Captain Torin Inek gazed with interest at the nexu lying at his feet.
The nearly five-meter-long predator, with two pairs of eyes, its massive reddish-cream tongue lolling out, was breathing rapidly and shallowly.
Its blackened, blaster-scorched flanks heaved, but this was merely a desperate struggle for life. With a shattered spine and a shot-through head, survival was not long in coming.
The long, muscular tail, which had just moments ago crushed a stormtrooper, lay motionless, posing no threat.
The beast's muscular limbs, tipped with claws as sharp as a vibroblade, twitched faintly, signaling the death throes of its nerve endings.
But the eyes…
The eyes lived on, despite the gaping wound in its skull.
Nexu.
The laser cannon of an AT-RT had nearly blown the female's head off when she burst from an abandoned house in the survivors' settlement. The beast, like the twenty-eight others before it, had attacked the landing forces that had finally broken through the droid army.
The outcome of the brief battle—three clones dead, torn apart by the nexu's claws, and another with a crushed ribcage, now under medical care, being transported to the Abyssal Fury.
— Filthy creature, — General Covell spat on the ground with feeling, not hiding his contempt for the animal. — So many soldiers lost because of it.
— If killers invaded your home, you'd also make sure as many of them died as possible, General, — Torin remarked calmly, his gaze fixed on the dying nexu's eyes.
— When I find those survivors, they'll answer for every life lost, — the clone of General Covell continued venomously.
— We lost one company, — Torin reminded him, stepping closer to the beast. He reached out toward its body. The right forepaw twitched but couldn't lift from the ground. — That's not a bad result, considering we've captured both the settlement and the crash site.
— All you care about is that the ship's cargo is intact, — the general snorted, casting a disapproving glance at the dying feline.
— Yes, that's not bad, — Torin agreed. — And after the locals lured us into an abandoned camp crawling with a nexu pride, I'm even more eager to meet them. Are the scouts already combing the forest?
— Yes, — Covell replied, glancing at a departing transport. — While the fleet hauls off all this junk, we're doing the real work.
— Everyone has their mission, General, — Torin stated.
— Leave that creature already, — the clone advised. — Better yet, finish it off so it dies faster. We need to widen the search spiral.
— That won't happen, — the scout declared. — Our work here isn't done.
— Are we going to wait until the fleet hauls off every last log? — Covell grimaced.
Torin stepped closer, running his armored glove over the massive cat's forehead.
A mewling groan escaped its maw.
— Doesn't it bother you that the lifeform scanners detected thirty signatures, but we've only killed twenty-nine nexu in the settlement? — the scout asked.
— Are you saying the thirtieth creature is nearby? — Covell narrowed his eyes.
— Yes, — Inek replied simply, nodding toward the house from which the nexu had leapt. — In there.
— Stormtroopers…! — Covell barked, pointing at the new target.
— Hold, General, — Torin responded, noticing the dying creature's breathing quicken as she cast a glance toward her former hiding place. — No one will fire on a nexu in that house.
— What, are we going to pity the guard beasts the locals keep here? — General Covell scoffed.
— That's not the issue, — Torin stood up.
Feeling the dying predator's gaze, he calmly entered the house, hearing feline hissing behind him.
The female could do nothing but draw attention to herself, hoping a stronger predator would kill her and end it all.
It wouldn't end.
The scout found what he was looking for quickly.
A cub, strikingly white in its fur, was hiding among leaves and moldy grass, where its mother had made a makeshift nest.
The kitten hissed and swiped its paw, its beady eyes glaring, clearly eager to escape somewhere safer. But the problem was—it was still too weak to even stand, let alone break through a wall and flee.
The spines along its back stood erect, displaying all the hostility the cub felt toward the intruder.
Torin knelt beside it, extending his hand.
With the calm honed by years of experience, he ignored the attack on his limb, though the shavings the kitten scraped off his durasteel armor were impressive.
Grabbing the cub by the scruff, the agent stepped outside.
Well, well… A kitten… Clearly no longer a newborn.
The mother, seeing her cub, rasped harder. She even tried to stand… but it was clear her body could no longer obey her still-fighting brain. She refused to surrender to death until she knew her cub's fate.
The cub, seeing its mother, let out a plaintive squeak and tried to break free.
Torin knelt beside the nexu's body, stroking her muzzle with his free hand. Her pleading eyes never left the cub.
— Everything will be alright, — the agent promised, smoothing the kitten's fur, ignoring its forked tail lashing furiously at his forearm. — I'll take care of him. I promise.
He pulled a piece of jerky from his utility belt's pouch, clearly not standard issue. The kitten hissed at first but then tore into the meat, shredding it with needle-like teeth.
Relief washed over him, as he'd feared he'd have to bottle-feed the cub.
Sated, the nexu cub yawned sweetly, then demanded more.
And got it.
The dying female let out a mournful moan, giving Torin a parting, approving look. With her last strength, she lurched forward, her tongue brushing the agent's chestplate and her cub.
Then she closed her eyes and ceased resisting death's embrace.
A seemingly non-sentient animal, driven only by instinct and training… Yet, in her final gaze, there was more sentience than in the actions of many humans.
— What just happened? — General Covell asked quietly.
— The female mistook me for a black nexu, — Torin said, removing his helmet. The white cub, still smacking its lips, cast him a curious glance but didn't stop eating. — That breed is extremely rare and the strongest of its kind. I think her final act was both a blessing and a farewell. She asked me to care for her cub, seeing I didn't kill it immediately. A dying predator's request to a stronger kin.
— So my soldiers and stormtroopers… — the general glanced at the gray-uniformed infantry and "dolls."
— To her, the first were like adult beasts, and the second were just oversized cubs come to kill her kin and her pack, — Torin explained. — At least, that's what I think…
— So… — the general removed his helmet and smoothed his disheveled hair. — You've decided to adopt a nexu?
— It won't survive in the forest, — the cub, already capable of killing small prey, flashed a charming smile, revealing two rows of sharp teeth that could crush bone. Then, satisfied, it curled into a ball in the scout's arms and purred contentedly. — It'll either starve or become practice for another pack's cubs. I'm not leaving it here, — the agent declared firmly, standing and cradling the not-so-light cub.
Striding toward the nearest Lambda-class shuttle, Torin heard the clone General Covell's words:
— And here I thought those former Imperial Intelligence guys were heartless bastards…
— Keep searching for the survivors, — Torin ordered without looking back. — We'll make them answer for the nexu trap.
***
"This is the last thing I needed," Mara thought, deflecting a blaster shot aimed at her head with her lightsaber.
A two-meter figure in red armor and a cape, its face hidden by a sealed helmet visor, kept firing at the girl, intending to overwhelm her resistance with rapid shots.
It wasn't easy, but she'd faced worse.
Mara initially froze, thinking she was up against Dominion guards, but she quickly realized her mistake.
These guards wore old uniforms—from their service to Palpatine. That meant they weren't Thrawn's men.
Which, in turn, meant X1 had far more resources than they'd previously seen.
And if she glanced aside at the battle Maul was fighting, it became clear that the self-proclaimed Sith Lord had plenty of "surprises from the past" up his sleeve.
The Zabrak landed a spinning kick to the chest of a tall droid armed with an electrostaff. A sickening screech of metal on metal rang out, but the former instructor's cybernetic limbs failed to crush the "MagnaGuard's" chest.
IG-100 MagnaGuard.
Ugh, so the mad clone had these "toys" in his arsenal too.
Favorite playthings of Count Dooku and General Grievous from the Clone Wars.
Designed specifically to counter Force-sensitives… Oh, why hide it—they were built to kill Jedi.
And judging by their swift movements, these droids hadn't rusted in the last thirty years.
The end of one droid's electrostaff struck Maul's chest.
Blue-purple arcs danced across his red-black skin, and the room, where the freak responsible for all this chaos sat in a corner, echoed with the roar of a wounded beast.
But in the next moment, Maul's double-bladed lightsaber with its crimson blades flashed, slicing the droid's body into pieces.
The combat machine crumbled, and the Zabrak moved to the next opponent.
Mara used the Force to wrench a blaster from a guard's hands, only for him to instantly draw a vibrosword.
It didn't help—a precise shot from her SoroSuub rifle punched a hole through his visor. The soldier collapsed, a red-black puddle pooling beneath him.
In that instant, Mara charged two other guards who had shifted their attention to her. Her lightsaber thrummed in her hand, parrying blaster bolts.
Ordinary soldiers would have been cut to pieces before they could even draw their weapons, but defeating Imperial Guards was no simple task. These were the same kind who had once trained Jade in hand-to-hand combat. And, to be honest, just as she surpassed ordinary humans in this art, these two in red robes could easily outmatch her.
The first guard parried her strike with an electrostaff used in place of a vibrosword. The energy blade nearly flew from her hand, carving a deep groove in the nearest wall.
Mara executed a backflip, slashing diagonally with her blade mid-motion. The first guard emerged unscathed, having anticipated her maneuver.
The second guard joined the fray, and Mara had to retreat again to handle the coordinated assault of the two butchers.
Calling on the Force, she launched into a spiraling leap, tucking her knees and flipping over her opponent. She didn't miss the chance to slash at the back of the distracted guard.
Caught off guard, the guard reacted a fraction too late—his staff whistled mere centimeters from Mara's blade.
Sliced in two, the warrior in red armor fell silent on the floor.
Mara gave the second guard no chance to recover.
As Ahsoka had taught her, she cleared her mind of all distractions and unleashed the Force from her palm, striking the soldier square in the chest. But instead of flying backward, the warrior merely took half a step back.
It took a moment to realize—he'd driven his weapon into the floor, using it as an anchor.
Oh, really?
Thrawn's Hand lunged forward.
She struck at his head—an obvious feint to force him to raise his weapon, leaving his legs exposed for a swift follow-up strike.
The guard knew the move: of course, it was a technique from the arsenal of the Sun Guard, once loyal to the Sith.
He easily parried the overhead strike with his electrostaff, proving once again that his weapon was made of material resistant to energy blades.
The staff lowered to protect his legs, but Mara had no intention of striking there.
Instead, she delivered a hearty kick to the oaf's head, sending his helmet burrowing like a womp rat.
The guard sprang back from the floor, reaching for his staff—but at that moment, her purple blade pierced his chest.
Knowing some of the tricks the Emperor used in crafting his bodyguards, Jade didn't hesitate to sever his head. That ensured he was no longer a threat.
Maul was in a frenzy.
He barely used the Force, relying solely on his strength, speed, and fencing skill.
Which was… foolish when facing droids designed to counter lightsabers.
Mara glanced at X1, seated in a meditative pose.
Around the psychopath were various artifacts, including several holocrons.
They glowed with such a bright crimson flame that it became unbearable for her to look at them.
No time for that anyway: a doorway opened at the far end of the room, and four more guards rushed in.
— Are you kidding me? — Mara groaned.
But reality remained its cold, focused self, governed by the laws of misfortune, so she had to fight again and…
The Force gently nudged her to leap.
As she did, grenades flew from behind her—storm commandos didn't abandon their own.
Mara, instantly calculating their trajectories, caught the explosives with the Force and redirected them.
The thermal detonators exploded, shredding the guards into chunks of meat with blast and shrapnel.
A good portion splattered toward the Sith Lord.
Mara suddenly felt the pressure on her mind ease. She glanced at the source of the danger.
The Jedi clone watched the scene with detached curiosity.
Her throat went dry as the freak fixed his gaze on her. He didn't even care that some of his toys—artifacts and holocrons—had been damaged or destroyed.
— Well, alright, Emperor's Hand, — the clone said, rising to his feet. A red lightsaber ignited in his hand. — I'll kill you myself.
Instead of replying, Mara charged forward.
What was it?
"There is no passion—there is clarity of thought."
Or perhaps, "With victory, my chains are broken"?
***
The cockpit was choking with acrid smoke and fumes—damage from the first hit taking its toll.
But Tychus kept his giant moving, pulling a gas mask over his face with one hand.
It didn't help much—the mask didn't protect against smoke or the risk of taking another shot to the "head." But at least he wasn't coughing every other breath.
Nor was he a charred husk like the rest of the cockpit crew.
The machine was heavily damaged, but Sergeant Tychus Roach didn't surrender. Not in the past, not now, never.
This time, he was in his element.
Sergeant Roach shifted the control levers, allowing the AT-AT to take a few more steps, closing in on the enemy's front line of defense.
The "head" of the walker turned toward a ground cannon firing directly at the hull.
A quick bark from the laser cannons, and the J-1 vanished along with its crew and a large chunk of terrain.
But it had done its job—scanners showed a gaping hole in the walker's "collar." One more hit, and they'd be burying not just the crew but the troops in the transport compartment.
Something heavy struck from the right.
The AT-AT nearly toppled onto its left side, but the hydraulics and gyros held. A section of the transport compartment lost its blaster-absorbing armor.
— Guys! — he activated the comlink, addressing the stormtroopers. — Anyone alive!?
— Three wounded, two dead, — one of the stormtroopers replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
Of course, these guys would boil in a cauldron and still act like it was all part of the plan.
— Hold on! — Tychus ordered. — Another J-1.
Deploying the troops here, right in front of the second defensive line, would mean certain death for the stormtroopers.
He had to hold out.
At least break through to the fortifications and clear the artillery.
Oh, you hunched rancor!
An AAT tank emerged from cover and fired a salvo of energy torpedoes, aiming to take out the Dominion walker's legs.
Tychus, keeping the limping machine on course, took no small pleasure in crushing the "box" under one of the walker's footpads.
Through the cockpit smoke, he clearly spotted a proton cannon on a hill, preparing to fire directly.
No time to aim his own guns precisely.
No time to dodge the line of fire.
No time to present a shielded side.
No time to break through—if they took him out here, the stormtroopers would face fifty meters of open, exposed ground.
A rotten situation. They'd all be slaughtered.
But there was a chance.
One in a million.
The AT-AT's blaster artillery fired a wide barrage. In the next instant, as the Separatist cannon's shot tore off the walker's front left leg, the covering fire detonated the enemy's ammo depot.
A pillar of flame and a shockwave leveled the local landscape, scattering fortifications within a hundred-meter radius.
Ha, so the ammo depot was there after all!
That was his last thought before the AT-AT began to collapse to the left.
Tychus roared, warning the stormtroopers of the danger.
He yanked the levers to bend the machine's knees, preventing it from rolling onto its side. Better to land on its belly—better odds for the troops.
Well… better chances.
The impact nearly shook his skeleton out of his body.
There was pain, lots of pain.
The taste of burnt insulation filled his mouth—toxic gas seeped through his cracked visor.
Coughing like a sick rancor, Tychus blindly fumbled across the control panel.
His fingers found familiar levers, switches, buttons.
Shut down the reactor!
Shut down this massive, explosive beast before it blew and unleashed an apocalypse on the advancing ranks.
The shrill wail of the emergency siren, signaling the reactor core was safely contained, was like a divine aria.
— Yes, you hunched rancor! — Tychus exhaled, before the acrid gases tore at his throat.
He wiggled his legs—his left was pinned by the cockpit's deformation.
Seriously? Come on! What if he moved it differently?
A moment later, when his leg finally agreed to stay attached, the sergeant felt the safety harness stop crushing him.
Instead, it was as if he'd been yanked from his seat and…
A moment later, his damaged gas mask and helmet were torn off.
In their place, someone fitted a sealed helmet, muffling the battle's roar. Cool streams of fresh air hit his face. His vision cleared.
The visor clearly identified a stormtrooper standing before him.
— Sergeant Roach, are you alright? — the trooper asked emotionlessly.
— Alive, — Tychus confirmed. No need to detail that everything hurt, including his tailbone. — What about the troops?
— All alive, sir, — the stormtrooper replied.
Meaning those who hadn't died in the earlier hit.
— Get the sergeant to cover! — a voice crackled in his earpiece, likely the unit commander.
— Executing, — the stormtrooper responded.
He helped Tychus up, then unceremoniously forced him to bend at the waist, shielding him as he led him out of the line of fire to the seeming safety of the fallen armored beast's hull.
Collapsing onto the scorching slag, Tychus smiled as he watched walkers, Juggernauts, and "babies" charge with cavalry-like fervor through the breach he'd created in the second defensive line.
And suddenly, the enemy's soldiers… fled. Stormtroopers, Wookiees, Force adepts. Only the droids tried to hold the line, but they were swept away by the Dominion forces pouring through the gap Sergeant Roach had made.
He affectionately patted his AT-AT's armor.
— Great work, you hunched rancor!
The stormtrooper who'd pulled him from the fire gave him an odd look.
Very odd—even the helmet couldn't hide it.
If Roach had known what his careless phrase would lead to in the future, he'd have bitten his tongue.
***
X1 was, admittedly, a highly skilled swordsman.
The Dark Side flowed through him, his blade an extension of his body.
He struck, stabbed, slashed, parried.
And advanced.
Mercilessly attacking with both blade and body, he battered Mara Jade's defenses.
Had she faced him a few months ago, she'd be a pile of mismatched limbs on the floor.
But not now.
Now she was stronger.
For the first time since wielding a lightsaber, she felt stronger than ever.
Yet even now, after all her training, she couldn't defeat the madman. Knowing this, she wisely chose defense and managed to parry X1's initial flurry of strikes. She understood that attacking in this situation was foolish—she simply lacked the physical strength to overpower the clone's onslaught.
Oh, Hutt take you as a bride, Maul, where are you?!
At that moment, the Zabrak appeared, seamlessly joining the fight and drawing the enemy's attention.
— What, did you stop for a snack? — Mara snarled.
The Zabrak growled, roaring as he counterattacked the Sith Lord.
A natural beast.
And the other was no better—roaring just the same.
This was… unnatural. Vader never allowed himself such behavior. Nor did Palpatine.
Mara glanced back.
One storm commando lay with a vibrosword through his chest.
Two others—Sergeant THX-0297 and a flamethrower—were fighting hand-to-hand with more guards. Where were they even coming from? Budding like plants?
She looked at Maul and X1. Their combat speeds were beyond her reach. So, Jade chose a target within her abilities.
Reaching the nearest guard, she felt a surge of energy. It wasn't the blaze of the Dark Side.
The calm and controlled emotions within her gave the redheaded vixen strength—far more than the blind obedience to rage she'd known before.
The guard tried to strike her face with his electrostaff, but Mara ducked, sweeping his legs out from under him. He crashed onto his back. He struck the nearby flamethrower with his weapon, knocking him aside, but Mara was already there, driving her blade between the plates of his red-black armor.
A sharp snap of released energy sounded, and the guard's body stiffened one last time.
As she deactivated her weapon, she heard the crash of the second guard hitting the floor.
A combat knife's hilt protruded from his visor, and Sergeant THX-0297 collapsed to his knees, clutching a wound in his abdomen. Blood seeped from the gash in his armor.
— He needs help! — Mara shouted to the flamethrower. Turning, he swiftly reached his commander, ripping off the chestplate and pulling a bacta patch from his utility belt.
Mara turned just in time to see Darth Maul's legless body hurtling toward her.
Talk about bad luck with lower limbs!
***
Rolling aside, Mara avoided a face-to-face collision with her former instructor.
She sprang to her feet, igniting her weapon.
Maul shot a hate-filled glare at the charging enemy.
— Don't just stand there! — he roared. — Attack!
Judging by the lack of hysteria in his voice, the Zabrak had regained his composure. Likely, by disrupting X1's focus, they'd broken the illusions he'd been casting.
Mara ignored the advice, instead gliding to the side and slashing at the enemy's legs.
X1 executed a forward roll, landing a solid kick. Mara tumbled forward but quickly turned the embarrassing moment into a roll.
She was back on her feet and ready…
She ducked to avoid a decapitating strike.
And immediately took a knee to the face.
What the kriff!
Mara, not giving the enemy a chance to recover, grabbed his leg and swept him down, toppling them both.
Her blade hissed back to life, her grip shifting, and the purple energy plunged where X1 had just been.
The Sith Lord kicked her aside, then rose, filling the room with a bestial roar.
— Not scared, — Mara summarized, charging into the attack.
Their blades clashed, and she turned the lock into a sliding strike, adding a knee to the enemy's ribs.
X1, caught off guard, staggered.
She repeated the maneuver, this time varying it with a strike to his head.
The enemy stepped back but quickly recovered, going on the offensive.
Their blades met with a grating screech!
— Fool! — the clone breathed a foul, rotting stench into her face. — You can't even imagine the power of the Dark Side.
— And that's one of the few things I'm proud of, — she declared, using a Force push to break the distance.
X1, unprepared for the assault and focused on breaking her guard, flew back a good ten meters.
The self-proclaimed Sith Lord slumped to the floor, and Mara rushed him. X1 rolled, rising to one knee and hurling a forked lightning bolt at her.
Child's play.
She caught it with her lightsaber but was forced to stop, realizing she'd underestimated the attack's power.
Her feet slid across the floor.
The enemy poured all his rage into the strike, and Jade frantically analyzed her options. Opening up would hurt. And her hair would never look the same. Walking around with a red puff on her head wasn't exactly fitting.
Mara caught herself thinking that controlling her emotions allowed her to fight while still pondering unrelated matters. That was… unusual.
When she'd used the Dark Side, this never happened.
Darth Maul, seeing the stalemate, spun his lightsaber and hurled it at the self-proclaimed Sith Lord.
X1 was forced to break his attack to deal with the unexpected weapon.
His face twisted into a grimace, and he unleashed Force Lightning at his former apprentice.
Maul screamed, and Mara seized the moment to strike.
She quickly assessed her odds. She couldn't match X1's physical strength, and her fencing technique was lacking. Her strengths were agility, acrobatics, and cunning.
Oh, and treachery.
No wonder she was born a redhead.
Let others suffer!
So…
She reached out with the Force to the storm commandos, drawing the flamethrower's attention.
The soldier, turning from his wounded comrade, glanced her way.
Instantly reading the situation, he stepped to his weapon. In a second, as X1 fired Force Lightning at Mara, a jet of flame engulfed the self-proclaimed Sith Lord from head to toe.
The scream of a being burning alive pierced her ears.
Mara, absorbing the interrupted lightning, lunged just as X1 used the Force to extinguish the flames.
With melted clothes and scorched skin on his enraged face, he turned to face her…
His blade met her strike.
Mara slid to the floor, using her momentum to slip past, severing his right leg above the knee.
Hitting the floor with the Force, she sprang to her feet.
A purple streak of energy arced as her blade shifted in her grip.
Like a guillotine, Thrawn's Hand's weapon sliced through the self-proclaimed Sith Lord's throat, decapitating him in one motion.
Grimacing at the nauseating face, she kicked the vile ball to the far end of the "field."
Exhaling, she shifted her grip and glanced at the smoking Zabrak, scorched by the lightning.
— You okay, half-pint? — she asked, smiling as Maul crawled toward her on his hands, keeping his torso off the floor.
— I'll kill you, — he hissed.
Jade thrust her blade toward his chest. One move, and his body would be impaled.
— Now listen here, half a sentient, — Jade said clearly, fearlessly meeting the Zabrak's molten aurodium eyes. — The Dark Side has clouded your mind. You intended to harm my master's cause. I'm giving you a chance—either serve him faithfully until the end of your days, or I'll kill you. Here and now, tomorrow, or in a year—it doesn't matter. I'll do it if you betray us for your ambitions. Understood?
Maul bared his teeth, eyes locked on her.
— Yes, — he rasped.
The fire in his eyes faded, his gaze shifting to X1's meditation spot.
— I sense a holocron there. Not Sith, not Jedi… something in between… It could hold great knowledge. It could give us unparalleled power! To better serve the Grand Admiral, of course…
— Roll your lip back and pin it to your horns, — Mara advised, extending her hand to summon a small pyramid, no longer glowing with inner fire. — You'll get it only if permitted. Now, — she glanced at the storm commandos. The Force told her the sergeant was stabilized. At least some good news. — time to get out of here. Will you run, Maul, or should I carry you?
Her chains were indeed broken.
But the Dark Side had nothing left to seek in Mara Jade. No blind passions or power for power's sake. There never was.
Nor was there the Light.
***
The small camp in the Cholganna jungle was built by the surviving crew of the Sa Nalaor right after they dealt with the Rodians from the Yiyar rescue operation, who'd come to save survivors years ago.
It took considerable effort to rid themselves of the brazen Rodians and their helpers, who aimed to claim the crashed Separatist freighter's riches.
Much time had passed since then, and much aurodium from the ship's hold had been spent to fund the operations of Ropok's children.
Freedom was near. Once the restored Star Destroyer from Raxus Prime arrived under Reom's command, the cargo from the crashed ship's depths would be transferred, and the crew, who'd spent decades on this deadly world, would escape far away. Where to didn't matter.
What mattered was they'd have enough credits to live comfortably, far from galactic turmoil and conflicts.
But with the Imperials' arrival, plans were drastically shifting—and not for the better.
They'd had to abandon the main settlement, leaving all active droids and equipment from the Sa Nalaor as a distraction. It was clear neither they nor the guard nexu could hold or even delay the enemy.
They just needed to buy time for the survivors to finish repairing the Rodian freighter, a task ongoing since Harso commanded it shot down to prevent Yiyar's crew from escaping.
With the appearance of ARC-170 recon fighters, it was clear the Empire had found Cholganna.
No rescue was coming—the most likely way the survivors would be found was through Ropok's kids or the Star Destroyer on Raxus Prime. Neither was good news.
Under any circumstances.
And something told the Sa Nalaor's commander they were running out of time.
He strode quickly through the settlement's single street, glad the enemy's "flyers" couldn't detect them due to the metal-rich soil. No scanner would work properly here, and the thick tree canopies hid the houses from aerial view.
Cholganna's survivor settlement.
Rel headed to the workshop to check on the repair progress.
He didn't like that the Imperials' search was already within ten kilometers of the settlement. Something had to be done.
Either set up ambushes—which might tip off the enemy to their location—or wait for the engineers to fix the Hutt-damned hyperdrive.
Rel Harsol.
Rel smiled warmly at the few survivors he'd known for years, from their service on the Sa Nalaor and decades on Cholganna.
All were brave men and women who'd defied this unforgiving planet and won.
The Empire wouldn't break them.
Without knocking, he entered the wooden shed housing the battered freighter.
Over the years on Cholganna, the ship hadn't improved. It was already a piece of junk, and after installing parts from the crashed frigate, it lost any hint of appeal. But that didn't matter—it just had to get them out.
Them and a portion of the Sa Nalaor's cargo, enough for a new, if not lavish, life.
Where aurodium wouldn't suffice, Cratala's cybernetic innovations would.
The brilliant Arkanian cyberneticist was in the workshop.
While engineers and assistants welded holes in the hull, the woman, with her skill in fine-tuning cybernetics, worked on the damaged backup hyperdrive.
The main one was unsalvageable, too battered without a full replacement of key components.
Cratala.
— How much longer? — Rel asked, glancing at the Arkanian adjusting a flow regulator.
— A couple of hours, — she replied, working her tools. — About the same to patch the hull and pump carbonite into the cooling circuits.
Harso twitched his cheek impatiently, eyeing the massive device once used to freeze food.
Now, with insufficient liquid tibanna, it served the freighter's makeshift, barely functional cooling system.
— Too long, — he said.
But it was merely for show—he knew his people were working at their limits, human and otherwise, among the Sa Nalaor's surviving crew.
Demanding more would be folly.
And folly was a trait Rel Harso refused to entertain.
— Are the Imperials that close? — the Arkanian caught the reason for his impatience.
— Closer than I'd like, — Rel grimaced. — I think we should make a sortie. Plant mines farther out and provoke the Imperials into focusing their search elsewhere.
— Think they'll fall for it? — the Arkanian asked.
Rel smirked.
— Remember the Imperials who came after Yiyar? — he asked. — These are just as greedy and dim. Scout droids show our uninvited guests are still hauling valuables from the Sa Nalaor's hold, letting our surveillance track their every move.
— Greed outweighs caution, — Cratala noted philosophically, smirking.
— Or, — a male voice came from the freighter's shadow, — it's part of the plan.
Rel didn't need to be asked twice.
Before the stranger finished, his blaster pistol was in hand, finger on the trigger.
— Alright! — Harso jerked the barrel, spotting a middle-aged man in black armor stepping from behind the freighter's ramp. His seasoned eye assessed the newcomer's threat level as high—especially since he'd slipped past the perimeter guards and alarm system. — Slowly take your blaster from its holster and place it on the ground! Now!
The stranger's face broke into a smile.
— No, — he replied simply.
Cratala snorted.
Of course, the typical Imperial hero act.
— I'll count to ten, then put a hole in your head, — Harso promised meaningfully. — One…
The man sighed theatrically.
— After your first shot, which you'll miss, scout stormtroopers will execute all your surviving crew, — he promised, pointing at the Arkanian. — Starting with her.
Rel laughed.
— If anyone else was here, the alarm would've sounded, Imperial, — the Separatist captain countered reasonably. — Two.
— First, I'm not Imperial, — the stranger clarified. — Dominion Intelligence. Similar to the Empire, but better. No xenophobia, no madness, no universal oppression.
— Hard to believe, — Cratala said, drawing her small blaster and aiming it at the intruder.
— Same here, — Harso agreed. — Three.
— Your call, — the stranger said indifferently. — But for you, Harsol, there's an offer. Pass Dominion vetting, and you'll command a warship. Given our enemy is the same Republic you fought, just with a different name, you can continue your fight against corrupt democrats. Your friend here can join our secret projects. Well-paid positions, including for your Sa Nalaor crew. If you're reasonable, I'm authorized to let you keep a percentage of your ship's cargo value.
Cratala whistled.
— Two hundred billion instead of two trillion? — Harso smiled. — Lousy offer.
— Twenty, — the stranger corrected. — Math's not your strong suit, I see.
— "Twenty" sounds even worse, — Harso gritted his teeth.
His trained eye caught movement on the Rodian freighter's hull. Though in darkness, daylight would easily distinguish camouflaged armor from shadows.
So this guy wasn't alone.
— Guaranteed twenty billion versus two trillion you can't take, — the Imperial—or Dominion man, as he called himself—said. — A billion per surviving crew member… You could live the rest of your life without a hint of poverty. Invest well, and…
— There were thirty of us, — Cratala noted. — Not twenty…
— I'm afraid your perimeter guards aren't on the living list anymore, — the stranger said.
— Bastard, — Harso hissed.
— Did you think after your little trick with the nexu and battle droids, I'd order everyone taken alive? — the stranger asked, surprised. — No, Harsol. Be grateful for what you have now. Because… how many seconds have you counted? Three?
— Four, — the Separatist captain said with relish.
— Even better, — the scout nodded. — That leaves you five billion. For twenty sentients. Two hundred fifty million per "brother." Still a fortune. A comfortable life and all that.
— You're quick to cut the share, — Cratala smiled.
— I hate haggling, — the man in black armor said, not glancing at the Arkanian. His eyes stayed on Rel. — Time to say "Five"?
— Why do you need us? — Cratala interjected, redirecting the stranger's attention.
Rel smiled inwardly. While the enemy focused on her, he couldn't react quickly if Rel decided to shoot.
Since the talk started at two trillion, the Imperials had only found the cargo left on the Sa Nalaor. Not the aurodium.
That, in far greater amounts than stated, was already in small ingots in the freighter's hold.
All two hundred trillion.
They just needed to get it off the planet.
The Confederacy's treasury, entrusted to him by General Grievous for evacuation to Utapau after his Coruscant attack, belonged to Harso and his crew alone.
— The Dominion values useful talent, — the scout declared. — We don't care about skin color, gender, age, or species. People like her, — he pointed at the Arkanian, — are priceless. We have many wounded soldiers; it's a war. I've seen the prosthetics stored on the Sa Nalaor. They're excellent, far better than what's on the galactic market. Those technologies could profit you and the Dominion. Just stop pretending you're in control. Your camp's been surrounded for a while. One wrong move, and it's a slaughter. Either way, we're taking the cargo and survivors off this planet. Whether as honored guests and new Dominion citizens on a Star Destroyer or in body bags… Believe me, it makes no difference to me. My death won't stop the head of state's orders. The cargo and prosthetics will serve the Dominion's cause.
— Sounds like a tall tale, — Harso said. — The Imperials who came after Yiyar said many Separatists lived well in the Empire. Their documents said otherwise.
The stranger's lips curled into a smile.
— Knew some bounty team got lucky, — he chuckled. — Bet they wanted to take everything and forge papers saying there was no cargo?
— How perceptive, — Cratala smirked, toying with her blaster. Rel glanced irritably at the disassembled hyperdrive. His lover should stop playing and finish the device their escape depended on. Let the Imperial talk; Rel could pilot the ship out blindfolded. — They also said my cybernetics could aid military projects.
— From what I know, the Empire found and reverse-engineered some of your inventions for a few programs, — the stranger said. — But I don't know or care what you'd do in the Dominion if you join. I have my job. I'd like to get back to it, not stand here preaching like a kid.
— I like how you persuade, — Cratala said suddenly, licking her lips.
Rel felt a surge of rage. And jealousy. He didn't like her playful tone, even if it was to distract.
— What about Ropok's kids? — the Arkanian asked. — You found them through us?
— Yes, — the agent didn't hide it. — Alive and well. For a price, they handed over IsoTech and the Star Destroyer Reom was restoring for you.
— Hutt slime, — Harso hissed. — Their father had better business sense.
— The kids made their choice, — Cratala said melodically, rising and approaching her lover.
Her hand rested lightly on his lower back…
— And so have we, — Harso said, taking aim.
The Imperial didn't flinch.
The next moment, Rel felt pain in his back, spreading to his chest.
Dizziness hit, and he saw he'd fallen on his side.
He tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't obey.
A thick, bitter mass filled his mouth, clogging his throat. He realized he had one chance.
Raising his hand, he fired, his blurring gaze seeking the black-clad figure who'd sweet-talked Cratala into betraying him.
The red bolt missed by meters.
— Well, the hidden prosthetic came in handy, — Rel heard Cratala say, examining her right limb. The synthflesh peeled back, revealing cybernetics that had become a vibroblade in an instant.
His lower half hit the ground, severed by a single strike.
— Betraying your lover isn't the best way to earn trust, — the Dominion agent said.
— Spend as long on this planet as I have, kid, and see what you'd think, — the Arkanian scoffed, kicking Harso's legs. — This Gamorrean went mad over the years here. Instead of fixing the Rodian freighter and escaping with the aurodium, the greedy slug wanted to settle here. He didn't care I lost an eye, arm, and leg to a nexu attack! He kept playing games with Ropok's rotten kids! As if I didn't know they sold my inventions for a fortune and paid me a tenth of their worth!
