Nine years, seven months, and twenty-eight days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, seven months, and twenty-eight days since the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and thirteen days since arrival).
The night had barely passed its midpoint, and the new day was already staking its claim.
Like the chime of an archaic floor chronometer, favored by the wealthy and elite for their residences, a metallic clang echoed through a well-furnished apartment nestled within the civilian station orbiting Sluis Van.
But this sound had nothing to do with marking the passage of hours or days.
Nor did the identical sound that followed. Yet, had an outsider witnessed the scene in this modest apartment, they would have noted that the second metallic clang carried a wet, squelching undertone.
As if the second strike had landed on something soft, filled with liquid.
Imperial Intelligence Coordinator Sergius lifted the metal tray from the victim's face, inspecting the dented bottom, shaped now like the head of a Republic counterintelligence agent.
— Cheap piece, — he remarked, tossing the kitchen item aside. He wasn't worried about neighbors hearing the clatter of metal dishware—the apartment's owner had ensured excellent soundproofing. — Skimping on yourself, you miser?
— Who... are you? — the counterintelligence agent rasped, spitting blood from his broken nose. — Do you even know who you've attacked?!
— I know, — Sergius said honestly. — But since I'm a polite guy from a decent family of Imperial soldiers, I won't voice my thoughts aloud—so as not to offend your delicate sensibilities.
— By lunch, they'll be tearing you to pieces, — the agent snarled.
— Oh, how terrifying, — Sergius clicked his tongue, fixing his captive with a cold, professional stare. — Care to tell me who's going to do the tearing?
The agent opened his mouth but clamped it shut.
His internal fear mechanism kicked in. Not fear of the "guest." Fear of his true employers.
— That's what I thought, — Sergius concluded. — So, let's get to the main event. Have you studied the Imperial handbook on interrogating enemy agents?
— Go to hell, — the agent sneered.
— Fine, I'll repeat it to observe all formalities, — Sergius gave a theatrical smile, noting how oddly fitting the half-naked Republic "colleague" looked, tied to a metal chair. Caught straight from sleep, sedated with a special compound, and securely restrained—because if this conversation took a "bad" turn, it would hurt. Sergius hadn't found anesthesia in the Imperial Intelligence safehouse, so he relied on the wise teachings of academy instructors, who distinguished between securely restraining a "patient" and limiting their mobility during an interrogation with prejudice. In this case, the New Republic agent was restrained thoroughly. — You have the right to remain silent, the right to qualified legal representation, the right to give testimony in your native language or one you're fluent in...
— What nonsense are you spouting? — the agent glared at him. — That's not how the handbook for handling agents works! You're reciting civilian interrogation rights! Idiot!
— So you *have* studied the enemy agent interrogation protocols, — Sergius grinned. The agent's face darkened, realizing he'd fallen for a simple trick. — Good. Now we can move to more direct questions. How long has the vulture been operating at the shipyards?
— Go to the Sith, Imp! — the agent spat contemptuously.
— Nice answer, but I don't like it, — Sergius said, picking up a metal meat tenderizer from the kitchen tools. He weighed it in his hand and, without warning, struck between the prisoner's legs.
— Aaaah!!! — the Republic agent screamed, his body straining against the restraints.
— Why the yelling? — Sergius asked, pulling the hammer back from the edge of the chair's seat, letting the agent see the ribbed dents in the metal. — I didn't even touch you.
— Psycho! — the prisoner kept shouting. — I'll find you, I'll tear you to pieces, I'll—
He didn't finish, cut off by a slap from the coordinator's left hand.
— Want me to repeat the question? — Sergius asked.
The agent spat blood onto the kitchen appliances and cursed foully.
— I don't care for crude language, — Bravo-2 admitted. — But interrogating? That I love. Very much. So—how long has the vulture been here?
— What do you even want?! — the agent roared. — It's Republic turbolasers disappearing, not your personal stash or even Imperial ones! We take as much as we want!
— Good job, — the coordinator praised. — Keep giving me more details than I ask for, and I might leave you able to walk after this.
The agent fell silent. He'd just confirmed, first, that he knew full well about the link between the theft of Republic military property and the vulture, and second, his own involvement in the group's active operations.
He was no longer just an "informed sentient." He was an accomplice. Now Sergius had all the proof he needed that this man hadn't been spinning tales during his recruitment attempt for nothing.
— Cooperation is rewarded, — Sergius reminded him.
— What, you'll let me go next? — the agent scoffed. Both knew that in situations like this, live witnesses weren't exactly collected.
— You've got two options—die quickly and painlessly by telling me everything I want to know voluntarily, — Sergius laid out the prospects. — Or I'll cut you apart piece by piece, but I'll still get what I want. Except it'll hurt. A lot.
— Have mercy, — the Republic agent's lower lip suddenly trembled. — I have a wife, three kids. I needed the money to support them...
— Oh, spare me, — Sergius smirked. — You've got no one. Your wife left you, took the kids. Your "support" is alimony. Which you haven't paid in years.
— How do you...? — the apartment's owner jolted.
— Your safe is garbage, — Bravo-2 noted. — I skimmed through the copies of the lawsuits your wife filed against you. Geez... I don't know who hired you, but your HR policies are an absolute mess. A complete disaster.
— Then let me go after I tell you everything, — the Republic agent snapped instantly.
— You tell me first, — Sergius advised. — Then we'll see.
— She showed up here a couple of years after the Alliance kicked your butts at Endor, — the agent began quickly. — Clean documents, glowing recommendations. Kind, smiling girl. And the moment I tried to make contact with her, she turned the tables on me. Knew everything about me—every missed alimony payment, all my lovers' names, all my debts...
— That's how vultures work, — Sergius explained. — Any dirt from your past is their leverage. What's her assignment?
— You think she tells me? — the agent sneered. — All I know is she practically controls half the customs inspectors in this section. She's got a big interest in the military supply warehouses—how she got assigned to this part of the station, I don't know.
"She controls you the same way," Sergius thought.
— How many warehouses are running the same scheme? — he asked. In a good interrogation, the key was to ask questions that tangled the opponent while keeping the full picture clear in your own mind.
— All of them, — the agent replied. — They've decided to wrap up the operation now.
— Why? — Sergius had heard from the thieves about General Solo's appearance, but he wanted more confirmation.
— Coruscant's clearly starting to suspect something's off here, — the agent grimaced. — Military cargo ships keep disappearing—only the ones headed to the Bothans, bypassing official supply channels.
— You disguised the thefts of turbolasers and other goods as pirate attacks, didn't you? — the coordinator clarified.
— Yeah, — the agent admitted reluctantly. — They've got a few interdictor ships that pull caravans out of hyperspace. Since most of the transporters are basically ex-smugglers, no one misses them for a while. Not until the real investigations start into what's going on here.
— But by then, you'll have a plausible story ready, right? — Sergius asked. — Some fool from Tanaab, hired at the military warehouses, secretly slipping trackers into fleet supply containers, isn't that it?
— That idiot's no loss, — the Republic agent snorted.
Wait a second. Had the "colleague" not realized that the warehouse worker and the one interrogating him were the same person? Sure, the coordinator was wearing a balaclava, but the voice...
Then again, if this was an attempt to play dumb, it wasn't a good one.
— Why didn't this pirate ship scheme get exposed earlier? — Sergius pressed.
— Because we only used it when the Empire started hitting transport ships, — the agent explained. — All loose ends tied up—they somehow find Republic bases, secret outposts, caravans headed to Bothawui and Elom. Why wouldn't they track transport shipments from here too? Their production's so bad, stealing military gear is normal for them. Hell, they sent *you* here for something...
Right. Sent. To crack the system's defenses and figure out what could be taken from the orbital warehouses. Judging by the vulture's operation scale, there wasn't much of value left.
— Over two hundred New Republic line ships were disarmed at Sluis Van, — Sergius said. — A hundred fifty were rearmed later. Then about three hundred escort frigates and smaller ships were disarmed. Why didn't the scheme get caught when the line ships were being rearmed?
— Because the Bothans were, as usual, trying to screw everyone over, — the agent chuckled, clearly pleased with his joke. — There's an order from Commander Fey'lya—newly rearmed starships get no more than half their armament. The other half is supposed to go to the Bothans through gray channels. By then, we'd already stolen about as much as the Bothans demanded. So the ships were armed at maybe a third—a Verpine handling the manifests and leaking info on which containers were needed and where they'd go fudged the paperwork. No one asks too many questions about the armaments.
