Nine years, seven months, and thirty days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, seven months, and thirty days since the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and fifteen days since the arrival).
The Force flowed within him, like the current of a river. Mighty, brimming with energy and life, it permeated everything around, granting a sense of invincibility, all-encompassing power, control over the surrounding world and...
Even that was not enough to move this blasted pebble.
Corran felt sweat soaking his jumpsuit, streams of sour-salty liquid trickling down his face under the setting rays of Jomark's sun... His nostrils already caught the scent of his own body...
But this stone, no bigger than a small fruit, refused to budge. No matter how calmly and methodically he tried to follow what Joruus C'baoth had taught him, Corran Horn clearly had issues with telekinesis.
He opened his eyes and looked at the silent old man sitting across from him. Clad in a brown cloak draped over his bare torso, C'baoth exuded serenity. Yet his face seemed overly focused, and the wind sweeping the upper platform of the palace where they resided tousled the old man's gray hair and beard.
Corran shivered — the wind was icy. But he hadn't felt it until he stopped meditating.
— It's impossible, Master C'baoth, — he said, pressing his hands to his damp body to warm himself. It didn't help. Within moments, the Corellian's teeth began chattering in a simple rhythm.
— Wrong! — the Jedi snapped, opening his eyes. For a moment, Corran thought the teacher's irises had turned amber.
In the next instant, the pebble Horn had been trying to move even a millimeter shot off with such speed it might as well have been fired from a mass-driver cannon.
Corran flinched at the surge of displeasure emanating from the old man. For a moment, he even panicked — the wave of irritation he felt was stronger than anything C'baoth had exuded before. And at least thrice as unpleasant. It was as if something in the old man's life had sparked his fury.
— Sometimes, Jedi Horn, — the old man said angrily, his features hardening, — I begin to doubt you've listened to a single moment of the valuable time spent on you.
— What can I say, that's just us Corellians, — Horn resorted to his usual defense tactic. It annoyed C'baoth, but at least it was true. This guy in the old cloak didn't bother explaining much — he'd say, do this, do that, then kindly repeat. Sure, there were some explanations... But, seriously? Who in their right mind would let a teenager fix a fusion reactor without at least teaching them basic physics and giving them tools?
In C'baoth's view, the way to progress was to shove that teenager into the reactor's core and say, "Fix it, what are you sitting around for? Radiation? Skin peeling, flesh falling off bones? Oh, come on, that's just motivation to work faster, get moving, this is only the first of a hundred reactors you need to fix before lunch."
— Stop excusing your laziness and unwillingness to take control of the events around you with typical Corellian carelessness, — C'baoth's brows arched sardonically. — You've wasted so much time instead of simply seizing the Force and dealing with that stone.
Corran grimaced.
— We've discussed this, Master C'baoth, — he reminded. — I don't think using my baser emotions as fuel to boost my power is right. I won't use the Dark Side.
C'baoth's bushy brows jumped sardonically again.
— Is that so, Jedi Horn? — the Jedi asked caustically. — Are you telling me you've always lived by the rules, never crossed a line, and your decisions and actions were driven solely by noble goals within the bounds of the law you so strive to uphold? — Corran felt a pang of guilt. But only for a moment, no more. Yes, he'd broken the law. But it was necessary... — Or is it just convenient to hide behind rules and selective adherence to them to seem "good" to yourself, while you know you'd do anything to achieve a goal. If the goal is worth it, of course.
Corran tasted the sour bitterness of defeat in his mouth. Not that C'baoth had struck a nerve, but... No, much of what he'd done could be chalked up to the Rebel Alliance being outside Imperial law, and all means were fair to overthrow a criminal regime (and anyway, he wasn't leading the sabotage teams on Thyferra blowing up government facilities; that was Wessiri and a couple of unhinged saboteurs). But his last act — deserting Rogue Squadron — that was a crime against the very New Republic law he'd so eagerly broken Imperial laws to help establish.
— That's what I'm talking about, Jedi Horn, — C'baoth cackled smugly. He seemed to find it amusing. — Self-deception is what ruined the Jedi. And it will ruin them again until we teach others to wield the tools needed to resolve a crisis. You're a pilot, but you don't face an enemy clutching a scythe or plow. No, to kill an enemy, you master a weapon, calling on it when needed and leaving it be when not. So it is with the Force, so it is with emotions.
— Hard to imagine, — Horn muttered, suppressing a yawn, — taking a vibroscythe and charging at a squadron of wheelbikes.
— And yet it is so, Jedi Horn, — C'baoth declared in a booming voice, his eyes glinting with cold fire that momentarily stunned Corran with its icy void. — Until the Jedi grasp a simple truth — you cannot face an enemy entrenched in a mighty bastion with just a big, ineffective club — these Jedi purges will continue. One after another, one after another... Until the last of us is wiped out. Do you understand?
— I think so, — Horn said, just to get the old man off his back, rubbing his eyes hard.
Exhaustion always hit him at the end of training, when it was time to talk with C'baoth. And as always, Horn's stance was wrong, the Jedi knew better, and all Corran could do was take his words on faith. There were no other options here on Jomark.
— The Emperor is dead, Vader too, — he said. — Across the galaxy, only one Skywalker can do anything. But he's not dangerous. What other threats are worth crossing the line and watching your moral compass falter more and more?
C'baoth glared at him from under his bushy brows.
— You'll meet those dangers yet, — he promised darkly. — I've told you of some. Others will rise from the galaxy's depths in time.
— Maybe just give me a list, Master C'baoth? — Horn asked, yawning. What kind of paradox was this? He was soaked to his underwear with sweat, about to be turned into an icicle by the freezing wind. And he wanted to sleep?!
— You want to solve everything quickly and simply, — C'baoth shook his head. — I could lead you to those threats by the hand, but what would you do against...?
He fell silent. Corran, blinking hard, saw a rather vivid scene right in front of him.
C'baoth sat bolt upright, his hawk-like gaze fixed somewhere over Corran's head. As if he saw something thousands of kilometers away.
— Are you alright, teacher? — Corran asked.
No response. C'baoth's fingers curled like an animal's claws, bending as if manipulating something like a puppeteer. Corran sighed, reaching out with the Force, worried the old man might be having a stroke or seeing something bizarre. But, as always, the master's mind was closed to him. Well, no surprise there.
— Let's head back to the castle, — Horn suggested, standing and grabbing C'baoth's elbow. The old man blinked a couple of times, visibly struggling to focus his eyes on the Corellian. — You're clearly tired, Master. You need rest.
C'baoth initially yielded to his urging, but then his gaze regained its former strength. The moment he touched the distinctive medallion on his chest.
— You're the one who's tired, Jedi Horn, — he said firmly. — Leave me. Return to your quarters and gather strength for the next training.
Corran had to admit arguing with this guy was like trying to move a mountain. And besides, he was genuinely exhausted.
— You sure you're okay? — he asked again, yawning so wide you could park a couple of X-wings in his mouth.
— Perfectly, — C'baoth assured him in a surprisingly grim tone. It promised nothing good. But Corran couldn't care less about whatever C'baoth was scheming this time.
— Well, — the Corellian rubbed his face, stifling another yawn with his hand. — If you need my help...
— I said, leave me! — C'baoth roared, and for a moment, Corran felt as if a bucket of boiling water had been dumped on him. — I am a Jedi Master. I need no one's help!
The next thing Corran knew, his legs were carrying him down the steep steps of the tower's spiral staircase, with no memory of when he'd learned to move so swiftly or why he'd left the roof at all.
He stopped only after descending a couple of floors.
The irritated Corellian shot an annoyed glance upward, guessing C'baoth had used the Force to shoo him away.
— What a... — Horn hissed through gritted teeth, now walking down the steps on his own. He had zero desire to return to the roof — the eccentric Jedi might devise an even faster way to send him to his quarters on the castle's lower level. Like, say, under the influence of gravity, stepping off the roof's edge straight down.
Approaching his room's door, Corran was so filled with anger at the Jedi that only as he crossed the threshold did he realize the heavy wooden door had swung open before him, without waiting for him to touch the handle.
Looking at the door and the empty corridor he'd come through, the Corellian tried to calm himself with the breathing exercises C'baoth had taught him. Yes, the weirdo had shared a few useful tricks, you had to give him that.
As the anger dissipated, exhaustion and sleepiness returned.
Corran, closing the door the old-fashioned way, headed to his bed, shedding his jumpsuit on the way.
Fine, suppose the Dark Side helps open doors before you reach them. Okay, with a big stretch, you could call it a useful skill.
"But I'm definitely not going to abuse it," Horn thought resolutely, collapsing onto the bed.
That was his last thought before the Corellian passed out, surrendering to sleep.
***
Erik swirled the contents of his glass. Tiny ice cubes clinked melodically at the bottom, completing a couple of full circles in a second.
— Nervous? — asked Brandei, seated in the chair across from him.
— Going one-on-one with Imperious against Crimson Dawn? — Shohashi's brow arched. — Shaking in my boots. It's got enough firepower to gut a couple of Star Destroyers before they even breach its shields. And its armor could take a full day to crack.
— What, not enough thrills for you? — Brandei's voice carried a grumble. — Or is the blood from hunting Republicans still hot?
— I'm colder than a sarlacc, — Erik reassured him, taking a sip. — The trap is set. The bait's waiting for its moment.
— "Bait," — Brandei snorted. — Thrawn's lost his mind if he thinks it's that simple...
— The bait idea wasn't Thrawn's, — Erik pointed out.
— No kidding? — Brandei looked surprised. — Our grand admiral "I'll stare at a painting and crush a fleet" isn't as perfect as he seems?
— Enough, — Shohashi said calmly. — Thrawn deserves respect. You shouldn't talk like that about him in my presence.
— Fine, — Brandei grumbled. — So what's with this plan? What lunatic kuat came up with the idea of luring a star dreadnought with an Imperial Star Destroyer?
Erik drained his glass in one gulp.
— Me.
Brandei, who'd just taken a sip, choked.
It took a few seconds for him to cough it out and recover.
— Have you completely lost it?! — he stared at his friend, stunned. Honestly, Brandei was probably the only Star Destroyer commander in Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet who didn't openly avoid the "Butcher of Atoan." Well, maybe a couple others. Those who didn't see his actions post-Endor as desertion.
— On the contrary, — Shohashi assured him. — The plan is brilliant.
— What's brilliant about it? — Brandei's face hardened. — Bellators were built to hunt line ships. An ISD is a line ship. Crimson Dawn will turn you into a sieve.
— It won't have time, — Erik said calmly. — Either way, we need bait to lure the first division into the trap and deal with them before the main campaign begins. Imperious fits perfectly — I've stepped on so many toes and danced on so many graves that the Bothans will be fuming when they spot my ship in their viewports. Unit One can withstand a full broadside from a super star destroyer like Executor, Vengeance, or Assertor. A Bellator is four times weaker. Simple math — I have four times longer to win.
— Have I told you you're insane? — Brandei slammed his glass on the table, then reached for the whiskey decanter and filled it to the brim with amber liquid. — And here I was wondering why Thrawn changed his plan from a full fleet assault on their division to just a few ships...
— That was my proposal, — Shohashi repeated. — The whole fleet's too valuable for a slaughter with the risk of heavy losses. So the strike force is limited to Imperious, a torpedo sphere, Venators, and Interdictors. The rest of the fleet will stay at firing range and only act as support. The Venators are just there to handle escorts. Crimson Dawn is mine.
— And Thrawn approved this? — the commander of Judicator looked at him skeptically.
— Only Imperious is at risk, — Erik noted. — If things go south, only my ship goes down. But either way, that Bellator will fall under Thrawn's command. In ten hours, the division will be at the trap.
— Alright, — Brandei said. — I take it back. You're both insane — you and Thrawn.
— Maybe, — Shohashi gave a restrained smile. — Originally, the grand admiral planned to deal with Crimson Dawn by drawing it as far from the Ciutric Hegemony as possible to keep the events unlinked for a while. I convinced him it needs to be done here and methodically.
The commander of Judicator took a big gulp.
— Crimson Dawn is commanded by an Alderaanian, right? — he asked.
Shohashi looked up from the cane resting on his lap.
— General Vanden Willard, — he said.
— One of your mentors?
— In tactics, — Erik confirmed. — An excellent officer. He led Rebel forces at Yavin IV. Facing him will be... intriguing.
— Hutt take you all! — Brandei exploded. — Shohashi, do you hear yourself? You're planning to sit under a thousand guns of a fast star dreadnought! You'll last four or five salvos at best! The torpedo sphere won't help — Crimson Dawn has enough flak to take on a whole fleet. They'll tear you apart with their fighters alone!
— Maybe, — Erik replied evasively. — Or maybe not.
— One day you'll go too far, my friend, — Brandei shook his head. — You're already considered unhinged across the Empire, chasing your own kind...
— The Empire is dying, — Erik reminded him in the same measured tone. — And besides, you know I'm not interested in regular Alderaanians.
— Yeah, yeah, — Brandei grimaced. — "Traitors, enemy commanders..."
— And my former mentors, — Shohashi added.
— Right, can't forget them, — Brandei threw up his hands. He took another sip, finishing his glass, then stood, straightening his tunic.
