When the beam of the flashlight struck a rocky dead end, Reynar heard a heavy sigh behind him.
And a faint ripple of the Force, emanating sadness and disappointment.
— Fine, — the former Inquisitor said reluctantly. — I admit it. This was a foolish idea.
— Let's venture deeper into the caves, Fodeum, — the Jenssarai mocked him. — We'll find plenty of crystals, Fodeum. No, Fodeum, we don't need a map or anyone's help; we have the Force.
Obscuro gritted his teeth, suppressing the urge to pummel his apprentice's face with a few strikes from his armored glove.
"Calm," he told himself mentally. — "Only calm."
— Consider this part of your training, — he said aloud.
— And what's this exercise called? — the Jenssarai smirked, sitting on a rocky boulder. — "How to survive two weeks without food?"
— The Force sustains us, — Reynar reminded him, feeling his stomach twist into a tight knot. The last time they ate was a couple of days (probably days) ago, when they killed some local creature. The beast wasn't particularly meaty, but it was enough to fill their empty stomachs with something. — We'll retrace our steps, reach that spring we saw a few caves back, and refill our canteens. The Force…
— I have a strong suspicion, my teacher, — the Jenssarai yawned, — that this network of crystal-filled caves doesn't particularly want a couple of sentients using the Dark Side of the Force to escape.
"Who did you get this cleverness from, you little runt?" Reynar thought, glancing around.
Yes, he hadn't been mistaken—they had reached the natural crystal deposits on Dantooine, which the Twi'lek Vex had read about in the ruins of the Jedi Enclave. And there were plenty of crystals here. Reynar had at least ten of these little gems stashed in his pockets. Moreover, they practically radiated the Force, indicating their extraordinary potential.
Reynar was tired of mentally berating himself for falling for this trap like some youngling.
At first, they found rather weak crystals, but the echo of the Force resonating through the cave corridors was so alluring that the Inquisitor couldn't resist. His thoughts raced with possibilities—from powerful crystals to ancient Jedi artifacts that might have been hidden here from the eyes of the Emperor, Vader, and the Inquisitorius.
And that greed drove him deeper and deeper into the caves, ignoring his apprentice's remarks, the growing emanations of the Light Side, and the fading presence of the Dark Side.
He had lost the direction to the exit long ago, and now, surrounded by the Light Side, he realized he could no longer use the Force or his familiar Dark Side to foresee the future or find a way to the surface. All he achieved by expanding his sphere of perception was the understanding that they were very, very deep underground. The rising temperature in this dead-end cave confirmed as much.
Yet another dead-end cave…
Reynar wiped the salty beads of sweat from his brow, stealing a glance at the Jenssarai.
Sabre De'Luz sat calmly on the boulder, relaxed, tired, and clearly disappointed.
Yes, he had gathered crystals too. A lot of them—for himself and his comrades on Susevfi. An altruistic youth. His backpack was full of crystals, at least three kilograms' worth. Enough for a hundred highly efficient lightsabers. As if that would matter if both the Inquisitor and his apprentice died here.
They needed to get out. Keep moving and just keep going.
Clear their minds of anger and rage. Try to deceive the Force by renouncing the Dark Side to avoid being lost in the overwhelming power of the Light Side. Oh… abandon it to save their lives. But he would return here!
He would definitely return!
As soon as they reached the surface, he would shift the archaeological team's search location. To hell with the Enclave ruins—there was nothing left there but weathered statue fragments and high-flown texts about the might of the Jedi and the Light Side, eroded by wind, sand, and time.
Everything of value on Dantooine was here, in this cave. It needed to be fully excavated. Even if the crystals were useless to the Jenssarai, they could be sold profitably on the black market—aristocrats in the Tapani sector loved such rarities. Apparently, they even played at being Jedi, crafting low-powered versions of lightsabers. At least, that's what people said.
How many other lunatics in the galaxy would pay a fortune for Jedi crystals?
— Get up, — he snapped at his apprentice, heading back toward the cave's exit. — Time to retrace our steps.
— I was taught not to exhaust myself unless absolutely necessary, — Fodeum declared.
— Consider this necessary, — Reynar said, peering into the dark corridor. They had no glow rods left, and the Light Side was practically blinding him. But they had to find a way out. They had to. He wouldn't die here, dozens of meters underground. If there was no other choice, he'd climb to the cave's ceiling and cut through the rock until he reached the surface.
There had to be a way out! There had to be!
He couldn't die so ignominiously! Not now!
— We need to rest, — Fodeum said stubbornly. — You can't keep fueling yourself with the Dark Side endlessly. The body has limits, and…
— Listen here, you whelp! — Reynar leapt to the Jenssarai, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him to his feet. For a split second, he took pleasure in seeing fear flash across the boy's face in the dim light of luminescent fungi. Then he realized how pathetic it was to intimidate the only one who could help him in this dire moment. — If we stay here too long, we'll die. The Light Side negates the Dark. We're practically helpless here. Exhausted. Weak! The sooner we start looking for the way back, the sooner we'll get out.
— If that's even possible, — the boy said wearily. — Listen, we're worn out. Vex has probably already organized a search party—we've been stuck here for more than a day. We just need to sleep a little, wait for help…
— There's no time to sleep! — Reynar shook the boy, hoping to knock some sense into him. — Don't you get it? The Light Side of the Force is hostile to us! If we sleep here for an hour, two, three, five—we'll be completely trapped by it. No matter how hard you try to summon anger and rage to suppress hunger and sustain yourself, you won't be able to. This blasted atmosphere of serenity will choke you with its calm… A wave cancels a wave! That's how Jedi hid—they'd retreat to a place steeped in the Dark Side and patiently stop using the Force. Because existing in a hostile environment is unnatural. It drains your strength. Your body will weaken until you die in the end! We have to move!
— We'll just wait for Vex and the rescuers, — Fodeum said firmly. — We'll rest, let our bodies recover, return to the cave with the water, and search for the exit. It's a labyrinth of underground galleries, but still, by memory…
He suddenly fell silent.
Reynar felt it too.
Releasing the boy, the Inquisitor stepped aside, unclipping his lightsaber from his belt. His thumb instinctively found the activation switch… And then Reynar realized his hand was trembling.
His body was truly exhausted.
That's why he sensed it so late—something, or more likely someone, an adept of the Light Side, was approaching.
He instinctively channeled his rage inward, trying to ignite the fire of anger within to bolster himself and guide his hand for a lethal strike.
The Dark Side responded… but he felt it like sounds reaching a diver meters below the surface. What he feared had come to pass.
He was weakened.
Yet, in the cave's dim light, noticing that Fodeum had also assumed a combat stance, the Inquisitor spotted a figure.
Clad in a dark brown cloak, with the hood pulled over their head.
The figure approached and stood, as if studying them.
And now Reynar realized they were both effectively trapped.
Because the Jedi—for this unexpected guest could be nothing else—stood like a cork in a bottle. The walls of the Light Side of the Force closed in around them.
The trap had sprung.
— Quick ones, — the figure said in a low voice. Reynar instinctively identified the speaker as male. And judging by the accent, from an amphibian species. — I'm tired of chasing you through these caves.
A lightsaber appeared in his hand, and a white-blue blade pierced the darkness. In its glow, Reynar could make out the features of the intruder's face.
A Mon Calamari.
By the Emperor's black bones! Were they about to be sliced to pieces by some fish?!
They'd have been better off starving—it would've been less humiliating!
— You don't have to do this, — Fodeum said. — We're not bad guys. We just needed the crystals, and…
— Save your strength on words, boy; they won't sway me, — the Mon Calamari replied, swiftly assuming a combat stance.
A very distinctive stance.
Form III, Soresu.
Perfect defense.
— Why does every pain in the galaxy's backside use Soresu? — Reynar sighed, activating his lightsaber.
If they were farther from this place, he'd have turned this Jedi into sashimi with ease.
But now, exhausted and drained…
It seemed he was in for a fight to the death.
— Step aside, kid, — he took a step forward, letting the meager remnants of the Dark Side flow through him. He conserved what little he had, intending to use it evenly and only with certainty. — I'll wear him down, and you finish him.
— Sounds to me like he's about to thrash us, — Fodeum whispered.
— Thrash us? — Reynar gave a bitter smirk. — Kid, he's about to kill us.
And at that moment, the Mon Calamari Jedi lunged into attack.
***
Seated in the command chair on the central platform of the Star Destroyer, I observed as the gray triangle of an Imperial-II class Star Destroyer maneuvered to enter hyperspace.
For a moment, all seven of its engines—three primary and four auxiliary—intensified their white-blue glow, and the ship vanished from the scanner screens.
— Cancel battle stations, Captain, — I ordered, addressing the commander of the *Chimaera* standing beside me. — Relay the order to the *Black Asp*: "Deactivate gravity well generators and prepare to jump to the rendezvous point with the fleet."
— It will be done, Commander, — Pellaeon replied. — Same orders for the *Crusader* and the *Steel Aurora*?
— Correct, Captain, — I confirmed.
At that moment, the sound of the turbolift doors opening reached me.
— Grand Admiral Thrawn! — a furious female voice rang out. — This is too much!
"Another hysteric," I thought with a touch of sadness, turning my chair to face my guest.
One could not deny Baroness Feena D'Asta's ability to carry herself with both majesty and arrogance.
She wore a simple travel outfit (if a dress adorned with aurodium patterns could be called "simple"), light, understated makeup, white hair styled simply… and a regal gaze as she strode across the central platform, flanked by two black-and-red figures of Imperial Guards.
"Hm… they do behave identically," I noted, observing that the guards moved in perfect synchronization. Even their dispersal to posts on opposite sides of the platform was a mirror image of each other. Judging by the slight twitch in Major Tierce's gaze, trailing the procession, he too noticed the accuracy of the Snowdrop Queen's observation (what else am I to call the clone of Isard?!). Clones give themselves away. Though, this is true only for those who know what to look for.
In this part of the conversation, not-Isard was correct. If only she didn't try to "probe" me at every initial meeting, assessing my strengths and weaknesses, she'd be invaluable. Meaning—she'd be utterly useless to me.
To me, she is primarily an intelligence asset and a factor that keeps me from resting on the laurels of victory.
— I'm pleased to meet you in person, Baroness, — I said calmly, regarding the young woman whose face displayed everything but the "pleasure" she supposedly felt. At least she didn't have the elaborate hairstyles of Padmé Amidala.
— Are you mocking me, Thrawn?! — she asked, pursing her lips.
"Sometimes," I thought. It must be some cosmic jest that makes attractive young women into shrews with inflated egos.
— I assure you, such inclinations are foreign to me, — I continued the dialogue.
— You… you… — Apparently, her vocabulary was limited. A pity. I expected more restraint and reason from a baron's daughter. — Are you even in your right mind?
— According to this morning's medical examination, quite so, — I replied.
The gravity of the unfolding drama was undermined by Captain Pellaeon, who snorted into his fist, barely stifling a chuckle. Thankfully, the tactful commander of the *Chimaera* turned it into a cough and, within a second, regained his impassive expression. But his eyes…
His eyes betrayed the Star Destroyer's commander.
Gilad was openly struggling not to laugh.
— Return to your duties, Captain, — I ordered, salvaging the situation. What can I say—humor isn't my forte. Or is it?
— Yes, sir, — the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer reported briskly, heading toward the bridge crew.
Oddly, why was the bridge watch smiling? And trying so hard to hide it…
The young woman let out a long sigh, closing her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them, she was calm. She regained her composure quickly.
— Grand Admiral, — she said in a steadier tone. — Would you care to explain why you used the gravity wells of your interdictor cruiser to pull my ship out of hyperspace?
— Ah, that's the issue, — I nodded. — Tell me, Baroness, where do you think we are?
— Aboard your ship, — she said, tossing her head.
— Precisely noted, — I nodded. — Do you know where my ship and its escorts are located?
Judging by the tightening of her jaw, the young woman (she's half my age, so I'm permitted to think of her this way) clearly showed that such details didn't concern her.
— In space, Grand Admiral, — she replied, and there was no arguing with that.
But the local lesson wasn't over yet.
— At what specific point in space? — I clarified.
— Um… — the Baroness hesitated. — I'm not a navigator, and…
— We are one parsec from the Dominion's border, — I clarified. — The northern boundary of the Ciutric Hegemony, under my protectorate.
— So, — she acknowledged. — And?
— As I suspected, you chose to disregard my warnings, — I stated. — During our conversation, you were told not to arrive here in a large armed vessel.
— You must be…
I raised the index finger of my right hand.
— To prevent irreversible mistakes you're about to voice, allow me to note that I promised to destroy any military vessel crossing our borders without proper authorization, — the young woman paled. — Right now, the Star Destroyer that brought you here has set course for Orinda, reversing its path. That course passes through the Kanz sector, a known haven for criminal scum. That's why our task force is stationed there. They've been ordered to pull from hyperspace and destroy anything moving along that specific route without Dominion identifiers. As it happens, your Star Destroyer's hyperspace vector passes dangerously close to our task force's base. And the order still stands.
— Grand Admiral! — the Baroness's eyes widened. — You wouldn't dare destroy the flagship of Orinda's armed forces!
— Precisely, Baroness, — I confirmed the obvious. — But, as you may have noticed, the *Chimaera* is here.
The young woman tensed. The pieces clicked in her mind.
I'm here, my fleet is here, and she's alone, surrounded by potentially hostile officers. Her Star Destroyer is heading where it has no business being… and it's unlikely anyone will learn what happens there.
— I do not tolerate breaches of agreements, even verbal ones, — hearing this, the young woman turned whiter than her hair. — In two minutes and thirty-one seconds, your Star Destroyer could be intercepted, fired upon, and boarded if it doesn't surrender immediately. Afterward, I'll return everyone—except the Star Destroyer, naturally—to Orinda, along with my written explanation of the situation. I'm certain the Imperial Ruling Council won't be thrilled that you, a representative of Imperial Space, chose to ignore my warning about violating my borders.
— Thrawn, — she addressed me quietly, calmly. — What are you after?
— An apology, Baroness, — I explained. — For violating the Dominion's borders, of course.
Feena D'Asta furrowed her delicate brows, fixing me with a stern glare.
— Forty seconds, Commander, — Major Tierce chimed in, acting as a chronometer.
The young aristocrat shot him a heavy look.
The former Imperial Guard returned it, making the Baroness flinch. Yes, I understand her perfectly. The cold gaze of a killer is hard for even me to endure, let alone a politician.
— Thirty seconds, — Tierce broke the silence.
It seemed life on the bridge had frozen. The crew, conducting final checks before the hyperspace jump, glanced our way, watching to see who would win this battle of wits.
— Twenty seconds, — the former Imperial Guard said coldly, like a metronome.
— Fine, — the young woman relented. — I apologize, Grand Admiral. My haste led me to disregard your warning. I will be more cautious in the future, — oh, really? So she plans to visit the Dominion again? Interesting. Why am I not among the first to know? — I request you cancel the order to attack the Imperial Space Star Destroyer.
— Apology accepted, Baroness, — I said, glancing at my adjutant. — Have Baroness D'Asta's belongings been delivered to her assigned quarters?
— Affirmative, Grand Admiral, — Tierce confirmed. — The crew of the shuttle that brought her aboard the *Chimaera* has been settled in the standby barracks. The ship has been moved to the lower deck of the cargo hangar.
— Thank you for your efficiency, — I said to Tierce.
— Grand Admiral! — the Baroness stepped forward, approaching me. Rukh took a long stride, positioning himself between us. The black blades of his obsidian combat knives flashed in his hands. Feena recoiled, then looked at me. — You promised to cancel your order to attack the Star Destroyer!
— I'm afraid, Baroness D'Asta, you misunderstood me, — I said.
— What?! — For a moment, she turned into a furious harpy. — You promised not to intercept or destroy the ship!
Her agitation was understandable—people of her status are rarely put in such an awkward position. Especially publicly. But for her, the consequences would be far graver than the snickers of fifty bridge crew members if the events I described came to pass.
— As I said, Baroness, you clearly misunderstood me, — I continued. — My forces are at their position, near the course your Star Destroyer is taking. If they had orders to intercept ships on your arrival route, they would have done so before we did. If you had listened carefully, you'd have noticed no logical connection between my ships' deployment, their mission, and any potential issues for your Star Destroyer.
— So… — Now she flushed. Red face, white hair… striking contrasts. In profile, she resembled the flag of Poland. Red, white… and deeply ashamed of her past actions. And everyone around found her blunder amusing…
Well, I seem to have veered off into the wrong sleeve of the galaxy.
— A play on words, — her face showed it took effort to regain her composure. — Clever, Grand Admiral, I must give you credit.
— Thank you, — I gave a slight nod in acknowledgment. — Now, if you don't mind, I suggest you proceed to your assigned quarters and settle in for our not-so-brief journey.
— Aren't we returning to Ciutric? — she frowned.
— I was forced to meet you at the border, as I couldn't be present in the Hegemony's capital, — I explained. — Circumstances require my involvement in an unfolding military campaign. Since, by your own account, the discussion cannot be delayed, I invite you to join me in the upcoming battle for the Oplovis sector.
It seems time to call in competent specialists.
Because this Baroness's eyes were about to pop out of their sockets.
— Are we heading straight into a combat zone?! — she exclaimed, stunned.
— Indeed, — I confirmed, signaling Captain Pellaeon.
Before the Baroness could find the right words, the *Chimaera* tore through the fabric of space, surrounded by the white-blue hues characteristic of a hyperspace jump.
— You certainly know how to surprise, Grand Admiral, — she finally mastered her emotions. — I never imagined my first in-person meeting with you would drag me to the front lines.
— The galaxy is a highly unstable place, Baroness, — I remarked philosophically. — One must simply adapt to constant change. To ensure you're not bored, I've arranged for you to have the best vantage point to observe the upcoming battle. When you've rested from your journey and are ready for constructive dialogue, let me know.
— Knowing you, my quarters are probably on the battery deck, — she retorted without malice, turning on her heels and heading for the exit.
After she moved a few meters away, I quietly summoned Tierce:
— Immediately transfer her belongings from the commander's cabin on the fourth battery deck to the superstructure's quarters.
— The only available one is next to yours, Grand Admiral, — he added softly.
— Carry out the order, — I instructed.
Well, I hope during her rest hours, this lady doesn't operate a perforator, play the piano, or sing "The Unbreakable Union."
Not that I doubt the soundproofing of my quarters, but… she'll be guarded by the guards. And judging by her shrewish nature, this woman could exasperate even Tierce's clones. Especially if she lingers aboard the *Chimaera*.
***
The landing zone for the medium freighter, purchased by the Imperials from a shuttle, was adjacent to their ship. Under other circumstances, Mara and Ahsoka would have had no chance of infiltrating the starships of interest if the spaceport were on Tatooine, a simple pit carved in the ground or surrounded by technical structures.
But this was Vohai.
Here, every landing pad was a complex of technical buildings.
Ahsoka had no trouble infiltrating the *Lambda*-class shuttle's landing zone—she used the same method as before.
Judging by the Imperials not bothering to change access codes, they were clearly in a hurry to get what they needed from the Herglic and leave.
But the trader was proving disappointing.
For days, Mara had watched as the Imperials' ships took turns departing daily to the designated loading zone and returning to the spaceport with new cargo. The transport containers bore Imperial and Kuati markings, leading to an obvious conclusion—the trader had far larger reserves than he'd let on to Mara.
He had done everything to brush off an annoying client in favor of selling more parts to regular buyers. Undoubtedly at a higher price. Were there any Neimoidians in his lineage?
Unlikely. Interspecies barriers and all that.
Mara, as befits a victim of a crime, had vanished from sight.
Ahsoka, continuing to play the role of a dutiful servant, spent this time searching for the "necessary" equipment for her mistress. They made a few purchases for appearances, but Ahsoka rejected most items, claiming they didn't meet her standards. Despite the equipment being of proper quality—some even unused.
To all questions from the hotel administration about her mistress's whereabouts, Ahsoka, playing the timid servant, only said that her lady was prone to such behavior and might be relaxing with new acquaintances.
Mara desperately wanted to smack her, because thanks to the Togruta's efforts, the hotel staff (unless they knew about the assassination attempt) now believed Countess Kleria was a promiscuous, accessible woman who'd escaped her family's oversight and was now indulging in debauchery.
Mara mentally bid farewell to this "legend." A pity. Young, bratty Kleria, who a decade ago presented herself as a refined talent, had been likable. But with such a trail of rumors, it was better for the Countess to quietly "die" somewhere. Perhaps vanish without a trace in a Vohai alley. Who knows what the local criminals might have planned for her? They'd disappeared too, by the way.
Yes, she'd cleaned up the bodies—they were now dissolving in the acid-filled pipes and sewers of the local sanitation system.
Still, assessing the possibility of acquiring ship parts on Vohai for her fleet was a task for Thrawn's procurement team—she'd report this "aurodium vein" when she returned from her mission. Out of old habit, to avoid detection, she minimized contact with command. If an agent had to report every step to leadership, that was a job for Imperial Intelligence or the ISB. Or what had Thrawn renamed them in his Dominion?
The Hand was the Hand because it operated autonomously. A goal was set, and she executed it.
Mara observed the freighter, noting concealed laser and torpedo emplacements, fake transponder codes, and sharply dressed, tough-looking guards watching the ship and the wide cargo doors of the warehouse. Nearby, a few meters away, were three landspeeders used to deliver small purchases like consumable couplings, converters, monitors, and other parts available from any trader.
Turbolasers, shield projectors, life support system components, and hyperdrive parts—highly specific ones—were another matter.
Through the warehouse doors, she saw several workers in loaders' uniforms moving transport containers and boxes onto repulsor carts and up the ship's ramp. The warehouse was brimming with goods, stacked high with crates and containers.
By default, Imperial military ships used Class 2 hyperdrives. Depending on the ship's size, the hyperdrives varied. The larger the ship, the larger the required hyperdrive.
Thrawn's Hand noted the numerous crates marked with hyperdrive labels, and a picture formed in her mind.
The Imperials from the *Lambda*, who had orchestrated the attempt on her life, were procuring two types of hyperdrives: Class 2 and Class 12.
The first raised no questions—a standard model for Imperial ships (albeit much larger than those on, say, an *Imperial*-class). But the latter…
Few ships used that type of hyperdrive. Especially one the size of a heavy cruiser. Any remaining doubts vanished.
The Imperials were procuring equipment for a Star Dreadnought. Judging by the evidence, this ship had been heavily damaged in battle, and the Imperials were quietly buying parts to repair its hyperdrive and…
The New Republic had learned the havoc a single *Executor* (if it was indeed that, and not, say, a *Vengeance*) could wreak when the *Lusankya* literally emerged from the ground.
Behind the landing zone was another warehouse, divided into smaller compartments with a narrow service corridor between them. Mara found the corridor's entrance and reached a spot where, as her memory suggested, she'd be hidden behind stacks of crates. Touching the Force to ensure no one was nearby or approaching, she stepped away from the wall and ignited her lightsaber.
A snap-hiss, and the purple blade extended from the hilt.
She paused, holding the saber, adjusting to its tactile feel. Then, assuming a stance, she lightly touched the blade to the opposite wall.
The wall was thick and reinforced. It took three cuts to gauge its depth. The rest went faster. She angled the blade to cut through the wall without letting the glow escape outside, carving a narrow inverted triangle large enough for her to slip through. Deactivating the saber, she used the Force to lift the cut section and push it forward.
It gave way with a muffled crunch. Straining—the piece was heavier than it looked—Mara made it float half a meter and cautiously peered inside.
Size doesn't matter, right? Bantha poodoo! While your brain processes information and you can't stop imagining lifting a construction slab twice your weight with just a thought and a gesture, you'll get nowhere.
The Emperor, when training her, never explained this. He simply told her to fuel her emotions—anger, rage, and other companions of the Dark Side.
But Ahsoka, yawning during their flight to Vohai, had said: "Don't clutter your mind with nonsense. Just want the thing to move, picture where it needs to go, and it will. Keep your thoughts clear of junk. When the Force is involved, physics takes a backseat." Admittedly, Mara was a bit stunned by the Togruta's pedagogical approach. Until she realized there was truth in Ahsoka's words. Of course, it didn't work perfectly on the first try—regular practice was needed.
Just as she had once abandoned the Force and lost her mastery over it, many Jedi had tried to hide from Inquisitors by ceasing to use it. When found after years without practice, even the most experienced and powerful among them lost to Inquisitors, most of whom were either untrained in Jedi arts or came from non-combat divisions of the Order. The Jedi AgriCorps, for instance, supplied the Inquisitorius with many candidates and operatives after its destruction.
But one thing she could thank Palpatine for was teaching her non-Force memory techniques (among many others), which she used and applied actively.
And now—it didn't take long to memorize the layout.
The Emperor's memory training hadn't been in vain. The carved passage in the wall was exactly centered in the stack of crates she'd aimed for.
Mara, ensuring her actions remained covert, pushed the triangular plug another half-meter forward. Confirming no alarms were raised, she slipped through the handmade triangular opening, then used the Force to slide the plug back into place. The redheaded vixen then reattached her lightsaber to her belt and crept to the edge of the shelves lined with cargo containers.
Glancing over the crates, she confirmed they held minor starship system components. Trivial, uninteresting. The Imperials' primary interest lay in the loading zone.
Seeing how many crates the loaders were stacking onto carts and hauling aboard the ship, her first thought was that the Imperials had caught wind of her actions and were preparing to flee. It would've been a sensible move—when you don't get confirmation of a completed task, better to play it safe.
They likely planned to do just that if they knew she was alive. But realizing the girl had vanished, their concern eased. Until it became clear the hired operatives wouldn't return either.
The reason they wanted her gone was objectively unknown to her. It could be anything—except her being identified. They didn't know her as the Emperor's Hand, Thrawn's adjutant, or certainly not as Thrawn's Hand.
The most likely explanation was that the Imperials decided to eliminate a competitor without fully understanding who she was. Likely, they needed so many Imperial parts—whose recent disappearances had prompted the New Republic to send operatives to every galactic backwater—that they panicked, mistaking her for a Coruscant operative about to expose or disrupt their supply chain.
On one hand, that wasn't bad. On the other, it was almost insulting. A Republic spy? Her? Seriously?! Was she that bad at her job?!
Mara noted that both Imperials she'd seen in the cantina were near the ship. Perfect. That meant their shuttle was unguarded, making Ahsoka's infiltration easier.
The plan was straightforward—board the starships and gain control after they jumped to hyperspace. Yes, they might have to deal with the crews—the Imperials had hired local riffraff—but when had that ever stopped anyone? The key was to capture the Imperials after they entered coordinates into the navicomputers.
Because these were seasoned operatives—Ahsoka, when she infiltrated their shuttle, found the navicomputer empty. And no Zakarisz Ghent was on hand to dig into the electronics. What was that guy up to now?
Moving behind the shelves, Mara positioned herself as close as possible to the two Imperials without being detected.
— …almost done, — one said, clearly the subordinate. — Finally, we'll get the life support system on the third deck back online, and Drommel will stop twisting our brains inside out…
Drommel?
Admiral Gain Drommel?! Commander of the Oplovis sector fleet?!
Seriously?! He was alive?
Well… no need to wonder what she was hunting anymore.
These cargos were meant for the *Guardian*, an *Executor*-class Star Dreadnought, Drommel's flagship.
And it was believed destroyed.
So Thrawn's intel that the ship survived the battle was correct.
Who had tipped him off? It'd be interesting to learn the Grand Admiral's sources. But…
She wisely wouldn't pursue that. If even the Jedi Tano decided earning "loyalty points" with the Grand Admiral was the better course, why should she, the Hand, act differently?
Thrawn had given her a chance to become a full ally.
She'd missed it and was now merely a subordinate.
Just like in Palpatine's time. Except no one invaded her mind or called her "my child" like that old lunatic loved to do.
— Still no word from the mercenaries, — the commander grumbled. — That's worrying me.
— What's the difference? — the subordinate said, surprised. — That Republic spy is done for. — He waved a hand. — We're getting everything we need to get out of the hole the Star Destroyer's stuck in. Soon, Drommel will be back…
— Yeah, — there was no joy in the commander's voice. — I heard the latest news. — He paused. — Grand Admiral Thrawn really exists.
— So what? — The subordinate was genuinely puzzled. — No one can stand against the *Guardian*…
— Don't be an idiot, — the commander snapped. — The ship's heavily damaged. Word is, Thrawn has an entire fleet. His ships started appearing in Oplovis half a day ago. Some systems are already under his control, others, like Ketaris, under the Republic's. If we show up there, they'll blast our *Guardian* to bits, just like Republic propaganda already claimed.
— We should tell Drommel, — the subordinate muttered. — He's been on edge lately.
— Wouldn't you be? — the commander asked. — A Grand Admiral, an alien, with a massive fleet that crushed the Republic so hard they had to pull forces from across the galaxy to rebuild their Fourth Fleet. And he took their *Bellator* too… Can you imagine his power?
— The *Guardian* will tear him apart…
— Even all these turbolasers, — the commander gestured toward the freighter, — won't restore a tenth of the Star Dreadnought's combat capability. Drommel doesn't get it. He's dreaming of riding back into Oplovis on a white starship. He's convinced everyone will quake at the sight of our Star Destroyer. As if no one will have the eyes or scanners to see it's just a wreck. It'll take five to ten years to restore it at this rate. And Drommel will run out of credits first…
— No way, really? — the subordinate was shocked. — I heard the ship has holds stuffed with Oplovis's treasury…
Mara strained her memory.
There was truth to those words. When she worked for Karrde, they made a few runs to the Oplovis sector. Many there resented Drommel for disappearing with the sector's treasury, forcing the sector to declare neutrality, face economic collapse, and fall under New Republic control to avoid starvation. So, Drommel's reserves were on the *Guardian*? That was fantastic news! Thrawn would be thrilled to acquire both the ship and the means to restore it…
— If that's true, good, — the commander sighed. — Hauling across the galaxy with ships full of weapons and parts… We'll have to sweat to avoid Republic patrols.
— Not our first time, — the subordinate waved dismissively. — I'm more worried about someone trying to outbid us for our Star Destroyer's parts.
— And still is, — the senior Imperial sighed. — I asked around quietly—the parts are going to the Kweli sector. But who needs them or why? No idea.
— Zsinj's territory? — the subordinate was shocked, and Mara silently agreed. Who in Kweli needed parts for a Star Dreadnought? Or were they just standard Imperial parts? If the former, things smelled bad. If the latter… less bad. But still unpleasant.
— The very same, — the commander nodded. — I don't know who needs hyperdrive parts for *Executors* there, but if Warlord Zsinj survived and the New Republic screwed up again…
— This galaxy's getting too small when every warlord has a Star Dreadnought, — the subordinate sighed bitterly. — Fine, we'll tell Drommel. Let him deal with it.
— Agreed, — the commander said. — Alright, head to the shuttle. We leave in an hour.
— As you say, — the Imperials shook hands, then parted ways. The subordinate headed for the landing zone's exit, the commander toward the freighter's ramp.
Well…
What a wealth of information from one overheard conversation.
Mara sighed.
And how much more they'd reveal once this talkative pair was in the hands of Thrawn's interrogators.
Yet, the question remained—who needed Star Dreadnought parts in the Kweli sector, and why?
Not in the Kweli sector, amidst rampant bands and hordes of Imperial deserters, was the New Republic repairing its *Lusankya*?
The theory was sound, but there was one issue. The same one Mara had already considered.
The New Republic had no need to buy overpriced Star Dreadnought parts on the black market.
They could easily go straight to suppliers and manufacturers—Fondor and Kuat.
As could Ardus Kaine.
As could Palpatine—through his network of spies.
So what bantha's belch was holed up in the Kweli sector, assembling a Star Dreadnought?
Sighing heavily again, Jade began calculating the best way to infiltrate the Imperial freighter.
And, as if mocking her efforts, a young loader rounded the corner of a shelf. He scanned the racks, searching for a specific crate, then froze, blinking.
— Um… — he hesitated, spotting her. — Ma'am, what are you doing here?
— You won't believe this, — Thrawn's Hand flashed a radiant smile, closing the distance in one swift, fluid step. — Waiting for you.
— Oh, really? — he managed to smile before a direct punch from the seemingly delicate fist of the redheaded vixen knocked him out.
Five minutes later, the loader—sedated with medical drugs but alive—was safely hidden in the darkest corner under the shelves. Mara, thoroughly disguised, continued his work delivering cargo.
And at the first opportunity, she melted into the endless corridors of the transport starship.
An hour later, the ships—a GR-75 medium freighter and a *Lambda*-class shuttle—left Vohai's spaceport and jumped to hyperspace.
Two hours later, they were pulled from hyperspace by the gravity anomalies of an *Interdictor*-class Star Destroyer, part of the task force led by the *Void Wanderer* under Captain Abyss, dispatched to this galactic point by Grand Admiral Thrawn's direct order.
Five hours later, having returned the ship they arrived on, Thrawn's Hand and Ahsoka Tano were in quarters reserved for high-ranking guests, finally able to sleep among those who would never betray them.
By then, prize crews had taken control of the Imperial ships, reported the situation to the Supreme Commander, and the task force jumped to hyperspace, returning to the Dominion.
***
Bre'ano Umakk.
That was the Jedi's name.
Not that he introduced himself—Reynar recalled it himself.
And, as absurd as it was, after a blow to the head.
A Jedi Master who vanished "off the radar" after the execution of Order Sixty-Six. That event occurred nearly thirty years ago.
And not a single Inquisitor could boast of tracking him down or eliminating the conspirator.
Yet here he was, hiding…
Jedi Master Bre'ano Umakk.
Reynar parried a treacherous thrust meant to pierce his chest. But he had to drop to one knee to block the opponent's blade.
This Jedi was skilled.
Not because he was stronger.
He had chosen the perfect moment to strike. He'd likely been stalking them, waiting until they were weakened and cornered.
A cunning tactic.
But not a Jedi's.
An Inquisitor's.
Catching the opponent's right leg, Reynar surged upward, toppling the Jedi to the cave floor. The Jedi, twisting, rolled aside and sprang back with a reverse flip, widening the distance between them. But he still blocked the cave's exit.
The Mon Calamari, showing no signs of fatigue and still drawing on the Light Side, seemed fresh and eager.
His thoughts were calm and utterly unperturbed.
A true machine, a droid in an alien's guise.
— So you hid here on this planet while we hunted down your fellow Jedi? — Reynar sneered at him. Not that he consciously employed Dun Möch—he was simply buying time to recover after their first clash.
The proximity and intensity of the Light Side were irritating.
And they hindered his ability to summon rage.
His body's reserves were dwindling, forcing him to take such breaks to pierce the alien Force's molasses.
Unfortunately, these pauses benefited the Jedi too.
— Each has their own path, — the Jedi took the bait. When a Jedi stays silent and keeps fighting, it's far worse. It means their self-control is impeccable, and defeating them in a "fair fight" would be no easy task. — The Dark Side won't save you, Inquisitor. I'll stand to the end.
— Guys, — Fodeum's voice came, as he flanked the opponent from the left, just like in their training with Obscuro. — Can we not turn this into a slaughter? These crystal caves are practically sacred.
— For Jedi, not for champions of the Dark Side, — Bre'ano Umakk snarled. — I won't let anyone defile this place.
— Come on, — Reynar smirked, already planning his next move. — We took a few crystals; we'll leave quietly and never return.
— You're taking nothing from here, spawn of the Dark Side! — the Mon Calamari roared. His large eyes adeptly tracked both opponents. Oh, those reptiles… Or were Dac natives amphibians?
Who cares what they are! An alien posing a problem. All he needed was a good rest to turn him into fishy slices…
— Actually, we're not just any Inquisitors, — Fodeum continued. — I'm a Jenssarai…
— Abomination, — the Mon Calamari spat on the floor. — I thought Halcyon and Kenobi finished you all. So you survived… Serving the Imperials!
— Because they freed us from pirates! — the Jenssarai declared heatedly.
Reynar took a cautious step left. The Mon Calamari reacted, slightly turning.
You fish-faced scum! How do you track limbs in this darkness?!
— If you had any honor, you'd have freed yourselves, — the Jedi retorted. — And if you think your stories will help you regain strength, you're gravely mistaken—this is a place of the Light Side. It'll only get worse for you.
— Oh, by the Emperor's black bones, shut your trap! — Reynar snapped, lunging into attack.
The Mon Calamari adjusted his defense to focus on him…
And at that moment, a small stone, launched by the Jenssarai, flew toward him. The Jedi effortlessly vaporized it with a swing of his blue blade. But he was forced to defend against Reynar's powerful, sweeping strikes.
Thrust, counterattack…
In the next instant, Inquisitor Obscuro heard a whistle and felt his left hand go numb.
The Jedi had used the distraction to counterattack but took a stone to the head in return.
Both opponents, breaking off, glared at the young Jenssarai with indignation.
— Whose side are you even on?! — they shouted in unison.
— Sorry, — Fodeum, gripping his lightsaber in his right hand, spread his arms. — Ballistokinesis isn't an exact science! I'm not a Jenssarai; I'm still learning!
Ballistokinesis?! What's that…
He's hurling stones at them with telekinesis! That little…
Reynar gritted his teeth, mentally cursing up a storm.
Why hadn't he mentioned he could do that?!
— He's as much a student as Vader was a Jedi, — Bre'ano Umakk grumbled, rubbing his bruised head and shaking a fist at the Jenssarai.
Fodeum launched another stone, which was also destroyed.
Reynar suppressed a laugh.
— Under different circumstances, I'd tell you a very interesting story, — he promised.
— Trying to turn me to the Dark Side, Inquisitor? — the Jedi Master chuckled, still warily eyeing the young fighter.
— You showed up in this cave yourself! — Reynar snapped. — I don't need you! Just a couple of crystals and to get out of this damned Dantooine!
The Force suddenly brimmed with suspicion, emanating from the Mon Calamari.
— If you weren't Imperials, I might believe you, — he said. — But I know the moment you leave, more Imperials—Jedi hunters—will arrive. And you won't leave this cave alone, coveting the crystals.
— So killing us makes it better, huh? — Fodeum asked. — We've got a camp nearby, guarded by a stormtrooper garrison. You think our comrades won't figure out to search the caves, especially when they find the hole in the hill?
— I'll deal with problems as they arise, — the Mon Calamari promised, suddenly attacking Reynar.
Instinctively, knowing he couldn't react otherwise, the Inquisitor unleashed his rage.
Extending his left hand toward the Mon Calamari, he channeled streams of branching white-blue Force Lightning, which the Jedi instantly absorbed with his lightsaber blade.
For a few seconds, the cave was lit as bright as day.
And in that moment, Fodeum closed in, delivering a slashing blow to the Jedi Master's head from above.
The Mon Calamari, unfazed, kicked the new opponent in the torso with his left leg, sending the boy flying a couple of meters.
Reynar, feeling his Force reserves draining, charged forward, unleashing a flurry of rapid strikes to draw the Jedi's full attention.
It worked.
The Jedi parried every thrust, proving time and again that he was indeed a master of Form III.
Oh, how Reynar hated Soresu.
A defense without flair but also without flaws.
All other styles were designed to compensate or enhance their wielder's strengths, but Soresu…
A white-blue blade flashed near his eye, leaving a painful streak on his cheek.
— You…! — The pain fueled new strength.
Reynar, feeling his body at its limit, launched a counterattack.
He was furious at Fodeum for hiding his talent for hurling stones.
Furious at his own greed for venturing here without backup and delving into the cave's depths.
Furious at the Mon Calamari, who, for the first time in all the years Obscuro hunted Jedi, had landed such a stinging wound.
He moved forward recklessly, battering the Jedi's defense with brute force, knowing he was little more than a thermal detonator about to explode.
The Inquisitor drew the Force not from the surrounding world, as there was no Dark Side here.
He pulled it from himself, burning his body with the rage coursing through his veins like liquid fire.
And the Jedi faltered.
Reynar sliced off the upper part of his blade, effectively destroying Bre'ano Umakk's weapon. This time, he truly savored the horror frozen in his opponent's eyes.
— Don't kill him! — the muffled voice of the young Jenssarai reached him, as if piercing through cotton.
Why not?!
Execute the fish!
The Dark Side always demands something in exchange for the power it grants! What better sacrifice than a slain Jedi?!
The perfect, sacred victim!
The Dark Side adept twirled his blade, raising it for the strike…
And in that moment, as the crimson flame was about to pierce the Jedi's chest, Reynar realized he'd lost.
The Mon Calamari thrust out his hand, pushing him back with the Force…
And that was the end.
Because the next moment, the back of the Inquisitor's head exploded with pain. His body stopped obeying, and the dim light began to fade before his eyes…
The last thing he saw was a fist-sized rock striking the Mon Calamari's head. His fading consciousness caught the spray of blood from the Jedi's shattered hammerhead… and his limp body collapsing beside the fallen Inquisitor.
Before his consciousness fully dimmed, the Dark Side retreated, discarding him like a used tool.
Peace and tranquility washed over him.
Reynar Obscuro felt his chains truly break.
And then his heart stopped beating.