— Corvette, stay alert: three enemies are approaching from below along the starboard side, — Captain Shohashi's booming voice echoed across the bridge.
— Acknowledged, Captain, — replied the young officer commanding the escort starship. — We're engaging them.
Erik glanced at the tactical display. Indeed, the small ship deftly emitted long streams of bluish-white flame and headed toward the starboard side of the Imperious, firing all its guns at the heavy Mandalorian-made fighters. M12-L Kimogila. Too large for a fighter, too light for a bomber. A misunderstanding that, for some reason, was developed by the Mandalorians for the Hutts.
If these boars posed a danger to anyone, it was only to themselves. No matter how much they tried to inspire fear with their number of guns and the presence of a proton torpedo launcher, the crew of the Imperious had encountered such vessels more than once—possessed by almost every mid-level pirate gang, not to mention the fleets of the Hutts and other riffraff.
Almost three times larger than a TIE fighter and about forty to thirty percent slower than it. In a battle like this, even the presence of armor didn't save them—the Corellian corvette literally tore such vessels apart.
— Threat neutralized, Captain, — the duty officer appeared next to Erik.
— Good. — Shohashi peered at a new group of small pirate ships approaching from the port side. Half a dozen machines, X4 assault gunships. Another creation of the Incom Corporation. Six light laser cannons and a pair of medium ones. Not dangerous…
For a Star Destroyer. But they had just smashed the fighters to smithereens, turning three TIE fighters that rushed to intercept them into debris.
The first losses since the battle began.
— Attention to the tractor beam operators, — Erik leaned on his cane, feeling the precious stone knob dig into his palm with its facets. — Six X4s are approaching from the port side. Capture and hold them. Medium turbolasers, immediately after capture—rid us of this annoying trifle.
— Order understood, Captain!
— It will be done, Captain!
Erik slipped his left palm into the pocket of his Alderaanian uniform, pulling out a pocket chronometer. With a light click, the top cover flipped open, revealing an image of a young Imperial aristocrat on the inside. Iren Ryad. "Red Star." A lost love, dearer than life.
The Star Destroyer commander ran his thumb over the face of the deceased baroness, feeling every detail of the miniature engraving. This gesture had become something like a spiritual act for him. Tranquility, calmness, concentration.
Even after death, she gave him the strength to continue.
— Two X4s captured! — reported the tractor beam control post. — Four more machines are performing countermeasures…
— Fire on the captured ones, — ordered Erik. — Transmit to the corvette—destroy all X4s.
To lose three fighters in one skirmish with pirates. Even if they were Nym's spawn, one of the luckiest sons of bitches in the Outer Rim. No, that's unforgivable. And worst of all, these three were Alderaanian pilots of the New Republic who surrendered to him during one of the last raids on Rebel bases. Poor training. They needed to increase the number of training flights.
Meanwhile, the trapped X4 gunships vainly tried to break free from their invisible captivity. But the operators weren't paid for nothing—the enemy was trapped. And three heavy turbolaser batteries were now sending nine shots at them at the limit of their firing rate. Range conditions—when the enemy was stationary and practically unable to offer any significant resistance.
The first enemy ship cracked after the second salvo. Its partner lasted exactly one salvo longer.
— Four gunships are reforming, Captain, — they reported to him. — Approaching the destroyer from the bow.
— Aim the turret artillery at the enemy, — demanded Shohashi. — Tractor beam operators—act with maximum efficiency. Batteries, why is some unfinished Kimogila loitering on our starboard side?
— Sir, the ship is transmitting a distress signal and reports that it surrenders, — replied the communications officer. — It claims its reactor is damaged and requests evacuation.
— Oh, really? — Erik smirked. The trick was as old as time. — Starboard batteries—lay a salvo below and above the Kimogila. Operator—capture the fighter with the tractor beam and hold it. Point-defense artillery, be ready to destroy proton torpedoes.
His attention was drawn to a trio of X4s caught by tractor beams while attempting to strafe the destroyer's upper hemisphere with frontal fire. Now the ships, having lost one of their own, furiously tried to break free, but the Imperious's turret turbolasers tore the thirty-meter vessels to pieces time and again, littering the surrounding space with debris.
— The Kimogila is trying to break free, — they informed him.
— How timely his reactor emergency was resolved, — Erik grinned. Destroying pirates and Rebels was the only thing he loved with that maniacal obsession attributed to him. — Destroy the fighter.
One precise shot from the battery, and the Mandalorian-made fighter turned into a cloud of debris. But following it, upgraded Headhunters were already breaking through to the destroyer. TIE Interceptors sat on their tails, vigorously polishing their nozzles. Of the three Z-95s, only three clouds of debris reached the side of the Imperious.
The destruction of the pirates continued.
Multiple diverse machines perished every second, illuminating space with miniature explosions. Both the Chimaera and the Imperious mercilessly exterminated the pirate craft. Pilots from both destroyers tirelessly blew up the galaxy's scum, administering justice to those who had turned this sector, this system, into a pirate haven.
Erik didn't ponder how Thrawn had discovered a safe path into the system. All previous Imperial fleet attempts to get here had ended in failure. Watching two destroyers beat the pirate horde, producing dozens of corpses, Shohashi could only guess how low the Imperial bureaucracy had fallen, distorting data about the Karthakk sector. Otherwise, Grand Moff Tarkin would have cleaned out this pirate nest long ago, and justice would have caught up with society's scum much earlier.
On the other hand, Tarkin had always been a cunning Imperial. The captain of the Imperious had no doubt Thrawn spoke the truth—Tarkin had indeed made a deal with Nym. Only for that reason could an entire sector be handed over to scoundrels and rogues.
But that only made it more bitter. It meant the Empire had rotted even more, and earlier, than Erik had imagined. An unpleasant feeling—to serve those who spoke of honor and glory, peace and order, while secretly covering for criminals.
Erik didn't approve of Thrawn's flirtation with privateers either, but he admitted the initiative was sensible. Why waste the lives of Imperials, already few under the Grand Admiral's command, when you could use riffraff? In principle, they could even be turned against each other later.
Although… Shohashi wouldn't mind facing the Cavrilhu himself. Those pirates commanded a real fleet. No one in the nearest hundred sectors was more ruthless.
And yet, one had to give Nym credit.
Erik appreciated Lieutenant Creb's conversation with the pirate pilot. Saved from slavery to become his pilot. In the Outer Rim, where there were almost no chances to escape barbaric laws or slavery, the offer to become a pirate in exchange for freedom… Yes, many would agree to that. The impunity of pirate gangs, proliferating here after the New Republic rose from the ashes, gave many shortsighted locals a sense of permissiveness.
Using such pilots or specialists to fill professional shortages… Why not?
On Tangrene, thousands of aliens worked, smelting armor and components for Imperial equipment. And may he be damned if a single fighter, turbolaser, or system ever failed due to defects, sabotage, or shoddy assembly. Imperial factories had more production defects than they did now.
— A squadron of X-Wings is approaching from the port side, — they reported to Erik.
— Barrage fire, — he ordered. — Direct a squadron of TIE Interceptors to destroy them. Point-defense artillery, track the targets!
— Yes, sir, — the subordinate reported. — Commander… they seem to be surrendering.
— What nonsense? — he frowned. — Since when do pirates surrender to the Imperious?
— It seems that today this is the first of its kind, — the officer said warily.
— Track the fighters, — he ordered. — Order them to move to the Chimaera. Inform Pellaeon of the current situation, and that I don't believe in their good intentions.
— Yes, sir, — the subordinate responded.
On one hand, Lieutenant Creb had found a way to reduce the battle's intensity—some pirates were laying down arms, confirming their lack of interest in fighting to the death. They might not be so loyal serving Thrawn.
On the other hand, under the guise of surrender, this scum might try to get closer to the ships and inflict heavy damage.
It took considerable talent and cunning to hide under such cover. Most commanders of this caliber would prefer direct attack or flight over subtler pirate intentions.
But Thrawn had cut off all escape routes. Over three dozen starships under the Grand Admiral's command were in the system. The pirate slaughter in orbit around Lok was happening in every corner of the Karthakk system. No one would leave.
Desperation would drive the defenders, flushed from their hideouts, toward Imperial ships, intent on taking some of Thrawn's subordinates with them. That's why Shohashi, whose destroyer was on the front line, had no intention of dealing with prisoners—real or fake. He wouldn't risk his ship. The Chimaera… Thrawn would handle it.
— Three BTL-Bs are approaching from the port side, sir!
— Direct fighters to the port side—spare me mentions of these scoundrels' bombers! — Erik snapped, snapping shut his pocket chronometer and stowing it in his uniform.
***
— Orbital station Lok is fully under our stormtroopers' control, Grand Admiral, — reported Gilad.
— Losses? — I inquired, watching intently as our fighters and interceptors destroyed pirate starships. Skillfully, simply, easily, and with taste. Intensive training and combat missions were paying off. Given how often TIE fighter pilots used to die, the casualty count hadn't just dropped—it was orders of magnitude lower. A good sign.
— Eighteen soldiers, sir, — he replied. — Over three hundred of Nym's fighters killed, forty more captured. We have information on over a thousand slaves of various races working as specialists and maintenance personnel on the station.
— Leave an occupation garrison on the station, — I ordered. — Keep prisoners and slaves in place until we have full control of the planet. Then we'll proceed with screening procedures.
— Yes, sir, — said Pellaeon. — I've ordered transports and escort fighters sent to the pirate squadrons reporting surrender. But until the fighting ends, we can't evacuate the equipment or crews. Ordering them to fight on our side now isn't reasonable. Especially that dozen X-Wings Shohashi didn't want to deal with.
— Not quite accurate, Captain, — I noted. — The Imperious is on the attack front. The Chimaera is in the second line. Shohashi is doing the job he was called here for. Dealing with prisoners—whether they've surrendered to our mercy or are saboteurs aiming to harm our ships—is inconvenient for him. So, we'll do it.
— How, sir? — Pellaeon frowned. — Guarding such a crowd with our fighters or interceptors would weaken our defense.
— No one's suggesting that, — I remarked. — Transmit to the surrendered Headhunters and X-Wings to take their machines in squadrons to a remote point—near station Lok in the Black Asp's responsibility zone—and eject the crews. Collect the pilots and deliver them to the station under the occupation garrison's guard, machines too.
— With canopies shot off and pyrocharges activated, you can't fly much without pilot seats, — Pellaeon realized. — But we can easily fix that and arm them for ourselves later.
— Not to mention saving the lives of several squadrons' pilots, — I said, watching as the Chimaera's fighters and guns methodically tore enemy fighters apart. — Who could staff our air wings on Mon Calamari cruisers and join raids in the future.
— Do you think they'll all want to join us? — Gilad clarified.
— That'd be too optimistic, — I noted. — A few will suffice. The rest, even if they don't agree, are part of our victory. Fewer enemy pilots now means less time for our pilots to destroy Nym's. Captain, what do the groups sent to Lok's moon report?
— The orbital cannon is captured, — Pellaeon reported. — Heavily damaged but restorable. An interceptor squadron in the area is blocking enemy attempts to reach the cannon complex on the moon's surface.
— Excellent, — I concluded, glancing at the tactical monitor. Red marks were dwindling. Half an hour ago, they outnumbered our combined air wings; now our pilots held the advantage, and the gap was widening fast. — Prepare transports to attack Nym's fortress. While Shohashi clears the orbit, we'll start the ground operation. Captain Tiberos, — I looked at the burly avenger, held at a distance by my bodyguards but brought closer at my signal. While Pellaeon managed the battle, I could speak with the silent statue of the former privateer gang leader. — Today, you'll have a chance to settle scores with an old enemy.
— Thank you, — he said with poorly concealed satisfaction. — Grand Admiral, this… I'll never forget.
— Undoubtedly, — I agreed. — Because you'll get Captain Nym only under one condition, Captain Tiberos.
The privateer tensed, so noticeably that Tierce, standing beside him, jabbed him in the kidneys. All his feigned belligerence deflated like a punctured balloon.
— What conditions? — he inquired impatiently.
— You'll get Captain Nym and your parents' weapons only if you swear allegiance to me, — I said, examining the battle scene before me. It was magnificent—not as mass murder, but as military art.
— W-what? — the privateer stammered. — I thought you were going to execute me.
— If you insist, why not, — I shrugged. A gleaming blade appeared in Rukh's hand. — But you boasted you're the only privateer I hired who built your own group. I value your organizational skills. I believe you're capable of leading the auxiliary fleet I'm forming to centrally handle what privateers did before.
— So you just want to put privateers on a salary and force us into your regulations? — Tiberos bared his teeth. — Not many will go for that.
— Those who don't agree will die, — I stated, looking at him. — At the hands of those who join you.
— Make us hunt our own… — he whispered, lost in thought.
— Swear allegiance, take the oath, and 'your own' will be only those under my command, — I said plainly. — Your former buddies—pirates, smugglers, slavers, and other criminals—will become legitimate targets, now or later.
— Not a bad choice you offer, — Tiberos said after a pause. — Long-awaited revenge for long-awaited fleet command… I assume I've no time to think, right?
— Not the slightest, — I confirmed.
— Why me, not Irv or Vain? — the former pirate asked.
— Besides what I've said, you're ruthless in achieving goals, — I replied. — Your drive to seize this system and match Nym's authority with your own group is impressive. So is your uncompromising pursuit. I offer you a choice: agree, and you get your fleet, revenge, and a chance to live.
— Otherwise, my neck gets wrung? — Tiberos clarified.
— I don't know, — I said honestly. — I've never cared about execution methods my bodyguards devise. But you get the gist: agree, and you leave the Chimaera free. Refuse, and I'll find you a deeper hole.
Tiberos didn't need to know his life was bought by a Jedi scholar.
— So you've already worked Eymand too? — he asked. — Since you know about the revenge and my parents' weapons…
— Your old Jedi friend agreed to work for me for other reasons, — I said.
— Luring pirates and privateers to serve you won't be easy, — Tiberos continued after a pause. — Few will risk so much for a salary against the Cavrilhu or others to even staff a fleet.
— Then consider working with the letters of marque you hold, — I suggested. — From now on, only auxiliary forces will act on our intelligence. Other privateers will hunt prey on their own.
— To die in their first fight, — Tiberos laughed. — No, it's brilliant. You hire privateers to pluck the New Republic, feeding them at the trough. You escalate convoy situations so much that cruisers are needed to counter escorts, then announce guaranteed prey only for those who take the Oath and join your auxiliary forces… Grand Admiral, are you sure you're not in with the Hutts?
The slap Tierce gave the big man rang across the bridge, reminding the privateer of respect and subordination.
— I agree, — he said. — But it'll take time to find ships and sway people…
— As you may have heard, some of Nym's henchmen have tried their luck surrendering to us, — I reminded him.
— Don't tell me you believed them, — Tiberos winced as if in pain. — Most joined Nym willingly to rob and live well. They're just saving their skins—your pilot's revelations touched maybe one or two consciences. The rest saw a chance to avoid a total purge.
— Their loyalty is your problem now, — I declared. — As is the loyalty of those you recruit later. I hope you learned from the Monastery system. I won't tolerate scheming behind my back. Harm my campaign again, and your head will decorate the Noghri trophy hall. Clear enough?
— Crystal clear, — Tiberos nodded. — I hope my subordinates are still alive and can join your auxiliary forces? I'd vouch for each with my head and their consent to serve you.
— We'll discuss that after the Karthakk campaign, — I said. — For now, you'll go with stormtroopers to Lok's surface and capture Nym's fortress for me. He must stay alive until I permit your revenge. Understood?
— Crystal clear, — the privateer said, then added after a pause:
— Taking him alive won't be easy. Last time we fought one-on-one, he was stronger than expected. I'm sure he's got surprises this time.
— Captain Tiberos, — I turned my chair to look him in the eyes. Ordinary human eyes, but with no irises—just two black pupils like blaster barrels aimed at the speaker. Frightening, perhaps. — I need Nym able to talk and answer questions coherently. Everything else is irrelevant.
Tiberos smiled carnivorously, baring his teeth like a predator cornering prey with nowhere to run.
— Don't worry, Grand Admiral, — the giant knelt before me, bowing in submission. — By the time you're ready to talk, Nym will tell you everything you want to know. He'll beg your interest in him lasts as long as possible.
— That suits me, Captain Tiberos, — I declared. — You have your task. Go to it.
After the privateer moved far enough away, Captain Pellaeon approached me.
— Recon droids report enemy starship movements at system stations, — he announced. — Their courses suggest they're heading straight for us.
— As expected, Nym called his rivals for help, — I smirked. — The Karthakk cleanup moves to phase two. Captain Pellaeon, inform the fleet—it's time to leave the Ruby Nebula and capture the remaining faction stations. Auxiliary starships, jump to our position.
— Yes, sir, — he said.
I checked the tactical monitor. Enemy squadrons were effectively destroyed. The Chimaera and Imperious lost no more than a dozen machines—twenty times fewer than the enemy. An epochal triumph of justice. No wonder Nym sought aid from other gangs with stakes in Karthakk—his large ships (converted freighters) were destroyed by the Imperious on the planet's surface. His fighters were shot down or surrendered. One of his stations was captured—and judging by his attempt to retake the moon's cannon, he was desperate.
Time for the Chimaera to take new steps.
— Contact Captain Shohashi, — I ordered. — The Imperious stays to finish orbital cleanup and support the Black Asp. Captain Pellaeon, set course for the station once held by the Rebel Alliance.
With the orbital cannon threat on Lok's moon eliminated, Nym's planet-based forces nearly wiped out, and squadrons from other pirate stations moving toward us—leaving their outposts open to our Star Destroyers—it was time to verify Captain Tiberos's intel on the Lok Revenants' loot. If there were indeed vast sums and valuables, so be it—I'd negotiate with Captain Vain to buy the Black Pearl for my Jedi friend Eymand.
— Major Tierce, — I addressed the guardsman. — Select fighters. You'll storm a potential treasury.
A barely noticeable nod from the man in scarlet armor confirmed he understood and was ready to act immediately.
***
It felt like she was floundering in a viscous substance. No matter how hard she tried to paddle out of this oblivion, she sank deeper. It seemed she was thrashing in a swamp, each movement hastening her submersion.
How long this lasted, she didn't know. She had no idea. She only knew that, at some point, she simply tired of resisting.
Then, as if something began pushing her toward an indistinct surface. With each moment, she felt better, her strength returning…
Finally, dawn rattled above her head—and the girl surfaced, gasping for breath.
Mara Jade opened her eyes and realized she was sitting. Glancing around instinctively, she was bewildered. "Interesting, where have I ended up?"
She was clearly in a medical bay—numerous medical monitors, devices, and panels emitting soft yet unwarming light overhead confirmed it. A 2-1B surgical droid stood deactivated in the corner.
There was no doubt she was on a ship—the shipboard environment was unmistakable. Even with effort, it was hard to misinterpret the steady hum of mechanisms imparting a faint vibration, suggesting a small vessel. Otherwise, inertial dampeners would've eliminated the shaking entirely.
She could definitively say she wasn't on an Imperial ship—there, the medical bay was far more spacious and differently furnished. No, this was a private ship… Painfully familiar, yet she couldn't recall where she'd seen it or who owned it.
Her thoughts jumbled, her head buzzed, and her chest ached faintly. She hadn't left the bacta tank long ago—the characteristic aftertaste lingered in the air.
But that smell was common in most medical facilities.
Jade licked her parched lips. Yes, a bacta residue lingered on them. Someone had cared for her. Unlikely someone loyal to the New Republic—it'd be idiotic to leave a saboteur found in the Imperial Palace alone in a room full of potential weapons. They could've at least handcuffed her to the bed for decency. That'd delay her a couple of minutes.
She lifted the blanket. At least she wore her own clothes, though less of them. The abrasions from her fight with Targeter were gone. Definitely bacta.
The red-haired beauty knew that if someone was watching, "guests" would arrive soon. She wasn't sure she wanted to meet them personally.
She slipped silently from under the snow-white blanket and onto the deck. Her feet touched the cool metal, a shiver running through her, instantly clearing her head.
On the bedside table, she found her black combat jumpsuit. But no weapons. How prudent—no lightsaber, no blaster, no spare blaster, not even throwing knives.
Mara dressed silently, feeling slightly more protected. She was finally starting to guess where she was. But it didn't answer how she got here or who was behind it. Friend or foe?
Tiptoeing as Imperial instructors had taught her, she moved silently to the hatch—the exit from the medical bay—ready to face any danger beyond. She waved her hand over the lock sensor, and the round hatch split obediently, each half sliding in opposite directions.
Jade crossed the threshold in one fluid motion, quickly assessing the scene…
And froze, a mix of surprise and irritation washing over her as she took in the sight.
— Oh, — exclaimed a young man with blue hair sitting on a couch. — Hi, Mara!
He glanced at her over a datapad that held his interest, lounging with his legs up, eagerly devouring nut kernels. Ones he'd found in the galley. Ones costing nearly a thousand credits per hundred grams—a delicacy with a useful property few knew about, except Imperial Intelligence agents, who'd told her. And this… partner, judging by the opened packages, was finishing the last of them. Uh-huh. "Stocked up on nuts that aid recovery from severe injuries with their blood-forming contents, huh."
— Well, hi, Ghent, — Mara grumbled, staring intently at the insolent boy. Despite her lack of Force training, her gaze could still be dangerous. The slicer suddenly coughed, choking on a nut. Jade came to the computer tech's aid, heartily acquainting his skinny back with her kind palm—five times, until the stuck nut flew out, along with his natural spontaneity and… no, not dental crowns, just chewing gum.
— Thanks, — the slicer said once his lungs recovered from the friendly patting, reaching for another nut. Mara unceremoniously snatched the last one. Ghent furrowed his brows, looked at her, the remaining nuts, then back at her… and returned to his task, staring glumly at his personal datapad.
Mara crunched the nut demonstratively. It was clear they weren't captives. Good—where then? Not their ship. Not the Shadow Thrawn gave her. But the interior was disgustingly familiar. And those nuts…
Ghent shot her an offended glance.
— How are you feeling? — he asked politely.
— Better than anyone, — Jade said in a tone promising trouble, still boring into him and frantically searching her memory. "Little brat…"
— I didn't mean to! — the slicer blushed instantly. She must've said that aloud. — I couldn't… you know… touch you…
— But you did, — she said in the same tone, imagining a laser sight dot at the base of his neck. An old trick. The Emperor taught it to her when she was… seventeen? Fifteen? She couldn't recall. But its effect…
Palpatine said nearly all beings were tied to the Force. Some so closely they could direct it, like Jedi. Fewer could control it, like him or Darth Vader. He never said which category Jade fell into. But if she were among the latter, the Emperor's Hand suspected her life would've been shorter. Vader already saw every Force-sensitive near Palpatine as a rival or replacement, training his own in later years.
Back to the trick. Most sentients had intuition—or at least a faint sense of danger. A skilled Force user could "provoke" a target, heightening their awareness with a mental threat. Palpatine said this helped him spot potential Force-sensitives in his circle. The Force warned them of imaginary danger, and no one stayed indifferent to that premonition.
But if a Jedi reacted, an ordinary sentient would feel uneasy—like a bloodthirsty gaze on them.
Ghent squirmed on the couch. He was the best slicer she'd met, certainly the best in Talon Karrde's organization. And "The Claw" never kept anyone less than the best near him.
Ghent sitting with his legs up on a clearly expensive, first-class ship, datapad in hand, strongly suggested they weren't captives. Only an idiot wouldn't see who Ghent was at heart. Placing a slicer and computers within a turbolaser's range… You'd have to be pretty stupid. Or not human. But very stupid.
— I… I'm sorry! — the boy's lower lip trembled. — Mara, you're like a sister… I didn't mean to… I just wanted to give you some painkiller.
— Oh yes, you anesthetized me good, — she said venomously. — Someday, you'll have broken ribs too. Believe me, I'll be there, lovingly rubbing painkiller into them.
Ghent sighed convulsively, staring at the datapad screen. It sank in. Good boy. She'd praise his rescue later—once she figured out where they were and how they got here.
Mara glanced around. They hadn't spared credits on this ship. It felt fresh from storage—or newly built. Judging by the onboard equipment, only a wealthy sentient could afford it. Clearly an Imperial tech fan—she saw no trace of Republic mechanisms. Maybe elsewhere on the ship.
— Where are we? — she asked, finishing her survey.
— On a ship, — Ghent grumbled, offended. Mara offered him the treat with a charming smile.
— Want a nut? — The kernel sat in her palm, fingers wiggling playfully, reminding him of the patting. — No? — The slicer nodded, signaling disinterest in the delicacy. — Then tell me what this vessel is, who owns it, and how we ended up here. Everything, from when your efforts knocked me out in the executive wing library.
— Well… — The slicer slid to the couch's edge. — Basically… we got help.
— You're hiding something, Ghent, — she admitted, not needing the Force to see it. Squinting, she leaned toward him:
— Tell me yourself, or should I ask… more insistently?
— No-no-no-no-no! — Fear flashed in his eyes as he tried to shield himself with the datapad.
— Then—I'm listening, — Mara offered mercifully.
— Well… uh… — Ghent looked away, blushing deeply. — When you…
— Passed out, — the redhead prompted.
— Sort of… — He seemed to recall what led to her blackout. Why else would his ears redden? "Well, kid, soon you'll recall this as your worst nightmare." — Anyway… you fell, but I caught you! — he added hastily.
— What a good boy, — Mara praised sarcastically. She'd blundered, trying to take Targeter alive, using her lightsaber to intimidate rather than kill, as trained. The kid had outdone her. "No matter, I'll face that Winter again. First, I'll get back in shape. Then her white-haired skills won't help her. Man, she hits hard with that right!" — So what happened after I passed out?
— Well… uh… the white-haired one came to, — Ghent cast her a cautious glance, then looked at the hatch across the lounge, hinting at the trouble he'd hidden.
— So-o-o, — Mara drawled. The Force stirred instantly. "Should've done this sooner! That old habit from serving 'The Claw,' trying to live without the Force so Palpatine's last order wouldn't drive me mad. Minimizing it already cost me a few failures. Some Hand…"
— Who's there?! — Sensing a sentient in the next cabin, she advanced on the slicer.
— Mara… I… — the blue-haired slicer's eyes widened. — I couldn't have dragged you without her!
— Fool! — Jade hissed. — She's a Republic saboteur!
Ignoring Ghent's pleading cries, Mara grabbed a nearby metal part and rushed to the cabin door. She swiped the lock sensor, yanked the hatch open, and burst inside…
And froze, stunned by the sight.
A white-haired girl sat on a narrow bunk. No trace of the bruises Jade had inflicted in their library clash. She wore the same outfit as before.
Winter looked up from her datapad, its partially dismantled casing revealing a removed remote Holonet module—and any network access.
— You! — Mara squinted.
— Me, — she agreed, setting the device on the table. — You okay?
Thrawn's Hand felt her eye twitch. Was this the same blonde beast she'd fought? Why the concern?
— Not complaining, — Jade replied. Winter didn't seem eager to fight, and Ghent had clearly ensured she couldn't communicate. Something didn't add up. How had a weakling like Ghent subdued Targeter when even Mara couldn't?
— Mara, I… — the slicer began as he approached.
— How? — she demanded. — What ship is this?! Where are we going?!
— Your friend, the Emperor's Hand, convinced me to help you, — Winter said. — I dragged you from the library while he finished hacking the Imperial Information Center. I don't have answers to the rest.
— G-h-e-e-nt! — Mara shook the boy by the shoulders.
— What was I supposed to do?! — he asked, frightened. — You're injured and out cold. She— — he pointed at the white-haired one — —comes to. If she beat you like that, what'd she do to me?!
— She got lucky, — Mara caught herself wanting to pummel the slicer. "Stupid little Ghent!" — I wanted her alive for interrogation by…
— Grand Admiral Thrawn? — Winter clarified.
— G-h-e-e-nt!
— It wasn't me! — he pleaded. — She already knew!
"Fool! Doesn't matter what she knew! Now she's got proof Thrawn exists!"
— You've nothing to worry about, Mara, — Winter declared. — Ghent and I made a deal. I help you escape Coruscant…
— And in return?! — demanded Thrawn's Hand.
— He promised to share info from the Imperial Information Center archives, — Winter's voice boomed like thunder. — Specifically, his clever algorithm once we're safe.
Mara glared at the boy until he shrank.
— Hearing trouble, — she asked sweetly, — or did you promise her access to the Imperial Palace archives?!
A worse deal couldn't be imagined! What was he thinking, giving them a key to data they'd barely touched?
— Your hearing's fine, — Winter "reassured" her. — Ghent agreed to lend his algorithm to aid me in some matters…
— Oh, really?! — "No, I'll smack him. Hard!"
— …because my mission became impossible after he promised to erase the Imperial Information Center data, — Targeter finished.
Her heart sank into oblivion.
— Mara… — Ghent said cautiously. — She figured out what we were doing. If they'd caught me, they'd have the algorithm, hacking everything…
— I see, — Jade said, dragging the best slicer she knew out by the ear. Kicking the hatch shut with a bang, she shook him until he barely stood.
— Are you insane?! — she hissed in his face. — The mission was to hack it!
— Why're you so mad?! — he protested, rubbing his scratched ear. — What was I supposed to do when she thrashed you like that?
— Grab a blaster and shoot her! — Jade snapped, knowing it was nonsense. Ghent avoided weapons even for target practice, let alone harming or killing anyone.
— Sure, and the Republicans would've swarmed us, — he pouted.
— I see, — Mara nodded mechanically. No, her fault. She'd tried to take the wretch alive and botched it. The kid did what seemed logical—used a high-ranking enemy to flee. "Honestly, better if he'd shot her and escaped alone…"
Mara willed herself back to reality. What would he have done? Even if he'd opened the secret passage, reached the ship—he couldn't pilot a starship. At all. Basic level included! He could steer, sure, but half of Coruscant would've rushed to the Imperial Palace to see a tauntaun at the helm. Plus, the slicer knew nothing of civilian ship protocols or echelons.
— Now what? — she asked. — Our ship?
— I grabbed our stuff and resealed the secret hangar, — Ghent explained. — This tub was a hundred meters from us, same level. I'd never have guessed about hidden hangars here if you hadn't shown me landing ours…
— What ship is this? — Mara interrupted.
— Some secret Imperial Intelligence starship, — he shrugged. No big deal—ten of these on every field. At least the nuts made sense now. — I found data on their galaxy-wide caches—Thrawn's first requested file. I cracked its encryption right away, then got curious since it's literally in the Imperial Palace. Onboard—tons of weapons and fake IDs.
Uh-huh. Familiar. Mara had encountered this tracking deserter stormtroopers. That truck was ISB, but operational methods were near-identical across state agencies—intelligence or counterintelligence.
Someone's "stash" for a "rainy day." They'd need to check for beacons and trackers. Better yet—contact Thrawn, set a rendezvous with a trusted ship, and blow this one up. First, figure out what this tub was. Maybe she could claim it. ISB and Intelligence ships looked shabby but hid unregistered upgrades useful for her work.
— Ghent, — she ruffled his hair with a sad smile, — you're actually great. Really great. I screwed us, and you saved us. Thrawn'll be mad, but it's my failure, not yours. He's no Emperor—lacks even showy paternal care. Good you didn't ditch Targeter with the algorithm. We can at least give her to the Grand Admiral since the info center flopped. Sure the Republicans can't decipher what's left and access secrets? — The slicer nodded, smiling shyly. — We need to hand our 'guest' to Thrawn before she realizes we won't let her go. Locking her without comms was smart. Disabled the cabin's comms too, I hope?
— You wound me, — Ghent assured. — First thing after the hatch shut. Lucky the nav base is simple—no need to input coordinates, just pick from the database. I jumped far from Coruscant so you'd have time to wake from the bacta.
— And…? — Mara eyed him suspiciously.
— No-no-no! — he protested. — Winter dressed and undressed you. I just brought your suit.
— Weapons? — Jade clarified.
— In your cabin, — he pointed down the wide passage. — Down the corridor near the pilot's cabin. This ship's weird, I tell ya.
— Meaning? — she tensed.
— Enough weapons for a couple squads, — Ghent explained. — Secret stashes with docs, multiple currencies. Armed to the teeth! Central comp's so clean, like they wiped or swapped it every flight. And it's Mandalorian-built—custom job…
Mara froze inside.
— Mandalorian, you say? — she rasped, rushing to the bridge. Nothing notable—pilot, co-pilot, commander seats, and spots for extra crew. Secondary, though. One person could run it from the commander's chair, with handles in the armrests and monitors positioned for full visibility—even with one eye.
Jade groaned in dismay.
— Check this beauty, — Ghent approached a small holoprojector, tinkered with it, and a 3D starship projection appeared, making Mara's stomach churn.
Predatory angular hull. Modular armor. Multiple turrets. Hidden proton and concussion torpedo launchers. A detachable stern—out of forty meters, the "stump" could continue on a second engine set, the true ship. They were in the stern compartments, followed by main engines making this unique vessel the fastest owned by the Emperor's inner circle. Engine emission catchers, scanner-stealth hull… It cost as much as an Imperial Star Destroyer. Only a few existed—not for Intelligence, ISB, or Vader. Sculpted from a Mandalorian corvette prototype by the galaxy's best shipbuilders—for Palpatine's personal fleet.
The Flame.
— I picked a cool name from the fake IDs, — Ghent grinned. — The Flame. Let's keep it, huh?
— Brilliant name, — Mara gave the slicer a sad look. — Ghent, we have to destroy it. Fast. And your eidetic-memory girlfriend too. Lethally.
— Mara, if it's the algorithm, it's fine, — Ghent's eyes widened. — No need to kill anyone! It won't help them!
— It helped us but not them? — Mara's brow shot up.
— We had something to work with there, — he looked down. — Now it's empty…
— Meaning? — she tensed. — You uploaded the 'Trap' file?!
— Uh-huh, — the slicer nodded. — You said Thrawn ordered the data gone…
— GHENT! — Mara slammed the nearest seat. — That protocol was for after we copied all the Imperial Palace Info Center data! Not before! Thrawn needs Palpatine's stash on Byss! Fleet deployments, army units, tons of intel—Super Star Destroyer specs too! You erased it all!? Even Winter won't save us! This isn't a stalemate—it's a failure!
The slicer blinked.
— Actually, I downloaded what we needed, — he declared. — Thrawn's minimum—ships and bases. While leaving the Palace, I planted a 'worm.' Remember, you said Winter's not alone? I used her terminal as the trigger. She 'carelessly' opened a secret file, and if anyone browses it, the system wipes.
— And if not? — Post-Emperor, Mara wasn't meek. Sarcasm and aggression were her shield, hiding calculated thought. She knew she'd snapped at Ghent without grasping the issue—her failure forced his improvisation. It seemed fine… but those databases held so much!
— Then it ran itself an hour after we left, — Ghent shrugged. — Don't fret, Mara! That center's data was copied at least ten times—copies exist.
Mara didn't ask the rhetorical question. She sighed patiently and asked for clarification:
— The Imperial Info Center isn't the library we were in, — Ghent explained. — It's huge servers with massive capacity, remotely accessible. I was— — he tapped his datapad — —checking activity logs and remote connections. Some files I grabbed were copied at least ten times. Imperials likely got full or partial archives—some before Palpatine's death, most after. The system ID'd users. Know an Antinnis Tremayne?
— High Inquisitor, — Mara gritted her teeth. Torture master and Vader's pupil.
— He downloaded a bit, post-Yavin though.
— Who else!? — Jade demanded. — Did you find others?!
— Sate Pestage, — not a threat, dead. Worth finding his copy. — Twice. Once from the Palace, once from the Red Dragon Star Destroyer. Full copies both times, — quite a twist. Why would the Grand Vizier bother? Isn't Red Dragon the Ubiqtorate fleet's flagship? — Zsinj grabbed some—tech bits, mostly bio-data on races, — also dead. — Some Jerec, right after Endor, — dead too. — Ysanne Isard connected almost daily until fleeing to Thyferra. Her ID vanished later, but she got a full copy…
— Killed in the Bacta War, — Mara explained. — That's why she's gone.
— Oh, okay then. Some Hethrir dug into files, — Procurator of Justice, a radical. — Grand Moff Ardus Kaine copied it all. A Sedriss QL was here recently—maybe a month ago. He only took some files, wiped his tracks well, but I'm better.
— Ten, — Mara reminded. — You said ten downloads. You named nine. Who's the tenth?
— I said at least ten, — Ghent corrected. — Some were scrubbed, just faint ID traces. But I know the tenth. Never heard the name, not on the Holonet. He only wanted Imperial base locations. Funny thing—they download, but it's so encrypted, you'd never crack it all.
— Name, — Mara demanded.
— Some Ennix Devian, — Ghent grimaced. — Probably fake…
— As real as it gets, — she replied grimly. — Info Center access IDs weren't handed out casually. Even I didn't have one.
— But this Devian did? — the slicer marveled. — You worked for the Emperor himself.
— So did he, — Mara added dryly. — Ennix Devian—Palpatine's personal assassin. Enough kills for a small city. Vengeful, treacherous, cunning, grudge-holding, ambitious. He thought Palpatine didn't see him eyeing higher power, playing loyal. The Emperor loved knowing his subjects' true motives while feigning belief in their devotion.
— So, some of them might have a full or partial copy, — Ghent said casually. — Let's ask Thrawn to nab this Devian and call it done.
— Or we get nabbed, — Mara said. — See, Ghent, I don't know what drove you, but you picked Devian's personal ship for our escape—gifted by the Emperor. Given he once wiped out a space station's population to claim it, we'd better figure out how to reach the Grand Admiral. Fast.