminated. We captured a Super Star Destroyer and a large number of enemy starships. They will now become symbols of our victory."
"That's good," the man said quietly. "But I didn't want to kill Grand Moff Kaine."
"I know, and you have my sympathy that you had to do it, but it was either try to take him by force, or not risk the lives of thousands of ours and hundreds of thousands of Imperial soldiers who were on board the Reaper at that time. The Empire doesn't care about losses—as long as it can put sticks in our wheels. But you did well. You ориентировались in a difficult situation."
In truth, there was nothing difficult about it.
Bothan Intelligence had quite accurately determined that Kaine's flagship had acquired an interesting feature—a self-destruct system.
Fey'lya made sure it was his pocket Republic Jedi who fixed the situation.
That was needed for the evening show.
For which he wanted to bring a Jedi with a name and surname, not a number—so help him.
"Thank you," the man answered modestly. "May I ask why you summoned me?"
"It's simple," Fey'lya replied. "A major address is planned tonight. We will broadcast across the galaxy about our victories. In addition, I want to tell the galaxy that despite what happened to Luke Skywalker, the New Republic intends to restore the Jedi Order. Like the old Order, it will be subordinate to the Senate, but indirectly. Directly, it will be controlled personally by the president—so that we do not experience the same crisis of Jedi independence that existed in the old Republic."
"That is praiseworthy," X2 оценил. "For a long time I was not sure I was worthy to be a Jedi, and I rejected apprenticeship under Skywalker. But after my brother's death, which I felt in the Force, I understood that there are forces in the galaxy far more terrible and dangerous than he was. I must become a Jedi. And I will be grateful that you will allow me to become part of the Order."
Fey'lya smiled benevolently and patronizingly.
"My dear friend," he said with feigned warmth. "You will not merely become part of the Order. You will lead it!"
"Me?" the Jedi clone was taken aback. "But I know so little… I think other Jedi will respond…"
"And why would I want old stubborn men in the leadership of the New Jedi Order who will put their fingers in our wheels?" Fey'lya thought. "Besides, other than this clone there is no more suitable—less independent and more easily led—candidate. The other Jedi who hung around the Alliance or the New Republic preferred to withdraw from what was happening altogether."
"I believe in you, my friend," Fey'lya used his most доброжелательной of practiced smiles.
X2, as simple as a weather forecast on Tatooine, bowed shyly in a sign of respect and admiration for his president's wisdom.