Grand Admiral

Nine years, eight months, and nineteen days after the Battle of Yavin...

Or forty-four years, eight months, and nineteen days after the Great Resynchronization.

(Four months and four days since the arrival).

— I despise this pomp, — Tiberos remarked, fully aware that he had no chance of objecting to the proceedings.

A new governor was arriving in the Karthakk system.

Who this individual was, what tasks they were assigned, and how further interactions would unfold remained entirely unclear, as obscure as such matters could possibly be.

— You're not the only one, — grumbled Nick Reyes, the chief engineer standing beside him.

The man responsible for repairing and commissioning all military equipment stationed in the Karthakk system for the Dominion proved to be a fascinating conversationalist. Astute enough to grasp precisely what Tiberos wanted from the refit of the *Black Pearl*, Reyes had proposed several innovative solutions, such as removing the remnants of the aft "fin." Given the vast number of unused compartments on the ship, reallocating them to enhance the protection of critical operational systems was a prudent decision.

The current operation to install turbolasers from Mon Calamari vessels onto the *Black Pearl* was equally sensible. While these were not the eight-barreled turrets of Imperial design, they were a marked improvement over the outdated Confederate junk previously mounted on the ship.

Significant funds were required to upgrade the *Black Pearl* to a state where it would no longer be a liability in artillery engagements. With an updated power system, enhanced shield projectors and generators, new reactors, and modernized weaponry, the *Black Pearl* could now rival an Imperial Star Destroyer—not in its finest configuration, perhaps, but respectable nonetheless.

The repair of the hangar deck was nearing completion. Once equipped with *TIE Scimitar* fighters from old Imperial reserves, the *Black Pearl* would be ready to resume raiding operations. The crew had been assembled from residents of Lok and Maramere. Nothing extraordinary was expected of them—ordinary sentients who had undergone training but still needed combat cohesion. Weeks would pass before the crew felt like a unified whole, but the result would be worth the effort.

They stood in two rows: one side comprised representatives from local settlements and planets, the other consisted of Imperial commanders overseeing bases, stations, or ships tasked with system defense. Admittedly, there weren't many of them present. For some reason, the officers commanding heavy *Dreadnought*-class cruisers, along with their crews, preferred to remain aboard their vessels, assisting with repairs or conducting maneuvers, tests, and live-fire exercises.

In short, the regular forces training here—wisely keeping their activities far from prying eyes—showed little interest in interacting with auxiliary troops or their comrades in the defense fleet. That was their prerogative; no one would force camaraderie.

Over there, Irv and Yazuo Vain were clearly unimpressed with this pointless "lineup," judging by how animatedly Yazuo was whispering something into his commander's ear. Poor Captain Irv, commander of the *Colicoid Swarm*, must have the patience of durasteel to endure his subordinate's chatter. Or perhaps his weary expression stemmed from irritation at being pulled from "free hunting" to return to Lok for this event?

The meeting was held in a compartment adjacent to the main landing platform of Nym's fortress. This area typically housed Nym's personal fighter (which was taking an inexplicably long time to arrive, despite Thrawn's assurances). For now, the space had been polished to a gleam by service droids.

Pure showmanship, nothing less...

At last, a *Lambda*-class shuttle bearing the Dominion's crest landed. By this time, after standing for nearly half an hour, those present were visibly bored.

— Attention! — barked the major general commanding the planetary garrison of Imperial soldiers and stormtroopers. A tough man, to be sure. Tiberos had tried to build bridges with him once, only to be thrown out with a tirade of profanity that would make a veteran stormtrooper blush. Formidable, indeed. He might be a standard army general, but his demeanor was that of a hardened trooper—no compromises, only focused on executing his assigned tasks. — At attention! Eyes center!

What did he hope to achieve with these commands? Most of those present had no affiliation with the military; despite wearing auxiliary troop uniforms, such orders were little more than noise to them. No matter how hard Dominion instructors tried to instill discipline in recruits or establish training bases, transforming yesterday's civilians into competent soldiers with a snap of the fingers was impossible. Perhaps this was why large-scale operations involving auxiliary forces were rare, limited to endless drills and training? In practice, only "wolf packs" and the *Colicoid Swarm* ventured out on hunts. Even the fully crewed Mon Calamari cruisers were currently used solely for maneuvers and crew training.

Perhaps the new governor's arrival would change things...

When two guards clad in blue-black attire—strikingly similar to the Imperial Guards who protected Grand Admiral Thrawn, save for the absence of crimson in favor of blue—descended the ramp, Tiberos's curiosity was piqued.

He had assumed such guards were assigned solely to Thrawn's protection. Apparently not. Were these newcomers assigned to important figures?

Time would tell. Perhaps they were here to guard the new governor...

Upon seeing the sentient walking behind the guards, Tiberos nearly burst out laughing.

Seriously?

What kind of parody of an Imperial Moff was this?

Compared to the two towering guards flanking her, and the two trailing behind, the young woman appeared diminutive. Barely a meter and a half tall, with medium-length black hair, striking violet eyes, and an Imperial uniform adorned with Dominion insignia, she was meant to impress. Leonia Tavira's confident bearing made one forget her small stature. She moved with purposeful, elegant strides.

Tiberos stifled a chuckle, noting that she had to take two quick steps to keep pace with the measured gait of her guards. Her expression was one of intense focus, her gaze appraising everything in her field of vision.

Black gloves, contrasting with her dark gray-green uniform, clutched a short black whip. Even from a distance, Tiberos could sense the energy radiating from her violet eyes.

She surveyed the Dominion officers, whose faces betrayed no hint of amusement, then turned her attention to the auxiliary force commanders. She toyed with her whip, pointing it at one individual, then another. Slowly walking beside her, General Covell offered brief explanations, likely introducing the sentients and providing short descriptions. The guards formed a line of four behind her; Tavira's relaxed stride stood in sharp contrast to their formal demeanor. As she approached the commanders of the "wolf pack" ships and walked along their line, she began tapping the whip against her left palm or lightly touching it to her chin.

Tiberos struggled to maintain a neutral expression as she passed him, suppressing any reaction when she cast a quick glance his way. They weren't personally acquainted, but he had seen her a couple of times at his performances in the fighting pits of Hutt Space.

Only when she was close did the privateer notice silver strands in her black hair—either a deliberate choice or early signs of graying. Amusingly, "Little Tavira" always kept herself in impeccable condition, which aligned with rumors of her insatiable "appetite for men." Legends abounded about the number of lovers she had as the leader of her pirate organization. Some even claimed the easiest way to board her Star Destroyer was through her bed, provided one could capture her interest. She was known to be drawn to strong, enigmatic men, sometimes throwing herself at them.

Whether true or not, despite his own fondness for intriguing women, Tiberos had no desire to get closer to this one. Not only did she have a volatile temperament, but she also lost lovers with alarming regularity, their deaths varied and numerous—some executed on her orders, others perishing on missions.

In short, getting involved with her was more trouble than it was worth. A fling or two? Perhaps. But the problem was, if she took a liking to you, she'd latch on like a tick, turning even the most alpha male into a submissive plaything. And when she grew bored, she'd dispose of you. Tiberos had no desire to end his life facing a firing squad of stormtroopers.

Then it dawned on him.

Noticing that Tavira had passed the Imperial officers without so much as a glance, focusing instead on the "wolf pack" ship commanders, the privateer realized what was happening.

Tavira was selecting her next mate.

By the Force, the raider enclave was about to turn into a brothel.

What was Thrawn thinking, entrusting this utterly unhinged woman with command of a system critical for raids on New Republic supply lines? With factories under construction and ships constantly arriving with cargo, was all this wealth being handed to her?

No, surely the Grand Admiral couldn't be so shortsighted.

Tiberos froze, struck by a sudden realization.

What if Tavira had already "charmed" Thrawn to secure her appointment? If so, pity the fool who agreed to...

— You're a pretty one, — Tavira's sultry voice hit him like a bucket of coolant poured over bare skin.

Glancing around, he realized he was safe.

She had stopped in front of Captain Irv, but the tip of her whip pointed at Yazuo Vain's chest.

— Well... — the half-breed hesitated. — Thank you, I suppose?

Tavira studied his face, pausing long enough to make everyone nervous. Irv and Tiberos most of all, as the others had already mentally buried the grinning Vain.

— I suppose, — Tavira said slowly, licking her full lips. She was practically devouring the young man with her eyes, while he stood there, smiling like a fool, oblivious to the danger looming over him.

Now it was clear why Tavira ignored the regular officers—she had no authority to command them or influence their fates. But the former pirates, now auxiliary force commanders, were squarely under her control. What a load of bantha poodoo!

— Prepare your ship for departure, Captain Irv, — Tavira said suddenly, turning to Vain's neighbor. Her playful tone gave way to one of cold steel, sending a chill down Tiberos's spine. — Grand Admiral Thrawn has approved your plan.

— Yes, ma'am! — Irv replied quietly, staring straight ahead, doing his best to appear impassive.

— Capture, not destruction, — Tavira declared. Tiberos and the others made no attempt to grasp the details—it was safer that way.

— Order understood, Moff Tavira, — Irv responded crisply. — May I request support? The *Black Pearl*, under Captain Tiberos, will soon be out of repairs...

That scoundrel! Couldn't he keep quiet?

— Oh, yes, — Tavira purred, turning her gaze to the subject of the conversation. — Captain Tiberos. A familiar name...

As she stepped toward the privateer, Tiberos silently prayed to the Force for the ability to become invisible. It didn't work. blasted capricious Jedi sorcery!

