Nine years, nine months, and thirty-one days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, nine months, and thirty-one days since the Great ReSynchronization.
(Five months and seventeen days since arrival).
— ... after which I knocked out Vex... — the resolute voice of a confident man was what pulled Rederick from his stupor.
The agent opened his eyes, suppressing a groan triggered by a severe headache.
Biting the inside of his cheek, he let the new source of pain dull the original. An old trick, as ancient as the galaxy itself, but effective.
Without opening his eyes fully, the man listened to the sounds around him.
A dialogue.
Two voices.
A man, whose intonations felt vaguely familiar, though only faintly.
The second, judging by the accent, an alien. But with clear, precise diction.
The kind you get when working for those who despise the speech patterns of non-humans. Like Imperials.
Oh, how familiar this all felt...
— And you couldn't think of anything better than dragging him here? — the second voice inquired.
— You think it would've been better to leave the kid to Vex's mercy? — the human asked with a chuckle. Why did those intonations sound so familiar?
Rederick cracked his eyes open slightly, trying to get a sense of where he was. So far, he'd only gathered that he was lying on something cold but not metallic, there was a slight echo around him, and the air smelled of laser soldering mixed with the scent of burnt wood. With such a combination, identifying his surroundings was proving difficult.
— He's an Imperial! — the alien protested. — She wouldn't have done anything to him!
The human responded with a muffled laugh.
— That's one way to put it, — he said through his chuckles. — Vex... she's quite inventive with those she sets her sights on...
A heavy sigh from the alien followed.
— Humans are insufferable creatures, but you, you... —
— I've surpassed them all combined? — the human asked, still chuckling.
— Exactly! — the alien replied, missing the teasing tone. — How many times have I told you that this attitude toward women will lead to no good!
— You might as well forbid me from interacting with them entirely.
— That wouldn't be a bad idea!
— Too late, Alessi, I've been at this too long.
— It's time to settle down, — the non-human said instructively. — The fact that Vex became Stark's head of security is a huge hint from fate.
— And what exactly is fate hinting at, my friend?
— That it's no coincidence your two objects of desire have teamed up! Jahan, do you even realize what'll happen if all your women decide to unite against you?
— Which is why the cardinal rule of a special agent's office romance is: "Never fall for more than one beauty on a mission," — the human, whom Rederick was seeking, replied pointedly. There was no doubt now.
"Alessi" — that was Alessi Quon, the engineer who worked on Jahan Cross's gear.
And "Jahan" — that was the very agent Rederick had been tracking.
— No rule among special agents tells Jahan Cross that excessive fondness for the opposite sex leads to one of your lovers producing battle droids while another guards her? And that it's best not to cross paths with either? — the alien pressed.
— Where'd you get that idea? — the agent asked, surprised.
— As if you just vanished from the bar for no reason when you spotted Vex among the patrons, — the Sluissi mocked his companion. — I still haven't gotten the data from the directional microphone!
— The moment called for discretion, — Cross replied coolly.
— Or maybe you were just afraid Vex would give you a thrashing for how you treated her during your last breakup? And the one before that? And the one before that...
— Stop nagging, Alessi, — the agent asked his friend. — Tell me instead, how long will our guest keep pretending to be asleep?
Rederick's throat tightened.
— No idea, — the Sluissi's voice suggested a human-like shrug. — Maybe he doesn't know we've got a vitals monitor pointed at him, and we've known he's been faking it for a while?
— The Imperial Intelligence recruits are getting worse, — Cross said with mock disappointment. — They're hiring grunts now... This one's lucky Vex took a liking to him, or she'd have gutted him in two moves.
— Enough already! — Rederick snapped, opening his eyes fully.
The darkness limited his vision to about a meter, but he knew he wasn't alone in the cave. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was lying against a stone wall, while the speakers were behind him.
But the cave's acoustics made it seem otherwise.
He tried to move his arms apart but was met with a sharp jolt of electricity.
— What the kark! — he cursed.
— Soldier, — Alessi sighed.
Rederick twisted to face the speakers.
Just then, the Sluissi handed a couple of coins to Cross, who was sitting by a small campfire.
Both looked utterly average, typical representatives of their species. If Rederick hadn't received their dossiers from command, he might have passed them on the street without a second thought.
Jahan Cross.
— A pleasure doing business with you, — the gray-haired Cross smiled, pocketing the coins.
He looked entirely average.
Average appearance, average build, average clothing. A typical human.
Only his chalk-white hair betrayed that he wasn't exactly young.
— Were you betting on me? — Rederick grimaced, struggling to sit up with his bound hands and feet.
— Had to pass the time somehow, — Cross stirred the coals in the fire, ringed with medium-sized stones. — While you were sprawled out here, lounging.
— You could've started talking as soon as you noticed I was awake, — Rederick muttered.