"No one even bothered to check with headquarters?" Sergius thought, stunned. What a mess—not a military operation, honestly. No wonder the vulture felt at home here. Chaos, incompetence, and zero oversight.
— How many groups are operating at the Sluis Van shipyards? — the coordinator asked.
— Just ours, — the agent replied. — And even then, tonight was supposed to be the last job. Now it's just me, the vulture, and the puppets among customs and warehouse chiefs. The rest evacuated.
— How many warehouse chiefs are working for the vulture?
— Heh, — the agent smirked. — Every warehouse chief is in on it with the vulture. They'll get rid of them later—same as the workers we'll pin the blame on.
— Clever, — Sergius nodded. Without some specifics, this was exactly what he'd pieced together hours ago, lying on a beam under the military warehouse's roof. — Do you know how they track the containers and ships for interception?
— The vulture and her customs buddy handle that, — the prisoner revealed.
The same jerk who'd harassed Sergius and the shuttle passengers on his first day at Sluis Van.
— Thanks for cooperating, — Sergius said, clarifying a few more questions and determining the agent's further uselessness. He drew his combat knife from its sheath. — And for the twenty thousand credits you got from the vulture for your work, tucked away nicely in your second safe.
— Hey, what're you doing?! — the Republic agent panicked. — You said you'd let me go!
— And I'm freeing you, — Sergius confirmed, ending the Republic counterintelligence's double agent with one precise motion.
— They should pay me extra from Coruscant for this job, — he muttered, leaving the agent's apartment, which was now engulfed in flames.
As he rounded the corner of a distant building on the level, planning to leave the same way he came, he'd barely taken ten steps when he sensed something wrong.
His hand instinctively gripped his blaster, and his body dove behind a garbage container for cover. The alley he'd just been in was sliced by several crimson blaster bolts from the shadows of a doorway.
Notably, they came from behind.
An ambush.
— Nimble Imp, — came an irritated mutter, distorted by a helmet's vocoder.
— Yeah, that's me, — the man smirked, pulling a second blaster from a hidden holster in his combat suit. — Vulture, you're getting rusty.
— I'll stretch my legs on you, — the enemy fighter promised, stepping from the deep shadows into the dimly lit alley.
Flashy red armor, distinctive clothing elements, a helmet... No doubt—this was a vulture from the Zann Consortium, fully geared for combat.
Vulture of the Zann Consortium (or Defiler in some translations).
— I thought we'd found other ways to stretch, — the coordinator replied, quickly assessing the situation. A neat trap—nowhere to run. The technical tunnel he'd used to reach this level unnoticed was sealed tight... Just walls, a trash bin, and that's about it.
— What're you babbling about, Imp? — even the helmet's vocoder couldn't hide the genuine surprise in the vulture's voice.
— Got a gift for you, — Sergius unclipped a few cylinders from his belt, — from the Tanaab kid you planned to frame.
Hurling a thermal detonator at the customs woman's feet, Sergius forced her to abandon her position, diving aside and shielding her head.
But the thermal detonator didn't explode.
Instead, the vulture found a flash-bang grenade cylinder landing right in front of her face. And that one *did* go off.
Sergius lunged at the elite enemy operative, delivering a full-force kick with his heavy boot to the vulture's helmet.
Then the hand-to-hand began.
***
Long ago, in the Scaross system, deep within the Morshdine sector, battles raged.
But that was nearly four thousand years ago.
The last time this corner of the galaxy saw sentient activity was right after we struck the Hast shipyards and seized the Katana fleet.
This was where we set up our "depot" for captured equipment and space stations before they were moved to Susevfi's orbit, and later to the Karthakk system. Trophy heavy cruisers of the Vindicator class, handed over by Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, were once stored here too, before we confirmed their safety and transferred them to Tangrene.
There are no inhabited planets, resource-rich worlds, asteroid fields, or anything of the sort here. If there ever was, it's long gone.
A dead star system, perfect for arranging a covert meeting between Chimaera and Thrawn's Hand.
Accompanied by one of Tierce's clones and Rukh, I reached the main hangar section of the Star Destroyer, where a starship of an unfamiliar type rested—the one Mara Jade and slicer Zakarisz Ghent used to escape Coruscant.
The tactic was the same as with the noghri death commando meetings: clear the hangar of all witnesses. Flying across half the sector on a shuttle or letting "deceased" Jade roam my flagship's corridors was foolish. Entrusting such talks to comm lines was risky. So, a face-to-face meeting. The crew was used to these quirks—they never knew who boarded Chimaera or why the hangar staff was cleared out when my bodyguard headed there. It'd work one more time. Only instead of Rukh taking reports from the noghri and relaying them to me, I'd speak with the Hand myself.
And with Ghent.
And with Winter, brought along with them.
Things are getting interesting, ladies and gentlemen... How many iconic "characters" have I already met in person? I've lost count. And now, another one.
But I have nothing to discuss with this "snow white." That's why Tierce took her, with a black opaque bag over her head, to a separate cabin where she'll be held until her return to Tangrene. We'll decide what to do with her there. Truth be told, she's useless. Even dangerous. Yet she's a close friend and advisor to Leia Organa-Solo, the voice of logic and reason in her circle. In the events I know, she also looked after the Solo kids, ensured their safety, and so on. Thanks to her, multiple attempts to kidnap that "band of babies" failed.
For now, I listened intently, absorbing the information Jade and Ghent eagerly relayed.
I quickly realized how irritating a crossfire of information could be. But I played my hand to the end without flinching. Then I stayed silent for a while, processing.
So, the data from the Imperial Information Center is deleted and unrecoverable. Is that bad? Not really—at least the New Republic won't get its hands on critical Imperial intel. But neither will we.
Still, there were options... Quite a few held complete copies of that data. Some are dead, some vanished, but others could be "tracked down." And we could get what we need. For now, though, that operation moves to "long-term prospects."
There are more pressing matters.
— You did well, Zakarisz Ghent, — I praised the slicer. — Pack your things—you're staying on Chimaera.
— Uh... — the blue-haired kid blinked, glancing from me to Jade. — Sure, of course, but I thought... Mara and I were working together...
— When it's necessary, — I said. — For now, your partnership is on hold. I need you on the flagship.
With someone like Ghent—soft and delicate—you have to be firm but gentle. Fatherly.
— Ghent, — Mara looked at the "boy." — Pack.
— Got it, got it, — the slicer stood, shoulders slumped, and headed to his cabin to gather his things. Mara and I were left alone.
She looked as stunning as during our last meeting. Though her mention of being "handled" by Targeter raised some valid questions.
— Need time to recover and train? — I asked, my gaze fixed on the woman who, in my past life and likely this one, could be my daughter. Yet I keep catching myself thinking she's... attractive.
— No need, — her eyes were like twin emerald daggers. The thought of losing twice in a row—on Vjun and against Winter—clearly infuriated her. — I'm already training. It won't happen again.
— I hope not, — I said. — What did you learn about this ship and potential issues with Ennix Devian?
— The ship's solid, — Jade answered crisply. — If you'll allow it, I'd like to keep it.
— If owning this starship doesn't expose you—I have no objections.
— I've checked every corner—it's clean, — she said confidently.
— If you say so, I believe you, — I'd rather have this bucket torn apart by Chimaera's techs, but right now, I need to show this fiery Valkyrie that my faith in her is as strong as ever. Mara Jade may not realize it, but she thrives on approval from those she serves. Palpatine, Karrde, me... Doesn't matter much. Once she picks a "patron," she'll break herself to please them. — Devian.
— Haven't heard anything about him in a while, — she said. — Ghent and I checked the HoloNet, tracked shipments and transport flights to the Ghost Nebula, requests for parts for Republic ships from the Clone Wars—none tie to Devian. Wherever he's hiding, no threads lead to that hole.
— Fair enough, — I agreed. — If he's in the Ghost Nebula, the Republic will find him, and the problem's solved. Now I want the files Zakarisz Ghent managed to retrieve and decrypt.
A crooked smile twitched on Mara's face.
