Ten years, two months, and fourteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, second month, and fourteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and thirty-fourth day since arrival).
Reynar stood, leaning his back against the doorframe.
His eyes were closed, his face calm.
But this serenity was only apparent.
Inside the former inquisitor, a flame raged.
Rage and hatred that flowed through his veins and burned out the few remnants of Dathomirian magic he had been subjected to when he fought his opponent.
He felt the approach of icy calm and controlled directness, located near the prison block.
And also two more minds—cold, focused.
One human, and one clearly alien, whose emotions were difficult to understand.
And then—it became utterly impossible.
Because there—was simply cold.
Flashing his eyes open, he looked straight ahead, focusing his vision.
"What, Jedi brat," a sarcastic voice came from behind the energy barrier, "is Dathomirian magic too strong for you?"
"Not in your performance, witch," Obscuro retorted, showing the diminished scar on his forearm.
It was inflicted not by the lightsabers this clumsy creature wielded, but by a bone dagger.
Imbued with the magic of the Night Sisters.
The door to the prison block hissed and disappeared into the recess of the bulkhead, allowing two sentient beings inside.
One step behind them moved a man in Imperial uniform and a gray-skinned Noghri, darting his black eyes around.
Sensing the coolness that washed over him, Obscuro understood everything, seeing a small cage with a ysalamir installed just outside the block's door.
Evidently, the Grand Admiral did not want anyone to be able to use the Force in his vicinity.
Vex, casting a glance at the Dathomirian who had caused her considerable trouble and marred her face, merely snorted haughtily, standing next to Reynar and allowing the one she accompanied to approach the cell.
Grand Admiral Thrawn remained silent, but the barely perceptible movements of his head indicated that he was studying the detainee just as he would study works of art—insinuatingly and meticulously.
His adjutant and bodyguard respectfully remained behind, not hindering Thrawn from examining the curiosity discovered on Karthakk.
The latter returned the favor, brazenly fixing her gaze on the Supreme Commander of the Dominion.
"An interesting specimen," after a couple of minutes of mutual staring, the Grand Admiral looked at Reynar. "A fallen Jedi in the service of the 'Zann Consortium'?"
The prisoner snorted haughtily, giving those present a crooked smile.
However, no one cared about her attempts.
Most of all—Thrawn.
"No, sir," Obscuro replied. "At first, I thought the same. I even thought I recognized her as Maris Brood—a Jedi Order Padawan, former student of Master Shaak Ti." Interest flickered across the prisoner's face. However—only for a moment.
"When you reported that you had captured a Zabrak female, I thought the same," the Grand Admiral recounted.
"It's not Maris Brood," Reynar replied. "I was mistaken in my assessment."
"But the features of the Zabrak race are present in her," the Grand Admiral remarked, glancing at the prisoner. "Although she covers them with her hair. However, one cannot fail to note the significant influence of human features on her appearance."
The prisoner, chuckling self-importantly, adjusted her hair pulled back, ensuring that the small horns adorning her head were not too noticeable.
"She's a Dathomirian," Reynar explained.
Judging by the fact that the prisoner froze, giving him a look full of hatred and suspicion, his assumption was fully justified.
The Grand Admiral looked at him with interest.
"Explain," he demanded.
"Dathomir has been an isolated world for a long time," the former inquisitor readily began to voice his guesses. "The planet was predominantly populated by humans, divided into clans. Among them, there was the clan of the Night Sisters, who were allied with a clan of male Zabrak, the Night Brothers. From the union of the clans, half-blood children were born, hybrids. Strong, trained in the use of the Dark Side of the Force, but with a Dathomirian slant. They call it 'magic,' but in fact, all their gestures, spells, and other nonsense are nothing more than a peculiar way of understanding and using the Force. I realized my mistake only after the report of her capture—when I felt that the wound she inflicted on me—he demonstrated the healing wound on his forearm—was behaving abnormally. Meditation allowed me to understand that the Dark Side of the Force was involved here. But, since she's not even close to a Sith Lord, even with the most optimistic view, by correlating the other clues, I came to this conclusion. I didn't report it further, as we are delivering her to you anyway."
"Well, now it's clear," Thrawn nodded, looking at the prisoner. "And who are you, lady?"
"Power and your fear in one package," she said haughtily, giving the Grand Admiral a look of futile superiority.
"Indeed?" Thrawn clarified, glancing at his adjutant. "I'm sure you're mistaken, young lady."
Major Thiers, standing next to the control panel, pressed a few buttons.
Discharges of electricity, shot from all eight corners of the cell, struck the hybrid woman, causing her to scream shrilly.
The electric shock lasted only five seconds, but Reynar felt Vex become extremely uncomfortable.
The other sentient beings, however, didn't even flinch.
Except perhaps the half-blood, left alone by physical force, who took a few seconds to regain her breath.
After that, she glared at Thrawn from under her brows, clenching her hands in an intricate gesture.
"And now you will die," she promised, pushing her hands forward.
But nothing happened.
"Any problems?" the Grand Admiral politely inquired of the bewildered prisoner.
"What's happening?" she repeated her gesture, but again—fruitlessly.
The third attempt also led to nothing.
"What have you done to me, you vile worms?!" she shouted, hitting the energy shield separating her from the prison corridor in vain.
"Note, Guardian Obscuro, our guest doesn't understand how we deprived her of access to the Force," Thrawn commented.
"And that angers her and makes her vulnerable," Reynar supported. "Obviously, she has never encountered this effect before."
"From which one can conclude that she was recruited not too long ago," Thrawn continued, examining the bewildered woman with curiosity. "Feel free, lady, try again."
The half-blood bared her teeth, lunging at Thrawn, but was once again stopped by the energy shield.
"I will rip out your guts and strangle you with them!" she screamed. "And then... Ahhhhhh!"
Artificial lightning once again filled the cell, causing the prisoner to shriek and twitch convulsively due to muscle spasms.
"You have worked well, Guardian Obscuro," Thrawn continued, without even turning to them. "And you too, Vex."
His partner, embarrassed by the praise, mumbled something in response.
"Intelligence has already studied the cloning cylinders," the Grand Admiral said, looking Reynar directly in the eye with his burning gaze. "They are, of course, not the latest generation, but they are quite suitable for further exploitation. Thanks to Lord Binali, as a puppet of our enemies, no longer being able to hinder us, no one will discover these cylinders. They have already been delivered to the main cloning base, connected to the main network, and will soon be uploaded for cloning. Thanks to you, we have the opportunity to produce more clones. The Dominion is indebted to you."
Reynar noticed out of the corner of his eye that the prisoner, overcoming herself, had plunged her hands into her hair, for some reason digging into one of her horns.
As it turned out—he wasn't the only one who noticed.
With a swift movement of his right hand, the former inquisitor closed the mouth of his partner, which had opened for a question.
She, giving him an angry look, bit the inner surface of his palm lightly.
Reynar, without changing his position, gave her a light tap on the back of the head with his left hand.
Vex, as usual, pouted.
"I assume she was recruited after the remnants of Warlord Zinj's forces were destroyed over Dathomir," the Grand Admiral continued, looking at the trembling prisoner. "The New Republic foolishly allowed the planet's inhabitants to leave if they wished. Most of the witches remained on the planet, but not the Night Sisters. They largely left the planet. Probably—before X1 and Darth Maul took control of it."
"Idiots," the prisoner hissed. "I served X1!"
Thrawn's posture didn't change.
"You killed him," the prisoner rose on trembling legs and looked at the Grand Admiral with hatred. "If I had been there—I would have killed both you and all your curs who..."
Another electric discharge knocked her down, and the prison block was once again filled with screams of suffering.
"A remnant of X1's faction?" Reynar inquired, realizing that where one was not killed, there were others.
However, something didn't add up.
Revenge for the murder of a teacher is not a tradition widespread among Dark Side adepts.
Specifically—the Sith.
"Yes," Thrawn agreed, turning and looking at Reynar. "But it's not that simple. From your report, I understood that the late Lord Binali believed he was cooperating with the 'Black Sun'."
"That's correct," the Shadow Guard agreed. "I obtained a blood sample from him and gave it to your adjutant. Considering the program on the Smarck, I thought it would be useful."
"We already have the results," the Grand Admiral confirmed. "Our medics believe he is a clone—the telomeres are shorter than they should be for his age."
"In other words—he's a 'Zann Consortium' fighter?" Reynar speculated, looking at the half-blood tormented by electricity. "After all, they are the ones playing under the guise of 'Black Sun'..."
"I can't disagree with the latter," Thrawn nodded affirmatively. "But not with the former. One can even assume that this woman was sent to X1. But that's unlikely. Our Jensaarai can sense hidden intentions. As far as I know, this is quite common among those who can channel the Force."
Reynar, after thinking, agreed.
"Given X1's experience, he couldn't have missed something like that," Thrawn continued. "The most likely scenario for me is that she, and others like her, served X1 of their own free will—among the recruited Dathomirian witches. And she was sent to Karthakk to sort out the cloning problems that this faction had."
