Bab 21: High-level negotiations (I)
Nine years, four months and thirty-five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, four months and thirty-five days after the Great Resynchronization.
Pakuuni Star System.
The outskirts of Imperial Space, near the Mon Calamari sector.
A small XQ1 platform – an outpost modestly named NL-1 – is the only Imperial stronghold in this part of the galaxy. Surprisingly, the rebels have not yet destroyed this space station. Given that it has a diameter of about a kilometer, is armed with laser and turbolaser cannons, and staffed with just over a thousand personnel, not to mention three squadrons of TIE fighters, destroying it would require something like a Mon Calamari star cruiser or an Imperial Star Destroyer. The rebels don't have either of those in free "flight," so for now, this station is safe.
** XQ1 type platform (NL-1 outpost) **
It's doubly pleasant to see that outside the range of the outpost's guns are several battered ships – vessels belonging to those criminals who responded to my offer of cooperation. It's a pity there are only two of them.
Do I feel disgusted with myself for stooping to work with criminals? Far from it. Zsinj once accomplished significant feats by forming alliances with privateers, corsairs, pirates, and smugglers. Indeed, he compensated them generously. Because the territory he controlled and protected paid him in taxes, technology, and products. Zsinj knew how to make money from nothing. It wouldn't be surprising if his command of the Super Star Destroyer "Iron Fist" came about by currying favor with influential figures at opportune moments. Corruption in the Galactic Empire was, is, and always will be as indestructible as the Jedi in this galaxy.
"Grand Admiral!" – a nervous and demanding shout pulled me out of my thoughts. But even recognizing who was addressing me, I didn't slow my pace, continuing down the corridor towards the hangar. Walking beside me, Rukh instinctively placed his hand on his blaster and one of his knives. Even Pellaeon, startled, gripped the cage with the ysalamir more tightly. Remarkable, the order had an effect. If only he would stop sticking his nose into others' business and not contradict me. The journey from Wayland to the Pakuuni system had given me a lot to think about. The reflections were numerous. And the conclusions were not the most encouraging. Especially if I had to explain my actions to Pellaeon. But there could be no other way.
I wouldn't find friends here; a Grand Admiral is doomed to loneliness. Hence, only the "superior-subordinate" relationship. Teaching Pellaeon the intricacies of analysis is useless. If there's no desire, there will be no results. I know that from experience. Perhaps our first victory will inspire him to move in the right direction. I need a competent deputy, not a cautious bureaucrat.
"GRAND ADMIRAL THRAWN!" – boomed the voice of Joruus C'baoth.
I didn't even slow my step.
"Sir, he's coming after us," Pellaeon warned.
"I hear," I replied indifferently, stopping in front of the doors leading to the section of the Chimaera's main hangar where my shuttle was located. "Are we going to pay attention to every tantrum? We represent the Imperial Fleet, Captain, not an academy for the refinement of young women. Remember your words about Lieutenant Tschell."
"Of course, Admiral," the Star Destroyer commander hastily agreed.
Waiting until the mad Dark Jedi nearly reached us, I turned to him, maintaining my dignity, and looked him straight in the eye.
"Did you want something, respected Jedi Master?" I calmly inquired.
"You promised to bring me Jedi, Grand Admiral," C'baoth's belligerence suddenly evaporated. Now, before me stood an old man with gray, unkempt hair, more like a mop. His gaze darted from side to side, as if seeking support. And he found it immediately, as soon as he grasped the medallion hanging around his neck. "And so far, I haven't seen a single one."
His final words were delivered in a calm, measured tone, with a regal look in his eyes and a proud stance. Clearly, this strange trinket helps him focus and avoid madness. This is good – it means there's a way to keep C'baoth within reason. And it's bad – it means he can organize his thoughts and logically construct his behavior. From there, it's a short step to the abstract authority he despises. In the events known to me, that's exactly what happened. As soon as he realized he couldn't get Jedi for re-education, he moved on to grand plans – building his own Empire. Composed of beings whose minds had been altered by his efforts.
"Corran Horn, among other things, is a pilot in an elite squadron of our opponents' fighter pilots," I noted softly. "Tracking and capturing him is not a task for one day. Not two, not even three. If you need his corpse – we can arrange that in a few battles. But I thought you needed living Jedi, Master C'baoth. Or have your plans changed?"
"No," the old man firmly stated. "But I won't wait for you, Grand Admiral, to play with your toy soldiers. We have a mutually beneficial cooperation, which means your desires are as important as mine."
"No one has denied that," I noted. "However, unlike you, we have already begun searching for Corran Horn. You, on the other hand, are occupied with self-reflection in your cabin. I assure you, once we begin our campaign, the New Republic will mobilize all its assets to stop us. Including sending against us the unit where Corran Horn serves. Minimum risk, maximum efficiency."
"Don't play with me, Grand Admiral," the clone of the long-dead Jedi threatened, wagging his finger at me. "If I even suspect that you are somehow trying to deceive and use me..."
"And what will you do?" I wanted to ask. Half of the ship is shielded from the Force using ysalamir. The bridge, the engine room, the hangar, the reactor, the navigation section, the pilots, the boarding party. At most, Joruus C'baoth could try to control the youngling responsible for managing the cleaning droids on the deck where the old man resides.
"I have no intention of betraying our ally," I declared, inwardly rejoicing that the ysalamir prevented the old man from reading my mind. "The plan is developed and being executed. In the meantime, I advise you to relax and meditate – soon, all your strength will be needed."
"I require neither your flattering speeches nor your feigned concern, Grand Admiral," C'baoth stated grimly. "I am not a padawan to be addressed in such a manner. Conduct your affairs, mingle with the galaxy's riffraff, and I shall retire to my quarters to contemplate the illustrious future of the Jedi Order."
Without saying goodbye, the old man abruptly turned and slowly walked away. However, as soon as he lowered his hands, apparently releasing the medallion, he immediately quickened his pace, almost breaking into a run.
Understood, "Jedi Master."
"Sir," Pellaeon addressed me quietly as the clone disappeared around the nearest corner. "We haven't even started looking for Corran Horn."
"I don't intend to waste our resources on that," Pellaeon fearlessly looked me in the eyes. "As mentioned – the rebels will send the 'Rogue Squadron' to us themselves."
"So, you deceived C'baoth by telling him you wouldn't deceive an ally?" Pellaeon clarified.
"I retorted with the same wordplay he attempted on me," I remarked. "No one ever assured him a delivery of Jedi. I merely sanctioned the use of our resources, Imperial Intelligence included, for their pursuit. There is a significant distinction between these two propositions."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said with a tone of approval. The Jedi clone stirred mixed feelings in him, predominantly negative. Thus, he found some satisfaction in the "abuse." "The shuttle is ready, Admiral."
"I see," I followed the technicians with my eyes as they closed the inspection hatches on the Lambda's hull. "Let's go, Captain. It's time to talk to those who can help us."
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone