Nine years, four months, and thirty-five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, four months, and thirty-five days after the Great Resynchronization.
Pakuuni system.
The backwaters of Imperial Space, near the Mon Calamari sector.
A small XQ1-class platform—outpost NL-1 with a modest name—the only Imperial stronghold in this part of the galaxy. Incredibly, but true—the rebels have not yet destroyed this space station. However, considering that it is about a kilometer in diameter, and armed with laser and turbolaser cannons, with a crew of just over one thousand one hundred personnel, and three squadrons of TIE fighters—its destruction would require something like a Mon Calamari star cruiser or an Imperial Star Destroyer. The rebels have neither in "free flight," which means that for now, this station is safe.
XQ1-class platform—outpost NL-1.
It is doubly gratifying to see that outside the outpost's weapon range are several battered tubs—the ships of those criminals who responded to my offer of cooperation. It's a pity that there are only two of them.
Do I feel disgusted, stooping to work with criminals? Who cares. Zsinj, in his time, achieved a lot from an alliance with privateers, corsairs, pirates, and smugglers. Yes, he paid them—and handsomely. Because the territory he controlled and protected—paid him in taxes, technology, and production. Zsinj knew how to make money out of nothing. I wouldn't be surprised if he received command of the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Iron Fist because he bribed the right people, with the right things, at the right time. Corruption in the Galactic Empire was, is, and will be—this scourge is as ineradicable as the Jedi in this galaxy.
— Grand Admiral! — nervous and demanding shout brought me out of my reverie. But even realizing who was addressing me, I did not slow down, continuing to walk down the corridor towards the hangar. Rukh, walking beside me, inadvertently placed his hand on his blaster and one of his knives. Even Pellaeon, shuddering, gripped the ysalamiri cage tighter in his hand. Well, the order worked. If only he would stop sticking his nose into other people's business and contradicting me. During the flight from Wayland to the Pakuuni system, I had a lot to think about. A lot. And the conclusions are not the most comforting. Especially if I have to explain my actions to Pellaeon. But it cannot be otherwise anymore.
I won't find friends here, a grand admiral is doomed to loneliness. Therefore, only "boss-subordinate" relationships. Teaching Pellaeon the wisdom of analytics is useless. If there is no desire—there will be no results. I know it from myself. Perhaps our first victory will enlighten him to start moving in the right direction. I need a competent deputy, not a safety net.
— GRAND ADMIRAL THRAWN! — Joruus C'baoth continued to shake the air with his bass.
I didn't even slow down.
— Sir, he's following us, — Pellaeon warned.
— I hear, — I said indifferently, stopping in front of the doors leading to the section of the main hangar of the Chimaera, where my shuttle was located. — Are we going to pay attention to every tantrum? We are the Imperial Navy, Captain, not a finishing school for young ladies. Remember your own words regarding Lieutenant Tschel.
— Of course, Admiral, — the Star Destroyer's commander hastily agreed.
Waiting for the mad dark Jedi to get almost close to us, I turned to him with dignity, looking him straight in the eyes.
— Did you want something, esteemed Jedi Master? — I inquired calmly.
— You promised to deliver Jedi to me, Grand Admiral, — C'baoth's militancy abruptly evaporated. Now, before me stood an old man, with gray, unkempt hair, more like matted locks. His gaze darted from side to side, as if seeking support. And he found it, immediately, as soon as he took the medallion hanging on his chest in his hands. — And I still haven't seen a single one.
The last phrase was added in a calm, reasoned tone, with a regal look in his eyes and a proud posture. Decisively, this strange trinket helps him to concentrate and not fall into madness. This is good—it means there is a way to keep C'baoth within the bounds of reason. And this is bad—it means he can bring his thoughts in order and logically build his behavior. And from here to the transition to the abstract power he so despises—it's a short path. In the events known to me, everything happened exactly like this. As soon as he realized that he was not in a position to receive Jedi for re-education, he moved on to global plans—building his own Empire. Consisting of sentients whose brains were changed by his efforts.
— Corran Horn, among other things, is also a pilot of an elite fighter squadron of our opponents, — I noted softly. — Tracking him down and capturing him is not a task for one day. Not two, and even—not three. If you need his corpse—we will arrange it in a few battles. But it seemed to me that you needed living Jedi, Master C'baoth. Or have your plans changed?
— No, — the old man said firmly. — But I am not going to wait until you, Grand Admiral, have played enough with your toy soldiers. We have mutually beneficial cooperation, which means your desires are just as important as mine.
— No one denied that, — I noted. — However, unlike you, we have already begun the search for Corran Horn. You, on the other hand, are engaged in self-contemplation in your cabin. I assure you, as soon as we begin our campaign, the New Republic will use all its assets to stop us. Including—sending against us the unit in which Corran Horn serves. Minimum risk, maximum efficiency.
— Don't play games with me, Grand Admiral, — the clone of the long-dead Jedi threatened me with his finger. — If I only suspect that you are somehow trying to deceive me and use me...
"And what will you do?" I wanted to ask him. Half of the ship is shielded from the Force with the help of ysalamiri. Bridge, engine, engineering compartments, hangar, reactor, navigation section, pilots, landing party. The maximum who Joruus C'baoth can try to control is a cabin boy responsible for controlling cleaning droids on the deck where the old man lives.
— I had no intention of betraying our ally, — I stated, inwardly rejoicing that thanks to the ysalamiri, the old man cannot get into my head. — The plan has been developed, and it is being implemented. In the meantime, I advise you to relax and meditate—soon all your strength will be needed.
— I don't need your flattering speeches and feigned concern, Grand Admiral, — C'baoth said grimly. — I am not a Padawan to be spoken to like that. Do your business, associate with the scum of the galaxy, and I will return to my quarters and think about how glorious the future of my Jedi Order will be.