Obscuro, after thinking, nodded.
Yes, that sounds more logical.
"And then she learned of her patron's death," Thrawn mused aloud. "I think it was after our operation on Mustafar that she found a new master who found her through the Force and her Dathomirian nature."
"Therefore, we can conclude that Tyber Zann has his own gifted individuals," Vex blurted out.
Thrawn looked at the Twi'lek as if the chief engineer had heard a brilliant idea from a plumber.
Vex hastily averted her eyes.
"I don't think it's that simple," the Grand Admiral stated, stroking his chin with his fingers. "Major Thiers, could you please temporarily cease the electricity supply?"
"Yes, sir," the adjutant snapped, and the artificial lightning stopped tormenting the half-blood's body.
She, emitting steam from the evaporated fluid in her body, barely moved on the floor, twitching and drooling.
"After X1's death, were you recruited by your compatriot, weren't you?" there was almost sympathy in the Grand Admiral's voice.
"I won't say anything," she managed to squeeze out after several attempts, trying to get up on her hands.
But she fell back on her head on the floor, exhausted.
"In that case, Major Thiers will continue to test your resistance to electric current," the Grand Admiral revealed a small piece of insider information. "I think it's worth talking. You are our prisoner, you will have no access to the Force. And we can torture you for a long time—electricity is free, and my adjutant has the whole evening free."
"Bastards..." the woman whispered.
"As far as I know, everyone in this cell is a legitimate child of their parents," the Grand Admiral refuted. "Don't force us to resort to more brutal interrogation methods. It's enough to just answer the questions asked. Hoping for rescue is foolish. You were used to lure out my agents—sooner or later. But no one will fly to save you—because they won't find you."
"You are mistaken," the woman managed to lift herself from the metal floor on trembling hands.
She managed to sit up and now looked at the leader of her captors with a fierce gaze.
"I will find a way to escape from here," she promised.
"Unlikely," Thrawn replied. "This cell was designed solely to hold a Force-sensitive. And you are not the strongest representative of the latter. All your power is cut off from you. And it will remain so henceforth. In the three days since your capture, no one has flown to Karthakk to find you. From which I conclude that this was the plan from the very beginning. Without all this pretense—you were supposed to surrender to the Dominion agents. And you were supposed to meet with the leadership of these agents. Therefore, I suggest we set aside all this pretense and grandstanding, and begin our conversation with you introducing yourself. My name, I believe, you know."
The prisoner made a grimace, but, looking at Thiers, who demonstratively flexed his fingers, she shivered, clearly imagining what awaited her if she refused to cooperate further.
"Fine," she rasped, looking at the Grand Admiral with hatred. "We'll talk. You and I—alone."
"Do me the honor," the Grand Admiral asked her. "Dismiss the thought that you will be able to settle scores with me if we are alone."
The woman looked at the Grand Admiral with a gaze full of irrepressible hatred.
But then, shifting her gaze aside, she looked at Major Thiers, then at Reynar, and then at Vex (at the latter—with particular dislike), after which she nodded affirmatively.
Her dislike for the Twi'lek could be understood—while Reynar playfully parried the half-blood's attacks, Vex shot her with a stunner and sent her into oblivion.
And then there was the sedative, the shackles, and the delivery straight to the Grand Admiral's flagship.
"As you say, Grand Admiral," she said with poorly concealed dislike. "But one day I will kill you anyway."
Thrawn shrugged.
"Many would wish to see my death," he admitted. "But so far, they have only managed to fall into my traps."
***
After my bodyguards left me, positioning themselves outside the door, and Reynar and his partner went to the hangar to leave the 'Chimera' and head for a new objective, I placed a simple metal chair a meter away from the energy barrier.
Sitting down on it, I crossed my legs, folding my hands on them so that the prisoner could not see the contents of my hands.
The half-blood herself, having somehow sat down opposite me directly on the floor in the 'lotus' position, known to Force-sensitive adepts of this galaxy as the 'meditation pose,' winced, touching her horns on her head, after which, clearly satisfied with the result, she declared:
"My name is Magash Drashi," she introduced herself. "Your pet Jedi is correct—I am from Dathomir. But not a Night Sister."
Magash Drashi.
"And what clan are you from?" I inquired.
"Clan of the Singing Mountain," the half-blood woman explained, occasionally flinching as residual effects of the electric shocks tormented her muscular frame.
I nodded, understanding what she meant.
"That is the very clan from which the Night Sisters emerged," I said slowly. "The clan leader's daughter was exiled along with a number of other witches and founded a new clan."
