To say that Jahan was surprised to see the premises his loyal comrade Alessi Quon had chosen for a safehouse would be to say nothing at all.
If not for the fatigue from what they had endured, the pain throughout his body, and the moral emptiness that had replaced the excitement of breaking through the blockade at the Jedi Temple, the Dominion agent would have been able to express his feelings fully and in suitable terms.
As it was, he simply slumped into a corner while the other members of the combat group looked around.
Afar frowned in dissatisfaction.
The agents silently appraised the space in search of vulnerabilities in this spot's defenses, gauging the degree of threat that might come from the sanctuary's local inhabitants…
Of whom there were quite a few—at least several dozen.
And Jahan did not like that either.
Their group was not supposed to run into locals under any circumstances, remaining in the shadows and avoiding exposure.
Now, however…
Everything was going under a bantha's tail.
The events at the Jedi Temple had scorched the Alignment's backside so badly that a massive number of new soldiers and recon droids had been deployed to the planet.
The latter's continuous patrols resulted in bloody raids by the former the moment the soulless scouts detected even a hint of a hideout and sentients within it.
Thus, they had been forced to abandon two "bolt-holes" in rapid succession, moving deeper and deeper below the surface of the residential levels.
Which made the thought of a swift escape nothing more than an unattainable dream for every Dominionite.
They were simply tired.
Worn out.
Exhausted.
The soldiers had to engage in regular firefights with infantry and stormtroopers to distract them from discovering yet another hideout, thereby allowing the main group and the "loot" to evacuate elsewhere.
In fact, while occupying one point, the squad of Dominion agents would send a reconnaissance group under the command of one of the senior agents—Jahan himself, Afar, or Alessi—to search for the next.
And now he very much wanted to look the Sluissi in the eye and ask, "Why the Hutt did he lead the group into a hideout already occupied by someone else?!"
Such a chamber could be located on any planet, but certainly not on Coruscant.
It gave the impression of being underground.
But neither Afar nor Jahan believed the impression.
And they were right.
The ceiling met overhead in a dome; wet stalactite icicles naturally completed the picture.
Only numerous rust spots and rivets broke the integrity of the mossy dungeon image.
As did a giant pile of fresh (and not-so-fresh) garbage in the center of the artificial cavern.
The pile was quite tidy, though, and clearly intended for recycling—there, in the far corner, a machine for such environmental care operations stood grumbling and snorting.
Judging by its appearance, the mechanism could be given two or three thousand years since its manufacture.
It had probably seen better days in its life.
But in truth, Jahan understood perfectly well that on Coruscant's Lower Levels, no one gave a damn about the environment.
At any other time, this trash would have long since been scattered through the filthy alleys of the capital planet's underworld.
And it would have given away the location of the group of sentients hiding from Alignment soldiers to the recon droids.
He still had to figure out what kind of refugee group this was.
But since Alessi had brought them here, blazed a trail through the labyrinth of transitions, tunnels, and corridors that led them down to the city's lower levels, it meant things were not as bad as they seemed at first glance.
The general appearance of this Lower Level quarter indicated that the place was old, long-abandoned, and definitely built not by a construction droid, but by hand and with primitive construction equipment.
That meant they were VERY deep beneath the surface of Coruscant.
There was a chance the enemy would not make it down here as quickly as last time.
It wasn't that the Alignment had a way to track them, or that the Dominionites made blunders in their ability to cover their tracks.
No.
The enemy simply had a lot of technology for hunting saboteurs.
And they used it with maniacal persistence.
Annihilating every sentient they found.
Pure terror.
Jahan was recovering his strength, waiting for Alessi to return from the meeting with the local leader after negotiating terms for the entire squad to stay in the camp for the long term.
And he had the opportunity to examine the hideout quite closely and in detail.
Besides the trash pile, it could be noted that the space near the surface was divided by flimsy partitions into small cubicles where refugees of all possible races and ages huddled.
Sheets of duraplast, transpari-steel, and ferrocrete blocks went into building the walls, and if the owners were unlucky in their search for material, then old torn rags served as the partition.
With the arrival of the armed squad, the locals cast dissatisfied and wary glances at them every now and then.
Jahan saw how they were being watched from every burrow and hole, people trying to guess who they were and what they were doing here.
Nearby, two Twi'leks and a Rodian stopped.
About seven more sentients were "strolling" nearby, pretending to be interested in the local sights.
Cross unerringly determined that every one of them was armed.