Without saying goodbye, the old man abruptly turned around and slowly walked away. However, as soon as he lowered his hands down, as I understand it, detached himself from the medallion, he immediately quickened his pace, almost breaking into a run.
Everything is clear with you, "Jedi Master."
— Sir, — Pellaeon addressed me quietly, as soon as the clone disappeared around the nearest corner. — We haven't even started searching for Corran Horn.
— I am not going to waste our resources on these, — Pellaeon looked me in the eyes without fear. — As already said—the rebels themselves will send Rogue Squadron to us.
— So, you deceived C'baoth by telling him that you would not deceive an ally? — Pellaeon clarified.
— I answered him with the same game of phrases that he tried to influence me with, — I noted. — No one and never promised to deliver Jedi to him. I authorized the use of our resources, including Imperial Intelligence, to search for them. There is a big difference between these two theses.
— Yes, sir, — a note of approval appeared in Pellaeon's voice. The Jedi clone evoked mixed, mostly negative, feelings in him. Therefore, he appreciated a little "abuse." — Shuttle is ready, Admiral.
— I see, — I followed with my eyes how the technicians close the inspection hatches on the Lambda-class shuttle's hull. — Let's go, Captain. It's time to talk to those who can help us.
***
Only two crews responded to the Grand Admiral's offer of cooperation. Not enough, considering the fact that just a year or two ago, dozens, if not hundreds, of different groups worked for the self-proclaimed warlord Zsinj.
After Zsinj's defeat, most of his territories went to the rebels, who did not treat the warlord's associates in the most decent way, arranging a real hunt for pirates and mercenaries. Some were destroyed, some—ended up in prison, others decided to move away from the sectors of Imperials and rebels. To where no authority has yet come—or, conversely, has left.
The short flight to the outpost passed in complete silence.
The Grand Admiral sat in his chair, his eyes closed, as if meditating. Rukh silently settled down nearby. Despite the fact that the Noghri did not show it, Pellaeon noticed that he was upset by his failure on Myrkr. And Thrawn's emphasized coldness, who was already not distinguished by warmth and affection, towards his bodyguard, clearly made it clear to Rukh that failures have far-reaching consequences.
Rukh alone disgraced himself, but the Grand Admiral ordered the recall of all Noghri commando detachments, without exception, to Honoghr. Without explaining the reasons—which is typical in his style. Understand it as you want. But Pellaeon grasped the essence—Thrawn was showing the Noghri his attitude to Rukh's failure. The latter undoubtedly informed his kin about his failure, and now the clans on Honoghr are probably racking their brains over how to appease their master.
Meanwhile, Pellaeon himself, albeit unconsciously, but noted that Thrawn... had changed somewhat. He was not inclined to explain his actions, to give lectures—only set tasks. In good times—he gave hints so that Pellaeon himself could find answers to the questions posed. Or Thrawn was tired of the fact that the captain of the Chimaera was not too capable of building the whole picture simply like that, knowing only some data, or after he was left alone with the dark Jedi there, on Wayland, had the Grand Admiral softened, perhaps?
The captain did not even consider the version that C'baoth could somehow influence the Chiss. Firstly, Rukh, who was not yet in disgrace then, would not have allowed this. Secondly, Thrawn does not go anywhere without ysalamiri. The whole ship stank of these lizards, and he seemed not to notice. The dark Jedi even tried several times to say something to Pellaeon, saying that he was annoyed that, wandering around the ship, he kept losing connection with the Force. I wanted to tell him in the accessible Corellian dialect, accepted among the unintelligent layers of society, where exactly he could address his complaints, but instead, Gilad only redirected the claims. Ysalamiri on the ship—this is the Grand Admiral's order. Don't like it? All questions to the blue-skinned man in the white uniform.
And yet, something wrong is happening in Thrawn's behavior. The entire journey from Wayland to the Pakuuni system, which Pellaeon's navigators plotted in such a way as to use the main and regional hyperspace routes and thereby shorten most of the time, the Chiss spent in his cabin. It was like this before, but with one exception.
Gilad specifically went down to the admiral several times with reports of successful actions of raiding groups to check his observations.
Thrawn stopped looking at his holographic images of works of art. Yes, perhaps he did not do it constantly, but it seemed as if the Grand Admiral had more important things to do.
Yes, from the same Lieutenant Tschel, Gilad knew that all the information chips found at the Tantiss mountain level, allocated for the library, were delivered to the admiral's cabin without exception. Probably, the Grand Admiral was studying the information received. And surely there was something colossal and terribly interesting there—in one of his reports, Gilad managed to notice, before Thrawn deactivated the holoprojector, that he was considering not just an image, but a technical diagram... of the Death Star!
First or second—it is not clear, however, if even such secrets were kept in the Emperor's personal treasury, it is scary to imagine what else is there.
No, of course, Thrawn is unlikely to build another battle station, but the fact that he will properly dispose of the discovered data was beyond doubt.
Well, maybe the commander of the Chimaera is winding himself up, maybe not. But it is too early to draw conclusions about the changes in the Grand Admiral. He will just continue to note what is happening in case Thrawn's new behavior is part of some next instructive task for attentiveness.
And now... now there was a conversation with the biggest scum of the galaxy ahead.
As soon as they left the shuttle and listened to the report of the outpost commandant and headed towards the compartment where their "guests" were already waiting, Thrawn inquired:
— Is there any data on the identity of those we are about to deal with?
— A little, — Pellaeon admitted. — The deadlines are short, naval intelligence did what it could...
— Get to the point, Captain, — the Grand Admiral asked-demanded.
— The first one is Niles Ferrier, nicknamed "Sly," — Gilad did not miss that when pronouncing this name, the Chiss barely noticeably slowed down, as if he had heard something he did not want to hear. — Ship hijacker. Very skillful, I must say. In the past, he hijacked several CR90 Corellian corvettes for Zsinj. What is remarkable—directly from the shipyards of the Corellian Engineering Corporation.
CR90 Corellian Corvette.
— I understand that these starships are now serving in the rebel fleet? — Thrawn clarified. Pellaeon could only nod silently in agreement.
— Not bad ships—fast and well-armed for their class, — said the Star Destroyer captain. — According to intelligence, Ferrier is now looking for a client for a DP20 frigate.
DP20 Corellian Gunship.
— Also Corellian, — the Grand Admiral noted.
— Correct, — Gilad agreed. — It feels like this guy has some kind of fixation on Corellians.
— His psychological deviations are of least interest to us, — Thrawn stated. — Corellia produces ships that are not the most armed, but quite maneuverable and possessing enviable hull strength. We could use ships like these. If we come to an agreement, immediately send people to inspect the ship.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon nodded. — The second "character" is already more interesting. Pirate Yazuо Vein. We already have more information about him. Much more.
— Is that so? — Thrawn remarked. — For what reason?
— Most of the data was obtained from the archives of Imperial correctional institutions, — Pellaeon explained. — He, let's say, has been behind bars more than once.
— In more detail, Captain, — Thrawn asked. — Perhaps it is his problems that will be useful to us.
— Human, born on the planet Nimban in Hutt Space, — Gilad did not try to be cunning and simply opened the file on his datapad. — Father and mother worked for a mid-level criminal authority of the Hutt race. Ziro the Hutt, in his time this name thundered during the Clone Wars period. The man served as the right hand of the gangster, commander of the organization's battle wing. Mother—concubine. Her exact origin is unknown, only that she was captured into slavery in one of the raids, after which her father made her his concubine—one of several. As a result of some local Hutt infighting, Ziro's organization was absorbed by his nephew Jabba. The family fled, was caught. Only the child, Yazuо, survived. He joined a pirate gang, rose from the very bottom—from a sorter of loot, to the captain's assistant. He did not get along with his previous commander, killed him, and became an independent privateer. He was caught trying to hijack his very first ship. Sent to Kessel, from where he escaped. The second time, he was able to steal the same starship and has commanded it ever since, raiding traders. Twice more he fell into the hands of justice, but avoided punishment. In one case—he escaped from custody, in the other—he bought off an Imperial official with a very solid sum. After the Emperor's death, he was able to put together a small but well-organized pirate crew. According to rumors—they carried out many operations, but there is no information confirming or refuting this. During Zsinj's attack on Kuat with the aim of stealing the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Razor Kiss, the group suffered losses, shrinking from ten to two ships—his own Lascivious Twi'lek and another bucket of bolts. Shortly before Zsinj's death, he acquired spare parts for the repair of the Iron Fist in orbit of Dathomir for him on the black market. There is a suspicion that he tipped off the Republicans to Zsinj, as the latter did not pay him the full agreed amount of credits for the spare parts.
— A story worthy of a separate novel, — Thrawn said. — Is this all we know about him?
— There is a small psychological portrait, compiled by our agents, — Pellaeon admitted. — Vein has no education. However, he has broad but superficial knowledge in several areas directly related to the trade. At some point in his work for Zsinj, he was married, or in a close relationship—it is not known exactly, with a Twi'lek dancer from Nar Shaddaa. After returning from Kessel, he found her in bed with a compatriot from Ryloth. He brutally dealt with both. By the way, the lover was the commander of his second ship, and the crew consisted entirely of Twi'leks. The crew was killed after their captain. There is a psychologist's conclusion that the mentioned incident somehow influenced his attitude towards this race, as he hates them as if he were a supporter of the New Order.
— The Empire's humanocentric policy does not presuppose a negative attitude towards any one race of aliens, — Thrawn objected.
— I know, sir. We hate everyone equally, — Pellaeon replied. — But this is indicated in his file...
— Further, — Thrawn demanded.
— He enjoys authority among his crew and several fences of stolen goods, one of whom was an agent of the Imperial Security Bureau. Most of the information was obtained from him. The fact that the agent was found hanged by his own entrails is associated with the fact that Yazuо exposed our informant. This is also evidenced by characteristic stab and blaster wounds, corresponding to the profile of a homemade vibroblade combined with a blaster, which Vein wields as a sidearm. He is considered an undesirable person even in his own circle.
— And how does he differ from other pirates, racketeers, and murderers, if he is considered an outcast? — Thrawn clarified.
— Too sharp-tongued, — Pellaeon read the last line from the report. — It looks like this guy has two Tartan-class patrol cruisers for sale. Condition unknown.
— Intriguing, don't you find, Captain? — Thrawn suddenly asked. — A pirate sells to the Empire ships developed by order of the Empire to fight piracy. Most likely they were hijacked from the Five Star Concordance. Nowhere else in Imperial space are such types of ships used.
— The acquisition and use of starships stolen from the Concordance may provoke tension with Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, — Pellaeon warned.
— He is a reasonable man and will not ruin our relations because of a few ships that he lost through his own fault, — the Grand Admiral said. — Moreover, we do not yet even know whether we will buy these ships, or whether they are in such a state that it will be cheaper to build new ones.
"And one might think we have a choice," Gilad thought. Thrawn's fleet is already relatively small. And in comparison with any rebel battle group—it is even more than modest. It is necessary to seize any opportunity to increase the number of ships at the Grand Admiral's disposal. Yes, perhaps, repairs will have to be done at the shipyards, but still—these are combat starships!
Passing by several crew members of the outpost, their trio arrived at the compartment designated for negotiations with the mercenaries. A couple of stormtroopers, not at all like the trim and exemplary trained fighters stationed on board the Grand Admiral's fleet ships.
Posture—improper, chips and stains are visible on the armor, one even has a cracked helmet visor! Shame! Where is the outpost commandant looking?
But Thrawn ignored this fact, only rewarding the soldiers with a cold look, under which they instantly straightened up. But the first impression was already hopelessly spoiled.
Judging by the setting, the compartment chosen by the commandant for negotiations was a small wardroom. Medium-sized room with high ceilings, a spacious round sectional-type viewport. In the center was a rectangular metal table, behind which were two "guests."
The smell of tobacco smoke hung in the air. Very disgusting and unpleasantly tickling the nostrils. The source of such indecency on board a military facility of the Empire was a man dressed in simple but solid clothes, clearly bought not with the last money. Overweight, arrogant look, and a cigar in his teeth. Legs thrown on the table and complete lack of respect for those who arrived. Niles Ferrier in person.
Niles Ferrier, nicknamed "Sly".
— Sir, allow me... — Pellaeon began with the clear intention of restoring order here.
— No need, Captain, — Thrawn stopped him, turning to his second companion. — Rukh.
The Noghri reacted instantly. His hand, like a blurred spot, flashed in the air, after which the smoldering tip of the hijacker's cigar was cut off and fell onto his shirt. "Sly" hissed, clearly dissatisfied with neither the burned clothes nor the discomfort sensations that his own cigar delivered to him.
The second man did not even bat an eye. He continued to coldly track those who entered with his whitish eyes. Pellaeon almost cursed. One look at the ears of this sentient was enough to understand that they were not dealing with a human. Arkanian, or Sephi, or maybe a half-breed. How, one wonders, could one be so mistaken when compiling a dossier? It seems that someone in Imperial Intelligence screwed up.
Pirate Yazuо Vein.
— Gentlemen, — Pellaeon noted the condescendingly mocking expression on the half-breed's face. — You are on an Imperial facility. Be so kind as to observe the rules of decency, or be so kind as to leave the station and return to your dens, from where the smell of profit dragged you out. Am I speaking clearly? — at the end of his speech, the Grand Admiral inquired, sitting down at the head of the table so that both representatives of the criminal rabble were in front of him, but as far away as possible.
It seems Thrawn decided to communicate with mercenaries in their own language.
— Clearer than a Twi'lek, — Yazuо Vein smirked, baring his snow-white teeth.
— Understood, — Niles Ferrier grumbled, examining the hole in his shirt and with a barely noticeable movement shaking off the smoldering butt onto the floor. Pellaeon felt a burning desire to grab the impudent man by the scruff of the neck and make him lick the deck with his tongue.
— Now about business, — Thrawn leaned slightly back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. — I understand you have something to offer us?
— If you have money, of course, — the half-breed continued to smile arrogantly. "Sly" limited himself to only a nod of his head.
— First, I want to know—where did these ships come from, — Thrawn stated.
— Does it matter? — the mercenaries exchanged glances. It is understandable—few people want to talk about the places of their trade.
— I didn't want to deal with you at all, — Yazuо Vein said. — And when I heard that you are so short of ships that you fled from a quartet of crumbling republican frigates in the Obroa-skai system on a Star Destroyer, I decided—why not? And here is the gratitude...
The Grand Admiral did not even bother to answer, beginning to examine his snow-white glove. Thus—making it clear that he does not intend to participate further in the dialogue until he receives an answer to his question.
— One Tartan I hijacked from the Grizmalt shipyards in the Core Worlds, — the pirate was the first to break the silence. — It is in excellent condition, the Republicans just got it out of mothballs. The second one tried to take my ship by boarding, and I took their crew by the balls. It is slightly used, a few holes, a couple of guns to replace—and it's as good as new. You can put it on parade in honor of the anniversary of the New Order.
Judging by the smirk, the pirate was extremely pleased with himself. And with his flat jokes.
— The second Tartan, — Thrawn said slowly. — In whose fleet did it serve?
— Uh... — the half-breed hesitated. — Well... I don't know...
— Where was the capture of the second patrol cruiser made? — the Grand Admiral asked a new question, continuing to examine his glove.
— In the Chasin system, — Yazuо Vein admitted. Pellaeon, standing to the right of the commander-in-chief, felt seething rage. Chasin—is one of the systems supporting the Grand Admiral! What kind of impudence is this!?
— Understood, — Thrawn said. — Where are the ships?
— Money first, then starships, — the pirate smirked arrogantly. — We work on prepayment, bearer credit chips, slave trading is possible...
— Be careful with your words, Mr. Vein, — Thrawn's eyes flashed with fire. — The Empire does not support slave trading in its systems.
— Uh... since when? — the pointy-eared man scratched his blond head.
— Always, — the Chiss stated. — Remember it yourself and pass it on to your other colleagues. How many ships are in mothballs with the New Republic at Grizmalt?
— I don't know, — he shrugged. — I'm not the Galactic Senate of the Old Republic...
— They also didn't understand much, — Thrawn clarified. — So—how many?
— I saw at least three more Tartans, — he stated. — It looks like after almost all the Imperials with their Super Star Destroyer and all combat-ready ships fled from Anaxes a few months ago, the New Republicans decided to sort out what was left. It is known from the ship's log that this ship was undergoing major repairs. The rest that remained there—probably too.
— Understood, — Thrawn said. — Mr. Ferrier?
— Hijacked from Corellia, — he simply answered. — The frigate was under repair, something with the main hyperdrive. I used a spare and took the kid away from wasteful owners.
"Oh, if only you said that to my face," Pellaeon mentally took offense for all Corellians.
— Captain, — the Grand Admiral addressed him. — What is the cost of new ships of the same type that the esteemed gentlemen are offering us?
"What?! He wants to pay criminals the real cost of the ships?!" the thought burned Pellaeon.
However, an executive officer always carries out orders.
— A Tartan-class patrol cruiser, just off the shipyards, was valued by the Imperial treasury at four million two hundred thousand credits, — he said. — A DP20 frigate—at four million and eight hundred thousand credits.
Judging by the faces of the mercenaries, they were already counting the money and imagining how they would dispose of it. Pellaeon preferred not even to think about how quickly their already modest budget of seventy million, which would be enough to maintain the existing fleet for a year, would be scattered into the pockets of criminals.
— Well, — Thrawn summed up. — I hope no one will object to our specialists inspecting the ships?
Niles Ferrier angrily snorted, which led Gilad to think that not everything was so smooth with the Corellian starship as the hijacker had told. But the pirate felt great.
— However, everyone present here perfectly understands that the offered ships are by no means new, — Thrawn continued, and Pellaeon triumphed, seeing how the criminals tensed up. — Therefore, I think a fair price would be half the market value of a new starship of the same type.
— E-e-e! — Yazuо Vein waved his hands. — Yes, these ships will be snatched up with my hands anywhere—both in the New Republic and in other Imperial states...
— You will be executed—both there and there, — Thrawn said calmly. — Moreover, for the same reasons. Theft of a warship in the New Republic can be replaced with life imprisonment on Kessel or in another prison colony—it does not matter. A similar crime in the Empire—any part of it—is punishable by death. And considering that you also contributed to the death of civilians and servicemen of the Empire—the path to the scaffold is guaranteed to you. The same applies to you, Niles Ferrier—Corellia is trying to be friends with both forces in the galaxy. And you both managed to do so as to harm both major forces in the galaxy. Other dwarf formations will not scrape together even half of what we are offering you.
— We did not agree to this! — the hijacker stated. — The full amount was promised!
When was that?
— Exactly! — Yazuо Vein chimed in. — A deal is like a meteor...
— A meteor burns up when it enters the oxygen-containing atmosphere of an astronomical body, — the Grand Admiral cut off the pirate. — But since you decided to mislead me, Mr. Vein, regarding our agreements, I will meet you halfway. The Tartan captured in the Chasin system, I will, so be it, accept as a gift, as a gesture of goodwill on your part, for a mistake in choosing a starship for hijacking. You cannot steal ships from the Empire and its allies and try to sell them to the same Empire.
— But I didn't steal the ship from you, — the half-breed said offendedly. — And if I knew that these were your people, I wouldn't have thrown them out of the airlock...
— Any part of the Empire is my territory, — Thrawn said harshly. — Except, perhaps, the Deep Core is of little interest to me. But, thank you for reminding me of the ruthless murder of the crew members of our ship. Captain, — Pellaeon was already practically not hiding his smile. — What is the crew size on a Tartan-class patrol cruiser?
— Seventy people, — he readily answered. — Minimum number—ten.
— But there were only about twelve people there! — Yazuо began to argue, clearly losing his temper. Rukh tensed up, ready to pounce on the pirate at any moment.
— Excellent, — Thrawn stated. — As a truism says—the life of an Imperial serviceman is priceless.
— Who said that? — hijacker Niles Ferrier broke into the Grand Admiral's conversation with Yazuо Vein.
— I did, — Thrawn simply replied. — Just now.
— Understood, — "Sly" hung his head.
— As I already announced—you are due for execution for your crimes, not a monetary reward, — Thrawn continued. — But today the Empire gives a second chance to those who help it. For each killed crew member of the Tartan, Mr. Vein,—you will steal and deliver me one ship. Total—twelve.
It seemed to Pellaeon that he had gone deaf. What?! Since when does the Empire do business this way?! Even Darth Vader, known for his contacts among mercenaries, did not give a second chance. He just strangled with his supernatural powers and that's it. But to simply drive a pirate into debt like this... Does the Admiral really hope that he will fulfill the order, even if he promises?
— I don't even know where to get a dozen Tartans, — the half-breed stated.
— You have information about at least three ships of this type, — the Chiss reminded. — However, I will enter into your position. Ships can be of any type and any condition, but exclusively for military purposes. The higher the class and the better the condition—the faster you will close the debt to me.
— What, should I take a Star Destroyer by boarding for you? — the half-breed asked with disbelief.
— There are many of them in the galaxy, — Thrawn agreed. — And not all of them belong to the Empire. I am sure, if you get information about where large Imperial ships are uncomfortable under the flags of our enemies, we will help you solve the moral dilemma of their belonging in exchange for writing off your debt, Mr. Vein. Most likely, in such a situation, you will even become a very rich man.
— A tempting offer, — the pirate stated. — Well, I have a couple of options, of course... The outcome of the deal, of course, is as impressive as sexual attraction on a deathbed, but... Two million one hundred thousand credits—is better than nothing.
— Add to this your life, received in advance for the fulfillment of the remaining tasks, — Thrawn advised. — And also—do not forget to remove twelve crew members from your ship—they will be held hostage while you fulfill your obligations. Try to deceive me, hide, or steal ships from the Empire—my subordinates will kill your subordinates very slowly and for a long time, until you come to your senses. Not to mention that I will send all the bounty hunters I can hire after your head. Captain, what do you think, are the rumors that Boba Fett survived after spending time in the sarlacc pit on Tatooine and is very much in need of money true?
— Undoubtedly, sir, — the captain of the Chimaera noticed how a shadow fell on Rukh's face. The Grand Admiral had just made it clear to him that he does not rely on the Noghri as his executors. Shame increasingly pressed on the ambitious little people. — According to rumors, he fulfills some orders even for pleasure—especially if they somehow concern those who once served the Hutts.
— So, have we agreed? — the Grand Admiral looked at the pirate. The latter, clearly ceased to be cheerful, nodded in response. — Twelve killed Imperial servicemen—twelve ships. The better the condition—the better for you. Deadline—one week to deliver me the first ship. If in six days there is no information from you about the completed order—you can start looking for or preparing a burrow deeper for your own repose.
— Did you mean "relax"? — hijacker Niles Ferrier clarified.
— What I wanted to say—I said, — Thrawn noted coldly. Pellaeon appreciated the pun. He even imagined how the pirate would actually dig himself a burrow somewhere in the sands of Tatooine. Where he would be buried. — But, thank you for reminding me of yourself, Mr. Ferrier. You will receive two million four hundred thousand for your ship. But, as in the case of Mr. Vein—the starships will first be inspected by Imperial technicians. Each undeclared breakdown will cost you part of the fee.
The hijacker opened his mouth, from which the remainder of the cigar, which he had been chewing, fell out, no longer daring to light up.
— You should change your career, Grand Admiral, — the half-breed advised. — You could swindle for credits like that... I think even Tyber Zann or Jabba, if they heard your speech, would say: "Maladza!".
But the Grand Admiral did not answer anything, simply ignored his words.
— You have ten minutes to contact your subordinates and arrange for the delivery of the offered ships here for inspection, — Thrawn said.
— Uh... — the half-breed hesitated. — I would need to return to my ship, we have problems with the communication system.
— Me too, — "Sly" stated. Pellaeon almost laughed when he heard the old trick. Do they really hope that this chatter will somehow affect the Grand Admiral?
— Of course, — Gilad thought he had gone deaf. The Grand Admiral agreed?! He really agreed?! Yes, they will now return to the ships and break into hyperspace! Look for them then! Neither mercenaries, nor promised ships. — Captain, tell me, how accurate are your gunners?
— Jewelers, sir, — Pellaeon embellished reality a little. Well, okay, not a little.
— That is, if we carefully shoot off the engines of our guests' ships, the reactors of their freighters will not explode? — the Grand Admiral clarified. The Corellian almost burst out laughing. No, seriously, does Thrawn know how to joke?
— Not sure, sir, — suppressing a smirk, he said. — You know, all these gravitational distortions, stellar wind—we can aim at one point, and hit directly into the living module or reactor...
— Vaunted Imperial accuracy, — Yazuо Vein muttered. — Okay, give me at least a comlink. And I would like to see the money first.
— Of course, — Thrawn suspiciously easily agreed. — Captain, order to deliver the due amounts here. In cash. Small denomination credit chips.
***
The engine of the Millennium Falcon strained with a roar, making it clear to the experienced ear of the captain of this veteran starship that it would still be worth doing repairs. "After returning to Coruscant," Han thought, lifting the ship off the landing pad.
— Not bad, everything went well? — he asked a rhetorical question to those sitting in the freighter's cockpit. Chewbacca limited himself to only a short agreeing growl.
Leia benevolently smiled.
— The Bimm are a peace-loving race, — she said. — It was not expected that the negotiations would be so smooth. But here, another people has become part of the New Republic.
— And this is—your merit, — her spouse reminded her.
— Not quite, — Organa Solo noted. — The participation of you, Chewie, and Luke in the negotiations was a pleasant surprise for the Bimm. I think they were flattered that three heroes of the Alliance immediately participated in the agreement process.
— Four, — Han clarified. — You are also a hero, Princess.
— As you say, — Leia smiled modestly. For a moment, she sat, in a good mood, but by the time they got out of the planet's atmosphere, her tone became more тревожным:
— Something is happening with Luke, — she said.
— In what sense? — Han was surprised, seeing how the Jedi Knight's X-wing settled down slightly ahead of them.
— I... I feel that something is bothering him, — Leia said with doubt. — Usually, he is always calm, but before our departure from Coruscant, it seemed to me that he was puzzled by something. Some kind of thoughtful, focused.
— Didn't notice anything, — Han admitted. — Maybe you are winding yourself up? He is a Jedi, and these guys are always thoughtful and focused. Sort of, — he added somewhat uncertainly.
— Maybe I am imagining things, — the Alderaanian princess issued. — But... you know, it seems to me that everything went even too easily.
— And I am not against it, — Solo grinned. — Flew in, welcome ceremony, walked around the markets, negotiations, markets again, signed documents, and home. I am ready to take you on such missions every day.
— I don't think the Provisional Council will have so many tasks for me, — Leia noted. — Especially—such simple ones.
— So maybe you should ask for a break in work? — Han started the conversation from afar again. — Say, for a year or so...
— We discussed this, — the young woman noted with a smile. — Now the New Republic has too few trained, and most importantly—responsible diplomats.
— And is this a reason to force you to work during pregnancy? — Han said dissatisfiedly. Chewbacca, sitting nearby, approvingly growled. He, like his human friend, did not like that Leia had to continue her political and diplomatic career. And at the same time, also take care of the twins. — Maybe it's worth reminding her that the birth of two future Jedi depends on you?
— Han, — Leia lovingly stroked her already rounded belly. — Even Luke is not yet sure that our babies will grow up to be Jedi. Perhaps they will be ordinary people, like you and me...
— Well, yes, you are the simplest one we have, — the former smuggler did not miss the moment to tease his wife a little.
— Until I train to be a Jedi—yes, I am an ordinary person, — Leia stated. — Although... maybe ask Luke to give me a few lessons in Jedi art?
— Sounds good, huh, sweetheart? — Han turned to her. — And a lightsaber on your belt would look impressive...
— Right under the belly bulging out from under my clothes, — Leia smiled.
— A beautiful sight, — Solo stated uncompromisingly. — By the way, so as not to postpone this again indefinitely, let's ask Luke about it right away. Hey, kid, — he, ignoring Leia's attempts to protest, opened a communication channel with the Jedi's X-wing. — How do you feel about training Leia a little when you return to Coruscant?
— Good idea, Han, — Solo frowned. Skywalker's voice sounded somewhat detached. — But I'm not sure if she will be able to master the entire training course...
"Chivalrous as a rancor," Han thought.
— I'm not such a bad student, brother, — and now the princess's voice sounded hurt. — Moreover, take it as practice. One day you will have to teach your wisdom to the twins.
— Leia, — warmth appeared in Luke's words. — I did not mean that you would not master the Jedi science. But... I just don't know if it is allowed to train in your position... Heavy physical exertion...
— One might think that female Jedi during pregnancy stopped fulfilling their duty, — Leia stated with shades of sarcasm. — Luke, please don't act like a caring older brother...
— Is he older? — Han hurried to clarify. Chewbacca with a quiet growl reported that he was also worried about a truthful answer to the question posed.
— We haven't decided yet, — the princess admitted with a sigh.
— Leia, I... — Luke hesitated. — I don't know how female Jedi behaved in your position... Honestly, I wanted to tell you that I want to go to Dagobah. To see, maybe, suddenly there are some records left from Yoda.
— Which you could not find in all this time? — Han clarified with doubt in his voice. — Kid, it seems to me that you are very clumsily trying to come up with a reason to slip away from us.
— Is it that noticeable? — a sad chuckle was heard in Luke's voice.
— Let's just say—I would not advise you to play sabacc, — Han answered diplomatically. — Leia said that something is bothering you...
And he hoped with every fiber of his soul that the Jedi would dispel his doubts.
But Luke Skywalker has one trait that makes him the kindest Jedi in the galaxy. He just doesn't know how to lie well. Very well. He doesn't know how to lie at all.
— She is right, — Luke did not even try. — I feel something... wrong in the Force. On Coruscant, it was weakly expressed, but on Bimmisaari I was all on pins and needles. As if waiting for the negotiations to fall through.
Han looked at Leia, one look at whom stated: "I told you so!". Oh, these Jedi...
— Do you think the answer is on Dagobah? — the Jedi's sister clarified.
— I don't know, — no, seriously?! He doesn't even try to be reassuring! — But the Force is calling me to Dagobah. Perhaps—the answer will be found there. Perhaps—some clue. And maybe I just want to take one more look at Yoda's grave.
— Maybe you should inform Corran Horn? — Han offered. — He is now, it seems, also a Jedi...
— Han, — Skywalker stated peacefully. — Horn is on duty now, and training is not part of his plans. Maybe when we deal with the Empire...
Solo looked at his wife. Is this a family excuse they have? It seems Darth Vader never looked for excuses—he took and did.
— Okay, Luke, — Han looked at the navigation computer, which reported that the jump to Coruscant was calculated. — I am sure that you will figure everything out. If you need our help—you know the frequency of my comlink.
— Thanks, Han, — the Jedi Knight responded. — I was glad to participate with you in the mission again. Chewie, Leia, Han, — he listed them all in turn. Such is his farewell procedure. Not to say: "Goodbye, I'll drop by in a week for a light!".
— May the Force be with you, Luke, — Leia said.
— And with you all, — Skywalker responded. His voice became detached again.
The X-wing veered aside, waving its wings in farewell. Moment—and the ship rushed forward, disappearing from sight in a hyperspace jump.
Chewbacca ambiguously whined.
— Yes, buddy, — casting a glance at his wife, who was distracted by reading documents, the Corellian said. — I also really hope that this is not the beginning of new wonderful adventures with stakes worth the galaxy.
***
Sitting in a chair on the bridge, installed opposite the panoramic viewport, I watched as two heavily modernized freighters, belonging to the starship hijacker and the pirate, disappeared into hyperspace. Sighing, I set aside my datapad, on which I was studying the report.
Feeling something not quite heavy settle on my shoulder, I turned my head. The ysalamiri decided that the perch at my head did not particularly please her, but on my hands—that's it. What the doctor ordered. Cunning cold-blooded.
Pellaeon approached, handing me a datapad. Again, encrypted messages from Coruscant.
— Head to Lynuri to rendezvous with the fleet, — I ordered, setting aside the datapad with intelligence data. Delta Source reports will wait.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon said. And, judging by his tone, he clearly intends to talk about something else.
— Something is bothering you, Captain? — I inquired.
— Mercenaries, — the commander of the Chimaera admitted. — I am not sure that they will still decide to work with us.
— Well, let them be, — I simply answered. — We have already acquired three ships—for very modest money.
— Three million and seven hundred and fifty thousand, — Pellaeon said. — You know how to haggle, Grand Admiral.
"Uh-huh. You try to knock out the housing certificates due for length of service in our Ministry of Defense," I thought, recalling an episode from my past life.
— No haggling, — I stated. — When we offered to work for us, there was no talk of us being deceived for our own money. The fact that they both took measures to ensure that the stolen ships at least somehow reached their destination, despite extensive damage—only demonstrates how lowly they rate us in the galactic arena, if they think they can sell us junk for a lot of money.
— But the Tartan, which is supposedly stolen from mothballs, looked promising, — Pellaeon stated. — I even thought for a moment that it was really after major repairs and as good as new.
"And you would definitely be bamboozled by our domestic 'resellers' at the first used car market," I thought. Maybe I'm nitpicking, but I didn't expect to hear such behavior and mindset from the commander of a Star Destroyer.
— The calculation is simple, — I said. — If a combat group of our ships really retreated from Anaxes, then why did they leave immediately four fully combat-capable starships, but at the same time took away all the others capable of hyperspace jumps?
— Reasonable, — Pellaeon agreed. — Do you think the other three will be of the same quality as this one?
— When they are provided to us—we will assess, — I decided. — Guessing is pointless.
— We will have to spend a couple of million to eliminate the damage on these ships, — Pellaeon said. — And they also need to be re-equipped according to the regulars.
— There is no other way, — I said. — We saved some amount, the difference between planned and actual expenses fully covers our costs for repairing and restoring ships. So, consider that we have saved decently—instead of the planned thirteen million two hundred thousand credits, we spent only a little less than a third of this amount on the acquisition. Even if we spend another four million on repairs—definitely savings.
— Yes, it worked once, — Pellaeon agreed. — But what if they no longer want to sell us stolen ships for half their value?
— Then I will keep the promise given to them, — and what, did someone expect something else? — If in five days Mr. Vein does not inform us of success—a hunt will be opened on him. And Rukh, — the Noghri, as always, sitting next to the Grand Admiral's chair, twitched his ears, — will vent all his grief from my disappointment in him on our prisoners.
— Sir... — Pellaeon noted cautiously. — I did not say it in their presence, but... a standard week—is too short a period to even get to a New Republic base. Not to mention to scout the situation, find suitable starships, and hijack them.
— On the contrary, Captain, — I stated. — You don't think that the sentients from their gang travel on ships with standard hyperdrives?
— It is unlikely that they have anything more powerful than class one, — Pellaeon said with doubt.
— But they have a network of informants and accomplices, — I stated. — Do you really think that the military in the Chasin system is so deprived of personnel that even patrol ships, of which they do not have so many, were deprived of full crews? Patrol cruisers, whose duties include pursuing violators, landing boarding parties...
— The pirate lied to us, — Pellaeon sighed. No, was anyone surprised by this fact?
— Of course, he lied, — I agreed, handing Pellaeon the datapad that I was studying before he approached. — This is a report from the Chasin system. And it says that both the torpedo sphere and both Tartan-class patrol cruisers are in service. No pirate attacks or anything like that. What conclusion follows from this?
— Yazuо Vein is not just a liar, but also has some ships in reserve, which he presents as if he captured them, — Pellaeon understood.
— Exactly, — I confirmed. — Remember a curious detail in his biography? Escaped from Kessel, twice avoided punishment for proven crimes. At the time of Zsinj's attempt to capture the Star Destroyer Razor Kiss at the Kuat shipyards, he already had five starships, three of which died. At least two remained. He arrived on one. Consequently—he has at least one more combat-capable starship, on which he and his henchmen ply their trade. What is the probability that a pirate trying to sell ships to the Empire will appear at a meeting without cover?
— If he has brains—then never, — Pellaeon expressed his opinion.
— So, our thoughts on this issue coincided, Captain, — I stated. — The question is with the other—is the starship now on a raid, in cover, or guarding a layup for previously stolen ships?
— Do you think they really exist? — the commander of the Chimaera doubted.
— Until we receive factual data—we can only guess, — I admitted. — As a working version, let's consider that Mr. Pirate has or had some connections in Imperial circles. Most likely, his "shares," about which no one and nothing has heard—are nothing more than a legend to raise prestige. Or at least—their number is extremely exaggerated.
— Then where did he get that Tartan that he passed off as stolen from the New Republic? — Pellaeon clarified.
— Mass of options, — I said. — It will become clearer when our specialists figure out what these ships are. Until that moment, all three of our acquisitions will remain at this outpost. The trick that we pulled off with Talon Karrde can also be used against us...
My attention was drawn to hurried steps behind the back of the chair. Someone in uniform shoes was moving towards us along the central catwalk, dividing the "pits" on the bridge in which operators of various watch services worked. Well, at least not C'baoth—I am not ready to communicate with him today anymore.
— Grand Admiral, sir, Captain, sir, — a heavy, well-set voice reached me. Turning the chair, I stared at a young—no more than forty-five years old—man, dressed in an Imperial Navy uniform. With minor differences—he had nothing to do with the deck crew or crew members. Which was hinted at by his breastplates of insignia. And although I still have not figured out what each one is responsible for in this "table of ranks," but I recognized these particular plates. These plates should be avoided—that's why I learned them first. And, damn it, I thought that these "comrades" are no longer kept as a штатная unit on Imperial ships!
— Lieutenant Colonel Astarion, — the captain greeted him. Casting a glance at me, he explained:
— This is...
Lieutenant Colonel of the Imperial Security Bureau Astarion.
— I guess who is in front of us, Captain, — I said coldly, looking at the approaching military man. — How can we be of service, Lieutenant Colonel?
— I tracked Lieutenant Tschel's request regarding the serial numbers of hyperdrives and other parts of Tartan-class starships, — Astarion said, clearly not thinking of somehow surrendering his positions. — I am interested in where you got this data, Captain?
Pellaeon clearly became nervous. And the reason for this is simple—the lieutenant colonel is higher than him both in rank and position. And so it happened that the Imperial Security Bureau can ask questions to the commanders of Star Destroyers, and they—can't to it.
But the Grand Admiral can do it.
— My answer will disappoint you, Lieutenant Colonel, — I stated. — Captain Pellaeon is not aware of what is happening. I gave the task to Lieutenant Tschel directly.
— You? — the lieutenant colonel was slightly taken aback. — Sir, please forgive and understand...
— You are fighting in the wrong direction, Astarion, — I said. — There is not a single traitor or sentient sympathetic to the rebels on board the ships of my fleet. I understand, Captain, is this the very employee sent to us by Ubiqtorate?
— Yes, sir, — the captain said hesitantly. — I... did not have time to report.
And let's think about it. We have been on our way for several days, there have been no stops. Accordingly, either this sentient has been on board the Chimaera for the last week, or was waiting for us at the outpost and arrived on board during our absence. No, Captain. You "did not have time to report." The ISB officer pinned you to the wall and "asked" you to remain silent. Typical counterintelligence officer, and even on assignment. Well, we will break this down quickly. Very quickly.
— It's okay, Captain, — I stated. — So, Lieutenant Colonel, I see that during my absence in the explored part of the galaxy, the requirements of unity of command and subordination have been forgotten not only in the fleet, but also in such a wonderful organization as the Imperial Security Bureau. Therefore, let me remind you, Lieutenant Colonel, who is subordinate to whom in my Empire and who has the right to demand something from the captain of my flagship.
The ISB officer blinked in bewilderment. Then again.
— Grand Admiral, sir, I...
— Assume the position of lying down, — I commanded quietly.
To confess, I was even scared. The lieutenant colonel without delay fell to the deck like a felled one in the desired position. You can measure with a ruler.
— Now you can report in the established form what interested you so much about the serial number data of the units, — I suggested. — And do not forget to bend and unbend your arms, Lieutenant Colonel. Until the very end of your report.