There are times when even Thrawn's Hand can take a break from its chief's assignments.
Very short ones, in fact, but they happen.
They usually coincide with sleep time.
But this time Mara woke up in a cold sweat from a feeling of distant anxiety.
As if something threatened her.
Something insignificant on a universal scale.
But affecting her interests.
The girl sat up in bed, listening to her feelings.
The semi-darkness of the cabin on the "Personal Luxury Yacht 3000" class yacht seemed to envelop the girl with its icy blanket.
Built on the slipways of the SoroSuub Corporation, this vessel once bore the name "Lady Luck."
And it belonged to none other than the famous Alliance hero Lando Calrissian.
"Lady Luck."
Dominion intelligence stole the ship during a raid on the "Kochevye" on Nkllon.
It was used several times by scouts for their thoughts, after, of course, doing everything possible to make the ship untraceable, unrecognizable, or otherwise impossible to identify its past with its present.
And, it seems, during repairs, the craftsmen did something wrong – the heating in the living quarters periodically shut off.
And this is quite unpleasant.
She had to unlock all the hatches in other parts of the fifty-meter ship to regulate the microclimate.
But Jade had already gotten used to such sensations.
These sensations that woke her up were nothing more than another malfunction in the cabin's heating system.
It was impossible to fix it in space during hyperspace jump – a dry dock and a ruthless dissection of the ship's internals were required.
From the condition of the ship, well-armed by its previous owner, one could understand that Calrissian intended to modernize the yacht.
But he didn't do it – he was probably busy with pressing matters.
Well, the Dominion Intelligence engineers did it for him.
But, for some reason, clumsily.
To be fair, the problems were only with the heating system.
Otherwise, this yacht is fast, sturdy, and well-armed.
If it had a couple of heavy turbolasers – it could even be considered a very, very, very light cruiser with a great stretch.
So Mara limited herself to pulling an extra blanket closer and wrapping herself tighter in it.
But sleep did not return.
The feeling of anxiety, the emanating intentions of encroachment on something that belonged to her, did not let go.
Again and again, Mara listened to the Force.
As Mol taught her, she cleared her mind of everything superfluous, concentrating on one significant thing after another.
But the Force gave no response.
This could not be a misinterpretation by Mol of the training records from an ancient Jedi holocron found on Ossus last year.
Mara herself had reviewed the records for self-education.
With her, the holocron keeper – a imprint of an ancient Jedi's mind – was more talkative.
Perhaps the long-dead Jedi had prejudices against horned guys with Sith tattoos on their faces.
Maybe he was simply not inclined to share wisdom with an overly temperamental Zabrak.
Mara, frankly, didn't care about the reasons.
She needed knowledge – and she was getting it.
For a good hour, the girl tried to understand the reason for the signal from the Force, but could not find the right answer.
All her few possessions, which she cherished, were with her and...
"And you say you're not stupid," Mara sighed sadly, addressing herself, falling back on the bed and looking at the mirrored surface of her own cabin's ceiling.
Objects.
Of course, she cherished them greatly.
So much so that she even didn't care about them.
Sentient beings – that was the message of the Force.
Someone close to her, a sentient being, is in danger.
Or almost in danger.
Mara began searching anew.
She pictured those whom she, one way or another, cherished.
Now and in the past.
Karrde? No, no reaction from the Force.
Ghent? Yes, Mara felt his excitement, but it was more like the thrill of an inventor and discoverer.
Ahsoka?
"Ow," Jade hissed when, in response to the thread of the Force extended to the Togruta, she received a "slap on the palms."
The Togruta is not in mortal danger.
Not in a mortal sense.
She's just busy.
She is very engrossed in something and unceremoniously blocked herself in the Force, breaking contact with Mara.
Mol?
No, everything is fine with him.
The horned guy lives without the lower half of his body, has no problems.
He flies where he is ordered, kills who he is ordered. What kind of ideal life is that?
Frankly, Mara doubted that anyone in the galaxy could compare to Darth Maul in a lightsaber duel.
Except perhaps Palpatine...
Involuntarily, the girl pictured the Emperor, but, realizing herself, she quickly threw that image out of her head.
It would be too much if she established contact with that monster out of old habit.
Then, who is it?
"The last option is the correct one?" Jade chuckled, thinking of the Grand Admiral.
She deliberately put him at the end of the list of those she could worry about seriously.
The Grand Admiral had already proven that he could handle threats of various kinds.
And if something were to appear that he could not cope with, then...
As always, Thrawn's image did not respond in the Force.
Just black, impenetrable nothingness.
Very similar to the reflection of the Force's reaction if you think about a dead sentient being – also darkness and no responses.
I wonder if Thrawn knows about this peculiarity?
Well, Thrawn cannot be "checked," so maybe the danger threatens someone else?
Mara began to think about whom else to picture when she felt that the Force was as if pulling her back.