What was the point of denying what was happening?
Cross was a top-tier agent with colossal experience. Rederick... well, let's say he was at the start of his journey. Spotting his Imperial training was no challenge for Cross. Playing the "Sorry, sentient, you've got the wrong guy, I'm just a food dispenser salesman" card would only diminish his credibility and insult his counterpart's intelligence. That would instantly put Rederick in a weaker position, losing any chance of a neutral or positive rapport. Which, in turn, meant...
— Could you not make your mental calculations so obvious on your face? — Cross requested. — I get it, strategizing verbal exchanges while in captivity is Intelligence 101, but... who trained you, kid?
A jab to loosen the tongue of a less experienced operative.
— Same playbook? — Rederick grinned.
The Sluissi, sitting to the left of the Dominion agent, burst into laughter so hard he nearly fell backward.
— Don't mind him, — Jahan smiled kindly. — The state of Imperial Intelligence has been his favorite joke for the last five years.
— Is that so, — Rederick nodded, pretending to understand. — And you?
— It saddens me, — the gray-haired man's expression dimmed. — Civil war doesn't do anyone any good, but to this extent...
— You could always come back and show them how it's done, — Rederick baited.
— Oh, thanks, — Cross smirked. — I'm not interested in scrabbling for crumbs. By the way, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Cross. Jahan Cross.
— Bravo-III, — Rederick gave his designation, and a flicker of sadness crossed the spy's eyes.
— That's impolite, — Alessi said, chuckling. — When a spy shares their real name with another agent, it's a gesture of trust. You don't do that with enemies. Your designation? That's the kind of toy fleet special forces play with. Fly in, blow something up, stab in the back... That's not how you start a trusting conversation.
— Since we're talking trust, mind if I ask something? Doesn't it bother you that I'm in shock cuffs? — Rederick asked, raising the device binding his wrists.
— Us? — Alessi sounded surprised. — No.
— What about trust? — Rederick pressed.
The Sluissi opened his mouth to respond, then sighed in defeat, reached into his pocket, and flicked a couple more coins to the grinning Cross.
— You bet on that too? — Rederick rolled his eyes.
This was bizarre.
He was effectively a prisoner.
Held in cuffs by two Imperial deserters.
Yet they were conversing as if they'd known each other for years.
A warm, friendly atmosphere, of all things!
— I told you he's sharper than he looks, — Jahan smiled, pocketing the coins.
— Can we have a conversation that includes me? — Rederick asked.
The Sluissi shook his head.
— No mental resilience, — he noted. — Falls for the slightest provocations.
— Youth, — Cross smirked.
Rederick sighed in exasperation.
— Can we talk business? — he suggested.
— That's the point, — the spy declared. — Let's start with you. What did you want at Rossum?
No point lying — this pair held all the cards. This round of sabacc had to be played with a bad hand.
— Looking for leads to Elli Stark, — Rederick admitted, knowing the deserters likely already figured that out. — And you? What were you doing posing as a bartender?
He finally realized why Jahan Cross's intonations felt familiar. He'd spoken to this man before meeting that woman. What was her name? Vex?
— Elli landed a lucrative contract, — Cross said without preamble. — Supplying B-2 battle droids to the Corporate Sector Authority. But the real buyer is someone else entirely.
Interesting information.
— And who's that? — Rederick asked.
— That depends on who you work for, — the former Imperial spy said, narrowing his eyes. — Which Remnant are you with, kid?
One mission objective was to recruit Cross for the Grand Admiral. Honesty was key for a successful recruitment, but revealing his hand too soon wasn't wise.
— I'm just as curious about your employer, — Rederick countered. — We might be on opposite sides.
— Doubt it, — Cross said. — I operate solely on my own initiative. I'm not loyal to any government.
A freelance spy? That was new.
The Academy never covered that, and Rederick had never encountered it in his service.
Then again, Cross could be misleading him, exploiting his inexperience.
But there was no way to verify that.
— In that case, you've got no reason to fear me, — the scout said, extending his bound hands. — I'd appreciate it if you removed these cuffs.
The Sluissi glanced at the human. The spy's gray head nodded affirmatively.
Muttering something in his native tongue, Alessi freed his captive.
Rederick rubbed his wrists, restoring circulation as the tingling in his legs faded.
— I work for the Dominion, — he admitted.
— Hm, — Quon grunted. — And what does Grand Admiral Thrawn want with darling Stark?
— Nothing from her, — Rederick said calmly. — My mission is about finding you.
— Thrawn wants us back in service? — Cross clarified. — And Elli's just a point of interest?
The Dominion agent nodded silently.
— One of them, — Rederick specified. — The girl's of no particular interest to us...
— So you're not in the loop, — Cross concluded.
— About what? — Rederick asked.
— Cross! — the Sluissi hissed warningly, but the human ignored him.
— Elli's started producing battle droids, but the end recipient isn't just the Corporate Sector Authority, — Jahan said gravely. — The corporates will get their share, but a small one. The bulk of the order — billions of battle machines — is supposedly headed to remote warehouses. From there, they'll go to the Zann Consortium.
Well, kriff...
— Why would they need that? — Rederick asked.
— Why would criminals hungry to upend the galaxy and rule it need an army of droids? — Alessi quipped. — I don't know, maybe they're short on mannequins to hang clothes on.
— Stop clowning, — Cross advised. — The Consortium's politics have hardened since their defeat. They quietly control several planets, but from what I've heard, Thrawn's declared war on them, wiping out several of their groups. And if the rumors are true, the Dominion hit key Consortium industrial worlds, giving them a good thrashing. So they've activated their reserves — agents in the Corporate Sector.
— Hold on, — Rederick frowned. — The Corporate Sector's working with the Zann Consortium?
Cross exchanged a measured glance with Quon, then diplomatically coughed into his fist.
— The Consortium's been propped up by the corporates from the start, — he explained. — When Tyber Zann took a beating, he vanished from all scanners. Dissolved like a ghost. His organization started fracturing, with parts absorbed by the Hutts, Pykes, and other groups. I suspect Zann's hiding somewhere in the Corporate Sector, using it as a base to strike other worlds. But no matter how much Alessi and I have scoured the sector's planets, there's no sign of new ships being built or armies trained. That's odd, considering the Consortium's Vulture droids have been openly stealing Imperial military gear.
— They're building a fleet, — Rederick nodded.
— And the droids will give them a cheap assault force, — Cross elaborated.
— Naturally, but why fight this alone when you could've passed the intel to any of the Remnants? — the Dominion agent asked.
— Two key points, — Alessi said. — First, you can't trust any of the Imperial Remnant governments. They're either fanatics or two-faced scum like Kaine, whose words don't match their deeds. The smaller factions aren't even worth mentioning.
— Grand Admiral Thrawn is a man of honor! — Rederick declared firmly.
— He's not a man, that's one thing, — Cross corrected. — Second, your boss has been cleverly covering his tracks for the last year and a half. And since he founded the Dominion... let's just say it takes time to assess his motives and actions. So we've held back and observed.
— Never considered the New Republic as a potential employer or recipient for Zann Consortium intel? — Rederick asked.
— The democrats? — Alessi grinned. — No, they're the most dangerous. Their government's crawling with so many Consortium agents, it's easier to name who doesn't serve Zann in the Imperial Palace.
— You just watched but decided to act, — Rederick noted. — Something changed?
— Your logic's solid, — Cross agreed. — While the corporates were funneling credits to Zann, it didn't bother me much. But when, instead of using the sector's major droid factory, the corrupt corporates handed the contract to Rossum, that was the signal Zann wants something from Elli. Maybe it's tied to her late father, Yako Stark's, project.
— Whom you killed, — Rederick reminded.
— He wasn't her real father anyway, — Jahan shrugged.
That sounded like an argument.
— Yako Stark's death was because he tried to reprogram droids galaxy-wide, — Quon clarified.
— Either way, Elli and I didn't part on the best terms, — Jahan said with a meaningful pause.
— Yeah, you swept the girl off her feet, pushed her toward Imperial Intelligence, then vanished, — the Sluissi snorted. — Classic Jahan.
— Now I get why you bolted from the bar, disguise or not, when her head of security showed up, — Rederick nodded knowingly. — An scorned woman might've added your face to the "deal with on sight" list...
Jahan coughed into his fist.
— Something like that, — that meaningful tone again.
— It's not that simple, is it? — Rederick asked, recalling the overheard conversation.
— Something like that, — Jahan repeated.
— Vex is another of his past flames, — Alessi said irritably, glaring at his companion. — Spy, assassin, saboteur. And not exactly burdened by morals.
— I figured that much, — Rederick said, embarrassed.
Jahan chuckled.
— Trust me, that was just a warm-up, — he assured. — If Aveka really wanted you gone, you'd have had no chance.
Rederick let the jab slide.
— That raises a question, — he said. — Why do you need me?
— Felt bad leaving you to Vex's mercy, — Jahan admitted. — She... Aveka Dunn, also known as Vex, can be unrestrained in her desires. Your stiffness and restraint gave away your Imperial training. Vex always had a beastly instinct for that sort of thing.
More of that performative frivolity from the spy...
That was the difference between military scouts and intelligence agents — the latter were less disciplined, allowing them to avoid betraying themselves through rigid operational behavior.
It'd take time and skill to shake that off if he wanted to continue serving effectively.
This mission was already half-failed — approaching Elli Stark for contacts to sell Imperial weapons to the Corporate Sector was now unlikely.