"And you are quite well-informed," she smirked.
"Dathomir is part of the Dominion," I said. "And the history of this world is very interesting. Especially considering the fact that you originate from criminals and Jedi."
"You say that as if it's something bad," the woman chuckled, turning away as if embarrassed.
But I didn't miss the fact that her eyes darted to the front corners of the prison cell.
"I do not condemn, nor do I approve," I said. "After all—the purpose of this meeting is not to delve into your people's history. I want to know why you were sent to meet me."
"Not specifically with you," she said. "With the Dominion leadership. It was thought to be Vice Admiral Pellaeon. And you, it turns out, are alive... Which is quite unusual, I must admit."
"Probably," I agreed. "So, let's get to the details."
"Yes, of course. My superiors closely monitored your actions even before I joined them. And not long ago, they decided that the Dominion could help us."
"Were you recruited after X1's death?" I clarified.
"You guessed correctly," the woman grimaced. "He couldn't clone Wookiees and Force-sensitives. He thought there were some secrets hidden from him. And he sent me to Karthakk to find out about the nature of the cloning cylinders—they were assembled from the remnants of 'Spaarti Creation' products."
"And on the planet, while gathering information, you stumbled upon the fact that the Binali family was under the control of the 'Black Sun'," I continued.
"All true," she said reluctantly. "While I was thinking about how best to get the information, I sensed X1's death. And then my new employers came to me and offered me a job in exchange..."
"For knowledge of the Force," I said.
"If you know everything, why are you asking me?" the woman snorted.
"I'm just demonstrating that I understand your logic," I stated in an assertive tone with a neutral phrase.
"I was helped, and I infiltrated Binali's circle as a 'Black Sun' agent," the woman continued. "And honestly, I don't understand how this can help in our negotiations?"
"It undoubtedly helps," I replied. "Continue."
"That's pretty much it," she shrugged. "I was watching the planet, waiting for your agents. When they arrived, I felt a disturbance in the Force. And I followed them. From the way they both behaved, I understood that they were very strange Imperials. They were interested in 'Spaarti Creation,' but they gathered this information quite slowly. And cautiously, without attracting attention. I wouldn't have noticed them if your Jedi knew how to mask himself in the Force."
"Just like you did, realizing that a Force-sensitive had arrived on the planet," I said.
"Yes," she replied. "I needed time to understand that he was the one I needed. I had to sweat to establish the real owner of his ship. Realizing that it was a pirate who disappeared near the Dominion's borders, who served the 'Black Sun,' I understood that I was dealing with your agents. That's basically why I was left on the planet."
"Then you arranged a meeting between Lord Binali and my agents," I continued.
"Yes, I arranged it," the woman said irritably. "And I got rid of that 'Black Sun' puppet."
"And you gifted us eight hundred Spaarti cloning cylinders," I added, not missing the fact that the woman smirked crookedly.
"Consider it a gift preceding fruitful cooperation with my employers," she said.
"Certainly," I nodded in agreement. "Your employer wants the Dominion to assist them in destroying the 'Black Sun,' which the 'Zann Consortium' is impersonating."
"And I was told that the Dominion leadership would have to be spoon-fed," the human-Zabrak hybrid smirked. "It's a pleasure to deal with someone who understands more than those dim-witted Imperials. I'm sure you'll be pleased to settle old scores with Tyber Zann."
I remained silent, giving her the opportunity to speak.
"You know that the Corporate Sector is under his control?" she clarified.
"Yes," I said calmly and indifferently.
"They are preparing for a full-scale war," the half-blood continued, frowning. "And they facilitated the collapse of the Empire, replacing many moffs and warlords with clones."
"We know that too," my new answer somewhat disturbed and even puzzled my interlocutor.
"And it was they who agitated the aristocrats in the D'Astan sector," she looked at me expectantly. "Because almost all of them have been replaced by clones at Zann's order."
"I have heard such information," I nodded. "It's interesting to know where your employer got it from."
"We have agents in the 'Zann Consortium'," the Zabrak woman said, smiling triumphantly.
"That's commendable," I agreed. "So, what are your employers' conditions for cooperation?"
"We have good armed forces, and we can easily provide you with assistance in a full-scale attack..."
Well, I see.
"I suggest we move on to the details," I proposed.
"Of course," Magash Drashi smiled. "We have large armed forces that will soon be ready."
"Not to those details," I interrupted the woman.
If at first I took her for a young girl, now I understood my mistake.
She was at least forty standard years old.
Just, as they say, "well-preserved."