— Ten percent, — she said. — Ten percent of Imperial-class Star Destroyers alone were mothballed in the Deep Core at the time of Palpatine's death at Endor. That's thousands of ships...
Right. I'd say far more, considering Star Destroyers were typically part of battle groups.
— Analysis of ships missing in action? — I asked.
— Even less rosy, — she replied. — Most super star destroyers, except the Executor-class, are gone. Their whereabouts are unknown to the Republic. Coruscant consoles itself with the idea that some project data might just be Palpatine's disinformation.
— Suppose so, — I agreed. — That's a future problem for the New Republic—to pay for their shortsightedness.
— It'll hurt them bad, — Mara Jade said. — Ghent cross-referenced combat efficiency data on ships that "just vanished." In most cases, those metrics hit ninety to ninety-seven percent. And most of these ships were never tied to dark Jedi, didn't escort Palpatine, or otherwise work with Force-sensitive sentients.
— In other words, Palpatine pulled the most skilled crews to the Core, — I tried to suppress the mix of irritation and bitterness washing over me. After months of training, I'd only raised my crews' efficiency to eighty percent at best. That's not an average—it's the max. Fleet-wide, for Star Destroyers alone, it's seventy-two percent. — Good to know.
Truth is, this smells like trouble. If Palpatine commandeered the best forces from a crumbling Empire, opposing him will be tough. Very tough.
— Any data on Byss? — I asked.
— Only general info, sadly, — she said, disappointed. — Same for storage depots and equipment in the Deep Core. But it seems Palpatine has enough reserves to outfit tens, if not hundreds, of millions of soldiers and sailors with everything they need.
— Byss, — I repeated. — What did you find out about the planet?
— Palpatine used it as a PR stunt to relocate sentients from Coruscant and overpopulated worlds, — she said. — I found records of promotional campaigns for this isolated, nearly inaccessible Deep Core spot. Right after the Clone Wars, Palpatine cut off the Deep Core from open access, creating the Deep Core Security Zone, guarded by hundreds of line-class warships. Byss is only reachable via the Byss Run—a highly unstable, dangerous hyperspace route. I found invoices for hundreds of S-thread boosters, used to forge hyperspace paths where none should exist due to astrogation, gravitational anomalies, or other galactic quirks. Insanely expensive tech—budget rivals half of what went into the Death Star. Without those boosters, safe hyperspace travel to the planet was near impossible due to the Deep Core's dense star clusters and shifting natural hyperlanes.
— Practically? — I clarified.
— Exactly, — Mara confirmed. — Files on Byss and the Deep Core note it was once part of the Rakata's Infinite Empire. That ancient race used the Force to power their tech and conquer the galaxy.
Here we go. Now I get why Byss's remoteness wasn't the only reason Palpatine picked it as his secret throne world. I'd bet anything there were Rakata tech stashes there, studied by the Emperor's scientists. Or... Dark Side knowledge... which isn't any better. I'm increasingly convinced that whatever's on Wayland pales compared to Palpatine's Deep Core and Byss stockpiles.
— Byss is the fifth planet in the Beshqek system, orbiting its namesake star. Another habitable planet, Relus, exists in the system, — she continued. — Per relocation program data, tens of millions of humans and nonhumans were shipped to both. Nonhumans likely built up Byss, which was officially a resort world and drew little attention post-settlement. Though there was elite cheese sold on Coruscant, supposedly from Byss, — she paused, thoughtful. — Now I'm wondering if it was made from nonhumans Palpatine lured there, enslaved... and had to dispose of.
— Were specific groups targeted for recolonization, or did they take anyone willing? — I asked. Byss intrigued me more than Mara's musings on cannibalism.
— Seems like the latter, but I noticed thousands of specialists among the settlers. As if Palpatine was building a reserve of engineers, builders, mechanics, scientists...
— Most likely, — I agreed. — Do we have info on accessing the Byss Run?
— Sadly, no, — she shook her red mane. — It requires special codes. The security system's complex, not just limited to the Deep Core's Fifteenth Reserve Fleet, which set up checkpoints under Palpatine. There's fragmented data that many known hyperspace routes in the Deep Core were mined, and others were guarded by the Imperial Hyperspace Security Net—a system of gravity well projectors and hyperwave transceivers to monitor and control traffic in and out of the Core. There's also mention of a full sector fleet, beyond the ten percent of Star Destroyers in the Core, dedicated to Byss alone. Unauthorized access triggers annihilation. Multiple orbital defense stations—Golan IIIs, no less. I also found records of massive reactor shipments for a planetary shield, so Byss might be better fortified than Coruscant in its prime.
Wow, I hadn't realized it was *that* locked down. Now I'm starting to suspect Luke Skywalker didn't just agree to train under Palpatine to learn secrets from within. There might be no other way onto the planet.
— One more thing, — Mara said. — About Force-sensitive sentients.
— I'm listening, — I replied eagerly.
— There's info that... — Mara hesitated, glancing over as Ghent emerged from his cabin. The slicer gave us a curious look, trying to guess why the redhead had stopped talking.
— Rukh, — I addressed my bodyguard. — Escort Mr. Ghent to his prepared quarters and provide everything he needs to work on computers and New Republic encryption systems.
Ignoring the slicer's wide, eager eyes, I stayed silent until he left the ship.
— Go on, — I said.
— Not all Jedi were wiped out by Vader or Palpatine's lackeys, — she declared. — There are dozens of reports on captured padawans and AgriCorps members from the Jedi Order. They were all taken to Byss, held under the supervision of Palpatine's advisor, the Umbaran Sly Moore. Then there's a report from a ship commander who delivered Vader to Byss. Vader returned with four lightsaber-wielding sentients. I identified one by description.
— Who? — I asked, though I think I recall...
— Antinnis Tremayne, — she named him. One of those with access to the Imperial Information Center. Intriguing. — Vader trained him.
Well, damn. The deeper we go, the more Darth Bane's Rule of Two gets twisted by the Sith.
— That's all? — I checked.
— On Byss, yes, — she replied.
— The Black Fleet? — I asked.
— In the Imperial archives—at least what Ghent downloaded—there's no record of what happened to the Black Fleet after Endor, — she shook her head. Guess I'll hold onto my knowledge a bit longer. — But I found indirect info on what it was.
— I'm listening, — this could be useful. I've already misstepped relying on my memories. Even a Chiss brain doesn't always catch where the error lies.
— The Sixth Systems Army, aka Black Sword, was formed during the Clone Wars as a reserve for the Grand Army of the Republic, tasked with repelling potential Unknown Regions attacks. But it often donated ships and personnel to other sector armies. Instead, its zone housed repair yards and training camps. In the Imperial era, Black Sword's territory was practically a supersector, though no administrative change occurred. Ghent dug up that until Endor, Black Sword had at least five Type-II orbital repair yards for localized maintenance and shipbuilding. The Black Fifteen yard orbiting N'zoth in the Koornacht Cluster was reputed as the sector's best, thanks to efficient Yevethan workers.
Now's my chance to clarify and legitimize some info.
— Yevetha? — I asked. — The isolationist humanoid race from the Koornacht Cluster?
— I looked them up on the HoloNet, — Mara said. — Not much there. Skilled, quick learners. But Republic researchers called them rabid racists who despised all other species.
— And yet they ended up under the human-centric Galactic Empire, — I continued. — Any record of rebellions, uprisings?
— Not a single mention, — Mara shook her head.
— Impossible, — I snapped. — Two militant peoples with clashing ideologies can't coexist peacefully. The Empire would've crushed their worldview by force, sparking major protests and rebellion.
— Maybe it happened, but Ghent and I found no record of it, — she said. — Nor any evidence that Ysanne Isard's order to withdraw Black Sword from its bases, issued right after Endor's defeat, was followed.
— What do you mean, "no record"? — I narrowed my eyes. — No confirmation, or the sector army's command didn't comply?
I know the answer. But I need to legitimize my foreknowledge without raising suspicion.
— The order went to N'zoth, — Mara said. — But Black Fleet's ships never showed up anywhere again. They might've gone to Byss, taking everything valuable and blowing up the rest. Files note the fleet as "lost." Maybe they deserted, joined Palpatine, or were destroyed by the Rebel Alliance.
— Or they're still in the Koornacht Cluster, — I said. — Likely under Yevethan control.
— The rebellion you mentioned? — she clarified.
— Possibly, — I replied vaguely. — What else do we know about Black Fleet's composition, beyond the five ORY-IIs?
Mara smiled.
— You'll like this, — she said. — Three super star destroyers, one Executor-class—Intimidator. The other two are fast Bellator-class dreadnoughts, like the one leading the New Republic's Fourth Fleet.
— But Crimson Dawn wasn't part of Black Fleet, was it? — I checked.
— Correct, — she confirmed. — At least eight Star Destroyers were under construction at N'zoth's orbit. And about forty line ships, each at least as big as a Victory-class Star Destroyer, were on active duty. By the way, Ysanne Isard believed the fleet was destroyed at Kal-Seti, where a major battle with Rebel Alliance forces occurred. Republic data contradicts Imperial records—some ships were reportedly withdrawn, while others didn't head to Coruscant but to the Deep Core.
— Given Isard's closeness to Palpatine and possible knowledge of his revival, Black Sword's evacuation could've been a prelude or part of a buildup by the Reborn Palpatine, — I mused. — Whether that's true, we won't know until we visit the Koornacht Cluster and check ourselves.
— I'm ready to move out anytime, — the Hand declared boldly. Brave little thing. No, dear, I have other plans for you.
— If it comes to that, you'll get the assignment, — I said. — I want the rest of the info you were tasked to retrieve. Zakarisz Ghent said he downloaded all the files I specified. You haven't reported on everything I'm interested in. Continue your report, Mara Jade.
The redhead agent narrowed her emerald eyes, as if studying me under a microscope.
— You know, Grand Admiral, sometimes I'm amazed by the breadth of your knowledge. Especially about Palpatine's superweapons, — she said, placing a portable holographic projector on the table. A blue-white 3D image of a massive... ship? Station? Rock chunk? Hard to say. But there was no mistaking what I saw.
This was it. The main reason Mara Jade and Zakarisz Ghent were sent to Coruscant.
— I'll take that as a compliment, — I replied evenly. — Did you find info on it?
— Of course, — she said. — But only general data, technical specs, supply orders, estimates, and sparse details on the superdreadnought's fate.
— I want that info, — our eyes locked. — Detailed, not the crumbs discussed at court.
She paused for a few seconds, licked her lips, and spoke.
— Eye of Palpatine was one of the Galactic Empire's first functional superweapons. Called both a dreadnought and a battlemoon... Per the data, it was built inside a massive, roughly twenty-kilometer-long asteroid. Officially, this was to avoid detection by enemy ships and worlds, though some speculated it was to hide its development from public and Senate outrage, or perhaps because it was converted from a large space rock to save resources.
— I know the palace gossip, Mara Jade, — I reminded her. — Details.
— Analysis of supply invoices for its construction suggests its firepower matched an entire fleet of Star Destroyers. It could single-handedly execute Base Delta Zero, turning any habitable planet's crust into molten slag with its weapons alone. Reserved deflector shield capacity, advanced sensor arrays, at least eight hangar bays near the stern. Equipped with no fewer than six sublight engines. Interestingly, it was unmanned.
— Droid-controlled? — I asked, though I knew the answer.
— Artificial intelligence, — she said. — For some reason, Palpatine, who distrusted such tech, opted to install AI on this superweapon.
— Maybe to ensure confidentiality and secrecy of its construction and mission, — I suggested, based on known data.
— Possibly, — she agreed. — Likely for those reasons, most onboard equipment came from SoroSuub on Sullust, though the Empire typically favored Kuat or Sienar. But an engineer named Ohran Keldor, also involved with the Death Star, contributed to this superdreadnought. Based on payments to Keldor, it was likely built a year after the Clone Wars' end. Its purpose is murky, but there are repeated mentions of the planet Belsavis.
— What drew Palpatine to Belsavis, enough to create such a weapon for it? — I asked, knowing the answer but unable to "legitimize" it.
— At court, I heard Belsavis hosted a Jedi community long after the Great Purge, — Mara recalled.
— Large enough that Vader and the 501st couldn't handle them? — I asked.
— Back then, the Sith Lord was gallivanting across the galaxy, drowning one separatist holdout after another in blood, — she noted. — Also, another hypothetical reason for using a big rock for the Eye hit me.
— The Death Star's construction? — I clarified.
— Exactly, — she confirmed. — Both projects drew from the government budget, and the Senate could've killed one if they seemed too similar. Palpatine didn't yet have absolute power, so one project could've been buried.
— The Eye was tactically vital, the Death Star strategic, — I concluded.
— Either way, Palpatine didn't dare rile the Senate, — Mara said. — Records show stormtrooper contingents stationed on Pzob, Doum-Bradden, Kirdo III, Tatooine, and Alzoc III. I figure the AI, on Palpatine's orders, was to head to those planets, pick up the troops, then set a combat course to wipe out the Jedi on Belsavis. The stormtroopers were needed to handle complications, protect the ship, or pilot its massive starfighter wing. But for unknown reasons, Eye of Palpatine was lost. The court pinned blame, and the "guilty" were never seen again.
— Did they try contacting the ship? — I asked.
— Dozens of times, — she confirmed. — But after it was sent to Belsavis, no one heard from Eye of Palpatine again. The AI didn't respond, and tracking attempts failed.
— Any data on the stormtrooper garrison locations? — Extra troops, even if not loyal, could be valuable as cannon fodder. Plus, they might know something about the Eye's whereabouts or bases.
— Just vague mentions, — she shook her head.
As I suspected—Palpatine left only general data on his secret projects in the Empire. Or someone scrubbed them during one of the ten data-copying ops.
That's why (among other reasons) I need the slicer. Time to crack the files I got from Palpatine's private chip collection on Wayland. Since he built that stash long before his battle planetoids and Byss colonization, there might be more info there. Info I need most.
Eye of Palpatine.
— We'll tackle the Eye of Palpatine and its potential twins as info comes in, — I said firmly, eyeing the hologram of the massive asteroid. — For now, you have a different assignment.
— I'll handle any task, Grand Admiral, — she said. — But hear me out. There's some very curious info.
— I'm listening, — Did they dig up something else? Or get Winter talking?
— The super star destroyer Guardian, — she went straight for the Pure Sabacc. — You tasked me with tracking it.
— Then rescinded the order, — I noted.
— True, — her face took on that sly, sarcastic Mara Jade grin. — So while Ghent and I were here, I asked him to poke around the HoloNet for procurement data tied to restoring a super star destroyer.
Right. Needle in a haystack. Gizka in a bantha herd. That's why I shelved the search, prioritizing urgent matters.
— I take it you've got results? — I asked for form's sake.
— A solid lead, — she clarified. — Transports assigned to Star Destroyers, planetary bases, and other Imperial assets have covert digital tags to prevent theft or straying beyond their zones.
News to me.
— I searched for Guardian's digital tags, using Intimidator's as a reference, adjusting for Guardian's serial based on its launch date, — she explained. — Long story short... For years, a T-4a Lambda-class shuttle has been popping up at Sestino station, with an ID code very close to what a Guardian-assigned ship would have.
— Unlikely if the starship's destroyed, — I perked up. Or it could be a coincidence. So I only raised a brow, not getting too excited.
— Exactly, — she agreed. — Also suspicious that a ship from a "destroyed" super star destroyer shows up at a station known among pirates and scum for smuggling Imperial ship parts straight from Kuat and Fondor.
Too good to let slip.
— The shuttle arrives at regular intervals, per the hacked database, — she said. — If I hurry, I can get there well before its next visit.
— Go, — I ordered. I wanted to add, "And don't come back without Guardian," but that'd be overkill. Mara's sharp—she'll figure it out. — All resources for this op are yours the moment you ask.
— Thanks, Grand Admiral, — she smirked wryly. — Though I doubt you've got a Jedi on hand to brush up my lightsaber skills and Force training.
Looks like this universe has a sense of humor.
Sorry, Major Himron, but your search will have to wait for another operative.
I hate to say it, but I can't pass up this chance.
— You'd be surprised at my resources, Mara Jade, — I said with a slight smile, looking her straight in the eyes.
The redhead's thin brows shot up, her eyes widened, and her full lips parted.
— What, seriously? — she blinked. — You've actually got one?!
Achievement Unlocked: "Make Mara Jade Genuinely Shocked."