— But escaping with Harsol was better than falling into Republic or Imperial hands thirty years ago, right? — the Dominion agent clarified, stepping closer and taking the blaster from the blood-coughing Harsol's hand.
— Love forgives a lot, — the Arkanian said. — But not thirty years of self-inflicted misery when escape was possible! I hope your offer to cooperate still stands?
— You mentioned aurodium, — the scout gently corrected. — There was none on the Sa Nalaor…
— Moved to the freighter, — the woman pointed at the nearby ship, — disguised as pikes. The Confederacy's treasury is yours.
— We'll check, — the agent promised. — Well… Time to board the Star Destroyer and get cleaned up. The Dominion doesn't tolerate its valuable employees wearing rags. Nor losing valuable talent…
The last remark was aimed at Rel, but blood clogging his lungs prevented a retort.
Instead of words, only heavy spurts of precious red liquid escaped his mouth.
— If only you could regrow limbs, — Cratala snorted, transforming her vibroblade back into a cybernetic implant. — You'd be priceless.
The scout laughed.
— You'll be pleasantly surprised, dear Cratala, but I have a bonus offer… But we'll need to keep your former lover alive. I reviewed his record—he's an experienced light ship commander. We need those…
What they discussed next, Rel didn't know. His eyes closed, and he felt his body being frozen in carbonite.
***
Captain Pellaeon didn't bother hiding his relief and joy.
— The ground battle is over, sir, — he said, addressing the Grand Admiral seated in his chair on the flagship Star Destroyer's bridge.
— Are the units being withdrawn to the ships? — Thrawn seemed more engrossed in intelligence reports than tactical updates on the Mustafar system.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon confirmed. — Along with the cargo and industrial equipment we've extracted from the planet. The cloning lab equipment has been secretly loaded onto the Chimaera. Officially, it was destroyed by storm commandos. The next wave will evacuate the bodies to ensure no clones fall to the enemy.
— Cancel that order, — Thrawn said, looking up from his datapad.
— Yes, sir, — Gilad echoed. — But… what about covering our tracks?
The idea that the commander-in-chief would so casually reveal the Dominion's greatest secret—the cloning labs—clashed with everything Thrawn had done.
No, that couldn't be. He must have another plan, saving time.
But what?
— Of course, we won't leave a single trace for the Republicans to uncover our secrets, Captain, — Thrawn said, pointing to a strike cruiser being towed to Mustafar's orbit by tractor beams. — That ship carries all the proton torpedoes and baradium charges from the other strike cruisers remaining in the system. After we're done on Mustafar, we'll stage a starship crash into the nearest volcano to X1's base.
Gilad was struck.
Seismic and volcanic activity on Mustafar was as common as sand on Tatooine.
This was how the Grand Admiral planned to cover their tracks—by triggering a volcanic eruption.
The detonation of a starship loaded with munitions would be so powerful it would scatter lava from the planet's mantle, leaving nothing to worry about.
The explosion would turn the volcano into a supervolcano, widening its crater to catastrophic proportions, and the lava flow would bury everything on the surface. Bodies, equipment, structures would melt. AT-AT hulls might last longer but would eventually dissolve like ice in the sun.
Messy, but effective. A lava-flooded battlefield would prevent the Republicans from landing and investigating.
— Understood, sir, — Gilad replied. — What course should I give the navigators? The Hydian or Corellian Way?
Thrawn shook his head slightly.
— Neither, Captain, — the Grand Admiral declared. — We won't fall into obvious traps. Not with our fleet's combat readiness.
— Yes, sir, — Gilad said slowly.
What the Hutt did that mean?!
Staying in the system was foolish. But retreating along known routes was also wrong—the New Republic would likely launch a search to find Thrawn's lost fleet.
They needed a place to lay low, repair, maybe restore some artillery, and replenish crews with recovered wounded. Maybe even fix the fighters…
But where, Hutt take it?!
— Order the navigators to plot a course for Zonju V, — the Grand Admiral commanded.
Pellaeon mentally reviewed what he knew of the planet.
Quadrant J-21, Wild Space…
A haven for pirates and smugglers, where a battle between Captains Tiberos and Irv's ships had recently ended, wiping out the Lumini pirates and gifting the Dominion valuable Clone Wars-era trophies… Yes, that planet no longer had criminals—the auxiliary forces had thoroughly shelled them.
But wouldn't the Republicans look for them in such places, given the system's location was no secret?
— Sir, if I may, that's a highly unsuitable destination, — Pellaeon said. — The Republicans could easily find us there. We're practically cornering ourselves in a trap.
A junior officer must inform a superior when their order isn't as brilliant as they think.
— Correct, Captain, — Thrawn confirmed. — Which is why Zonju V isn't our final stop.
Pellaeon considered responding but…
— Yes, sir, — to Hutt with guesses.
Show us, Grand Admiral, what other "idiot" you've got in your plan.