"And what interests you?" she asked in confusion. "We are discussing military cooperation."
"Your past," I said. "How did you become X1's subordinate?"
"What does that matter?" she was surprised.
"I prefer to know a little more about those with whom I am conversing than nothing," I said. "For example, why, having the opportunity after the lifting of Zinj's blockade by the New Republic, did you remain on the planet until X1 and Darth Maul began their recruitment campaign."
"Actually, that's personal," the woman snorted.
"That's precisely why it interests me," I admitted. "Without trust, there will be no agreement. I think you didn't have much contact with your handlers and employers, so you don't know what's really going on. Zann is losing ground, gaining strength, and setting the Dominion against you."
"Then it's even more necessary to make sure we fight on the same side!" the Zabrak woman flared up.
"That's precisely what my dialogue with you is aimed at," I explained. "We get to know each other better. We start to trust. After all, your employer, having the opportunity to do things directly, for some reason decided to pull off this simple combination, involving you in mortal danger."
"There was nothing dangerous," the Dathomirian woman snorted. "The Dominion recruits Force-sensitives. So I was assured that I would definitely be captured and delivered to the leader, considered a 'Zann Consortium' agent."
A small detail that was traceable, but I was still not entirely sure about it.
"Quite logical," I said. "And it fits in very colorfully with everything that's happening."
"Well, yes, probably," Magash Drashi said thoughtfully, now openly touching her horns. "So, what about the agreement?"
"First, I'm interested in why you decided to become a student of a Sith, and not a Jedi, when Luke Skywalker visited Dathomir a couple of years ago?" I inquired.
"Because Jedi are weaklings and liars," the Dathomirian woman suddenly got angry. "I already asked to be a student of one of them."
"And what happened?" I inquired, noting the fact that a Jedi, other than Luke Skywalker, had appeared on Dathomir.
"Nothing came of it," she grimaced. "He accepted help. Mine and my clan sisters'. And then he left the planet. I returned, and I was ready to become his student, but he again did everything to prevent it. Then I realized that they are all just liars."
"And you became part of the Night Sister clan?" I clarified.
"Yes," the woman snarled. "X1 said he would fight against the Jedi, and I gladly joined him, as did many of my sisters. Because from the moment the New Republic visited our planet, they did absolutely nothing they promised."
"They opened a diplomatic mission," I reminded her.
"Which turned out to be so pathetic that it was captured by a couple of X1's soldiers," the woman chuckled. "The New Republic has no strength. Nor does the Old Republic. Every Jedi who descended on Dathomir—inevitably lost to us. X1 saw this, and therefore called on the Night Sisters to join him."
"And when he was gone, those whom we couldn't find found themselves a new employer," I said thoughtfully, voicing my thoughts.
"The Night Sisters respect strength," Magash Drashi declared. "They had it. A lot of strength. And soon there will be even more."
I have no doubt.
"If they are so strong, why don't they deal with the 'Zann Consortium' on their own?" I asked.
"I don't know that," the woman stated.
"A messenger doesn't need to know extra information," I nodded. "Don't you think you're just being used for their own purposes?"
"There's nothing shameful in becoming part of the embodiment of a grand plan," the woman said proudly. "You should join us too and crush Zann together."
"Thank you for the offer, but I think I'll refuse."
Surprise appeared on the woman's face.
"How so?" she asked in confusion.
"Very simple. Neither Zann nor your employers inspire in me the slightest desire to cooperate with them," I explained. "Both sides are corrupt and trying to solve their problems through others' hands. Thank you for the generous offer, but a stab in the back is the last thing I need."
"Then you will die," the woman snarled, jumping up from the floor and hitting her head against the wall.
The crunch of broken bone horns echoed...
And nothing.
Magash Drashi looked confused.
"I don't understand..."
So she's not aware.
"Perhaps you mean this," I turned my palms inward, showing their contents. "I apologize for the unauthorized action, but we are categorically negative about anyone trying to smuggle transmitters and poison ampoules onto our ships."
"Poisons?" the half-blood looked at me confusedly.
"Oh, so you're not aware," I smiled delicately. "You see, your leadership didn't need negotiations."
"They did, I was told directly!" the woman insisted.
"It's impolite to interrupt," I said.
"Go to hell!" she snorted, casting aside the last rules of decency.
"Unlike you, I have the ability to leave this cell at any time," I stated, twirling a small device in my hands. "A highly advanced dual-channel directional transmitter. My engineers encountered such miniaturization for the first time, but the design is quite Kaminoan. Did you have surgery there, or were these off-site events?"
"I won't tell you anything," the woman snarled.