But if it came to a shootout, he could bet his entire salary that the Dominionites would emerge the victors.
"They're coming," Afar said quietly, indicating the shacks with a glance.
Jahan looked in the direction indicated.
A rather strange procession.
Only three sentients, of whom he knew only Quon.
But the two men—an old man and a youth—approached him with weary and thoughtful faces.
A single look at them made one feel uneasy.
A tall and no-longer-young dark-skinned man with a graying face, wearing dirty-gray but still sturdy, worn clothes, over which was a tattered cloak bearing traces of carefully applied patches.
This made it seem as if the man were dressed in some type of homemade camouflage.
The boy walking to his left was dressed in much the same clothes, but they were of better quality and did not bear the marks of long wandering.
Jahan rose slowly from his seat to meet the procession.
All his experience, all his knowledge told him that these two "thoughtful" ones were not as simple as they appeared from the outside.
Something in their gait, especially the older man's, resembled military bearing.
A straight back, wide steps, eyes slightly downcast.
Yet there emanated from the old man an aura of authority and the unshakable correctness of his actions.
"Jahan," the Sluissi addressed Cross. "This is the leader of the settlement we are in."
That was obvious enough.
But it didn't make things any less worrying.
"Hello," the agent extended his hand. "Jahan."
The man gave him his hand in return, gripping his fingers with the cybernetic prosthesis of his right hand.
Judging by the fact that he nearly crushed the agent's palm, either the prosthesis was not functioning very well, or the old man intended to show right away who was in charge here and whose tune they would be dancing to.
"And this," the Sluissi pointed to the boy, "is his assistant Ja—"
"You have arrived from the surface," the old man cut Quon off. "Fleeing from the Imperials. Is that right?"
He was an old man indeed.
He looked to be eighty, not a day less.
The period of human maturity's end had long since passed, but on this particular sentient, biological processes seemed to have given up.
If not for the gray hair and age spots on his bald head, he could have been given fifty at most—and even that would be a stretch.
The way he moved, held himself, and unhesitatingly violated ethical protocols pointed to his authoritarian character.
The old-timer was clearly not simple.
And his face seemed familiar…
Except that remembering it was beyond the exhausted Jahan's power.
But he had definitely seen this old man in his distant childhood.
And not just on the street—he had spoken over the HoloNet.
And one had to keep a sharp eye out with him.
"That is correct," Jahan confirmed.
"Why?" the old man continued his interrogation.
"We broke into Coruscant's information network, forced the Imperial Palace computers to work for us, sent a signal to every Jedi in the galaxy, blew up the Jedi Temple, slaughtered several battalions of stormtroopers and Pentastar Alignment infantry, blew up several of their strongholds, barracks, and arsenals, ground a fair amount of armor into dust, carried out sabotages, and looted Imperial Intelligence warehouses and 'safehouses'…"
Not the best advertisement.
"We have a difference of opinion with them," Jahan summarized. "They are chasing us, and we are running. Nothing illegal…"
"I do not like lies," the older man's brows furrowed. "You have stung them badly. And now you have come here, into our home. Into my home. With weapons," he nodded toward the agents. "In armor. With backpacks full of who knows what. You smell of tibanna and explosives. And after that, you want to say the Imperials are 'just chasing' you?"
Alessi, taken aback by this, looked hunted, glancing back and forth between his friends and the men.
The boy did not participate in the conversation, but from his face, which was frowning beyond his years, one could read that he was not thrilled by such company either.
"Pardon the intrusion," Afar said hastily. "If we are out of place here, we will leave…"
"You are going nowhere," casting a heavy gaze at the senior agents, the old man shook his head in a somewhat disappointed way. "We do not refuse help to those in need. To drive you out of the sanctuary now would be to doom you to become victims of the Empire. You will be shown your places. You may rest for a couple of days. After that—leave. You bring with you only death and destruction."
"Brilliant," the Zygerrian said gloomily, with a sad smirk, looking at his comrades. "We were seen through at a single glance."
"Not everyone can be fooled," the old man said, pointing a finger of his artificial hand toward the agents patiently awaiting orders. "Your clones give you away to anyone who can recognize them."
That was why they wore armor…
The thought burned like a plasma torch.
Jahan, like Afar, instantly took several steps back, drawing his weapon and aiming it at the strange pair.
The boy reached his right hand under his cloak, but the old man stopped his movement with his healthy hand.
"It is not so easy to tell who our soldiers are," Jahan stated, aiming straight for the old man's chest. "Especially if you haven't seen them without armor. Sorry, old-timer, but I don't believe for a second you could have seen the bodies of fallen agents before their cremation."
"No human can recognize clones if they do not see their faces," Afar echoed, aiming at the boy.
The sanctuary's armed sentients also drew their weapons, pointing them at the Dominionites.
The clone agents did not stay on the sidelines either.
And now dozens of people were aiming blasters at each other.
One wrong move and a slaughter would begin.
"Are they enemies, Master?" the boy asked, looking at the old man. "Imperial sweep teams?"
He did not remove his hand from under his cloak.
"No," the latter said reluctantly. "Military, but not Imperials. They wish us no ill. But they do not like the fact that they have been exposed."
"Don't test my patience, old man," Jahan advised. "Order your fighters to lower their weapons and move back. We will pack up and leave…"
"No one wants shooting and needless deaths," Afar supported. "If you don't blab about what's happening, we'll all go our separate ways in peace."
"Peace?" the old man laughed hollowly. "The galaxy is in flames, spy. And we are in the epicenter of this hurricane. Peace will never come. Only short lulls in the intervals between bloodlettings."
"Jahan," Afar called out softly to his partner. "Do these convoluted speeches of a madman remind you of anyone?"
Cross would have laughed if not for the idiocy of the situation.
"Well, I'd say it's a new page from the epics of our late friend with the big head… And I'm plagued by nagging doubts, you know."
"Should we ask directly?"
The wrinkles on the old man's face smoothed out.
And his gaze became even more prickly.
Then a question came that Jahan wanted to hear least of all from the inhabitants of Coruscant.
"Are you from the Dominion?"
"Ah… Oops?" Alessi squeezed out.
"Did someone forget to take the sticker off an equipment container?" Afar joked. "Or is this old-timer not so simple…"
"Not so simple," the settlement leader confirmed. "So you are Bre'ano's assistants… Well… Expected—he could not have done it alone. Now it is clear why the Imperials are looking for you. Was it you who gave them a nightmare on Coruscant's Upper Levels?"
"It was us," Jahan did not deny it. "And we would not want anyone to know about it… I think you understand we don't get along with the Empire. You, apparently, don't either…"
The boy relaxed, exhaling with relief.
The old man, though he didn't change externally, seemed to warm up, somehow.
At least his voice was not so surly now.
"That is so," he said peaceably. "You may lower your weapons—there are none here who wish you ill, Dominionites."
"I wouldn't say that," Cross was in no hurry to relax. "Your boy's hand is still on his blaster."
The old man shook his head.
"It is not a blaster," he answered. "We do not use them."
"Then have him slowly pull his hand out," Jahan ordered. "And place whatever he's gripping on the floor."
The old man nodded silently, and the boy obeyed.
The agents watched as the young man placed a cylindrical object before him…
Alessi whistled.
"You've got to be kidding me," Afar muttered.
"A lightsaber!" Jahan noted, not taking his eyes off the Templars' weapon. "Um… Are you Jedi?"
"This is my apprentice," the old man introduced, pointing to the boy with his prosthesis. "Jaden Korr."
"Nice to meet you," the latter answered quietly.
"And you…?" the Zygerrian shifted his gaze to the settlement leader. "Who are you, sir?"
The old man winced painfully, as if it hurt to remember his own name.
And he did it in such a characteristic way…
Just as he had done it dozens of times during the HoloNet broadcasts of his speeches in the Senate.
Jahan felt a cold sweat break out over him.
He remembered where he had seen that face.
"It can't be," he thought. "There are no such coincidences!"
But reality is heartless.
His hands lowered the blaster rifle of their own accord.
The other Dominionites followed suit.
"It seems," Cross met the dark-skinned old man's eyes, "you recognized me, agent."
"Emperor's black bones," Jahan breathed. "May I eat nothing but concentrates for the rest of my life! You're not just a Jedi! You're one of the ones who nearly finished the Emperor!"
"It can't be," Afar gasped.
It seemed he had figured it out too.
The old man remained silent, as if it were unpleasant for him to hear what was said about him from the mouths of the Dominionites.
"Could someone explain for those who aren't experts?" Alessi clarified. "I'm a specialist in the exact sciences, not Jedi wizardry. Who is this?"
The old man was clearly in no hurry to name himself.
Therefore, Jahan took it upon himself to introduce the leader of the secret sanctuary on the Lower Levels.
"Gentlemen, we have before us Jedi Master Mace Windu."