It's not hard to guess that Jade should think directly about the last candidate in her search.
And that's Thrawn.
Obviously, the Force cannot react to him directly because he traditionally stays in the field of rejection of this very Force, stroking his ysalamiri.
Therefore, "pulling back" is a kind of hint.
The sleep was gone as if by magic.
So, the danger threatens Thrawn directly.
This fact chased away the remnants of sleep.
Mara threw aside the pile of blankets and slipped onto the cabin's deck.
If she had done it barefoot, she would have certainly burned herself on the cold metal.
But she hasn't been living in this world for the first day?
Fur socks, essentially gaiters, saved her from the cold.
The girl unceremoniously picked up the neatly folded combat suit, lightsaber, belt with "gadgets," and moved to the yacht's bridge.
Finding herself in relative warmth, the red-haired beastess took off her silk pajamas (yes, she has the right and the opportunity to afford it!), changed, and slipped behind the communication console.
It took a few minutes to contact the "Guardian."
A duty communications operator answered her.
Judging by his phlegmatic nature – a clone.
He requested an identifier.
Received it.
Verified it.
Then diplomatically advised her, if she so wished to speak with the Grand Admiral – to wait until he finished his business.
And no, he would not tell her the coordinates of the flagship's location.
No, he knew that she had transmitted high-level access codes to him.
No, they would not help her get information about the ship's location.
Why?
Because the data she requested has a higher priority than the codes she transmitted.
Mara had no others.
And she suspected that Thrawn had ordered not to disclose the location of the "Guardian."
So she wouldn't succeed this way.
"Then immediately inform him, as soon as he is free, about my call," the girl said. "It concerns his personal safety."
"Understood."
After saying goodbye to the imperturbable operator, who, in fact, did everything correctly, brushing her off according to all regulations and confidentiality norms, Jade drummed her fingers on the control panel.
She couldn't get through to Thrawn directly – at the moment she was not on a mission, and therefore had no communication codes with him.
Who knew that a vacation was not what she needed right now?
Alright, she didn't really want to act exactly like this, but...
In fact, she was not sure that the Force was hinting at danger to Thrawn's life.
No, this is something that affects her and Thrawn's relationship...
Something personal...
So she slightly "embellished" her information.
Perfectly understanding that the Regulations ordered the communications officer to drop everything and run headlong towards the Grand Admiral with a datapad on which Mara's warning would be displayed.
And maybe then...
The communication panel beeped, announcing an incoming call.
From the "Guardian."
Priority – Grand Admiral's identifier.
"I highly doubt it's Thrawn himself," Mara said, activating the device.
If anything, the Grand Admiral was not a coward.
And he would hardly have put aside his business just to talk to her about vague warnings.
Not that... Chiss.
And she was not mistaken.
The hologram of the previous communications operator was looking at her.
"The Grand Admiral expects you on the 'Guardian' at your earliest convenience," he said. "Coordinates are transmitted via encrypted channel 'Alpha.' Decryption codes – via channel 'Sigma.' Confirm receipt."
Mara looked at the files and immediately sent both documents with the data to the decryptor.
"Received," she replied.
The coordinates of the spatial position appeared on the decryptor's monitor.
"I'll be there soon," the girl said.
"We await," the communications officer replied routinely.
And the hologram melted away.
And Mara set off to interrupt the current hyperspace jump and set a new course.
Well, she would buy a house in a quiet corner on Tragane a little later – now the Force and her inner voice told her that Thrawn's Hand needed to be as close as possible to Thrawn himself.
How? What? Why?
These questions would remain unanswered by the Force.
She would have to find them herself.
And Mara knew how to do that better than anyone in the galaxy.
And if not, she would find someone who does it better than her, and after that meeting, she would still become the best in her kind.
* * *
The first desire, when I heard the baroness's proposal, was, besides coughing, to tell the lady that I was already married and had no desire to engage in such experiments with the psyche.
And to break the connection.
In principle, that's exactly what I did in my past life...
But now the conditions are different, the realities are different, the circumstances are different.
And I am different.
Therefore, such remarks would not only be insincere but would also raise additional questions about my "surprised reaction."
Therefore, my role must be played to the end as planned.
"I don't see a connection between your marriage proposal and the guarantees of your personal safety," I said, trying to speak casually, as if about an insignificant fact.
If there is logic in her words, it is practically elusive.
At least to me.
From Pellaeon's wrinkled face, one can understand that he, on the contrary, guesses what it is about.
The baroness raised a thin eyebrow.
"Well, how so, Grand Admiral," she squinted, apparently considering my reaction to her words as the first step towards capitulation. "Since ancient times, representatives of influential families – industrialists, aristocrats, monarchs – have entered into dynastic marriages dictated by political or other benefits. Such a marital union between two influential sentient beings is much stronger than legal documents. And in our troubled times, they are worth no more than the flimsi they are printed on."