— Here's the deal, — he said, looking at Erik, who was curiously examining his cane as if seeing it for the first time. — Judicator will be on the left flank. I'll keep the reactors at full power. If you realize you're in over your head, let me know. Preferably five to seven minutes before your ship's turned into a sieve, so I have time to get there.
— Thanks, Brandei, — Erik said with a smile. — It won't be necessary. But I'm touched.
— Touched, he says, touched, — the commander of Judicator muttered. — You've lost your mind, Erik.
He stood for a couple more seconds, then silently extended his right hand.
— Together to the end, — he said, reciting their old cadet pledge from when two regular guys had to survive among arrogant snobs. Only by standing shoulder to shoulder, back to back, could they endure.
Shohashi rose awkwardly, not using his cane. He looked into his old friend's eyes.
If Brandei had known back then that he'd survived, that he was still running operations against pirates, Imperious would've fought alongside Judicator. That's why Erik hadn't contacted his friend until Iren died.
— Together to the end, — Erik repeated, clasping the offered hand.
— One falls, — Brandei said the second part of the oath, gripping his comrade's hand tightly. His face showed everything he felt: the understanding that Imperious wouldn't survive a fight against overwhelming odds, and the grim realization that he might not reach Shohashi's ship in time to delay the killing blows. They were essentially saying goodbye. The oath from their Academy days only reminded them that the death of either would not go unavenged.
— The other avenges, — Shohashi finished calmly.
Brandei held his friend's gaze for a moment, then embraced him warmly.
— If you survive, I'll personally knock your teeth out, — he promised.
— And if I die? — Erik asked with a smile.
— I'll fly to the Deep Core, kick Palpatine, bring you back, and kill you myself, — Brandei grumbled, stepping back from the commander of Imperious. — Take care.
— The request is mutual, Brandei, — Shohashi said seriously. — I don't have enough friends to let them die over trifles.
— And when did we get to the point where facing an ISD against a fast star dreadnought is a trifle? — Brandei headed for the exit. As the door opened, he lifted a foot to step out, then set it back down. He turned sharply, by the book, and looked Shohashi in the eyes.
— Thrawn promised you something, didn't he? — he asked. — You're not tearing yourself apart to execute his plans perfectly for nothing.
— He did, — Erik didn't deny.
— What? — Brandei asked, still frowning.
— "Who," — Erik corrected. — I think you've already guessed.
— Baron Fel, — Brandei nearly spat on the floor. — So the bastard's still alive?
— And mostly well, — Erik agreed. — Thrawn will hand him over to me after Operation Crimson Dawn is complete.
— If you live that long, — the commander of Judicator said gruffly.
— To tear Fel's throat out, I'd rise from the grave, — Erik said.
Brandei gave him a heavy look.
— But that's not all, is it? — he pressed. — There's something else you're playing bait with minimal chances of survival for?
Erik regretted, not for the first time, that he couldn't tell his friend everything. But at least this part of the plan he could share.
— After I deal with Crimson Dawn, the galaxy will tremble again at the name Red Star, — he said, instinctively slipping his hand into his tunic pocket and gripping the antique chronometer.
— You're not joking? — Brandei paled. — It's not what I'm thinking, is it?
— Exactly that, — Erik confirmed. — Iren Ryad is dead. But Red Star will live. And the blood of enemies will flow in rivers.
Brandei pursed his lips, a sign he'd wanted to say something but changed his mind at the last moment.
He knew the weight of Shohashi's words.
And he understood his old friend wasn't joking.
— Good luck, — the traditional third and final farewell.
— Better let it be with you, — Erik smiled modestly. — I've got turbolasers.
This time, Captain Brandei just shook his head before leaving the commander of Imperious's cabin.
***
A sense of approaching danger jolted Luke from sleep's embrace.
The young Jedi snapped his eyes open, channeling the Force through his body to banish drowsiness and invigorate himself.
R2's beeping sounded.
— Yes, I'm awake, — he told the astromech. — And no, I'm not surprised we didn't blow up in the process.
The droid let out a series of chirps.
— No, not because I trusted the Imperial grand admiral, — Skywalker said. — I trust you. If you said our X-wing is safe, then it is.
The droid's signal coincided with a blinking indicator on the dashboard. Ten seconds until exiting hyperspace.
By the last second, Luke was as alert as if he hadn't been sleeping in the starfighter's cockpit for hours.
Placing his hand on the hyperdrive lever, he waited until the flight timer hit zero, then smoothly pulled the lever back with his prosthetic hand.
The blurry fog of hyperspace dissolved into streaks, then into dots speckling the void. Directly ahead loomed the sphere of an unknown planet.
R2-D2 chirped.
— Well... — Luke drawled. — Let's just say I wouldn't be shocked if they sent us to this backwater just to get rid of us and there was no planet here.
His loyal friend chirped excitedly.
— Yeah, I don't see any signs of advanced civilization either, — the young man admitted. — But on the other hand, a backwater is the perfect place to hide. Remember how long Master Yoda spent on Dagobah, avoiding detection by the Jedi's enemies. Maybe C'baoth chose Jomark for the same reason.
The astrodroid let out another trill.
— Or Thrawn chose it for him, — Luke agreed. — Well, no point wasting time. Without a long-range antenna, we can't contact anyone anyway, so we'll have to land.
Thanks to R2, the navigation display marked landing coordinates: a medium-sized island in the middle of a nearly circular lake, just beyond the terminator line.
— Looks like that's our spot, — Luke noted reasonably, beginning his descent.
Barely a couple of seconds later, R2-D2's shriek, loud enough to rival an air raid siren, nearly burst his eardrums.
— What's wrong? — Luke frowned, assessing the situation. And he felt just a tiny bit uneasy.
Because his X-wing, against its pilot's will, was diving steeply. The nose was already blooming with fiery bursts, the kind that always form when speeding through dense atmospheric layers.
— Hold on! — he shouted, wrestling with the suddenly unresponsive controls.
For a moment, he thought he'd uncovered Grand Admiral Thrawn's secret plan — to eliminate the Jedi Knight by smearing him across the island's surface. But as soon as he tapped into the Force to fully assess the situation...
He sensed sticky tendrils of the Force reaching for him, as repulsive and vile as the Emperor's aura. And those tendrils were pulling at his ship.
Luke gritted his teeth and tapped into the dormant power within him. The calm and serenity of the Light Side spread from his body like a cleansing flame, burning away the invisible strings of the puppeteer who sought to eliminate him.
It took a long two minutes to mount proper resistance — no finesse, just raw Force, pushing, pushing, pushing against the threat, as Darth Vader would have. It worked. Just in time.
Because the X-wing dropped into the lower atmosphere, its nose scorched black. While Luke battled the unseen foe, R2 had activated the deflectors, essentially saving the starfighter from burning up or breaking apart.
Enveloping his ship in the Force, Luke continued the descent, now in control. And he noted an unpleasant fact — whoever called themselves Joruus C'baoth clearly didn't want to be disturbed. Perhaps that's why Luke couldn't reach Horn through the Force to warn him of the danger.
Well, he was here now. And he'd deal with the problem himself.
Luke swallowed the lump in his throat, deliberately avoiding the glance that fell on his lightsaber's hilt. If this was the Force hinting to use the weapon immediately and not waste time, as Thrawn had suggested, then no, thank you. That's not the Jedi way.
He'd try to resolve this peacefully first. Despite Thrawn's apparent honesty, trusting him blindly was deadly.
Heightening his focus and expecting an attack any second, Luke guided his ship toward a stone structure rising from the lake, essentially a body of water pooled in the crater of an extinct oceanic volcano. Judging by the few buildings, this was the main structure. And likely where his goal — and any potential countermeasures — awaited.
But oddly, no turbolaser volleys, no missile launchers, not even flak guns. C'baoth must be very confident in his abilities if he needed nothing...
A new danger signal came through the Force.
He reacted just in time, jerking the X-wing aside. Because a massive chunk of rock — barely qualifying as a stone — appeared out of the sky.
No, this was a genuine piece of building stone, likely torn from the very structure Luke was heading toward.
He had to dodge a good dozen more such projectiles before the ship broke through to the surface.
Spotting a distinctive landing platform, Luke quickly set the X-wing down. The sense of danger pressed harder than ever... since Endor. And he didn't like it.
The young Jedi slipped out of the cockpit the moment the canopy lifted. His boots sank into soft soil.
— Everything's fine, — he reassured the cautiously humming astrodroid. — We've arrived.
— No one invited you here, Jedi Skywalker! — boomed a deep voice, filled with a commanding force that overwhelmed with its intensity and unyielding will.
Luke turned and saw a figure standing motionless and quiet in the shadow of a nearby tree, draped in a wide cloak. The hood was pulled low over their face.
In the setting sun's rays, the cloak's fabric glinted with brown hues.
— I didn't know we were acquainted, — Luke mumbled, embarrassed.
— I know enough about you, Skywalker, — the stranger snorted. — And I know you know about me.
"I know you know I know..."
What a carousel.
— Master C'baoth, — he bowed politely. — I didn't mean to disturb your solitude...
— Lies! — the figure said firmly and calmly. — If that were true, you wouldn't have come here.
— I came for my friend, — Luke said resolutely. The threat from C'baoth was clear and direct.
For a moment, the shadowed figure showed no signs of life.
— There are no friends of yours here, Jedi Skywalker, — the cloaked man finally said. — Return to where you came from.
Some warm welcome. But Luke clearly realized that with every word, C'baoth only confirmed what Grand Admiral Thrawn had said. This man wanted to control everything around him.
— So, Grand Admiral Thrawn has returned to his favorite games with sentients, — C'baoth said suddenly, his voice laced with growing menace.
— I don't serve Grand Admiral Thrawn, — Luke said firmly.
— You're here because he ordered you to be! — the Jedi clone roared. — And don't insult me with your childish attempts to shield yourself from my ability to discern the truth! I've already taken everything I need from your mind! Leave! Jedi Horn stays here until his training is complete!
— You have no right to decide where Corran belongs or what he does, — Skywalker tried, appealing to the core of Jedi teachings: to serve the galaxy's people, not subjugate them.
— I am a Jedi Master! — C'baoth's words charged the air with electricity, making it feel heavier. Luke physically felt dozens of extra kilograms pressing on him. His knees began to tremble traitorously. — And I decide who does what in my domain. Horn serves me! That is my will!
Honestly, Luke was thrown off by such blatant intent to escalate the conflict from nothing. It only reinforced the idea that C'baoth was truly mad.
The young Jedi felt goosebumps crawl across his skin. For some reason, his first impression of meeting Palpatine came to mind. But even that wasn't as terrifying. Perhaps because the Emperor controlled himself and, until the end, didn't intend to kill Luke, planning to turn him to the Dark Side and make him serve in place of his father?
C'baoth, it seemed, cared little for such nuances.
Thrawn had said C'baoth was insane but forgot to mention he was a ruthless, calculating madman, familiar with the taste of absolute power and confident in his strength.
Now, the difference between C'baoth and the Emperor felt almost imperceptible.
— Master C'baoth, — Luke said peaceably. — You're not well. Let me take Corran to the nearest New Republic base and call for help. I'm sure there's a way to assist you...
C'baoth laughed, thoroughly throwing Skywalker off balance.
— Help? Me? — his voice thundered. — You can't even help yourself, foolish boy! You read a couple of books, hung on the words of two old fools who couldn't stand against the Emperor when he destroyed the Jedi's life's work, and now you come here claiming you can help me?! Even if I needed aid from a lowly creature like you, blinded by arrogance and wandering in shadows, I'd sooner throw myself off a cliff than let you do anything.
Well, that stung. But a Jedi doesn't react to such jabs.
— You know, I could destroy you, — C'baoth said, and if his voice previously held overt menace, now it vanished entirely; it felt like the old man was having a casual chat. Or perhaps he'd simply stopped worrying about Luke posing any threat to his plans. — Right where you stand, grind you to dust. And it wouldn't take me long. — Visions of conversations with Ben Kenobi and Yoda flashed before Luke's eyes... No, they never spoke like this. It seemed Thrawn was right here too — C'baoth was created and raised by Palpatine for one purpose: to serve the Emperor. As they say, the king is made by his court. The ruler of the Galactic Empire didn't exactly tremble with care for those around him, so it's no surprise C'baoth was a bit fixated on power. — You are nothing before me, Jedi Skywalker. But I won't kill you, — C'baoth laughed nastily. — No. You're no threat to anyone. Just a pesky insect chased by a senile old man. But I'm not like that. I see your future. Oh, Jedi Skywalker, — his voice took on a grim inevitability. — You can't imagine the calamities you'll bring to the galaxy. The pain your delusions and foolish self-sacrifice will cost those who believe in you. I'll spare your life so your own actions destroy you. And when you reach the edge, looking back at fields littered with the bones of your friends and allies, you'll realize you were merely a pawn in the dejarik game of those you consider paragons of Jedi teachings. And then, when all your hopes collapse, your dreams shattered, you'll crawl to me on your knees. Yes, crawl, begging to be my apprentice — I've seen you and all this in my meditations. You will serve me, Luke Skywalker. As your father served Palpatine.
The future is not set. Not at all. It's in motion. Only wrong actions in the present lead to grim outcomes in the future.
— Force visions aren't pictures of a fixed future, — Luke said calmly. — The Emperor kept claiming he foresaw everything. But in the end, he miscalculated.
— Well, that's the Emperor, — C'baoth smirked. — That psychopath will never stop at what he's achieved and will keep repeating his insane plans, wasting resources and losing subjects until he squanders everything in a desperate bid for greatness.
A very... odd phrase. At the very least, not in the past tense. Does C'baoth not believe or not know of Palpatine's death?
— Either way, I came here for Corran Horn, — Luke said firmly. — I'm taking him. What you're teaching him is dangerous knowledge. Especially for an unformed mind.
— And your mind is formed? — C'baoth laughed. — A boy handed a lightsaber and sent to do a man's work. Your training is nothing but a patchwork quilt with more holes than whole pieces. Every scrap of knowledge you gain only pulls you further from the truth!
Suddenly, C'baoth stopped short. He turned his head, peering into the darkness.
— I told you to rest!
— Who's arguing? — another voice rang out, and Luke recognized Corran's with relief. And once again, he scolded himself for focusing too much on one thing. — I rested. Hey, Skywalker.
— Corran, — the young Jedi nodded in greeting, watching the approaching figure clad in an orange pilot's jumpsuit. — Where's your X-wing?
— Well, you landed right where it got blown up, — the Corellian said grimly.
— What are you doing here? — the cloned Jedi Master asked sternly.
Corran grinned crookedly, almost like Han.
— You taught me to listen to the Force. So I felt it boiling here. Decided to check it out. Turns out, they're marrying me off without me.
Luke looked away, embarrassed.
— Sorry, — he said. — That's not quite what I meant.
— Then what? — Corran pressed. — Why'd you come here?
— To save you, — Luke said firmly. He pointed at the motionless C'baoth. — He's working with the Empire.
— No kidding? — There wasn't a hint of surprise in Horn's voice. That was a bit unsettling. — Took me a couple of days to figure that out. Now what?
— He's been coordinating Imperial attacks in the Dufilvian sector, — Luke continued.
— Alright, — Corran drawled. His hands slipped out of his pockets and casually rested on his belt. — Okay, Jedi pilot: one-one. What else?
— And he's not who he claims to be, — Luke said with a sigh.
C'baoth laughed. Loudly, resonantly...
— Fine, — Corran sighed. — You bringing a team with explanatory datachips? You Jedi have this dumb habit of talking in Hutt riddles, like anyone wants to solve them.
— Master Jedi Jorus C'baoth died years before the Clone Wars, — Luke said. C'baoth abruptly stopped laughing. Apparently, he either lied about reading minds or couldn't see them all.
— I am a Jedi Master, — he said threateningly.
— You're a clone, created by Emperor Palpatine through an imperfect method that leads to madness, — Luke replied. — I spoke to the one who destroyed the real C'baoth. And the entire Outbound Flight.
— Interesting friends you've got, — Corran took a step toward him. The man's right hand rested on the holster of his blaster pistol. — And who was that bold?
— Not was, — Luke shook his head, still locking eyes with C'baoth, unafraid of the monster staring back. — Is. The one behind all the New Republic's troubles. Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Corran swore loudly, clearly, with unmistakable inflection.
— Seriously? — Horn grimaced, looking at Luke with hope that he'd jump, click his heels, and say it was a Jedi prank, and anyway, Rogue Squadron pilots have white backs. — We missed one?!
— I haven't fully figured it out, — Luke said. — But you've somehow gotten in this grand admiral's way.
— How do you figure?
— This grand admiral loves collecting trophies, — Skywalker answered. — To capture six Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, he orchestrated a sector-wide military operation. Guess why Mirax and Booster vanished?
— That filthy Imperial scum, — Horn gritted his teeth. — Used Mirax as bait for Booster, took Errant Venture...
— Likely, he's got every ship we lost at Rugosa, — Luke ventured. — And all the others listed as missing in action.
— If he's touched even one of my people...
— I doubt it, — Luke said. The threat from C'baoth was growing more tangible. — He prefers manipulating his enemies. I'm sure Mirax and your father-in-law are alive. As are Leia, Lando, General Cracken...
— We'll talk about this later, — Corran said quickly. His blaster left its holster, aimed straight at C'baoth. — What do we do with him? I doubt a Mon Cal star cruiser's waiting in orbit...
— Sorry, — Luke said. — Didn't have time to stop by a base, I was in a hurry...
— You should've!
— Done talking? — C'baoth asked. His voice dripped with venom and a desire to crush anyone who opposed him. Luke had to channel massive streams of the Force to counter the pressure. Corran... was holding up, for now.
— Let's take him out, yeah? — Corran suggested.
Luke shook his head.
— Jedi use the Force for knowledge and defense, not attack.
C'baoth snorted indignantly.
— An excuse for simpletons too dim to make their own decisions. Those constraints don't apply to me. And both of you will rise above them if you stay and complete your training.
Horn burst out laughing.
— Thanks, but I'll pass. Even Mirax wouldn't mess with my head like that when it comes to kids. But for a couple of tricks I learned — thanks. I'll happily use them to take out your Imperial buddies.
Skywalker shook his head too.
— I'm sorry, Master C'baoth, — he said. — I can't. Your path isn't the one I intend to follow.
— We will heal the galaxy, Jedi, — the clone's voice turned pleading, a sharp contrast to its earlier tone. And Luke grew even more convinced of his observations — C'baoth was mad. — You, me — together! There's no one else to rely on! My knowledge, your youth...
— Thanks for the offer, but I've got my own plans for my youth, — Horn cut in. He glanced at Luke's X-wing. — No spare fighter either, huh?
— Sorry, — Skywalker grumbled. — How was I supposed to know your ride was out of commission?
— Why do you resist me and your destiny? — C'baoth's voice became alluringly captivating, like music to the ears of flatterers...
Luke gritted his teeth, drawing in even more of the Force.
— Corran, don't listen to him, — he hissed. — The Emperor pulled the same tricks on me at the Death Star over Endor.
— Yeah, — Corran yawned sweetly, rubbing his bleary eyes with the back of the hand holding the blaster. — And he can make you go where you don't want to. Literally move your legs for you. So that's why I wasn't supposed to meet Skywalker?
— You don't understand... — C'baoth began.
— Oh, I understand perfectly, — Luke felt a spark of rage ignite within Horn, swiftly fanning into a blaze that stirred the Dark Side. — Old fool with a sick head! "We'll heal the galaxy!" — he mocked C'baoth. — How? Mass mind control, like you're doing to us right now?
The old man laughed, throwing his head back. His hood fell, gray hair scattering. Luke tensed — this reminded him too much of the Emperor's triumph before...
— Horn! Watch out! — he shouted, drawing his lightsaber.
The emerald blade sliced through the darkness of the encroaching night.
But it was too late.
Because in the next fraction of a second, the clone of a long-dead Jedi struck a devastating blow against the Corellian.
And Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker could do absolutely nothing about it.
***
— You did well, Ghent, — I said, looking at the blue-haired slicer.
— It worked, huh? — he beamed. — I mean, you said back in my cabin it worked, but now it's really confirmed? They're heading straight into the trap?
— Exactly, — I confirmed. — Your program did its job.
— Shame we can only pull it off once, — Ghent sighed. — The New Republic's already traced that someone tapped into their comm network. They're scouring for the terminal the transmission came from.
— So if we use their comm equipment again, they'll know we've hacked in? — I clarified.
— They've got a search algorithm running on the HoloNet, — the kid said, scratching his nose. — Use the rig again, and they'll pinpoint its location to within a couple of light-seconds. Basically, using it again is too risky.
— In other words, there's a high chance they'll figure out where the intrusion into their comm network is coming from? — I clarified. Just in case the word meant something different in this universe from what I knew in my past life.
— Huh? — the slicer stared at me, eyes wide with surprise. — Yeah, yeah...
— In that case, — I gestured for the hacker to step away from the door and sit in the chair across from me, — I have a new assignment for you, Ghent.
— Oh, something else to slice? — he asked eagerly.
— That's why you were hired, — I reminded him, placing a pile of datachips on the table.
Ghent, not hiding his curiosity, craned his neck to read the labels.
— Interesting names, — he said, picking up a few from the stack. — "Caamas," "Eye of Palpatine," "Hand of Thrawn"...
The young man looked at me questioningly.
— Any problems? — I asked.
— Uh, no... — he hesitated. — Just weird names. What's on these chips?
— Data of galactic importance, — I answered simply. — Information that will help restore order to the galaxy — at least in parts of it.
— Uh-huh, — Ghent said. — So why not hand them over to, say, the New Republic?
— Don't worry about that, Ghent, — I said. — We will. In time...
The comlink buzzed. Tapping the key, I heard:
— Grand Admiral Thrawn, — my flagship's commander said, slightly concerned. — The first division of the New Republic's Fourth Fleet has arrived. Shall we begin the containment operation?
— Of course, Captain, — I said. — Has Captain Shohashi started his part of the plan?
— Oh, — Pellaeon exclaimed. — With all due respect, sir, the "Butcher" is in top form.