Not because she might be tied to the Zann Consortium, but because the Consortium had fully infiltrated the Corporate Sector Authority.
They'd either refuse to sell the tech or use the deal for their own ends. Buying ships that could be laced with computer viruses, sabotage devices, or worse would only harm the Dominion.
Not to mention, funding the deal would practically go straight to the Consortium's pockets.
Any initiative to continue the dual mission would hurt the Dominion.
But there was still a chance to complete the second, equally critical objective.
Recruiting Cross and his partner.
Securing such an agent, cloning his skills, or even using him to train Dominion agents would be a strategic victory.
— In that case, I'm authorized to offer you both positions with the Dominion, — Rederick said. — Our goals align in dismantling the Zann Consortium. Thrawn, as I said, isn't one of those... sentients, — he corrected himself, — whose words diverge from their actions. He's not interested in oppression or enslavement. The Dominion isn't a perfect galactic state, but we strive to ensure our citizens live protected and wanting for nothing. We uphold the rule of law and justice, not in the context of the New Order and...
Jahan waved a hand in front of Rederick's face.
— Kid, shut down the propaganda machine, alright? — he requested. — I don't care about the Dominion's goals or how well its citizens live or should live. The Zann Consortium doesn't interest me either.
— But you came out of hiding to... — Rederick stopped, realizing that throughout the conversation, Cross and Quon hadn't clarified their goals. Just vague hints, nothing more.
— He's protecting his girlfriend, — Alessi explained, catching the reason for the pause. — Guilt over Stark. Because he left and didn't support her, she couldn't become the Imperial agent she dreamed of and returned to the Corporate Sector, taking over Rossum. He blames himself that if he hadn't treated her with his usual disregard for the fallout of his romantic escapades, she wouldn't be hounded by the Consortium now, dragged into their schemes to bolster their army.
Rederick looked at the former spy, silently watching the burning wood.
Was it that simple? A top-tier agent's operation driven not by state interests, personal gain, or some grand purpose, but by simple guilt?
He'd learned so much about the elite of Imperial Intelligence in such a short time, from just one conversation.
— She's no longer the young woman I met years ago, — Jahan said quietly, — but she's caught up in this because of me. I don't doubt she's still a pure, rational person, likely unaware of who she's really working for. But I know that when the Zann Consortium crawls out of the dark corners of the galaxy, the consequences will be dire. Those opposing Zann's mercenaries will destroy everyone involved. Rossum will be wiped out, and so will Elli.
The agent tore his gaze from the fire and locked eyes with Rederick.
— Tell me, Bravo-III, what does your boss do when someone attacks his planets?
— Eliminates the threat, — the Dominion agent replied automatically.
— Then levels the source of the threat, — Alessi added. — Though Thrawn's more precise than, say, the Imperials on Orinda or Yag'Dhul.
— Kaine's got the Ubiqtorate, — Jahan continued. — And the Inquisitorius with it. The Imperial Ruling Council has no shortage of enforcers and mercenaries. The Imperial Guards are butchers, no better than Ailon's Nova Guard. Don't get me started on the Hutts, who control half the galaxy's mercenaries, or the New Republic. They've got some of the best saboteurs in the game. The corporates can claim they hire the best, but they don't. They waste credits on junk, and their "specialists" aren't worth a rancor's claw. If Elli's linked to the Zann Consortium, her life's work will be destroyed, and she'll be executed or tortured in some intelligence agency's dungeon. She doesn't deserve that.
— I understand your noble intentions and even sympathize, — Rederick said. — But I still don't see why you saved me. Be straight with me — no more tales about pitying me or sparing me from Vex.
Jahan and Alessi exchanged glances.
— There's potential, — the Sluissi said. — He's sharp, better than you were at his age.
— Pay up, — Cross smiled thinly.
Another pair of coins passed from one sentient to the other.
— He thought you'd figure it out a couple of hours into the talk, — the former spy explained, pocketing his winnings. — I bet it'd be much sooner.
— You both know betting on others' actions is unethical? — Rederick asked.
— Why else would we do it? — Alessi admitted. — Alright, Cross, your turn. Explain the plan.
The former spy, with a crooked smile, said:
— You know I didn't buy your "just recruitment" story, right? — he asked.
— Trust is earned through actions, — Rederick nodded.
— I won't pry into what you know or interfere, — Jahan said. — Whatever they sent you to do with the corporates, do it. But if it involves harming Elli Stark or Rossum, I'll have your head. Clear enough?
— Crystal, — Rederick agreed. — Problem is, your recruitment is my mission. The rest became irrelevant after what you told me about the Corporate Sector Authority's underbelly.
— And you took my word for it? — Jahan's face showed genuine surprise.
— Trust, — Rederick shrugged. — I can't verify anything in this cave. But I will once we part ways. Still, I need a clear answer to my offer — will you work for the Dominion?
Jahan and Alessi exchanged another glance.
Clearly, this was a practiced nonverbal signal to discuss something not meant for outsiders' ears.
— Is elimination the alternative to refusing the Dominion? — Cross asked.
— Only if you're working for the enemy, — Rederick admitted.
— Fair enough. As long as I haven't crossed you, I'm a valuable asset, — Cross nodded to himself. — In that case, I have a proposal.
— Lay it out, — Rederick sighed.
It was obvious he had little control in this conversation.
The deserters planned to use him for their ends, likely offering service to the Dominion in exchange. A standard move in such negotiations.
They'd probably reached this conclusion long ago but knew showing up to Thrawn with such an offer might not favor them.
— We'll help you with your missions, — Cross said. — In return, you help me evacuate Elli from the Corporate Sector.
Rederick paused to consider.
The deal exceeded his authority.
Every major entrepreneur in the Corporate Sector was a big player. If they were fulfilling a government contract, an "evacuation" — or, plainly, a kidnapping — could be seen as a Dominion attack on the Corporate Sector.
The Dominion's ruler explicitly stated Rederick's actions must not harm Dominion interests.
A war over a pretty face hardly fit Grand Admiral Thrawn's plans.
On the other hand, the kidnapping could be framed as the work of another party, like Republic Intelligence...
With Dominion Intelligence still lacking coordinators to simplify such dilemmas, he'd have to decide alone.
And bear the consequences.
— Let's simplify the deal, — Rederick said. — We arrange to extract your lady from the corporates, along with all the intel we can find on her contract. In exchange, you, Jahan, and you, Alessi, — he looked at each man in turn, — swear allegiance to the Dominion and join our intelligence service. Details will come from leadership...
— Deal, kid, — Cross said quickly, as Quon reached for more coins.
The scout sighed heavily.
— Is there anything you haven't predicted and bet on? — he asked.
— Yes, — Cross replied instantly. — Your biggest mistake, one that could cost you your life in another situation. Never, under any circumstances, admit you're a spy. Let alone who you work for. An agent is never honest on the job: lies are our skin.
— What was I supposed to do when you'd already figured it all out? — Rederick protested. — You even used tech to check when I'd wake up...
Alessi coughed into his fist.
Cross reluctantly handed back a couple of coins.
— What's that mean? — Rederick asked.
— We don't have any such device, — Quon explained.
— We just said every half-hour that we knew you were awake, — Cross added. — Given your limited experience with deep cover, it was bound to work.
— I hate you both, — Rederick admitted, closing his eyes.
— I said the same to this oaf when he broke the first gadget I built for him, — Quon said, jabbing a finger at Jahan Cross. — This man has no respect for others' work!
— Occupational hazard, — Cross shrugged.
Winking at Rederick, he added:
— Now, to the plan. Listen up, kid, and memorize this. Here's what we'll do...
***
General Madine's hologram exuded confidence, but compared to Grand Admiral Thrawn's galactic presence, the Republic could use someone more imposing.
Feena took a sip from her glass.
Alderaanian wine hit her taste buds with the bouquet expected by the galaxy's elite.
— The New Republic Defense Forces have defeated Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet in the Mustafar system, — the hologram's unblinking gaze was meant to convey certainty, but it fell short. — Our forces captured numerous Dominion warships previously used in attacks on New Republic worlds. Six Imperial-class Star Destroyers and seven Acclamator-class assault ships are being delivered to the Sluis Van shipyards. These vessels will be repaired and transferred to the New Republic fleet to continue safeguarding our citizens. Additionally, our valiant troops destroyed numerous Dominion heavy cruisers, corvettes, and hundreds of fighters. The total number of destroyed ships reaches one hundred pennants. We've effectively crippled the core of Grand Admiral Thrawn's forces, who retreated in disgrace, unwilling to share the fate reserved for the New Republic's enemies...
Draining her glass, the woman reached for the table to refill it.
— Stop getting drunk, — Baron D'Asta grimaced, disapproving of his daughter's actions.
— You're in my house, Baron, — Feena reminded him. — And I'm no longer young enough to cater to your every whim to avoid your inevitable irritation and wrath.
— You're my daughter, — Rager reminded her. — Show some respect.
— And you're my father, — Feena shot back, filling her glass nearly to the brim. — Same request.
— Spoiled egoist, — the Baron growled.
— Learned from the best, — Feena smiled, savoring the stretch of her legs onto the coffee table. — If the Republic's to be believed, they hit Thrawn hard. And you, dear father, claimed he was invincible.
— Don't twist my words, — the Baron requested. — Besides, you know Madine can't be trusted.
Feena batted her long lashes.
— Oh, really? — she asked. — Need I remind you, dear parent, that you once advocated for peace with the rebels?
— I proposed ending pointless bloodshed, — the Baron countered. — If that means a peace treaty with the Republic, so be it. The civil war only devastates the galaxy, nothing more. Millions die while politicians on both sides line their pockets, ignoring their subjects' suffering.
— You say that like it's a bad thing, — the platinum-haired woman sipped her fresh pour. — Exquisite bouquet. A century aged.
— Even the wine has restraint before you consume it, — Rager remarked. — You don't. That's your second bottle.
— Could be the fifth, — Feena said indifferently. — Goes down like water.
— I'm tired of discussing your alcoholism, — the Baron declared. — Let's move to our business.
— We have no joint business, dear parent, — Feena reminded him with a smile.
Sometimes, she didn't understand why she provoked her father, yet she always found satisfaction in doing what she wanted.
— Does the Council plan to respond to this statement? — Rager asked.
— They don't care, — Feena admitted. — They'll wait calmly until Thrawn exhausts himself or the New Republic, then strike. Dominion or Coruscant, it doesn't matter in the current situation. The Imperial Space will benefit either way.
— Then you're fools, — the Baron huffed. — Madine flaunting the name of one of Thrawn's original fleet's Star Destroyers means nothing. There are no wars without losses.
— Six captured destroyers and at least one destroyed? — Feena smiled. — Papa, you must believe the Republic didn't break Thrawn's spine.
— I know the man, — the Baron said firmly. — He's alive. Otherwise, the Republic would've broadcast it galaxy-wide and launched a counteroffensive against the Dominion, exploiting the situation.
— They're assembling a fleet, — Feena noted. — Our spies say they've bought massive spare parts for an Executor-class super star destroyer at Kuat. The shipyards are working round-the-clock to fulfill the Republic's order. You know what that means?
— They're bringing the Lusankya into service, — the Baron grimaced. — That's not news since they pulled her from oblivion at the Rendili Shipyards.
— We believe the Republic's preparing to attack the Dominion or its allies, — Feena said gravely. — Orinda's forces are on high alert. I'd advise you to do the same, Father. Your support for Thrawn is quite obvious.
— All necessary preparations are in place, — the Baron waved off. — But I'll repeat: Thrawn's alive. This is likely part of his strategy — the New Republic's victory will embolden them to make a reckless move, after which they'll be crushed for good. They'll crawl away to lick their wounds.
— Believe what you want, Papa, — Feena said indifferently. — The Council knows how to act.
— Sure, stab an ally in the back while they're weakened, — the Baron snorted. — I expect nothing less from the Ruling Council.
— Thrawn's no ally, — Feena countered.
— You buy TIE-series tech from him, — Rager reminded her. — You don't do that with enemies.
— That's commercial cooperation, Father, — Feena sighed. — Don't apply diplomacy where it doesn't belong.
— Blind fools, — the Baron lamented. — Though I expect nothing less from Orinda.
— What did you think? — Feena asked, surprised. — That we'd rush to wipe Thrawn's tears upon learning he took a hit? Or deploy our forces to protect his borders? No, Papa, he's an outsider. An upstart, nothing more.
— Formally, he's the Supreme Commander of the Empire, — Baron D'Asta reminded her.
— Exactly, formally, — Feena clarified. — You cling to this alien because he shares your views on the galaxy's future and coexistence with other states. That's an outdated perspective, nothing more.
— Perhaps, — Rager said thoughtfully.
He looked at his daughter, slowly sipping her wine.
— Something's brewing in the Council's elite circles, isn't it? — he asked.
— Something's always brewing in the Council, — Feena replied in the same tone. — It's the Council.
— My people report unrest among the Council's elite, — the Baron pressed. — And you're part of that circle.
Feena swirled the wine in her glass, letting it coat the sides.
She didn't know how to respond.
The situation with Thrawn didn't sit well with her either.
As casually as she spoke of betrayal, she inwardly resisted it. But she knew that stepping even slightly out of line would prompt Sarcev Quest to eliminate her instantly.
Just as he would with other councilors who spoke too freely.
It didn't matter where — at home or in a bustling capital. Even in Orinda's heart, Quest's assassins silenced anyone who dared leak even a shred of his confidential briefings.
That included the looming return of Palpatine.
And the conspiracy to destroy him.
Similar actions targeted Thrawn.
He was seen as a mere tool, useful for eliminating resistance to the upcoming campaign. But no one in the Imperial Ruling Council considered a full alliance with him.
The Empire might be a shadow of its former self, but disdain for aliens persisted.
Especially for those more talented than the councilors themselves.
— I thought you came to Orinda to see me, — she said, signaling a desire to change the topic.
— We've seen each other, — Rager noted. — And I'm here to warn you against mistakes. Loyalty is always good. The power you seek won't come in a way that lets you sleep soundly.
— You seemed to admire Thrawn, — Feena said. — Need I remind you he dropped meteors on the Imperial Center?
— On Coruscant's shield, — the Baron corrected. — The Republic removed the deflectors themselves, proving their military incompetence and fear of public unrest. Look at the Dominion — after the New Republic's attack, they bristled with every gun, and no one dares touch them. Week by week, their support grows. Thrawn's active campaigns have lasted just six months, yet he controls the Morshdine, N'zoth, Sprizen, Ciutric Hegemony, Oplovis, Garos, Kelada, Chasin, Trogan, Makem Te, and Columex systems. The Quelii and Venin sectors have officially joined the Dominion. Moff Getelles from the Antimeridian sector is practically begging Grand Moff Ferrus to accept his sector into the Dominion.
— Thanks for the reminder, — Feena arched a brow. — Another reason to hate Thrawn: granting Ferrus the title of Grand Moff of the Dominion's capital. Your precious alien spat in our faces with that move. Only the Imperial Ruling Council, as the legitimate successor to Imperial authority, can grant such a title to a sector governor.
— Tell me Sarcev Quest wept over Thrawn running his own internal policy, — Rager laughed.
— Only in your dreams, Father, — Feena said. — But yes, he was a bit stung by it. It's a direct challenge to the Council.
— The Dominion isn't part of the Empire, and Thrawn can do as he pleases there, — the Baron said. — The Council had similar complaints about me, but they quickly realized all they could do was gnaw their nails and watch the D'Astan sector thrive. Like the Dominion, by the way. Do you even know that Thrawn's turned every system outside the capital into fortress worlds?
— Yes, — Feena said, savoring the wine. — And we'd love to know where he's getting the funds. Tell me, dear father, are you bankrolling this?
— I'd love to tie Thrawn with economic strings tighter than now, — the Baron said with regret. — But he's set on Dominion independence and self-sufficiency. I'm sure Agamar and the Lahara sector will join him soon. Then Thrawn will control a state that can not only sustain itself but export to the galactic market. With his military victories and the slaps he's giving the New Republic, a collapse of the Republic credit is inevitable. An economic crisis won't be far behind.
— His defeat at Mustafar delays the inevitable, doesn't it? — Feena smiled.
— I'm certain the New Republic will soon regret what happened at Mustafar, — the Baron said firmly. — So, Feena, don't do anything foolish. The moment Thrawn reappears, go to him. We have a chance to make him our ally. Look at the trajectory: six months ago, he had a handful of ships; now, vast territories, a significant fleet, industry, and a string of military successes. You need to befriend such a man and have his comlink frequency on speed dial...
— Should I bear his children too? — Feena snapped, reaching for another bottle.
— Not a bad idea, you know, — the Baron's response stunned her.
Wine spilled over the glass's edge.
— Tell me you're joking, — the Baroness glared at her father, her look capable of incinerating him if human physiology allowed.
— No, — the Baron said. — Once Thrawn resurfaces, I'll negotiate the D'Astan sector's integration into the Dominion. Your remarks only confirm I'm right...
— I don't care about your convictions! — Feena smashed the crystal glass across the room. — What did you say about children with Thrawn?!
— It'll be discussed, — the Baron said calmly. — With the sector caught between the Dominion, Mandalorians nearby, corporates arming up, you on war footing, Kaine building ships by the hundreds, and the New Republic dreaming of past glory, a political alliance with Thrawn benefits the sector. Autonomy within the Dominion is suitable...
— Children, — Feena hissed. — What do children have to do with it!?
— A political marriage is one of the oldest tools for securing alliances, — her father reminded her, invoking history lessons. — Diplomacy fails where marital bonds hold. I believe the Grand Admiral has proven his competence in protecting his territories and allies. I'm not young, and assassination attempts have already happened. I see your thirst for power — the Imperial Ruling Council is only corrupting you.
— So you'd strip me of my councilor status by pulling the sector from Orinda's jurisdiction, — Feena said, clenching her fists in fury, spitting words through gritted teeth.
— That jurisdiction's been a formality, — the Baron noted calmly. — Your political intrigues lead to ruin. I don't want my sector hostage to your destructive policies. Thrawn's a force you refuse to acknowledge due to racist views.
— And you, with your xeno-tolerance, would throw your own daughter to a blue-skinned bastard?! — Feena exploded.
She knew that if her father shifted his political stance, she'd instantly lose her councilor position. Power in the Imperial Ruling Council required substantial backing, like ties to a thriving pro-Imperial sector's ruler.
Other options to maintain power existed, but Feena currently lacked the independent clout to replace her father's influence after he ceded his Council seat to her. She could seek help from western galactic allies, but they were seasoned players who'd recognize a lost cause.
No one would give her time to leverage her personal resources for economic or other successes to justify staying on the Council. Even if Sarcev Quest wanted it, too many uninvolved councilors would outvote the conspirators.
If Quest and his allies fought for her against tradition, questions would turn to them. In the current climate — plotting against a resurrected Palpatine — Quest would ensure minimal scrutiny on his faction.
Considering what she knew as a conspirator, the stakes were beyond dangerous.
— There's more humanity in Thrawn than in many humans, — the Baron said calmly. — Not to mention his rationality and influence on the galaxy. You may think you're free to choose your path, but you're an aristocrat by birth. Act in the best interest of our House, not lounging in meetings with people detached from reality. Your crude remarks about political marriage mean nothing — your mother and I were strangers for a third of our life together. But we knew a political marriage bolstered aristocratic authority. As you see, we lived happily enough to produce you. You'll adjust — maybe even grow to love him.
— You don't know what you're doing, — Feena hissed. — Do this, and I'll lose my place on the Imperial Ruling Council!
— That concerns me least, — the Baron said. — Orinda's a relic, like the Council. Make the right choice. If you don't understand your duty as a baroness to keep our House from decline, I'll make the choice for you.
— Or what? — Feena asked quietly, her voice dripping with pain, rage, and disappointment.
She knew the answer.
— If you don't comply, you're no longer my daughter, — the Baron rose from his chair, signaling the conversation's end.
— I'm a free person! — Feena nearly sobbed, realizing any action would lead to a choice she didn't want. — You can't just decide for me!
— I can and will, since wine's washed away your last synapses, — the Baron said firmly.
He gave his daughter a disappointed look, then said:
— Don't be a fool, Feena, — softer, with a hint of sympathy. — Remember your teachings. Help the strong when they're weakened, and they'll be your friend for life. In this Hutt-ridden galaxy, I'd rather my legacy stand with Thrawn than be handed to his enemies. D'Astan blood won't spill for foolish humans. If we die, it'll be for a better future. Thrawn will give us that, as he does for his subjects.
— If he's even alive, — Feena only now felt the dampness in her palm. The glass had cut her skin in her reckless gesture.
— Calm down, — her father advised. — He's alive. I spoke with him half a day ago. He took losses but retreated. His counterstrike will be fearsome — you'll see soon enough.
— I'd rather see his corpse, — Feena muttered.
The Baron shook his head disapprovingly.
— Then all my efforts to raise you and pass on my wisdom were wasted, — he concluded. — I'm giving you a choice — your mother didn't get one, by the way. Either decide soon and go to Ciutric to meet Thrawn, where your engagement will be announced, or you're no longer my daughter. You'll keep what you currently own, nothing more.
As the Baron left his daughter's mansion, he heard the sounds of the living room's decor being smashed.
But Rager paid little mind to these small outbursts.
After all, his wife had tried to kill her new husband right after their ceremony.
That's how Feena was conceived, in fact.
A little secret of House D'Asta, best kept from the galaxy.
***
Major Tierce stepped into my quarters.
— Operational report, sir, — he announced his purpose.
— Come in, Major, — I looked up from the computer's data displays. — Any news on the unloading?
— We'll finish by the end of the day, — the man promised. — The ground contingent is already producing construction blocks for manufacturing facilities. By week's end, all plants are scheduled to launch. Resource extraction reached planned levels before our arrival.
Given that full-cycle production was relocated from Mustafar (and Balmorra), there's no need to worry about electronics or other equipment — it'll all be produced here. Resources are plentiful.
— Damage repairs? — I asked.
— Seventy percent complete, — Tierce reported. — The main issue is the Bellicose. Re Mirage cannot be rebuilt from scratch in our current conditions.
— No need, — I said. — The destroyer will accompany us and be handed to shipwright Reyes for an upgrade to a Mark III. Like all the ships we captured in the last battle. What about the scout droids' data?
It's become so routine that it goes unmentioned — in every system we visit, where Republic or other ships might follow, we deploy droids.
— A search party's at Zonju V — two Victory-class Star Destroyers, one interdictor cruiser, — Tierce replied. — They're sending out scout droids and X-wing patrols. Intercepted data suggests they'll depart in two days if they find nothing.
— A performative search, — I nodded.
In other words, a show of activity. Nothing more.
— Allocate extra forces to speed up repairs, — I ordered. — We move out as soon as they're done.
— Shall I inform the flagship navigator of our course? — Tierce asked.
— Zonju V, — I announced. — Since the New Republic boasted of defeating us and hinted at my demise, a lesson's in order.
— Yes, sir, — Tierce agreed.
He looked at me with interest.
— Sir, permission to ask a question.
— Granted, Major, — I replied, returning to Reyes's report on our fleet's status, particularly our latest acquisitions.
— What kind of lesson do you plan to teach the Republic?
— That rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated, — I said, not looking up from the technical innovations report on the latest super star destroyer.
— Understood, sir, — Tierce smiled, saluting before leaving my cabin.