Nine years, five months, and thirteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, five months, and thirteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
"One hundred seventy-four thousand constructive malfunctions."
This was the nickname commonly used by those who had the honor of serving on Imperial-class Star Destroyers. Or the misfortune of being part of the crew of this huge ship.
In any case, Booster Terrik was firmly convinced that the Errant Venture had far more malfunctions than a standard Star Destroyer in the service of the Empire or the New Republic.
And it wasn't even because most of the Errant Venture's standard weaponry was missing. Such were the terms of the deal with the New Republic.
And it certainly wasn't due to the fact that instead of the required thirty-seven thousand-plus sentients making up the ship's crew, there were only no more than five thousand on board.
The reactor core, it wasn't even that the Imperial-II class Star Destroyer owned by Booster Terrik was painted red (but there was still a lot of unpainted space on the armor for advertising for particularly wealthy clients).
It was just that anyone who had ever been aboard Terrik's ship and its military counterpart could feel the difference. If they were Imperials, they would surely have had heart and brain problems. And the soldiers of the New Republic would hardly have appreciated the Errant Venture without a nervous tic.
Because there wasn't a single Star Destroyer in the galaxy that had undergone such radical modifications inside. Or outside, for that matter.
Booster had turned his ship into a real mobile lair, where every client who had been highly trusted could find everything they needed.
The Errant Venture was a veritable shadow port. Entire decks were re-profiled, rebuilt so that instead of endless barracks and technical compartments, there were spacious shops where resourceful legal, semi-legal, and frankly illegal entrepreneurs could sell their goods to a few but well-heeled clients. And many of them sold exclusive products. For the sake of acquiring which smugglers and other not-so-honest sentients in the galaxy were willing to line up – just to be informed of the coordinates of the next stop of the red Star Destroyer.
Booster Terrik's Imperial-II class Star Destroyer
The Errant Venture (yes, seriously – it's painted red)
But today Booster had no time for philosophy. Today, he was fighting an unequal battle with his most hated enemy. An enemy that had appeared in his life as soon as the Errant Venture was in his hands. The only one before whom Booster Terrik, the terror of the galaxy, a man who enjoyed authority even among the most hardened scoundrels and crooks, faltered.
A mighty physique and a ferocious look that terrified everyone – from thugs to his own son-in-law, a commanding roar that could make even a Tatooine krayt dragon hide in its burrow – none of this helped Booster Terrik in his war.
And the old smuggler knew it. He knew and clearly realized that he was losing his most important battle in the entire history of his commercial activity.
Booster Terrik was fighting with documents.
Invoices, cash orders, checks, estimates, technical documentation, blueprints, plans, diagrams...
And everyone who entered Booster's private cabin, seeing the piles of papers the size of a human that were spread across all horizontal surfaces, from behind which sometimes even the ship's owner could not be seen, understood that Booster Terrik was losing his war. And with a crushing score.
But no one dared to say this to his face – because no one wanted to tease an enraged rancor. Everyone on the ship – crew member, merchant, bounty hunter, smuggler – risked their lives by pointing out this unfortunate oversight in the magnificent multitude of qualities of the famous smuggler. For in anger, Booster Terrik was terrifying. Very terrifying.
Booster Terrik.
And at this very moment, hearing the sharp sound emanating from the holoprojector of the former captain's cabin, the owner of the Errant Venture let out his own battle cry.
And there were several reasons for this at once.
The first of them, and the biggest one, was that the holoprojector was an extremely convenient stand for three stacks of various kinds of documents. Moreover, it was almost the only place in the cabin where they could be placed without mixing them with other, still unorganized papers.
The second reason was that only the most limited circle of smugglers and crooks of all kinds in the galaxy knew the frequency of this projector. Three hundred sentients, maybe five hundred...
"Alright, alright, enough haggling with your conscience," Booster sighed, rising from his desk and heading towards the beeping panel. The holoprojector rarely bothered him, so it was used as another shelf.
Because the third reason for his mixed mood was that communication via holographic communicator had always brought him only profit. Very, very big profit! But rarely. And in Booster's life, it was the most profitable shelf for papers.
He carefully removed the first stack of papers, not dropping a single sheet, and neatly placed this snow-white flimsipoly tower on the floor next to the communication device. The second followed the first, but this time, due to Terrik's haste, part of the tower collapsed and the documents scattered like a nimble flock of birds in all directions. The old smuggler gnashed his teeth and reached for the third tower of papers, still with pain in his heart watching as processed documents mixed with stacks and heaps of unprocessed papers. Well, it wasn't all that bad – just pick them up, that was all. But if they had fallen...
And only at that moment did Booster realize that reaching for a tower of papers and looking in the other direction was a bad idea. And he realized this thanks to a pack of documents from the collapsed last tower on the holocomm. The heavy pack slapped him on the head and scattered around the entire cabin. And the tower itself...
— Someone will have to pay dearly for this, — Booster decided, watching as the third tower of papers, which had fallen from the holoprojector, turned into chaos two more stacks as tall as a human, but already unprocessed papers. And those, in turn, – four more. And those four – all eight... — Pay very dearly!
When this collapse of flimsipoly columns was over, Booster's entire cabin was covered with documents, covering every part of the compartment in a thick layer. And only the holoprojector, by a strange coincidence, turned out to be completely clean. And continuing to emit signals about an incoming call.
Booster activated the device, hoping that at least this action would bring him joy...
And as soon as he saw the face of his interlocutor, he realized how wrong he was.
— "Sly," — growled Booster, adding three floors of unflattering and frankly derogatory epithets, which would make any civilized person's face blush and their ears curl up into a tube.
One of the best, and certainly the most disgusting, hijackers in the galaxy was looking at him from the holographic projection, smoking his ever-present cigar. Arrogant, pleased with life, self-absorbed.
— And I'm glad to see you, Booster, — said Nylls Ferrier, blowing a smoke ring. — How long it's been...
— Where did you get this frequency? — Terrik barked the question at the repulsive individual. He had no great desire to communicate with the hijacker. After what he had done to little Mirax... Quartering "Sly" would have been merciful, but the hijacker knew how to hide in various dark corners of the galaxy. And even the Claw would not agree to provide Booster with information about Ferrier's location. For a reasonable price, of course. And where to stick three million, Terrik could at any time.
— I have a business proposition for you, Booster, — "Sly" continued to smoke with the same sneer.
— Go to the Sith, — the smuggler didn't give in to the thirst for profit.
— It's a worthwhile deal, Terrik, — oh, how he wanted to work his fists now and wipe that smug smile off Ferrier's face. — For seven million credits...
The thirst for profit awoke in Booster's soul, feverishly whispering to him that for such money he could repair an entire deck and open additional shops... But the desire to finish off the hijacker was much more prioritized.
— Listen, brat, — from the height of his position and the number of years he had lived, Terrik could call almost any smuggler, hijacker, and bounty hunter that way. And not get a "comeback". But in the context of "Sly", he used almost every word with an insulting subtext. Well, except for conjunctions and prepositions, which continued to remain in neutral colors. — I'll unscrew your leaky head as soon as you're in my sight.
— Still sulking over Mirax? — Ferrier asked with feigned sadness. — That was a long time ago and...
— A long time ago?! — Terrik exploded. — You, rancor regurgitation, wanted to involve my daughter in slave trade! And you also robbed her! Whatever fairy tales you tell among your hijacker friends, every first smuggler in the galaxy knows that he will receive a large bonus from me if he hints at where to look for you. So run and hide, you sucker, until my people track your lousy transmitter, and I don't fly in to unscrew your head after counting all your ribs.
— Booster, what's done is done, — Ferrier said with an irritating smile. — I'm offering you a deal...
— Shove it up your...
— ...worth seven million...
— ...and then push it deeper with a rancor's foot and turn it counterclockwise...
— ...and that's hard cash...
— ...after that drink some coolant from the reactor and...
— I need buzz droids, — unable to withstand the descriptions of the punishments that would inevitably fall on his head, Ferrier said in a thin falsetto.
Booster thought for literally a couple of seconds.
— You never had and don't have that much money, "Sly," — he said.
— But I have a paying customer, — the annoying hijacker said, not without self-admiration of his imaginary significance. — With a lot of money. I know you have buzz droids – you traded them with Zann a few years ago. And my client needs such droids – for seven million.
A little less than five, to be precise.
Another two seconds to comprehend what was said.
— No, "Sly," — Booster was frankly delighted at how the hijacker grimaced once again, hearing his unflattering nickname, given to him in illegal circles at the instigation of the owner of the Errant Venture himself. — If your client was as good as you say, he would have contacted me directly. Or the Zann Consortium...
— Oh, who needs those crazy-headed thugs, — the hijacker grimaced. — They have already lost almost all their opportunities and territories when the mess between the Imperials and...
— ...and if he came to you, — continued the owner of the Errant Venture, voicing his conclusions, — then he is just as crazy-headed. And I don't belong with such people. Your offer stinks of a setup from a hundred parsecs away. But... — Booster pretended to think. — You know, there is a condition under which I can agree to a deal with you.
— I had no doubt you wouldn't miss out on yours, — Ferrier's eyes lit up with greed, even on the hologram. Booster just snorted contemptuously. — Yes, I understand, the batch is huge, you'll have to fill the entire hold with them, but I'm sure your Errant Venture can deliver the cargo to the recipient and...
Terrik would not have lasted so long in his business if he had not learned to extract critically important information from the speech and behavior of his interlocutors. Buzz droids in huge volumes, an offer to deliver them to their destination on a Star Destroyer with an incomplete crew and reduced armament, rumors that the Imperials were looking for warships... and in the midst of all this, "Sly". With an alluring offer.
Booster was not strong in science, but he thought quickly enough, especially in moments when what was happening directly concerned him personally, his family members, his business, and a narrow circle of close sentients. For any of these components, Terrik Sr. would go over anyone's head without a twinge of conscience, even into the maw of Palpatine himself. Well, except for his Correlian son-in-law... Booster thought to himself.
— I'm ready, — Booster agreed, breaking into a chic smile. Ferrier puffed on his cigar with satisfaction, not expecting a trick. If he knew Booster even a little as well as everyone else who did business with him, he would not have rejoiced at this smile.
— You won't regret trusting me, — Ferrier assured him. — The client is solid, generous, if there are any more buzz droids above this price – bring them, he will buy everything.
— Of course, I'll bring them, — Booster said seriously. — I'll even give them away for free.
— Er... — "Sly", of course, was still a rancor regurgitation, but he could sense danger. — What are you talking about?
— It's simple, — Terrik grinned. — I'm ready to give your client buzz droids worth twenty million credits – calculate yourself how many copies that is.
— Four hundred, — Ferrier knew how to count money and goods. — I know you, Booster. You don't do anything for free. What's the catch?
— No catch, — Terrik assured him. — I just need something from your client. And then we'll make a deal.
— How can you need something from him if you don't even know who it is? — Ferrier was nervous. So much so that he even bit his cigar in half.
— I guess, — Terrik smirked. — So, I'll give the Empire four hundred fully combat-ready Separatist buzz droids. And I'll even throw in a Lambda-class shuttle on top. If they send me something in return.
— What are your terms, Booster? — "Sly" didn't deny it. He knew very well that such a trick wouldn't work with the owner of the Errant Venture.
— Your head, — Terrik stated calmly. — You can even bring the body.
Ferrier measured him with a heavy look.
— Not a funny joke, Booster, — he said. But in his heart, he guessed that no one was joking here.
— And no one is joking, "Sly," — Terrik grinned. — Announce my offer to your employer. And you'll be in my hands very quickly. And the Imperials will get what they want. Everyone is happy. And the Empire will at least do something good for this galaxy – get rid of you. In my opinion, a very good deal. Everyone wins.
— Except me, — Ferrier hissed through his teeth.
— And no one cares about you, you bastard, — Booster said and turned off the holoprojector.