"Of course you won't," I agreed. "Allow me to enlighten you."
"Keep your deceitful ramblings to yourself," she declared, examining the fragments of her false horns on the floor.
"I'll take your wish into consideration," I promised. "You see, you are indeed part of a grand plan. But not the one you were told about."
"You, who are deprived of the Force, cannot understand what a grand design means!" the woman exclaimed triumphantly.
"Nor can your leadership," I countered. "Everything they do is a pathetic parody of the operations conducted by Zann. Nothing more. However, the situation with the cloning cylinders is quite an amusing trap."
"It will work," the woman suddenly smiled. "The transmitter has a failsafe—if the false horn doesn't block the springs of the closed contact..."
"Then the data packets will be sent to the nearest Mass Relay," I finished. "Yes, my technicians have clarified the situation. But it won't help you—we are in a zone where all signals are blocked."
"That's impossible!" the woman declared. "I was promised..."
"You were lied to," I corrected. "You were sent here not for negotiations at all. You were truly prepared to meet Dominion agents. And those fake eight hundred cloning cylinders that Bynal supposedly discovered are a perfect bait for sabotage. I admit—the copies are excellently made. This proves that your employer has seen the Spaarti cloning cylinders up close. Obviously, it was on Marre IV before the 'organization was destroyed.' And when your spies informed command that we had captured this base, this plan was born."
"You speak smoothly," the woman smiled predatorily.
"Study the art—and you will understand your enemy," I said. "Your trap didn't work. And it won't."
"You can't jam signals forever," she stated. "And the transmitter can't be discharged!"
"You are mistaken on both counts," I replied. "The jamming field is a side effect of the type of cloaking we've maintained at this facility for several months. And as for the impossibility of discharging it... Yes, ordinary techniques cannot do it. But only if you don't have Kaminoan specialists at hand. I have them."
Magash Drashi looked filled with rage.
"You were told that you would infiltrate the Dominion to avenge the destruction of X1," I continued. "And for this, you were given copies of eight hundred cloning cylinders. The only problem is that this equipment is packed with explosives that were supposed to detonate after you activated the transmitter by breaking your false horns."
"My leadership calculated that you would deprive me of the Force one way or another," the half-blood stated.
"Yes, the plan is not bad," I agreed. "Without a powerful power source, these cylinders are useless. There was no point in leaving them on Cartao. And considering that we already had cylinders from Marre IV, it would be quite logical to connect them to each other. And then the explosion would have destroyed all the installations, leaving us without cloning capabilities."
Judging by Magash Drashi's silence, she knew this part of the plan.
"And this capsule," I showed her a small sealed container that had been hidden until now in one of her horns, "was supposed to release a suffocating gas upon breach of packaging. I suspect—also of Kaminoan design. And most likely, it was supposed to kill everyone near you at the moment the capsule ruptured. That's why you insisted on speaking with me alone. I think your employer knew perfectly well that I use ysalamiri—I wouldn't be surprised if they had tried to 'find' me through the Force before. And you were told that this poison would kill me, everyone around, and the ysalamiri, allowing you to use the Force and escape."
The woman remained silent, but her pursed lips were the most eloquent answer.
"And you knew about this too," I nodded to my thoughts. "Fifty seconds from the first breath—and you, as well as everyone who inhaled it, are corpses. First, you feel dryness in your lips and mouth. Then blood will flow from the corners of your eyes, nostrils, and ears—this means that nerve endings are dying in the body and the infected person no longer feels their blood vessels bursting... A very ingenious poison, I must admit. It seems like gas, but it acts very atypically—suitable for covering tracks. But it's unlikely they told you that this poison would kill you too."
"Lies!" the woman declared heatedly. "It doesn't affect those who possess the Force."
"No, it doesn't," I said, shaking the capsule, which made the half-blood gasp. "This substance, when mixed with oxygen, turns into a nerve agent of incredible concentration, killing all living things around it within a radius of a hundred meters. You were used to inflict damage on the Dominion, to present it as an attack by the 'Zann Consortium' and thus spur us to attack them. And this was done precisely after our agents infiltrated the office of the 'Horsch & Kessel' branch and learned that you were building Lucrehulk-class transport ships. Combined with modernized Keldabe-class dreadnoughts and Crusader II-class corvettes—a perfect combination for transporting and combat operations by the army you are preparing in the eastern part of the galaxy."
Magash Drashi remained stubbornly silent.
Judging by her vacant stare—she was processing what I said, not believing a single word.