The latter is a clear demonstration of her knowledge of philosophical thought.
But not far from the truth.
The behavior of the President of the New Republic regarding the agreement with "Pellaeon" is a telling fact.
And how quickly the baroness transformed from a "victim of arbitrariness" into a triumphant harpy suggests that everything that is happening now is the implementation of, if not the main, then certainly a backup plan.
Which she, in turn, is completely satisfied with.
"An interesting proposal," I said, assessing the situation from all sides.
"More than that, Grand Admiral," the Baroness smiled.
And her smile exuded the same pragmatic soullessness as an ice sculpture.
"Our alliance is simultaneously beneficial to both sides," the Baroness said, mistaking my silence for further capitulation. Seeing my confusion, she presses her advantage. "By destroying all aristocratic Families except mine, you will automatically deprive the sector's sentient beings of alternative courses of development for public sentiment. The D'Asta Family will become the vanguard of the sector's development and, if you wish, its governance. No one will notice the minor formalities of aristocratic rule being replaced by the state apparatus of the Dominion. After the war, sentient beings will have something to do – restoring the economy, industry. Of course, there will be those who dislike the change of power – from aristocratic to... what you are offering. And the political union between us will be the formality that allows you not to waste time calming the sector, and for me – it will give me a guarantee that I won't be gotten rid of when I'm no longer needed. The population will see that a political marriage has been made, they will understand that their traditions are actually being observed, and therefore they should not expect any harshness from the Dominion. After all, Baroness D'Asta will not allow her subjects to be offended. We have always taken care of the sector we ruled. Of its benefits, of its population, of its security. This has been proven by centuries of rule. And what awaits the sector with the arrival of the Dominion? Not an imperial regime, inexplicable border closures, total militarization, unbearable military levies, conscription... Who knows what you have in mind after your policy of isolationism?"
The Baroness dramatically batted her eyes.
Well.
I assessed.
She knows how to intrigue.
"How will the marriage guarantee that you won't die from, say, choking on your food at dinner?" Pelleon couldn't help but ask.
"D'Astans have lived under aristocratic rule for too long," Fina said in a cooing tone. "And they have seen enough of how married couples try to get rid of each other. Poisoning, contract killings, blows to the head with jewelry boxes, falls from heights, illnesses, unfortunate meals, or whatever else you can think of – all of this has already happened. And it is part of our history. Just like the numerous forensic examinations of corpses performed by the best doctors. The cause of death is established immediately. Therefore, I think you understand that it is not in your interest to get rid of me and replace me with a clone – this will be discovered during DNA analysis at the autopsy."
The girl smiled.
She triumphed.
"So, I am your best option," she feigned modesty. "Marry me – and your problems in the sector will be minimal. You will implement your plan and spend an ocean of money, time, and resources. And they could be useful to you in any other direction."
"Is that all?" I clarified.
"Yes," the Baroness said with feigned modesty. Then she put on an expression as if she had remembered something. "I hope you, Grand Admiral Thrawn, as a well-bred man and husband, will not leave your wife without a wedding gift? For example, give me the D'Astan sector as my personal small domain, where I, like a diligent wife, will be bored alone in my father's palace, waiting for my beloved husband to return from another victory."
And most importantly – how beautifully she sings!
You almost believe her.
Well, almost.
"Is that all this time?"
"Yes," the platinum-haired lady nodded with a sense of accomplishment. "If you have any questions, you don't have to wait for a copy of the marriage contract and can ask me now? Actually, I can issue an order right now, and we'll be married on Nez-Peron very soon..."
Shrewd.
Smart.
Purposeful.
A bitch.
It won't be boring with her.
And how much crockery will be broken during the discussion of the vacation spot.
But, this is all lyricism.
The current situation is much more complicated than it seems.
The Baroness decided to strengthen her position not just in the sector, but in the state as a whole.
Realizing that it was precisely to neutralize possible problems with the local population that I intended to put her in charge of the territory, but as a reporting official of the Dominion, she went on the offensive.
Playing one trump card after another.
Undeniable trump cards.
Under other circumstances.
I must give her credit – this fragile lady has enough strength, skills, and knowledge to pull off, albeit rather simple, but still multi-move operations.
It is now clear that the whole talk about saving the lives of the aristocracy for condemnation was a prelude to the information I am hearing now.
She offered a variant that she consciously considered unfeasible, in order to get a reaction and understand what we are actually planning.
She received this information.
And decided to use her trump card – aristocratic origin – as leverage.
I had no intention of leaving the local aristocracy, who had rebelled, alive.
Under no circumstances.
It's a time bomb.
And it's only a matter of time before it explodes.
The family lines of the rebellious aristocrats (and in fact, all the aristocrats of the D'Astan sector) will soon be cut off.
Except for the Baroness's Family.
She is absolutely right.
The population, accustomed to living under aristocratic rule, will be at least suspicious of being ruled by Dominion officials.
Even if it's an ally, but still...
That's why I wanted to make her the local equivalent of a Moff...
And in return, I received a more appropriate and productive proposal from the Baroness.
But there are nuances here that she didn't pay attention to, building a logical trap for me during her address.
Well, these are precisely what I will now provide her with.
"Without a doubt, Baroness, your plan deserves some attention," I said. "Whoever developed it is quite intelligent. This is practically a military operation."
"A rather successful maneuver," Gilad Pelleon grumbled. "You know we need order in the D'Astan sector. And you know we will take measures to achieve this with minimal casualties."
He looked me in the eye.
"Sir, as a member of the Triumvirate, I think that, although the Baroness's proposal is audacious, it will help us achieve our goals."
The Baroness completely ignored the Vice Admiral's words, as if he were furniture rather than a living person.
What... Strange chemistry between them.
Mutual irritation, demonstrative dislike...
Interesting.
"Thank you, Grand Admiral," the aristocrat replied with cold politeness. "A small reminder not to treat me as an appendage to the sector that you actually need. I am a significant political figure on this holochess board. And not the weakest."
A small challenge with a hint.
We'll take it into account.
"As you say, Baroness," I agreed. "However, regarding your proposal, there is a nuance. Even several."
Judging by how Pelleon livened up, the Vice Admiral clearly felt relieved that at least the Dominion had something to object to an unexpectedly appearing opponent.
"Really?" a smile appeared on the girl's face. "And what are they? I'm sure they are not that critical. Otherwise, I would have noticed them immediately."
No, she didn't.
Because, unlike most sentient beings in the Dominion, she knew a little more.
This is what led to her "short-sightedness."
"Let's start with the fact that you have correctly assessed the possible political consequences," I said, hearing the sound of the door behind me.
Turning my head, I saw a communications officer who, without fuss, handed me a datapad with a text message on the screen.
Reading the report didn't take long.
So that's how it is.
A security threat.
"Arrange a meeting," I ordered, returning the device.
The signaler nodded silently, acknowledging the order, and quickly left the control room.
Funny...
To be informed of a personal security threat during negotiations with a Baroness who is trying to marry me.
Coincidence?
I doubt it.
But, let's continue.
"Indeed, a political marriage between the leadership of the Dominion and Baroness D'Asta will suit both sides," I added to my speech.
"That's what I said," the platinum blonde smiled. "So, what's the problem then?"
"The problem is that you are not Baroness D'Asta," I explained. "And any DNA analysis will prove it. The public disclosure of this kind of information will completely deprive you of significant support among the local population of the sector, as has already been said. You will go from liberator to invader."
The fact that the real Baroness obviously died during our attack on Smarck, when the captured originals of clones of imperial and republican officials were being destroyed, is wisely not to be reported to the only one of her clones at my disposal.
And possibly, the only one in the galaxy at all.
"If you do that, you will lose the chance for a peaceful and bloodless subjugation of the sector to the Dominion," the woman said quickly.
"Maybe so," I agreed. "Or maybe not. Circumstances are not always as we would like them to be. Which, in fact, is indicated by the second and third nuances."
"And what are they?" the Baroness's clone asked with a feigned smile, demonstrating her supposed composure.
Her actions can be understood – she is trying her best to show her supposed composure, even though she understands that even the first point mentioned is enough to make her nobody in the sector.
And this is only the first of the nuances.
"For example, the second nuance directly concerns the aristocratic practices of the Families from the D'Astan sector," I continued. "In particular, we are talking about the consummation of the marriage. I am sure that many sentient beings in the galaxy will be surprised by the fact that a member, albeit a former one, of the Imperial Ruling Council, Baroness Fina D'Asta, who is one of the pillars of the New Order in Imperial Space, has decided to marry a representative of a non-human race."
How... Cute.
It turns out that platinum blondes with pale skin (due to cosmetics) can turn even paler.
Or is it natural camouflage to blend their skin tone with their hair color?
"I am sure this fact will raise many questions among the local population," I continued. "And among the Imperials. The HoloNet will be filled with a large number of pseudo-analytical exposés, released at the behest of our ill-wishers. Who will drag all your dirty laundry to the surface, Baroness. And, I fear, the only proof and refutation of the very fact of the fictitious marriage will be..."
"I will not go through with this barbaric custom!" the Baroness exclaimed indignantly. "No demonstrations of sheets from the wedding bed!"
Despite her attempt to restrain herself, she couldn't.
Her left eye twitched on its own.
Pelleon's eyes widened, and he looked at the Baroness as if she were insane.
Obviously – not so far from the truth.
"Allow me to finish," I asked. "Studying the culture of your people, of the sector, I have undoubtedly encountered this ancient custom. But, I assure you, it was not my intention..."
"All the better," the Baroness exhaled with relief.
"Moreover, all such shows are not only insulting but also do not provide any objective evidence," I continued. "The only thing that will indisputably refute any talk and gossip about the marriage being fictitious for political purposes is the appearance of joint children."
Even Pelleon's jaw dropped at this.
And the Baroness began to blush rapidly.
"My race is not so widely represented in the known part of the galaxy," I continued. "Therefore, a couple of heirs, with whom you will walk around the palace territory, carefully wrapping their blue-skinned bodies with burning red eyes in swaddling clothes, will be the best proof..."
"Only over my dead body!" the Baroness blurted out, unable to restrain herself.
Gilad Pelleon was openly smiling now.
"Speaking of which," I pulled a separate code cylinder from my pocket and attached it to the holoprojector.
In the same instant, a detailed text file appeared before my interlocutors.
"What is this?" the Baroness frowned.
"A death certificate," I explained. "A small, but very important legal formality that could not have arisen after Luke Skywalker worked his lightsaber on the bridge of the Chimera during the Battle of Sluis Van."
For the first few weeks of the current year, a copy of this document, which "accidentally" ended up on the HoloNet, was forwarded between users more often than holovideos with bantlings.
"And what does that mean? You're alive!"
"As you have already noticed, Madam Baroness, legal subtleties and factual circumstances sometimes diverge, despite concerning, in essence, the same thing."
"But, as I understand it, one day you will emerge from the shadows and..."
The Baroness fell silent.
Judging by her pursed lips, she understood the obvious.
"This will happen later than the D'Astan sector will be annexed to the Dominion one way or another," I explained. "Since in that case, the marriage will be a pure farce, there remains only one option under which a marriage between us is possible, as you desire."
"I'm fine with that," the Baroness grumbled, stubbornly pushing only her point of view.
"As you wish," I shrugged. "But I consider it my duty to warn you that in that case, you will be spoken of as nothing less than a madwoman prone to necrophilia."
This time, Pelleon couldn't hold back.
The Vice Admiral was literally torn apart by laughter, bending in half and exiting the holoprojector's capture area.
The Baroness's face changed – judging by the shades of white and blue on the hologram, one can understand how her complexion changes.
Well, and you can also use your imagination and understand the reaction of the human body to get a complete picture of what is happening with your opponent.
"Are you mocking me, Thrawn?" the Baroness hissed maliciously, trying to pretend that she was not at all embarrassed by the Vice Admiral's continuous cackling in the background.
"I don't have such a habit, Baroness," I replied.
"The New Republic will not agree with you," she threw.
"Because they are enemies," I retorted unceremoniously. "And I have a short conversation with them. If it's convenient for you, I can list you among my enemies. But I won't guarantee that you will live long enough to report this fact, which will haunt you for the rest of your life, to anyone."
"Stop threatening me, Thrawn," the Baroness spat out. "I want to rule my sector, and I will get what I want!"
"In that case, Baroness, I will ask you to behave wisely," I said calmly. "And not to forget the fact that the last time a ruler of a state in this part of the galaxy tried to solve his problems at my expense and get what was not rightfully his, it all ended with me becoming the ruler."
Fina D'Asta pursed her lips so tightly that I could barely see them.
"I cannot lose control of the sector," she said. "At least in memory of Baron D'Asta! Even if not by blood, I am still his daughter. And I am defending the interests of his surname, his Family. Not to mention that he advised me to marry you, to place the sector under the protection of the Dominion on certain conditions, to protect the population of D'Astan from imperial and any other attacks."
And she shouldn't have said that.
"There's no need to hide behind the name of a man who didn't even know you weren't his daughter," I remarked dryly.
"You can always scan my memory and find a fragment of a conversation with him about the wedding," the Baroness twisted her lips. "I can undergo a memory scan at any time convenient for you... Or will you ignore the last request of the person who supported you in a difficult moment, gave you ships, funding, provided everything necessary for your struggle?"
"That is precisely why I will ensure that the D'Astans are not threatened by other forces in the galaxy," I cut off. "As for marriage... I am sure that the Baron, in his conversation, positioned me as your spouse for one reason only – at that moment I was the sole ruler of the Dominion."
Pelleon's laughter in the background subsided on its own.
"I don't understand..."
How funny she wrinkles her doll-like face...
"At the present moment, the Dominion is ruled by the Triumvirate," I reminded her. "Grand Moff Felix Ferrus, Lieutenant Colonel Astarion, and Vice Admiral Pelleon. Worthy men and professionals in their field. Representatives of the human race," which removes most of the questions. "Single men. I think you should consider asking one of them for a fictitious marriage. Consider that you already have my approval as their commander. All that remains is to announce the chosen one."
Oh, and I even know what will happen next.
Not that I, like any other man, would refuse to be the spouse of a beautiful, albeit bitchy, woman from whom anything can be expected.
But there are circumstances under which even a fictitious marriage between us could be the last bright moment in the Baroness's life.
And it so happened that she is indeed necessary to the Dominion for the bloodless annexation of the D'Astan sector.
"Sir," Vice Admiral Pelleon's hologram appeared in the frame, delighting me with a puzzled look. "I must note that my marital status is not so simple. I have a son..."
"Whom you have not officially acknowledged," I thought. "Just as you have not bound yourself in marriage to any woman. Having gained a reputation as a womanizer in your time, not tied to any planet and content with being a warship commander."
"I'm sure," D'Asta said with a strained smile, looking triumphantly at the gray-haired man, "I will be a suitable stepmother for him."
"Sir," Pelleon lost the last notes of amusement and straightened up as if he were on a drill inspection. "Please forgive me, but I am definitely not suitable for this role – a fictitious husband..."
Gilad fell silent, seeing that the Baroness had unceremoniously grabbed his arm with an independent air.
"Take it easy, Vice Admiral," I advised. "This is just a successful maneuver. You know that we need order in the D'Astan sector. And you know that we will take measures to achieve this with minimal casualties. As Supreme Commander, I think that, although the Baroness's proposal is direct in stating her interests, it will help us achieve our goals."
Gilad looked at me with a stone face.
Slowly digesting my words.
Which were an interpretation of his own words, spoken to me a few minutes earlier.
"I think, as a justification for our alliance, we can declassify part of the operation to liberate the sector from rebels over time," the Baroness suggested in a tone as if she were discussing choosing a dress for the evening. "After all, someday it will be possible to say that it was Vice Admiral Pelleon who was behind the destruction of the rebellious aristocrats and the pacification of the entire sector."
"Not entirely," Gilad grumbled through his teeth, looking me directly in the eyes. "I am only assigned command of the operation before the capture of Serenno."
Pelleon's entire demeanor suggested that the Vice Admiral had not been Grand Admiral's student for a long time for nothing.
If he hadn't put all the circumstances together, he had certainly guessed that the "General's" rotation wasn't just for show.
"Let's not go into details," the Baroness said with visible relief, obviously casting aside everything I had said to her earlier. "They hardly interest anyone, in fact. Thank you, Grand Admiral, for being able to provide me with colossal assistance."
With these words, the woman stepped out of the projection zone.
Pelleon followed her with his gaze, then looked back at me.
Judging by his question and tone, the Baroness had left earshot.
"Sir!" Gilad addressed me with poorly concealed irritation. "May I speak openly?!"
"You may, Vice Admiral."
"This lady is a real thorn in my side," Pelleon raged, not mincing words. "And marrying her, even formally, is... It's... It's not part of my plans!"
"Because it contradicts your habit of not getting attached to one woman for a long time?" I clarified.
"Yes," the Vice Admiral replied automatically.
Pelleon choked when he realized what he had said.
"Sir, I..." I've never seen him so flustered. "I'll strangle her with my bare hands after some stunt like this. My life is tied to the fleet, not digging in the ground on Nez-Peron, or looking at her transport company's reports. Or what else do aristocrats do on their weekdays? I'm a soldier, not all of this."
"Take it easy, Gilad," I advised, allowing Pelleon to perceive my words more attentively. Yes, precisely because of the unconventional address by name. "The marriage is fictitious, and no one is forcing you to spend all your time with your young wife all your free time. After all, you are one of the leaders of the Dominion. The brain center of all armed forces. The circumstances are such that you will need to spend a lot of time in service. And the Baroness's behavior will be monitored by competent sentient beings – both from the overt and covert security. However, I am confident that she will not pose a serious threat to us in the future."
"Because she's a clone?" Pelleon clarified.
"Yes," I replied. "Be that as it may, but even in this status, she did everything she could to prevent the loss of power and authority of her Family. This is worth a lot from a certain point of view. Another matter is that she did not succeed without outside help. We will be closely watching how, Sir, as a member of the Triumvirate, I think that, although the Baroness's proposal is audacious, it will help us achieve our goals."
"What if she is executing a program implanted by the 'Zann Consortium'?" Gilad asked. "And her actions will pose a danger."
"We will eliminate the threat."
"But then the forensic examination will reveal that she's a clone," Pelleon reminded him. "And if we do the impossible and get another clone from her, he'll age and die even faster. Sooner or later, her body will end up on the dissection table, and the deception will be revealed."
"That's possible," I didn't dismiss the obvious weakness in my plan. "But there's a nuance."
"What nuance, sir?" Pelleon inquired.
"For a forensic expert to examine a corpse, he needs the corpse itself," I explained. "No body, no problem. After all, the Dominion might once again fail to save the baroness, kidnapped by treacherous pirates or followers of the rebellious aristocrats she defeated. In any case, you, as a heartbroken husband, will have every right to unleash the full might of the Dominion upon the heads of those who committed this crime. But, I repeat – only if the baroness acts against us. And only in that case will countermeasures be taken."
The stony expression of a man doomed to marry a young beauty vanished from Gilad's face.
A cunning smirk appeared on his lips.
"That's all," I ordered. "Proceed with the cleanup of Serenno. By my return, the D'Astan sector should already be part of the Dominion."
"It will be done, sir!"
The President of the New Republic, Fay'lia, listened with satisfaction to Admiral Duplex's report.
"Enemy forces have been destroyed or compelled to surrender," the Zeltron stated in a weary tone. "Ground troops are occupying the industrial planets and stations the enemy placed in orbit around Hambarin. The sector is under our complete control."
"Consolidate your hold on the new frontiers, Admiral," the Bothan ordered. "And prepare to advance. We must liberate Coruscant as soon as possible to show our citizens how strong we are."
"I will do all I can, sir," the Zeltron replied listlessly. "We have significant damage to our ships, heavy casualties... We need rest, repairs, and replenishment."
"Do not slow the pace of the offensive, Admiral," Fay'lia commanded. "According to our intelligence, the enemy is beginning to regroup and withdraw some of its forces from their positions. Take advantage of this and finish off the retreating forces."
According to New Republic intelligence reports, the forces of the Pentastar Alignment, finding themselves in an unenviable position after the defeat of the Reaper fleet, had lost the last vestiges of initiative.
Squabbles between commanders led to several authoritative warlords, renowned since the days of the Empire, deciding to abandon some of their territories to strengthen their positions closer to Coruscant and the more important Core Worlds.
This played into the hands of the Republicans – they could occupy the territory abandoned by the enemy almost without a fight, claiming victories.
Such actions would increase public trust in the government and strengthen Fay'lia's own position.
"Yes, sir," the Zeltron's hologram dissolved.
Well, even if not the first time, he understood that arguing with his president was foolish.
Fay'lia moved on to routine work when his secretary reminded him that the sentient being he had summoned had been waiting for an audience in the president's office for two hours.
"Let him in," the Bothan said irritably.
Frankly, he had already forgotten that he had invited this man and made him wait.
However, it wouldn't break him.
The man who entered was dressed in simple clothes, a stark contrast to what he wore on duty.
And to what, according to historical chronicles, Jedi Knights wore in the past.
Simple dark robes, which a peasant on Dantooine or a poor citizen somewhere in the Mid Rim might wear.
Long, light-brown hair down to his shoulders.
An unremarkable face…
And a lightsaber at his belt.
Fay'lia and his entourage sometimes felt that this sentient being, despite his loyalty to the New Republic, was trying to imitate or match Luke Skywalker.
And, in fact, they had a lot in common.
Ostentatious simplicity bordering on absolute disregard for their status and position.
Both understood technology.
They piloted "X-wings."
Both became leaders of their own squadrons and distinguished themselves on the battlefield.
Both underwent training under the tutelage of representatives of the old Jedi Order…
Even both had lightsabers with blue blades.
Yes, Skywalker later got another one, with a green blade, but who cared about such details?
Fay'lia had sacrificed much to improve the ratings and reputation of the New Republic.
Using the tricks that had worked before without the slightest pang of conscience.
A Jedi in the service of the New Republic was a significant asset in strengthening his political rating.
Especially when the Jedi did as they were told.
"Come in, sit down," Fay'lia said, putting on a polite smile, and gestured to the man to take the chair next to his desk. "First of all, allow me to congratulate you on the successful completion of your mission, Mr..."
"×2," the man replied calmly, sinking into the chair.
The Bothan winced.
"I thought we agreed on a more euphonious name," he said, smoothing his fur, which had rippled with irritation.
"You asked me to think about it," the Jedi offered a more accurate interpretation. "I said my designation is ×2. The Kaminoans gave it to me when I was created. I don't know another. And I don't want to know."
Jedi Knight ×2.
Fay'lia mentally cursed his interlocutor with choice expletives.
"X2" was a number.
A call sign.
An operational nickname.
But not a name that would sound good in the press.
If the sentients heard it, they would immediately start asking uncomfortable questions.
And a very inconvenient truth might surface.
X2 was a clone of the long-dead Jedi Knight Fallon Grey, who had been part of the old Jedi Order.
Shortly before the Clone Wars began, Grey was wounded, and his master, Jedi Ram Kota, took him for treatment to the nearby world of Kamino.
Without the Jedi's knowledge, the Kaminoans created two clones from Grey's DNA – ×1 and ×2, who were trained under the clone trooper program.
Both participated in the Clone Wars, earning a reputation as valuable and experienced soldiers. In the final days of the war, ×2 participated in the Battle of Cato Neimoidia, where he was ordered to kill his commander, a Jedi Master, when Supreme Chancellor Palpatine issued Order 66.
X2 obeyed, killed the Jedi, and joined the ranks of the Imperial stormtroopers, serving the newly formed Galactic Empire; however, unlike ×1, he was not sure of this choice.
After several months of service to the New Order, ×2's doubts intensified during an assassination attempt on a fugitive Jedi hiding among the simple villagers on the planet Dantooine.
Learning that ×1 planned to kill innocent people who were hiding Jedi, ×2 deserted the Empire.
It later turned out that the Jedi whom ×1 and ×2 were hunting was the notorious Fallon Grey himself, their original.
The Jedi and ×2 were mortally wounded by ×1, but Grey managed to save ×2's life with his Jedi tricks.
For the next fifteen years, ×2 lived on Dantooine as a simple farmer until he was discovered by Grey's former teacher, Ram Kota.
The Jedi recruited his student's clone into the Alliance to Restore the Republic.
Fighting on the side of the Alliance, Grey participated in many major battles of that period.
He was part of one of the numerous sabotage teams that hindered the creation of the first Death Star.
He liberated Wookiee slaves from Imperial captivity.
He freed a group of rebel saboteurs on Geonosis, who later became part of the "Gray Squadron" he formed, a pale analogue of the then "Rogue Squadron."
He fought on Yavin IV, opposing an Imperial ground assault during the Battle of Yavin.
And he even participated in the attack on the first Death Star, trying to cover Skywalker from the Imperials pursuing him, but failed and was forced to retreat.
He fought on Hoth.
He fought against his brother, ×1, who was also Force-sensitive but had become Palpatine's follower.
X2 considered it his duty to eliminate the threat ×1 posed to the galaxy, but he was outdone – last year, Grand Admiral Thrawn dealt with his brother in the Battle of Mustafar.
He fought at Endor and distinguished himself there with his heroism…
And when the New Republic split and former Alliance fighters were weeded out from the true democratic state, ×2 and his squadron remained loyal to the legitimate government.
And even the news that Ram Kota had reappeared and was serving the Alliance did not shake ×2's confidence in the correctness of his actions in service to the New Republic.
Everywhere you look – an iconic man.
A man from the cover.
A hero of holoreports.
If only he had a more euphonious name, not this stupid number.
If journalists got to his past, there would be a small scandal – Imperial clone troopers were known for their cruelty, lack of principles, and ruthless execution of orders.
"Well," Fay'lia said. "We can congratulate you on the successful completion of your mission. Thanks to you and your squadron, the threats from Grand Moff Kaine and his strike force have been eliminated. We captured a Super Star Destroyer and a large number of enemy starships. They will now become symbols of our victory."
"That's good," the man replied quietly. "But I didn't want to kill Grand Moff Kaine."
"I know, I sympathize that you had to do it, but either try to take him by force, or not risk the lives of thousands of our soldiers and hundreds of thousands of Imperial soldiers who were on board the Reaper at the time. The Empire doesn't care about losses – as long as they can hinder us. But you did well. You oriented yourself in a difficult situation."
In reality, there was nothing difficult about it.
Bothan intelligence had quite accurately determined that Kaine's flagship had a curious feature in the form of a self-destruct system.
Fay'lia made sure that the pocket Republican Jedi corrected the situation.
It was necessary for the evening show.
To which he wanted to bring a Jedi with a name and surname, not a number, damn it!
"Thank you," the man replied modestly. "May I ask why you summoned me?"
"It's simple," Fay'lia replied. "A major broadcast is planned for this evening. We will broadcast our victories throughout the galaxy. Furthermore, I want to inform the galaxy that despite what happened to Luke Skywalker, the New Republic intends to restore the Jedi Order. Like the Old Order, it will be subordinate to the Senate, but indirectly. The President himself will control it directly – so that we do not experience the same crisis of Jedi independence that occurred under the old Republic."
"That is commendable," ×2 assessed. "For a long time, I was unsure if I was worthy of being a Jedi, and I rejected apprenticeship under Skywalker. But after my brother's death, which I felt in the Force, I realized that there are forces in the galaxy more terrible and dangerous than him. I must become a Jedi. And I will be grateful for you allowing me to become part of the Order."
Fay'lia smiled kindly and patronizingly.
"My dear friend," he said with feigned warmth. "You will not just become part of the Order. You will lead it!"
"Me?" the clone Jedi exclaimed, taken aback. "But I know so little... I think other Jedi will respond..."
"And why would I want old stubborn people in the leadership of the New Jedi Order who will put their fingers in the wheels?" Fay'lia thought. "Moreover, besides this clone, I have no other suitable – not independent and easily led – candidate. The other Jedi who were in the Alliance or the New Republic preferred to distance themselves from what was happening."
"I believe in you, my friend," Fay'lia used his most benevolent of feigned smiles.
X2, as simple as a weather forecast on Tatooine, bowed shyly in sign of respect and admiration for his president's wisdom.