He surveyed the cabin cluttered with papers. He cursed mentally. And began to gather the hated documents back into packs. The packs eventually turned into stacks. And by the end of the day, towers of documents reappeared in Booster Terrik's cabin.
And another point of hatred for "Sly" was added.
***
— A strike frigate would be very useful to me, Grand Admiral, — Moff Ferrus looked at me almost pleadingly. — Frankly, I would like it to be the flagship of the fleet based on Tangrene.
— There are other plans for this ship, — I calmly objected.
— The shipyard has been ordered to disarm it and dismantle several components, — the Moff began from afar.
— That's the plan, — I replied calmly. — As already discussed – you will have three medium cruisers, not counting starships of a lower class. Moreover, the platform has also arrived. Your defense capability has increased by orders of magnitude.
We met again with Moff Ferrus at his residence on the planet. The chief engineer, Nic Reyes, was once again in our company. It so happens that we have formed a kind of triumvirate – the Moff provides political and logistical support for the fleet, I provide military support, and the shipyards and production complexes on the planet provide technical support. And yet, in the existing hierarchy, there is a clear leader – me. The other two – both the Moff and the chief engineer, act as deputies "by area". This approach will allow me to unload Pellaeon in most matters, leaving him only to control assignments in the line of armed forces. The rest will be handled by Ferrus and Reyes. It would be more correct to receive reports from them separately, but that is where the catch lies.
First, my self-education is only at the beginning of its journey. When I thought that I could simply take and study the entire training program for Imperial officers in a couple of months, I simply had no idea what I was talking about. This is a huge amount of information. Very thoroughly developed, analyzed, filled with statistics of observations, assessment of resource costs and material part... Yes, it's just a visual aid on how to win, logical and consistent. But there were two weak points in this information.
The first is that our opponent has such information. And he has already prepared perfectly for the implementation of such tactical schemes.
The second is that those who have such data in their heads have practically already disappeared. And young people, such as Lieutenant Tshel, are trained in an accelerated course. They are only taught the Imperial concept of warfare. Everything that has been developed over millennia by the Republic and other states is cut off as unnecessary. So, unfortunately, it turns out that the victories of the New Republic are not only in the heroism and skill of their fighters. But also in certain problems with the training of the officer corps of the fleet in the Empire itself.
Strange as it may be, no matter how hard Moff Ferrus tried to hide his surprise, he had fulfilled the order I had given him a day ago: "advanced training courses" had been opened on Tangrene. Where the replenishment of incomplete knowledge is carried out. And I am very concerned about the fact that the arriving "volunteers" are very young and at best have only served a couple of years on some ship. Although in modern Imperial realities, even such a term of service is already almost "veteran".
It's good that the mechanics and engineers of the shipyards, according to their leader, are trained according to Imperial methods in full.
The latter had just arrived to report the first information in a series of data that is important to me here and now. And the first one already pleases me – the Golan II defense platform, captured by us from Krondar, has finally arrived. It took more than a month for such a move, but, it must be said, according to preliminary estimates, it was worth it.
After exchanging greetings with the engineer, I asked him a question:
— How bad is it?
— The platform has suffered significant damage, — Reyes said. — The hyperdrive has outlived its usefulness and it is simply dangerous to use it now. But the very principle of operation – yes, it has the right to exist. Perhaps, if we have a hyperdrive for larger starships, we can make the platform move. But there is a lot of work to be done – and not only in this part, but also to restore the integrity of the hull. A large reserve of metals will be required to restore the power set and the internal structure. Up to half of the weapons are either destroyed or irreparably damaged. But some of them we can restore at our own expense, some will be installed with guns from a rebel strike frigate, — the Moff gave me a thoughtful look, realizing now for what purposes the disarmament of the ship was necessary, which did not particularly fit into the concept of the armed forces. — By the end of the month, we will carry out repairs and restore the station according to the factory designs. Actually, — the chief engineer looked at me with his artificial eye, — by this time we will also finish equipping the "Golan" with a masking field. If by that time we have a suitable hyperdrive, say, for a Quester-class or Imperial-class Star Destroyer, we will complete the full modernization in the same period.
— And the shipyards? — I clarified. — How soon will you be able to mask them?
— It will take longer, — he said. — More resources and more manpower. Probably – two months.
— Moff, — I addressed the governor of the Morshdain sector. — Have you found out when the competition for cargo transportation of the Empire will take place?
— Yes, sir, — we had met yesterday after Pellaeon's report to discuss this and a number of other points. — In two and a half months. But applications must be submitted in a month and a half.
That's a time crunch. Eighty to ninety days. During this time, it is necessary to develop a plan to attack the Hast shipyards. Not much, but quite acceptable. By this time, it will already be possible to have resources to cover both the station and the shipyard with a masking field. Because if a retaliatory strike follows, they will inevitably suffer. If the station is not really a pity, it was created to withstand a blow, but the orbital repair shipyard... This is already something more valuable.
— I understand you, Moff, — I said. — Reyes, have you reviewed the data you were given?
— Nothing supernatural or impossible, — he admitted in his creaky voice. — However, I don't understand why we need the design data for rebuilding Dreddought-class heavy cruisers with a deck hangar if we don't have a single one in the fleet?
— At the moment, they are absent, — I didn't hide. — But in the future, everything may change.
No one asked me clarifying questions.
— Plasma drills? — I inquired.
— It will be easy to fulfill your wishes, — said the chief engineer. — Inside, you can place a certain number of soldiers fully armed – I'm talking about eighty-one without violating the sealing. And those that are damaged... We will spend huge amounts of money and resources to put them in order.
— And yet? — I inquired.
— We will install an additional fuel tank for rhydonium without any problems, — the chief engineer reported. — But, I must say right away – in this case, they will be disposable mechanisms. Their engines will fail.
— We won't need these mechanisms more than once, — I lifted the veil of secrecy. — Cover the depressurized machines with simple metal in the places of damage – they will not need to hold the atmosphere for a long time. The main thing is that the air currents do not interfere with the aiming at the course. The control is still the same, remote?
— It is a priority and is written in the main code of the drill software, — said the chief engineer. — Passengers, of course, can control them independently, but if the transmitter is turned on and a command is received – the machines will react to it regardless of the crew's actions.
Bad. This was exactly how the operation on Sluis Van in the events of this universe that I know was disrupted.
— Can you rewrite the program code? — I asked.
— Theoretically, yes, practically... — the chief engineer's facial expression clearly demonstrated the fullness of his considerations on this issue. — It won't be fast. If we are perfectly oriented in the main programs, written in a standard programming language, then the remote control system... It is peculiar. The manufacturer operates in an unfamiliar operating system, the number system is not binary, but decimal, with its own aspects. The programming algorithms, as well as the language of control programs, are completely unfamiliar to us – it will take months to confidently understand them. For some reason, the manufacturer created program code in several programming languages, and each one subordinates its own drill systems... I apologize, Grand Admiral, but this is civilian equipment, we are not trained to work with such.
What nonsense. Why complicate simple work like that? This isn't a spy starship, it's just a simple geological equipment.
— Indeed, — I said. — An unusual approach. Excessively inventive.
— I think it's all because the manufacturer doesn't have its own developments in remote control technologies for ships, — the chief engineer suggested. — They took some program, it looks like it was created by Verpins or some other insectoids, after which they combined one with the other, put on temporary patches... The Imperials would hardly sell them their remote control programs legally, and they are not very advanced in the field of the number of executable commands, but they have a larger signal reception area. I assume that the calculation is made so that the independent repair of the equipment software is very difficult in the field and requires service from the manufacturer.
Well, maybe. I don't know if I could figure out something like that myself. And this is another plus in having a "deputy" in the technical part. I need to figure out my own "swamp" and not rack my brains over what I don't understand at all. Unfortunately, I am far from technology. Completely. No wonder that in this universe, many use mechanic droids: the easiest way to relieve yourself of unnecessary headaches in matters that do not relate to direct work.
And yet I don't like it. I really don't like it. No guarantee that, as in the events known to me, someone will not try to use the remote control trick?
And then the plan is over, you can put a big cross on the capture of ships with the help of diggers... Hmm...
— Can you remove the remote control system? — I asked.
— Well... — the chief engineer grimaced slightly. — There are no big problems in this, of course, but we'll have to tinker, of course, cleaning up the program code on each of the installations...
— Do it differently, — I suggested. It seems that there is an interesting solution to the problem. A very interesting one. — Rewrite the program code of one drill, removing the remote control system of the manufacturer from there, and install the Imperial version there. It should work on the same frequency as before. Can you do this?
— I wanted to suggest this to you, but without control systems, — said the chief engineer. — The drills are stolen. Perhaps the codes for their control are already known to the New Republic. You said that the installations are necessary for striking the enemy. Based on the technical data of the machines, I assume that they will be used as landing bots – a short dash towards the target, overcoming the deflector field, splitting the armor with plasma while ensuring the tightness of the breach, and the landing of boarding groups. But it's not that simple. There is a small chance that they will take advantage of this loophole... Sir, with all due respect, I would recommend using only manual control.
— Your assumption is correct, Reyes. But do it as I said, — from the various tasks that I have given to my subordinates, another plan has been formed. Why install a rhydonium thrust on the "diggers"? In order to get them to their targets much faster. And that the sentients sitting in them could get out of their capsules and capture the bridges of warships converted into transports. I was counting on only a few dozen "diggers", but now I have one hundred and thirty-two of them, if I remember correctly. Fifty-one – with problems with the sealing of the hull. And that means that inside it will be necessary to place not just stormtroopers, but space paratroopers in armor capable of saving a soldier's life in open space for a long time. But all this will be an empty farce if a Republican smart guy is found who will intercept control and force the "diggers" to pierce the hulls of ships through and all efforts will go to waste. So, my initial plan to capture as many of the enemy's ships as possible – not all of them, but only those that I really need – will have to be adjusted.
Thinking about why the data was purged in Palpatine's treasury, but such values as the Spaarti cylinders, a masking field and others remained there, led me to certain thoughts. Which went directly to Palpatine. And his Resurrection. And in order not to fall into his hands, I will either have to run far, far away, but this is unlikely to be a panacea, or die.
And at the moment of realizing this thought, a plan was born. How to make sure that both the wolves are fed and the sheep are safe. And also – that only loyal sentients remain with me. Loyal to the very end. And the plan to capture Republican ships on Sluis Van – the original one, I mean under the name "Take everything that is bad, and let the trophies fight while you look for a way to get out" – has undergone changes today. Radical ones.
The more damage the New Republic suffers, the weaker it will be by the time it meets the Reborn Palpatine. I don't intend to destroy the former rebels to the root, even if I had the strength to do so. And they are, in general, there. You can not waste time on the New Republic and go to several places right now to get Imperial equipment, and even something like a "Death Star". But then there is no guarantee that in the remaining time before Palpatine's attack (if he keeps the "schedule" that I know and attacks next year), I will be able to win over a large number of Imperials from these "cubbyholes". So, we will work with those who are there. And continue to study the available data.
And also – continue to strike the New Republic. Those who are watching (and I am sure that in addition to the Imperial Remnants, Palpatine's emissaries are also watching me), should have no other opinion than "Thrawn continues his crusade against the enemies of the Empire." The role cannot be played badly. Otherwise, there will be questions.
So, in connection with the arising confusion, it was necessary to modernize my plan. The calculation of success will also be based on "diggers", but already in another.
And yet, in order to understand whether I am right or not regarding my assumptions about Mount Tantiss and the "goodies" stored there, I need to talk to K'baot. And I really don't want to...
But it's time to get back to the details.
— As you wish, Grand Admiral, — the chief engineer resigned himself to a pile of new problems.
— That's not all, — I said. A quiet disgruntled sigh was heard from Mr. Reyes. — An eighty-one sealed drill must have a program with only manual control.
— Sir, I'm sorry, I don't understand, — the red eye of the chief engineer's implant blinked. — But why then write a program code with remote control?
— Because we will have two projects of drills, — I answered calmly. — You will have to free the installations with a broken sealing from any unnecessary equipment, including life support systems. The main and reserve tanks must be filled with our new fuel. However, in the remote control commands, you should write an additional algorithm that should be based on the time elapsed since receiving the command, the speed of the plasma drill, and, most importantly – on a specific condition – landing on the surface of the plating and making a hole in it for landing. If, after fulfilling these conditions, a remote command to control the drill is received, regardless of its content, the following should happen...
When I finished my thought, the Moff and the chief engineer exchanged glances.
— Sir, it's pure suicide for our soldiers, — the Moff said. Not that he was worried about this, but... He had just heard a plan for the cold-blooded killing of the entire landing force.
— Exactly, — I agreed. — Except for the fact that...
***
— I apologize for my lateness to the meeting, — Karrde said, settling into a chair in the Millennium Falcon's crew lounge. — Business, I think you understand.
— Of course, — assured him the Alderaanian princess sitting opposite. But Solo, standing in the corner and leaning against the wall, was clearly not thrilled with the situation. — Meeting with you is one of the reasons why we are here. A delay of a day or two won't matter much.
"As expected," Karrde thought. He had to make a small detour and settle business on Rishi, the new operational base of his organization. Considering that he didn't really expect to get anything from this meeting, there was also no reason to rush. But he was simply obliged to apologize for the delay – like any decent and well-mannered sentient.
— So, — the Claw interlocked his fingers. — How can I be of service?
— What do you know about the Imperial unit that attacked the Dafilvean sector? — Organa-Solo opened her mouth to say something, but her husband was faster. And earned a soft reproachful look.
— Is this an official request from the New Republic or your personal interest, Captain Solo? — he inquired, looking the Corellian in the eye.
— A hasty, not very correct, but official one, — the princess intercepted the thread of the conversation. — You informed us about their activities in collecting asteroids. The leadership decided that you could help clarify a number of points...
— I can certainly help, — Karrde smiled. — However, you must also understand. The specifics of my work do not allow me to provide particularly valuable information for free.
— But you did report on the asteroids, — Solo reminded.
"Yes, and saved you a couple of weeks of searching," Karrde thought. And he also got a wonderful hook that the New Republic had taken the bait.
— I only helped out of old friendship to clarify the point about where the Imperials got the stones that you found on Krondar and Ord Pardron, — the smuggler explained. — After all, my organization and the New Republic had a lot in common in the past. Mutually beneficial contracts, for example.
The princess pretended that this straightforward hint had nothing to do with blatant extortion. But Solo did not limit himself to diplomatic restraint, snorting meaningfully. Another reproachful look. So-so-so, it seems the rumors are true – the captain of the Millennium Falcon is indeed under his wife's thumb.
— The New Republic understands that everything has its price, — the girl said. — And we would like to discuss what you can offer us.
— To understand whether it is worth spending the last money from an already meager budget? — Karrde inquired with a condescending smile on his face. Solo coughed into his fist. The princess rather artistically scratched her nose.
— Information about our financial difficulties is slightly exaggerated, — a circumlocutory phrase for the not-so-pleasant constants of the dialogue. — We just prefer not to waste money.
"Because you don't have it," Karrde thought. He had some ties in the leadership of the New Republic. And he knew perfectly well the capabilities of the rulers of Coruscant – and they could spend very, very little on valuable information. He had just clarified it on Rishi. And he realized that the Republicans simply couldn't handle a large amount of information. So, it's worth immediately setting them up for the fact that it's better to talk about transport and logistics matters. For example, with an extremely inflated price tag.
— Well, ask, and I'll announce the price, — he suggested. — But I must warn you right away – it will be very expensive.
— Which of the Imperial warlords attacked us? — Organa-Solo asked.
— Twenty-five million, — Solo coughed. The princess made a bored look, as if she spent more money on lunch.
— Where are they based? — she asked a new question.
— Twenty million, — Karrde smiled.
— What is their next goal? — Solo unexpectedly asked. Talon looked at his wife. She, after thinking for a moment, nodded in agreement, showing that she was also interested in this information. And since she was, so was her superiors in the New Republic.
— Seventy million, — Karrde announced an inflated price tenfold. Because he didn't know it himself, but you can't show it. Under no circumstances – it's bad for business.
— Are you going to buy yourself a Star Destroyer or what? — gasped the captain of the Millennium Falcon.
— I'm thinking about it, — Karrde confided, smiling at the Republicans. Did they really think that with their ridiculous two million in their pocket they could get him to talk?
The Solo couple exchanged glances.
— Were the attacks on ships and bases in the Dafilvean sector systems and on the systems in the Sluis sector the work of the same Imperial commander? — the princess asked.
Talon first wanted to raise the price tag, since this news was very fresh and confirmations had not arrived so long ago. And the trouble is that it will definitely not be useful to anyone worthwhile and solvent. But for the New Republic...
— Five hundred thousand, — he announced the price.
— Consider that you have it, — the princess sighed. — I hope my word will be enough to assure about the transfer?
— Money first, then information, — Karrde smiled radiantly. — I'm sorry, but those are the terms of the deal.
— You've cooperated with us before, — Solo noted. — And never been deceived...
"Yeah, and some of the equipment from Thyferra is still lying on Rishi, waiting for its time," Karrde thought. But he remained silent, letting the married couple make their own choice.
Everything was decided in a couple of minutes – and Karrde's untraceable account was replenished with the specified amount.
— Yes, they are connected, — he confirmed. — The attacks were carried out by starships under the command of the same Imperial commander, and the orders, accordingly, were given by him. As well as about the attack on Nkllon, — Talon made the last conclusion based on observations. When Thrawn sends one of the Star Destroyers that are part of his personal armada on a mission to the other end of the galaxy – this is a telling moment. On the one hand, the work of the Imperial military personnel from the Imperial Space and the Pentastar Alingment, who are "on salary", and on the other hand, information from the Republican base and from the unemployed miners from Nklonn.
— Very valuable information, — Solo grimaced. — And how justified its price is...
— Additionally, I can say that the attack on Pantolomin was also committed by the same group, — oh yeah, he slightly inflated the price tag. Well, it's okay, you can give away a few insignificant facts for free. — As well as all the previous raids by the Imperials on your territory. But, I'll say right away, so as not to instill in you false hope – I don't know why the Imperials choose their targets.
— So, a separate group of the Empire's fleet is operating against us? — Solo's erudition shone. The princess looked questioningly at Talon. The information trader only smiled diplomatically.
— How much? — the Alderaanian princess asked, resigned to the inevitable.
— A million, — Karrde smiled.
Solo coughed again. It seems that the idea that information, even such a simple one, could cost more than his entire ship from the moment it was released by the Corellian Engineering Corporation to the present moment, including the cost of all parts and upgrades installed on this ship for decades by various owners, did not occur to him.
The princess sighed and contacted her superiors again...
After the transfer was completed, Karrde diplomatically explained:
— The Imperial Space has allocated from the fleet an operational unit that is subordinate to independent command, — Karrde explained. — As far as I know, they sent not the best, but not the worst there. The commanders of the ships have combat experience, and not a small one. According to my information, the combat readiness of this flotilla last year was slightly better than that of cadet recruits. But, as you can judge from the battle in the Dafilvean sector, they are learning quickly. These ships are acting against you. As far as I know, this fleet does not coordinate its goals with the government on Orinda, Ciutric, Yaga Minor, or elsewhere in the Imperial Remnants. Complete autonomy of action, independent setting of tasks, freedom of choice of goals. As an additional bonus, I can report that in a month and a half, the sluggish construction of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer will be completed at the Bilbringi shipyards. The "First Model". But it will join this flotilla. How and where is already separate information that has its own price.
— We could have found all this out ourselves, — Solo snorted.
— Really? — the Claw was surprised. — So why are you asking me? As far as I remember, after the victory over Zsinj, General Cracken's department made seventy-four attempts to introduce its people into the Imperial Remnants. They were all discovered and liquidated, — the Solo couple exchanged glances with each other. — Yes, consider this information as accompanying what you paid for. And there is no need to play your jaw muscles, Captain Solo. I warned you – my services are very expensive.
— I'm looking at you, "Claw," — the commander of the Millennium Falcon peeled himself off the bulkhead and approached his wife, — and I'm still trying to understand: which side are you on?
Not a single muscle twitched on Talon's face. At least he hoped so.
— On my own, captain, — he replied calmly. — Your mess with the Empire doesn't interest me and my organization. I have clients on both sides of the front lines.
— Yes, but you load us with verbal vacuum, and what do you sell to the Imperials? — Solo inquired with sarcastic irony in his voice. Karrde looked at him with interest. No, he doesn't think so for real. Just pent-up anger, nothing more.
— The same as to all other clients, — Karrde said calmly. — The New Republic pays for one piece of information, the Empire... However, I can say completely free of charge that those Imperials who can afford to pay for my services are not interested in anything about the New Republic at all. They are busy with their own problems and are looking for ways to solve them. But the Imperial Space, the one that is controlled from Orinda – yes, they are interested in a lot. But I am not interested in trading in war, — the Claw stated. — Things are going much better when there is peace in the galaxy. A bad one, but peace.
Talon did not tell the family that from the moment of Zsinj's death until Thrawn's offensive this year, the absence of galactic campaigns by the Imperials was guaranteed only by the well-sold disinformation of the latter. Under a separate tariff plan for General Cracken. No, he was not an altruist – Republican intelligence paid well for this information. And besides, in such turbulent times, it is really easier for smugglers to work – while the ships of the Imperials and Republicans sit at bases in the border area, and do not patrol hyperspace routes or guard planets in the deep sectors of their territories, income from smuggling grows exponentially. But war is an unpleasant process that sometimes interferes with an established business. And if it is necessary to play along with one side in order to restore armed parity, Karrde will do it without a twinge of conscience. Within reason, of course. It is more profitable for his organization.
— Suppose, — Solo said, still suspicious. — Are the Imperials really sure that just one flotilla can destroy the New Republic? After all, they are not waging war to increase the number of territories under their control, but are only attacking our military facilities.
— I have no answer, — Talon frankly admitted.
— So, the heir of Jabba doesn't have his own people in the very fighting part of the Empire? — Solo was surprised. And this time – sincerely.
— I didn't say that, — the Claw noted calmly.
— So, we spent one and a half million to find out information that is not particularly useful, because we still didn't hear any specifics? — Solo clarified. Talon glanced at his wife. Judging by the expression on her face, the princess agreed with her husband's opinion.
— If you have the amounts I have indicated, we will move on to specifics, — he said. — Otherwise, for the money indicated, this is all I can offer you. Of course, if you don't want to discuss with me an offer to participate in cargo transportation for the needs of the New Republic.
No, really, this couple is quite intriguing.
— And does participating in such an action not mean that you will no longer be a neutral party? — the princess inquired.
— No, — Karrde replied. — I personally will not be engaged in this, it is not my area of activity, — and at the same time, a dozen freighters have already been purchased, crews have been formed, and they are just waiting for the signal. A risky initiative – not for the sake of money, but for the sake of strengthening his agent network in the New Republic camp. But if at least someone finds out about his initiative, the loss of "neutral" status and authority will be the least of the problems. Each of the Imperial Remnants will open a hunt for him. As well as the New Republic, if it understands why he needs it in reality. — But I can say my word in the environment of smugglers – whether they should get involved in such an adventure, or not.
— And what will your positive answer depend on? — Han Solo inquired with a voice full of skepticism.
— It depends on whether the New Republic can offer my fellow smugglers a decent reward for their work, — Karrde smiled. — If I remember correctly, then two of your small caravans with medicines and food for the victims in the systems of this sector were attacked by pirates? And just a couple of days later, two more – ten parsecs from Elom.
— And why am I not surprised that you know about this too, — the Alderaanian princess smiled good-naturedly.
— What can you do, — the Claw returned her smile. — It's the job.
***
— Master Jedi, — I greeted C'baoth, who entered the officer's crew lounge of the Chimaera majestically and sedately. The old man looked more collected than usual. A clear, understanding look, a proud posture. He even seemed to have combed his beard, and his hair no longer looked like an overly used toothbrush. — I'm glad you joined me.
— Where is my Jedi, Grand Admiral? — a little aggression and impatience sounded in the clone's voice.
— I dare assure you that we are moving on to active actions to lure out and capture Corran Horn, — I said, watching as the Jedi took a seat in the chair opposite.
— My patience is not unlimited, Grand Admiral, — the Jedi said, looking me in the eye. And this is already a threat. But not to life, not to authority – a threat to terminate our agreement. And it is difficult to blame him for this. Like a capricious child, he wants to get what he wants here and now. And patience is not his virtue.
Why has he become so brave? One glance at the torso of this elderly but strong man was enough for me to realize that he was still holding on to his medallion. And it was also clear from previous conversations that a rather unambiguous and direct answer would be enough for him, and the Jedi would fall into confusion, losing the thread of the conversation.
— As is mine, respected Master, — I said, stroking the ysalamiri sitting on my lap. — But the question now is different.
— And what is it? — he inquired with irony. — Is it that you can't grab, twist and bring me one Force-sensitive sentient, who doesn't even possess Jedi talents to the proper extent?
— You constantly rush me with making a decision, with delivering the Jedi to you, — I reminded indifferently. — And at the same time, have you ever asked yourself the question – how successful will Horn's training be with you if we capture him and drag him to you, throw him at your feet and leave?
— I don't see any problem, — C'baoth snorted. — If he has at least a drop of brains, he will understand that regardless of the circumstances, he needs to become a Jedi and take his place in the galaxy.
— To rule the chosen people? — I clarified.
— Yes, — the Jedi clone answered simply. — To understand what true power is, and not that ephemeral, intangible nonsense that you crave.
— You don't know what I want, — the objection made the clone laugh.
— I don't need to try to read your thoughts, Grand Admiral, — he said, poking a finger at the lizard in my hands. — I know how your people treat me. "Mad old man", "crazy", "Jedi spawn". I hear their words, their thoughts. I heard and saw all this in the past. And I don't care about your ignoramuses. And even your lizards, blocking my Force, cannot take away from me the knowledge and understanding of human souls. You, simple sentients, are not able to understand – a Jedi does not need to be constantly in contact with the Force to read what is hidden in other people's hearts.
Well, even that's how it is. So, the clone realized that it was the ysalamiri that interrupted his abilities. Not good, but expected – he, albeit insane, has moments of clarity. And in such moments, comparing the absence of his abilities and the presence of a lizard nearby is not difficult. However, it was assumed that C'baoth would figure out the trick – perhaps that's why he has not been so active all this time.
I was not going to dissuade him of anything. He has drawn conclusions and will stand by them until the end. And such an attempt at deception can only negatively affect me in the future. If the mad Jedi understands that he is just a resource that is used, and then they plan to get rid of him so that he does not spoil everything that I am implementing, there will be much more problems from him.
— In that case, I think we should discuss the very essence of how Horn will be delivered to you, — I said. — In the near future – within a month, your future student will be deprived of something that is dear to him and his family. He will look for it with all his might. You are interested in him coming to you. I am no less interested in it. There is not so much data about the abilities of the Jedi that has been preserved – the Emperor and Darth Vader did their best. Therefore, I want to clarify – can you call Corran Horn? Not with a voice, but with the help of the Force.
— Another check of my abilities? — C'baoth snorted.
— You can consider it in this context as well, — I said indifferently, glancing at the Jedi Rukh, who was sitting against the wall behind me. In the dim light of the room, and in the area of the ysalamiri's action, he should be undetectable for the Jedi clone. — As far as I know, Horn is a Corellian. And they are a stubborn and thick-headed people. As you rightly noted, we have been preparing for his capture for a long time – but only to make everything successful. As I said, Horn will be deprived of the most precious thing. And he will rush to search. It would be ideal if you could contact him and call him to you, promising him help and knowledge to find value...
— How vulgar and careless the Jedi have become in my absence, — C'baoth snorted. — To drop everything just to look for some trinket...
"In this galaxy, sentients have more valuable things than abstract knowledge about higher matters," I thought.
— And yet?
— Yes, I can, — C'baoth confirmed my assumptions. — It's not difficult. I saw his appearance. So, I will be able to find him in the Force. He will hear my voice and everything I tell him...
This is probably how Palpatine maintained his mental connection with Mara Jade.
— So, this simplifies my plan, — I said, stroking the lizard. How good it is that thanks to her no one tries to get into my head.
— Can you find in his mind what he does not want to show or say to you? — I asked. And... in fact, this question did not directly relate to Corran. Rather, it is more of a check on the validity of my fears about whether Palpatine is able to get into my head and extract from there what he is not supposed to know.
— In the galaxy, only some races have immunity to the mental techniques of the Force, — C'baoth said boringly. — Hutts or Toydarians, for example. But people – they are always an open book for such a powerful Jedi as I am.
And therefore – my assumptions about the danger of appearing before the bright eyes of Palpatine are not only superstitious fears, but also very real problems. Which means that it is definitely impossible to get into his paws alive.
Just as it is impossible to let C'baoth understand that part of our conversation with him is in no way directly related to Horn.
— During the time that you will be training him, I would like to ask you to find out where the bases and outposts of the rebels are, — frankly boring notes appeared on the clone's face. — After all, learning the Jedi art is not a fast process. And while you are training your student, we will be left without your participation and Battle Meditation. This will somewhat slow down our progress towards the goal, so information about the secret lairs of the enemy would be very, very useful.
— You are like a savage who hits a complex device against a stone in the hope of sparking sparks, — the clone said. — Yes, I can do it.
— Can a sentient, sensitive to the Force but unprepared according to the Jedi precepts, chart a course of flight where no one has ever flown? — I asked. And I was not mistaken in my assumption – C'baoth looked at me with great suspicion.
— Why do you need this information, Grand Admiral? — he growled softly. — Do you want to learn more about the Jedi in order to finish what the Emperor and Darth Vader started?
— Not at all, — I answered calmly. — I intend to adhere to our agreement that the Jedi Order must be revived and take a feasible part in this. Do you think that if Corran Horn comes to you in response to your call and finds you sitting on the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer, will he want to believe you?
— I will reveal the truth to him, — the Jedi clone snorted. — He will follow me, ignoring such things as external attributes. I will raise him in such a way that he does not stain himself in petty squabbles between the Empire and the New Republic.
— You forget that Horn's ancestors were exterminated, — I slightly distorted the facts. In fact, Horn's paternal grandfather died back in the Clone Wars and not at all at the hands of the Empire. And his father lived a relatively quiet life on Corellia, knowing that he was sensitive to the Force. — The New Republic is demonizing the extermination of the Jedi in every possible way, and this is known to almost the entire galaxy. Corran is a fighter of the New Republic. And the future Jedi, raised by you. I have no doubt that you will be able to train him under any circumstances, but I think that if he or his environment does not know about your connection with the Empire, the learning process will go faster.
— Hmm... — C'baoth chewed his lips. — Yes, maybe that's how it will be. Obstinacy and free-thinking can be harmful. But what does the ability to search for a way among the stars have to do with this?
— Because any sane person will have a question – "How could a Jedi hide from the eyes of the Empire for almost three decades, being on some easily accessible planet?" — I said with the most indifferent look. But in my thoughts there is a completely different reason that prompted me to ask this question. There is simply one such "cubbyhole" in the galaxy, where there are Imperial ships, and scientific and technical personnel, and huge technical achievements. Come and take. But there is a big problem – black holes block the way there. In the events that I know, the problem of the accessibility of this region of the galaxy was solved by the future Jedi. And since in the events that I know this episode will take place approximately five years after the death of Thrawn and the resurrection of Emperor Palpatine, there is every reason to believe that at the moment there is no need to visit there and take what "is lying badly". But in the future, when everything settles down, when the global problem is solved... Who knows, who knows...
— The Force gives me unprecedented opportunities, — C'baoth said somewhat uncertainly, feverishly pulling his medallion on his neck. — The Jedi... some of them... very strong... they could hide their location in the Force...
— And do you have such skills? — a very interesting revelation. I remember something like that. — Don't think that I don't trust you, but if Horn asks you to demonstrate this skill?
— I will not be able to teach him, — C'baoth's eyes darted. Already good. So, even he has limits in the arsenal of superpowers. Useful information. — My talents... they are above such childish pranks!
— In that case, it would be most convincing that you have been hiding all this time on a planet located in such an inaccessible corner of the galaxy that it was simply impossible to get you from there, don't you think? — I continued my research in extracting information from the insane Jedi.
— Yes, it sounds reasonable... — the old man crossed his arms on his chest and stared at the countertop right in front of him with a distracted gaze.
— I have several such planets in mind, — I continue to maneuver on the verge of lies and revelations. — But it will be pointless if Horn, following your call, cannot get there. You are not going to, like a tutor in kindergarten, lead him "by the hand" to you?
— Well... yes, I won't... — the Jedi completely switched to a barely audible mumbling. It looks like he's gone into his thoughts. — Yes, a strong Jedi can find the right course in a difficult situation in space, — he said. — But this requires a lot of strength...
— Well, but this test will demonstrate how ready Horn is to study with you, whether he respects your wisdom and whether he is able to understand it at least in part, — I continued my interrogation. — But I think that it is not worth risking such a promising student and sending him into the wilds of galactic anomalies in search of you. He is too valuable to just lose him like that, — the Jedi clone nodded affirmatively, agreeing with me. — Do you remember you said that those who wanted to meet the Keeper came to Wayland?
— Yes, there were some...
— After all, there must have been Force-sensitive sentients among them, — I didn't back down, seeing that C'baoth was beginning to withdraw into himself. With a soft hiss, the door to the crew lounge opened, and Captain Pellaeon appeared on the threshold, somewhat agitated. He snapped his fingers, giving a signal to Rukh. The Noghri silently got to his feet. Gilad was momentarily confused when he saw the bodyguard approaching him, but immediately recovered and began to type something on his deck's screen. Obviously something urgent and topical that could not be delayed. But it will wait – I must clarify a few more points and set our mad Jedi in the right mood.
— A couple of people, — the clone answered. — I destroyed them all.
— I had the honor and pleasure to see your power, — I said. — Was anyone of them able to penetrate the mountain, do anything there?
— There was one group, — C'baoth said thoughtfully. — They flew in on a shuttle, and thanks to its landing directly in front of the entrance to the mountain, they were not destroyed immediately. I found them inside the Mountain and destroyed them, but they managed to get to the Emperor's information base before I got rid of them. But, — he took the medallion in his hands again, — how does this question relate to Corran Horn?
— It's simple, — I allowed myself a smile. Not at all. But in my head, another puzzle arose and took its place. Now I have even more desire to avoid meeting Palpatine. — I want to be sure that in case of unforeseen circumstances, if someone tries to disrupt your plans to restore the Jedi Order, you will not allow this to happen. So that all the work done does not go to waste.
The clone's eyes, until that moment as if covered with a whitish veil, burned me with the cold fury of his pupils. I am sure that if the ysalamiri were not here now, his iris would already have turned amber. After all, this is how blind and uncontrollable fury manifested itself in the Sith.
— Rest assured, Grand Admiral, — C'baoth said with some kind of serpentine hiss, without taking his eyes off me. — For too long this galaxy has lived without the Jedi in its ignorance and darkness. I will destroy anyone who stands between me and the restoration of the Jedi Order.
I looked away, taking a small deck from Rukh's hands. On the screen of which there were only two sentences: "The Nemesis has arrived. Mara Jade wishes to have an audience with you."
— I readily believe you, respected Master, — it seemed that my calm words made the mad Jedi, who was squeezing his medallion in his fist with ferocity, even more angry.
Moreover – it was this reaction that I was seeking.
Now he will definitely not forget to get rid of all the obstacles in his path.