"As I said—you are part of a grand plan, but not the one you were told about," I said. "Your employers didn't want an alliance with the Dominion. They wanted revenge for the operations we conducted against them on Hypori, Shola, and Saleucami. They wanted revenge for the destruction of your advance detachments. And, again, as I said—to commit an act of terrorism, sacrificing an inexperienced fanatical adept who doesn't mind sticking their head into a rancor's maw to deal with the enemy. You see, it is not customary for adepts of the Dark Side, and especially Sith, to avenge the murder of their teachers. After all, it opens up prospects for their own further path."
"The Night Sisters do not kill each other for politics and personal glory," the woman blurted out.
And thus confirmed my assumptions.
Now everything was clear.
"We can verify this," I shrugged.
"You hardly have the courage to fly to Kamino and ask directly," the woman sneered.
"I will be there," the promise slightly cooled her ardor. "But we can find out if I'm right or wrong right now."
"And how?" the Zabrak woman smirked.
Instead of an answer, I slammed the container with the liquid poison onto the floor.
With a monstrous hiss, the product of Kaminoan geneticists turned into a gaseous cloud of a delicate blue color, filling the prison bay of the Chimera.
A barely perceptible smell, characteristic of the medical facilities of my past world, stung my nostrils.
"You should have thrown it into my cell," Magash Drashi smirked. "If you kill yourself, then everything will go as planned."
"This screen," I pointed to the reddish curtain of the energy field separating us, "is permeable to air particles. You also just inhaled the poison, just like me."
The Zabrak woman's pupils dilated.
Her breathing quickened.
I calmly looked at the chronometer mounted on the prison block wall.
"Forty-five seconds," the phrase made the half-blood woman visibly flinch all over.
"What do you want?" she asked. "I won't be able to believe you until the poison takes effect."
"But you've already felt it," I remarked. "And besides—it's not made for you."
"Then for whom?" she asked, bewildered.
"For me," I said, setting the transmitter extracted from her horns aside, and without any embarrassment, I showed the mark of a pneumatic syringe in the middle of my right forearm.
"What is this injection mark?" the woman frowned.
"Before coming to meet you, I was administered an antidote," I explained, returning the sleeve of my uniform to its place.
"They developed a cure for an unknown virus so quickly?" the Zabrak woman scoffed, thinking she was being toyed with.
"Our scientists believe that this poison has much in common with the viruses that Imperial Intelligence injected into its agents. The structure matches, but the Kaminoans turned it into a gas—to increase the number of infected. And they reduced the reaction time to fifty seconds—it could remain in agents for a long time, after which it manifested slowly, killing in a few weeks—just enough time for a person or any other recruited sentient to realize the futility of existence and contact their handler. Having the original formula of the poison, developing a cure is not that difficult. Which once again proves—behind the Empire's genetic and biological weapons, there were often races they allegedly 'oppressed' and considered beneath their human status."
"You couldn't have made an antidote so quickly," the Zabrak woman shook her head, trying to convince herself of the unreality of what was happening. "It's a trick. You want to break me. I was warned that you might try to recruit me in some way. I will not betray the Sisters!"
"And you don't have to," I shrugged. "Your reaction has already said it all—my conclusions are undeniable. And your leadership will pay for this treachery. I will find and destroy them all."
"If only your vaccine works," the woman smiled nervously, licking her dry lips.
"Either that, or in twenty-five seconds, we will both die," I concluded, looking at the chronometer again. "Twenty-four..."
"You're insane!" she shouted, wiping her nose. "You'll die with me!"
By the end, her exclamation descended into a barely audible whisper.
I silently watched as Magash Drashi examined the streaks of blood on her hand.
"So," I said slowly, "the medicine worked. You moved on to the second phase, and I—didn't even feel dryness in my lips."
"That's impossible," Magash Drashi's lips trembled. "Sisters don't kill each other. That's what they told me..."
"Maybe the reason is that you are not their sister?" I inquired. "They are born Night Sisters, and you are from the Singing Mountain Clan. You are an 'outsider' to them, someone who can be sacrificed."
Seeds of panic fell on fertile ground.
The woman looked at the chronometer in horror.
"Ten seconds," I stated mechanically.
"What do you want?!" the woman screamed, falling to her knees in tears.
"Serve me," I slowly pulled a pneumatic syringe from my trousers pocket and approached the energy barrier. "Swear allegiance—as Dathomirian witches do. Unbreakably, until the end of your days. Your life is in my hands," she looked at the pneumatic syringe in my hand. "And the opportunity to avenge your exploitation—that too. As promised—I will soon be on Kamino. And I will settle the score. Do you want to be there?"