— Are you ready to join Captain Irv's free hunt, Captain Tiberos?

"If only I knew what its objective was," Tiberos thought.

He wanted to refuse, as Reyes had promised to consider reinforcing the *Black Pearl*'s bridge (flying in what felt like a fishbowl was unnerving), but escaping the system meant getting far away from Tavira. What was wrong with that option for saving his own skin?

— If that is the command's order, then yes, I will carry it out, — he replied diplomatically, recalling that he was, in fact, under Grand Admiral Thrawn's direct command. Or so he thought...

Tavira nodded thoughtfully, tapping her delicate chin with the tip of her whip.

— Expecting Grand Admiral Thrawn to issue you a personal order?

Tiberos nodded.

— Yes, ma'am.

With a predatory smile and a glint in her unusual violet eyes, Tavira turned toward her shuttle.

— As it happens, Captain Tiberos, Grand Admiral Thrawn has more pressing matters than risking the secrecy of our location. The order for a paired hunt against the Lumini pirates comes directly from him. And to ensure you don't suspect me of overstepping, — Tiberos noticed her cast a quick, almost fearful glance at the nearby guards, — he asked me to deliver something important to you. But since I'm not one for dull ceremonies, I've added a little flair, — she gestured with the whip toward her ship.

Tiberos turned his head and barely contained his reaction.

Under the escort of two stormtrooper squads, descending the ramp were...

Captain Nym and Aurra Sing.

Two sentients for whom he held diametrically opposed feelings.

At that moment, he was utterly bewildered and surprised.

Not by the resignation and defeat on the pirate's face. Not by the fury contorting the mother's expression. Not even by the massive shock cuffs binding both their wrists.

But by the bright red bows tied around each prisoner's head.

— What the...? — Tiberos blurted out, only to feel a sharp jab from Tavira's whip between his ribs.

— I hope you like it, my dear, — Leonia Tavira whispered, standing so close he could feel the warmth of her body and smell her sharp, intoxicating perfume. — This is just the first of the gifts awaiting you.

"What a load of bantha poodoo!"

***

As soon as her brother appeared at the threshold of her quarters, passing through the short corridor separating the entrance from the wide arch leading to the living room, Leia threw herself into his arms.

— Luke! — The young woman enveloped the Jedi in a sisterly embrace. — Thank the Force you're back!

Somewhat taken aback by the greeting, the young man looked bewilderedly at Lando and Chewbacca seated in the living room. Despite everyone being alive and well, their expressions were, to put it mildly, far from cheerful.

— Is something wrong? — he asked, carefully masking the concern in his voice. Could something bad have happened while he was away? But Thrawn had promised complete safety!

Then again, Luke had repeatedly questioned whether the Grand Admiral could be trusted. And that strange attack on Polis Massa...

During his journey, Luke had replayed the events in his mind countless times, concluding that he had never seen anyone Force-sensitive near Thrawn. On the contrary, Thrawn seemed to belong to a species outside the Force's influence, a rarity in the galaxy. Though, considering Hutts and Toydarians were immune to Force manipulation, much about the galaxy remained unknown to the young Jedi.

Another question bolstered the argument that Thrawn and the Dominion weren't behind the attack on him—why try to capture him on the other side of the galaxy when they could have detained him on Ciutric IV? Why relocate Leia, the twins, Winter, Lando, Chewbacca, and Senator Garm Bel Iblis to the governor's residence if he didn't intend to keep his word and release them?

Luke trusted his abilities and those of his friends, but he doubted they could break through the endless patrols of the 501st Legion stormtroopers, the blue-black-clad guards, or those gray-skinned, intimidating aliens who rarely appeared but whose presence Luke had sensed intermittently before his departure.

Overall, their treatment here was largely indifferent, tinged with mild irritation—as if they were unwelcome guests who had shown up unannounced, and now their hosts didn't know how to be rid of them.

— No, — Leia said, pulling back from her brother. — I was just worried about you. A few nights ago, I woke up screaming. I felt as if you were being enveloped by darkness and pulled away...

The Jedi, also the princess's older brother, gave a shy smile.

— The Force is growing stronger in you, Leia, — he explained. — I did find myself in a bit of a... predicament.

— Something serious? — Lando inquired.

Luke wasn't ready to share the details of what happened on Polis Massa, especially the latter part.

— Imperial Star Destroyers decided to escort me before I left, — he said. — They attacked Polis Massa as I was departing...

— Thrawn! — Lando declared with conviction.

Leia frowned at Calrissian, and even Chewbacca growled disapprovingly, unconvinced.

— I don't think so, — Luke said, explaining his perspective as best he could. — Why let me go, only to try capturing me on the other side of the galaxy?

— Fair point, — Leia agreed, casting him a suspicious glance. It seemed his sister was indeed growing stronger in the Force. — If he wanted to stage some spectacle with your departure but not let you go far, he could have set a trap within the Hegemony.

— What were the Imperials even doing on Polis Massa? — Lando asked. — They could have intercepted you during your exit—there aren't many jump vectors from there...

— Seems they wanted to be certain, — Luke suggested. He considered mentioning that the Imperials likely wanted to test his lightsaber combat skills, but he feared sharing that part of the story. A nagging thought lingered that the most likely individual to send Dark Side adepts against him would be Palpatine. And Leia was better off not knowing about him for now. — In any case, it doesn't matter anymore. I'm back, so we can prepare to return to the New Republic?

— Yes, — Leia said wearily, sitting on a couch. — Winter is with the children. As soon as they wake, they'll be ready to travel. The doctors gave me the original results of all their observations, tests, and examinations this morning.

— Are Jacen and Jaina healthy? — Luke asked. From his sister's calm demeanor, he guessed the answer, as otherwise, she'd be radiating in the Force like a storm cloud ready to unleash lightning.

— Yes, — the princess confirmed. — Perfectly healthy. The Imperials administered their initial vaccinations...

— Which were just an excuse to delay our release, — Lando remarked.

— Unfortunately, no, — Leia sighed. — The New Republic has no mandatory vaccination laws for parents, but Imperial regulations... A child cannot leave a medical facility, let alone travel in space, without a full set of vaccinations. And they can't be administered all at once. If there's any attempt at deception here, it's...

— I assure you, Princess, — Thrawn's rich, resonant voice made Luke nearly jump, as he hadn't sensed anything behind him, and the voice came so suddenly... — There is no deception.

How the Grand Admiral entered Leia's quarters remained a mystery. No one heard the sound of doors opening, suggesting some hidden mechanism allowed entry without trace.

— You could at least knock for the sake of decorum, — Leia muttered.

Thrawn stood silently for a moment before extending a hand toward the nearest wooden piece of furniture—a cabinet—and rapped his knuckles against it several times. Even then, his face showed no hint of emotion.

— Is that sufficient? — he asked the group.

Leia nodded reservedly.

— Do you always enter like a thief, Grand Admiral? — Lando asked, glaring at Thrawn. Judging by the hands resting on his blaster holsters, he wasn't pleased with the presence of Thrawn's escorts—a man with a major's rank insignia and a gray-skinned alien referred to as a "Noghri." Likely one of the Honoghr natives mentioned earlier.

— Pardon? — Thrawn asked.

— How did you get through the door without triggering an alarm? — Luke could sense the intent behind Lando's question and his confrontational demeanor.

— If you didn't want anyone to enter, you should have locked the doors, — Thrawn advised. The group turned to the young Jedi.

— Don't they lock automatically? — Luke asked, realizing he was somewhat... technically challenged. Who would've thought that in such an advanced age, hinged doors would still be used in such respectable places?

— These doors are crafted entirely from Kashyyyk wood, — Grand Admiral Thrawn explained. — No one would mar such a treasure with electronic inserts. They're on hinges.

— Luke, — Leia sighed with a reproachful tone. Clearly, she didn't want anyone overhearing their conversation. — Be more careful next time.

— I don't think it's a major issue, — Thrawn remarked. — Drawn by your conversation from outside, I couldn't miss the chance to speak with you before your departure. Yes, Princess, you're absolutely correct—vaccinations are mandatory. I intended to return you to the New Republic long before Councilor Organa-Solo gave birth.

— Then why didn't you? — Lando asked.

— I could be mistaken, but hyperspace travel isn't particularly healthy for newborns, — Thrawn noted. — However, according to the doctors' reports, your children are now strong enough to travel. Wherever you wish to go...

— Yet you framed it as if the children were granted Dominion citizenship, and the New Republic provided you ships in exchange for us, — Leia stated.

— Would you prefer I tell the galaxy the truth? — Thrawn's right eyebrow arched upward.

— The truth? — Luke, unaware of the latest news, hoped for clarification.

— If you wish, Councilor, I can issue a galaxy-wide statement clarifying that the New Republic indeed intended to attack the Oplovis sector, — Grand Admiral Thrawn offered. — But in that case, nearly fifty thousand prisoners of war will remain in labor camps...

— No need, — Leia said quickly. — Thank you for the offer, but no... Just let us leave.

— As you promised Luke, — Lando added.

— Your ship is ready to depart, and the freighters with prisoners are prepared to head to the rendezvous point, — Thrawn stated. — The government of Agamar has agreed to act as a neutral party for the transfer. Given that we procure food supplies from them, I assure you I wouldn't dare bring more ships than agreed upon. The people of Agamar have been quite nervous lately... So, rest assured, my ships will escort you to the planet, transfer the prisoners to New Republic forces, and depart after receiving the food shipment.

— Unless this is another of your ambushes, — Lando said, continuing to challenge Thrawn with his gaze.

— You'll never know until you try, — Thrawn smirked. — As far as I'm aware, the task force ensuring the security and transfer of prisoners is commanded by your husband, Councilor Organa-Solo.

— Han? — Leia said, surprised. Though caught off guard by the news, she quickly composed herself. — Excellent.

An awkward silence followed. Clearly, the Grand Admiral was in no hurry to leave.

— Was your journey enlightening, Jedi Skywalker? — Thrawn asked.

— Quite, — Luke replied curtly.

— Were my leads confirmed? — Thrawn pressed.

— Yes, — Skywalker admitted reluctantly. Truthfully, he didn't want to discuss family matters with anyone beyond his immediate family and friends.

— Really? — Leia gasped.

Luke nodded silently.

— Our mother was Senator Padmé Amidala Naberrie of Naboo, — he said. — I have copies of the records... and proof.

Lando let out a soft whistle. Chewbacca growled enthusiastically, expressing joy for his friends.

— Well, — Grand Admiral Thrawn concluded, — one less mystery in the galaxy. Allow me to congratulate you on resolving this chapter of your clouded past.

— Thank you, — Leia muttered.

— I'm grateful for your assistance, Grand Admiral, — Luke said neutrally.

— And I, you, young Jedi, — Thrawn replied. — I hope our future encounters will occur under far more peaceful circumstances.

— Like when you're brought to Coruscant, — Luke frowned. Why was Lando being so... abrasive? As far as Luke could recall, Calrissian had always been almost aristocratic in his manners.

— Unlikely, — Thrawn remarked, gesturing to halt his major companion, who had taken a step forward. Luke sensed icy, murderous rage emanating from the man. — By the time I visit Coruscant, I doubt we'll cross paths. I'm sure you'll have plenty to occupy you.

The words Luke wanted to say caught in his throat. Was this what he thought it was?

Judging by Leia's and Lando's looks, and Chewbacca's growl, it was exactly that.

Thrawn was planning to attack Coruscant. And he had essentially just told them so, in plain terms...

Because it was hard to imagine circumstances under which he'd visit the New Republic's capital without being in shackles, as an enemy of the state.

— Well, — the Dominion's ruler said, glancing around. — I won't take up more of your time. I have matters to attend to...

— Grand Admiral, may I have a word in private? — Luke blurted out.

Thrawn gave him a questioning look. The others seemed equally puzzled by Skywalker's intent.

— Follow me, — Thrawn offered, heading toward the exit. Luke had no choice but to follow.

After they stepped ten meters from Leia's quarters, the Grand Admiral stopped abruptly and turned to the young Jedi.

— The Corellians and other operatives under Commander Bel Iblis are not part of the current exchange pool, — he said. Luke barely kept his eyes from widening in shock. How had he guessed the topic?!

Was this sentient truly not Force-sensitive?

— I only wanted to inquire about one... sentient, — Luke corrected himself.

— Lieutenant Irenez, I presume, — Luke nodded affirmatively. In a way, he felt responsible for the woman's fate. Even though Bel Iblis was alive, Luke didn't want to leave his acquaintance in captivity.

— Is there nothing that can be done? — he asked hopefully.

Thrawn studied him for several agonizing seconds before responding:

— I believe your account of what exactly happened on Polis Massa would be a fair price for the girl's release.

— I've already told you everything, — Luke said, embarrassed. — I think you heard...

— I'm interested in the part you chose to omit, — Thrawn clarified. — Presumably to avoid worrying your sister.

— Yes, — Skywalker admitted reluctantly. — You're right. Just before my departure, something happened. I encountered an individual sensitive to the Force... the Dark Side...

— Let's continue this in my office, — Thrawn suggested. — A corridor is no place for such discussions.

The young Jedi had no choice but to agree.

***

As before, the *Strike*-class medium cruiser patrolled the Chasin system.

The purpose of this patrol...

No one really knew anymore. The crew simply carried out their task of ensuring the system's security, though everything was already in order.

Smugglers had vanished entirely.

Freighter traffic was established, regulated, and unyielding—a testament to Imperial order.

In Commander Dobramu's view, he and his crew were simply wasting time here. Their ship could be doing something far more useful.

— Captain, — his first officer addressed him. Like every crew member, he was loyal to the New Order, its commands, and resentful of Grand Admiral Thrawn's actions. — A freighter has entered the system, transmitting Imperial transponder codes. One passenger aboard, requesting a meeting with you.

— Begin docking procedures, — Akrey ordered. It was likely his old acquaintance, Kam Solusar. Curious... What did he want now? — Escort the passenger to the briefing room. Ensure it's empty by the time our guest arrives.

— As always, Commander, — the first officer echoed.

By the time Akrey reached the designated compartment, Solusar was waiting, seated at a chair. He looked like he'd recently been through a serious ordeal.

Bruises marked his face, and his posture suggested he'd taken a hard hit. Burn marks and scorches...

"Unlikely to be from fire," Dobramu thought. Solusar had likely been caught in a laser cannon blast.

— Commander, — Solusar greeted in a detached tone.

— Mister...

— No names, — the man interrupted sharply. — I see you're still stuck in this backwater?

— Correct, — Akrey confirmed. — Doing what you ordered...

— We've received your reports on Chasin recruitment numbers and force movements through the system, — Solusar confirmed. — I've been tasked to inform you that the Emperor himself is pleased with your work.

Of course, he would be.

Despite his youth, Akrey understood exactly what the Imperials sought: data on the size of Grand Admiral Thrawn's forces. Palpatine's agents likely had other spies in other systems, as Chasin alone wouldn't suffice. If the Emperor was gathering intelligence on Thrawn's Dominion, he surely had operatives like Akrey in Makem Te, Columus, Keldabe, and other systems where Thrawn recruited. Akrey was merely a cog in a vast machine, much like in the Galactic Empire's prime...

— I'm honored by such high praise, — Akrey admitted. — Can I do anything else for the Emperor?

— Yes, — Solusar replied. — That's why I'm here.

The man produced a datachip from his clothing and handed it to the *Strike*'s commander.

— Our spies discovered a large bacta convoy departing Thyferra, — he said. — Over two dozen heavy freighters. At the coordinates on this chip, they'll be without an escort—my ships will handle their protection. Your task is to capture those ships.

— And deliver them to the Emperor? — Dobramu asked, envisioning the glory and honor he'd earn...

— No, — Solusar stated. — You'll take the convoy to the Dominion as your trophy. It will elevate your standing in Thrawn's eyes.

— I suppose, — Akrey said, confused. Why curry favor with Thrawn if he served the Emperor? — But... why? The Emperor will soon emerge from the shadows and crush his enemies...

— Do as you're ordered, — Solusar said firmly. — By the time Palpatine launches the 'Shadow Hand' campaign, you must be entrenched in the Dominion's inner workings and aware of its defenses. A bacta convoy sufficient to heal an entire army will be your path to the Emperor's further plans.

Akrey's eyes widened.

— Understood, — he nodded. — I'll do it.

— Excellent, — Solusar smiled. — The Emperor is counting on you. Make the Dominion vulnerable, and a fitting reward awaits.

— Thank you, — Akrey said, flustered. — My reward is serving the Emperor...

— As commander of a *Vengeance*-class super star destroyer, you'll serve him far better, — the Emperor's emissary said, rising and passing the stunned cruiser commander. — Succeed, and the Dominion Thrawn built will be yours as well.

***

— Your current residence is quite different from your previous one, — I remarked, crossing the threshold of the Iceheart's quarters. Before the clone moved in, this place resembled the opulent chambers of aristocratic homes and palaces, like those I'd seen during tours of the Winter Palace in my homeworld or Baron D'Asta's residence in this reality.

Now, the luxurious furniture was neatly stored in one of the bedrooms, and the living room was filled with computers arranged in the corners. A small, neatly made cot in the far corner of the largest room suggested that the Iceheart clone preferred to sleep close to her work. Did she behave the same way with HoloNet access?

My gaze swept over shelves filled with meticulously organized datachips for easy retrieval. Naturally, she had no direct access to her network or the ability to contact anyone. All electronics provided to her lacked network modules or ports for data cables, which were also severed. Thanks to young Ghent's efforts, "decoys" were set up—if Isanne tried plugging in any "overlooked" data cables for a wired HoloNet connection, the security bureau would be alerted.

Every move she made was under constant surveillance—one had to stay vigilant with someone like her.

— Thank you, Grand Admiral, — the Iceheart clone said, turning from her monitors to meet my gaze. I'll admit, early on, I did so with cautious apprehension, but after countless encounters with spirited women, I no longer reacted to her. No fear, no suspicion—just calm. Only calm. — I also appreciate when natural light filters through the polarized transparisteel windows.

Indeed, another layer of her isolation—beyond open and hidden cameras, sensors throughout the quarters, round-the-clock guards, and more—were windows transparent only from the inside, making it impossible to signal anyone outside.

— I'm glad you approve, — I said, settling into a chair across from her. — Should you wish to return to your cell below, do let me know.

— Certainly, — she countered my verbal jab. — But I hope my work will convince you I'm better suited here than fifty meters underground.

— In that case, I'd like to hear your results.

— Of course, — she said with a smile. — First, the real Iceheart. I reviewed the list of facilities, bases, and infrastructure associated with TIE Defenders. Most were destroyed during your hunt for Grand Admiral Zaarin, but some were 'cells'—small bases with minimal personnel and equipment for temporary tasks. I cross-referenced these, focusing on those I'd choose myself. From over three thousand, — a sizable number, — I narrowed it to two hundred.

"Still too many."

— I then filtered out those likely to be exposed soon, leaving fifty. By week's end, you'll have her exact location.

— Is that so? — I asked.

— Isanne would never choose a base she couldn't fully control, — the clone noted. — Thus, I need to review the personnel files of Imperial officers at these bases to identify those she could easily kill or break without losing specialist loyalty. Based on battle patterns, she commands elite units—not just equipment but skilled personnel familiar with it.

— Why does she need Himron? — I asked. — Could he still be alive?

— I'm certain he is, — the clone said. — Like me, she values every scrap of information. After her agents in your fleet and forces were exposed, localized, or eliminated, she lost control over events. Major Himron is a valuable source she'll exploit thoroughly before eliminating.

— Is that certain? — I pressed.

— Yes, — she replied firmly. — Himron is like... an unpleasant memory for her. Destroying him physically will rid her of her past ghosts.

— Yet, — I noted, — she could have already broken and killed him.

The clone paused, then shook her head decisively.

— No, — she said. — Molo is physically and mentally robust, qualities that earned him the Emperor's recommendation for intelligence work. Isanne couldn't break him so quickly—not a seasoned operative like him, unlike an untrained civilian. I'm confident he's alive and not under significant pressure, as her priority is manipulating and deceiving Rogue Squadron. She's likely just 'blowing off steam' with him.

— Very well, — I conceded. — I expect accelerated progress on this front. I won't leave my people to Isanne's mercy.

— Admirable zeal, — the clone remarked. — I hadn't noticed such concern for subordinates in you before.

— Sometimes even the best of us forget, — I replied neutrally. What else could I say? Deny it? Agree? I didn't know how Thrawn treated subordinates in such situations. I only knew he rewarded reasonable initiative but despised those who shifted blame.

— Sometimes, — the clone nodded slightly. — May I proceed to other reports?

— By all means, — I permitted.

— I reviewed the processing of Princess Leia by Lieutenant Colonel Astarion, — the Iceheart clone said. — It was sloppy. They hinted too transparently that Councilor Fey'lya might be our agent acting in our interests, but without solid evidence, Astarion's claims and Leia's conclusions are questionable. — Indeed, the plan had been different, but the Bothan's interference forced us to conquer the Ciutric Hegemony. — If you're interested, Grand Admiral, I propose a plan to rectify this, assuming the Fey'lya and Bothan card is still relevant.

"It's relevant, especially with the Caamas Document—I need to reintegrate the Bothans into the New Republic's power structure." But I hadn't devised a strategy yet.

— I'm listening, — I said.

— Arrange an escape for the Bothans, — she suggested. — I have a script for such a scenario. First, if you approve, I'll break Fey'lya and his allies using my knowledge and data on the real Iceheart's operations, making them believe they're in her custody. During interrogations, I'll torment them, exposing how thoroughly they were deceived to play on their pride. Then, we stage a convincing escape, allowing them to return to Coruscant with information critical to the New Republic. I can't specify what yet, but given their repeated military failures, I'd suggest leveraging their desire to trap and destroy you. Such critical information will restore the New Republic's trust in the Bothans, reintegrating them into the upper echelons...

— And undermine the senators' faith in the government's judgment, — I continued.

— Precisely, — the clone agreed. — A seed of distrust planted in fertile soil. It will destabilize the New Republic, further sowing discord between senators and the Provisional Government...

And possibly cause the New Republic to collapse before Palpatine and his armada arrive. A risky prospect, but intriguing. Not as straightforward as the clone suggests, but there's a rational core to it.

I needed to consider how to use this wisely and guard against the clone's potential schemes.

— Any progress with the surviving Rogue Squadron pilots? — I asked.

The visit to the Distra asteroid yielded intriguing results. Beyond the late Prince-Admiral Krennel's hidden TIE production facilities within the asteroid, two surviving Rogue Squadron pilots—Asyr Sei'lar and Wes Janson—were found among the wreckage. A curious pair... who, in known events, also survived a similar ambush in *Isard's Revenge*. A striking coincidence, isn't it?

— I've only done preliminary work, — the clone said. — Janson is a typical ideologically driven Republican. Even with processing equipment, I wouldn't guarantee turning him into a sleeper agent. His will, determination, and belief in his cause are too strong. However, — a smile played on her lips, — I believe he could be an excellent donor for pilots of our X-wings, Headhunters, and other craft.

— Is that so? — I asked. An interesting hint. What lay behind it?

— I'm certain you have memory-imprinting devices alongside cloning cylinders, — she continued, eyes fixed on me. — Specialists could manipulate Janson's memory image to make him believe he's a seasoned Dominion pilot, exponentially increasing our pilot pool. Given his exceptional piloting skills and pinpoint accuracy, he'd be an ideal donor for pilots of familiar ship types. And since he's officially listed as dead, he could be an endless source of genetic material.

There's rational merit in her words.

And a clone of Wes Janson could be used in other ways.

Noted.

— The Bothan, Sei'lar, — I shifted the topic. — Your assessment?

— Quite fascinating, — a mischievous glint flickered in the clone's eyes. — I'd call her a goldmine for destabilizing Bothan society. She was the lover of another Rogue Squadron pilot, Gavin Darklighter, for some time. Despite being a Bothan, she holds a curious perspective on her people and their policies—she doesn't support them, to put it mildly. I also learned she and Darklighter planned to adopt a child, and their relationship is a subject of scrutiny and condemnation in Bothan society. From subtle cues during interrogation, I gathered she's unconsciously relieved to be presumed dead. She views her relationship with Darklighter as a dead end.

— A logical judgment, biologically speaking, — I noted. — Bothans and humans can't produce offspring.

— Hence the adoption plan, — the clone explained. — Moreover, Sei'lar had a heated confrontation with Fey'lya over this. He urged her to leave Darklighter, threatening to obstruct him. In his view, she should return to Bothawui to become a national hero.

— A typical Bothan approach, — I summarized. — Elevate a hero within a unit, then bring her home to turn her into political capital. The Bothan clan sponsoring her would gain her favor and leverage her name in negotiations.

— They say you don't understand politics, Grand Admiral, — the clone said with a smirk. I let the remark pass. Any response would sound like an excuse, and Grand Admirals don't justify themselves to subordinates. Thank you, Imperial snobbery. — But yes, exactly.

— How does this help us? — I asked.

— It's speculative, but I believe she could be recruited as an agent of influence within Bothan society, — the clone said.

— I highly doubt any Rogue Squadron pilot would listen to your arguments without suspecting manipulation, — I remarked.

— True, — she smiled. — That's why I only observe her interrogations, review holorecordings, and study her behavior without direct contact. Seeing me would make her shut down and refuse cooperation. You, however, are different. Your authority could sway her from a certain perspective. Given your history of defeating her nemesis, it's an intriguing concept...

Noted again.

— Continue observation and analysis, — I ordered.

— Absolutely, Grand Admiral, — the clone smiled. — May I point out something else?

— You may share the information, — I corrected.

— In that case, — she slid a datachip toward me. — This is a copy of a message from operative Rederick, sent to Kuat for the gravity mines...

— I'm well aware of his mission, — I said.

— Of course, — she nodded. — What's noteworthy is this: based on nonverbal cues, I believe his account of the *Raider*-class corvette theft isn't entirely truthful.

Intriguing.

— His claim that a naval special forces group wants to meet you personally raises suspicions, — she continued. — I believe it's a trap.

No surprise there—I'd already deduced as much.

— Rederick is being used to lure you out, — the clone said. — I'm confident Captain Makeno may not know his employer's true intentions but must realize no high-ranking officer would meet someone of lower rank. Thus, he's acting on orders from his commander or employer. I suspect the meeting's goal is to ensure you're at a specific place and time with a set number of escort ships.

— A classic ambush, — I stated. — You didn't receive this copy to tell me what I already know. I want your judgment on the employer.

— Simple, — she said, spreading her hands. — Ennix Devian. You stripped him of ships and resources at his secret storage base. He aims to kill you, using his standard 'bait' tactic, scaled to a space battle. I'm not certain he's acting independently—I lack the data. But the prospects are significant.

— That's why I agreed to the meeting, — the clone gave me an intrigued look. — But that's not relevant to this discussion. The droids guarding your quarters—have you identified their origin?

— Of course, — she said with a hint of languor. — Droidekas from the Zann Consortium's model. The components are theirs as well—well-known technology. Clearly, someone seized their factories after the organization's collapse. The B-2 droid is a new assembly, meaning someone has a production line for these machines. Likely the Corporate Sector, where many Imperial warlords have taken refuge. The 'corporates' have the capability to produce such equipment. A detailed component analysis is needed...

— So you haven't conducted it yet? — I asked, surprised given her diligence.

— Correct, — she smiled, offering another datachip. — Fresh data from my informants behind New Republic lines. Intriguing details about what will happen to the prisoners upon their return...

Using a reader to access the message, I smirked inwardly but showed no reaction.

Noted.

— Everything is proceeding according to plan, — I assured her. — The New Republic intends to screen the prisoners in filtration camps to identify sleeper agents.

— And extract information about your forces, — the clone added. — This threatens the entire campaign—if they learn the exact size of your forces...

— That's the point, — I said, returning the device. — The New Republic will have to work hard to achieve their goal. And even then, they'll gain little.

It wasn't for nothing that they were receiving these prisoners.

Over fifty thousand sentients, long held in my captivity, had no inkling of my current assets.

The last time they set foot on a New Republic warship was in the Dufilvian sector.

Much had changed since then.

Nearly everything.