"I..."
"Only five seconds left!" I roared, simplifying the mental dilemma in her head.
"I agree!" she cried, clasping her hands in a pleading gesture. "My life is yours! Your will is law! Until the end of my days!"
Two seconds.
My elbow touches the control panel, and the energy screen drops.
One second.
The pneumatic syringe plunges into the half-blood's neck, and with a barely perceptible hiss, the medicine enters her blood.
Thanks to the two hearts Magash Drashi inherited from her Zabrak parent and her rapid circulation, the antidote spreads throughout her body.
For a moment, I see her face contort in a spasm.
The half-blood grabs my hands with bulging eyes, unable to take a breath.
Blood gurgles in her throat, indicating the final stage of poisoning by the Kaminoan toxin.
We stare into each other's eyes, understanding the grim reality of the situation.
But we understand it differently.
Her body arches, and a stream of hot blood pours onto my trousers and boots.
A convulsive breath and a crazed look, in which genuine gratitude and a promise of loyalty are visible.
With gasps, with ragged breaths, she breathes.
But she cannot utter a single coherent word.
"Remember this moment, Magash Drashi," I said, pulling her hands off my uniform and looking at the blood spreading across the deck of the prison block. "Today, I have demonstrated two critically important life lessons for the future. First—you meant nothing to those who sent you to certain death."
"And... the second?" she rasped.
"Unlike those who called you 'sister,' I was willing to risk my life with you so that you would see the light and understand the true value of personnel," she wiped her bloodied mouth with her hand. "When the shock of today passes, I advise you to think about whether it's worth sobering up your sisters from other Dathomirian clans."
Magash Drashi did not answer.
She merely bowed her head submissively before me, repeating the words of her oath of loyalty.
***
When I returned from the prison block to my quarters, the first to follow was Thiers.
The adjutant approached my desk, placing a small case with medical markings on it.
The latches clicked dryly, and Grodin produced a pneumatic syringe.
"The coagulant worked," he said, handing me the injector.
"As did the vaccine," I remarked, giving myself the injection.
A coolness spread through my body.
"You took a great risk, sir," he said.
"The chemical formula is identical," I reminded him. "Medics stated that the only difference was in the speed of reaction and the method of delivery. With a high probability, if the vaccine hadn't worked, I would have had time to develop it. The coagulant pushed the effect of the second phase back by a month. Now there's nothing to fear."
No lies or deception—just sleight of hand.
I didn't inject myself with the medicine—only the coagulant, which reduced the concentration of the contagion in my blood to a safe level.
This is exactly how Imperial Intelligence treated its spies—to ensure they completed their missions, they injected them with a virus, and then promised an antidote in exchange for completing the order.
Those who disobeyed—died.
Those who agreed and did what was needed—received the coagulant.
And with it—a month's reprieve and a new assignment.
There was no guarantee that the cure would work—that's why the half-blood tested it on herself.
The poison would have killed her in fifty-five seconds if the vaccine had been ineffective.
But everything went well.
Now I can heal myself too.
"The risk wasn't worth the hypothetical gain," the adjutant stated. "One witch is nothing."
"On the contrary, Major," I said. "One witch who has switched to our side is exactly what we need. She will be the one to go to Dathomir to tell them what a threat the Night Sisters pose. And that it was the Dominion that stood up for her. If not all, then some of them—will agree to join us. And we will get reinforcements for the Jedi Order. Considering what we learned from her, as well as our future prospects against the Sith, the New Republic, the Alliance, the Jedi, the Yuuzhan Vong—we need Force-sensitive fighters. Even if they are witches, whom we will assign to our special commanders."
One way or another, by extracting the Dathomirian witches from their planet without resorting to violence or dictating our will, we will integrate them into Dominion society.
Sooner or later, they will give us gifted offspring.
And the strategic plan to increase the number of Force-sensitive sentients in the Dominion will bear fruit.
As will the tactical one.
"What will be the orders regarding Magash Drashi's former masters?" my adjutant inquired, packing the used syringe back into the case. A disintegrator flash gleamed—the equipment, along with particles of my skin and blood, was destroyed.
"The incident did not lead to any irreparable consequences," I said. "But at the same time, the enemy will not get away with it. The Eastern Faction decided to participate in the grand game by pushing us to act against Tyber Zann. Well, we, in turn, will respond to this blatant aggression."
The adjutant remained silent, awaiting the continuation of my thought.
"The Dominion stikes back," I said. "Always. But most often—before it is harmed itself. It's time to set this criminal nest ablaze too."
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan