Ten years, the second month, and the fourteenth day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, the second month, and the fourteenth day after the Great ReSynchronization.
(Eight months and thirty-four days since arrival.)
Reynar stood with his back leaning against the edge of the doorway.
His eyes were closed, his face calm.
But that serenity was only apparent.
Inside the former Inquisitor, a fire raged.
Rage and hatred coursed through his veins, burning away the few remaining traces of Dathomirian magic to which he had been subjected while fighting his opponent.
He sensed the approach of icy calm and controlled immediacy near the prison block.
And two more minds—cold, focused.
One human, the other clearly an alien, its emotions difficult to read.
And then—it became impossible altogether.
For there was simply cold.
Opening his eyes, he looked straight ahead, focusing his vision.
"Well, little Jedi," a mocking voice came from behind the energy barrier, "is Dathomirian magic too much for you?"
"Not in your execution, witch," Obscuro snapped, showing the shrinking scar on his forearm.
It had not been inflicted by the lightsabers wielded by this bungler, but by a bone dagger.
Imbued with the magic of the Nightsisters.
The prison block door hissed open, sliding into the bulkhead recess and admitting two sentients.
A step ahead moved a man in an Imperial uniform and a gray-skinned Nogri, darting his black eyes around.
From the wave of coolness that washed over him, Obscuro understood everything when he saw the small cage with ysalamiri placed just outside the block's door.
Clearly, the Grand Admiral did not want anyone using the Force in his presence.
Vex, glancing at the Dathomirian who had caused her so much trouble and marred her face, merely snorted haughtily, taking her place beside Reynar and allowing the one she escorted to approach the cell.
Grand Admiral Thrawn was silent, but the barely perceptible movements of his head showed he was studying the captive as he would a work of art—insinuatingly and thoroughly.
His adjutant and bodyguard respectfully kept back, not interfering as Thrawn examined the curiosity discovered on Cartao.
The latter met his gaze with equal insolence, boldly locking eyes with the Supreme Commander of the Dominion.
"An interesting specimen," the Grand Admiral said after a few minutes of mutual staring. He turned to Reynar. "A fallen Jedi in the service of the Zann Consortium?"
The prisoner sneered arrogantly, bestowing a crooked smile on those present.
No one cared about her efforts.
Least of all Thrawn.
"No, sir," Obscuro replied. "At first I thought the same. I even thought I recognized her as Maris Brood—padawan of the Jedi Order, former apprentice of Master Shaak Ti." A flicker of interest crossed the captive's face, though only for an instant.
"When you reported capturing a Zabrak hybrid, I thought the same," the Grand Admiral said.
"It's not Maris Brood," Reynar answered. "I was mistaken in my assessment."
"But Zabrak features are present," the Grand Admiral noted, glancing at the prisoner. "Though she hides them with her hair. One cannot help but notice the significant human influence on her appearance as well."
The captive smirked smugly, pushing her tied-back hair aside so the tiny horns crowning her head were less conspicuous.
"She's a Dathomirian," Reynar explained.
Judging by the way the prisoner froze, glaring at him with hatred and suspicion, his guess had hit the mark.
The Grand Admiral looked at him with interest.
"Explain," he demanded.
"Dathomir was an isolated world for a long time," the former Inquisitor readily began voicing his deductions. "The planet was dominated by a human population divided into clans. Among them was the Nightsister clan, allied with the male Zabrak Nightbrother clan. From that alliance came half-breed children—hybrids. Powerful, trained in the dark side of the Force, but with a Dathomirian twist. They call it 'magic,' but in reality their gestures, spells, and other nonsense are merely a peculiar way of understanding and using the Force. I realized my mistake only after the report of her capture—when I sensed that the wound she inflicted," he showed the healing cut on his forearm, "was behaving abnormally. Meditation revealed the dark side's involvement. But since this half-trained witch is no Sith Lord even in the most optimistic view, after correlating the other evidence I reached this conclusion. I didn't report it additionally since we were bringing her to you anyway."
"Well, now it's clear," Thrawn nodded, looking at the prisoner. "And who might you be, lady?"
"Power and your fear in one package," she declared with bravado, bestowing a look of futile superiority on the Grand Admiral.
"Really?" Thrawn asked, glancing at his adjutant. "I'm certain you are mistaken, young lady."
Major Tierce, standing by the control panel, pressed several buttons.
Discharges of electricity shot from all eight corners of the cell, striking the hybrid woman and forcing her to scream shrilly.
The shock lasted only five seconds, but Reynar felt Vex become extremely uncomfortable.
The other sentients didn't even flinch.
Only the half-breed, released from physical torment, took several seconds to catch her breath.
Then she glared at Thrawn from under her brows, folding her hands into an intricate pass.
"And now you die," she promised, thrusting her hands forward.
Nothing happened.
"Any problems?" the Grand Admiral politely inquired of the bewildered prisoner.
"What's going on?" She repeated the gesture, again to no effect.
A third attempt yielded nothing.
"What have you done to me, you filthy worms?!" she shouted, pounding futilely against the energy shield separating her from the prison corridor.
"Note, Guardian Obscuro, our guest does not understand how we deprived her of access to the Force," Thrawn commented.
"And that angers and vulnerabilities her," Reynar added. "Clearly she has never encountered this effect before."
"From which we can conclude she was recruited relatively recently," Thrawn continued, studying the dismayed woman with curiosity. "Feel free to try again, lady."
The half-breed bared her teeth, lunging at Thrawn but once again stopped by the energy barrier.
"I'll rip out your guts and strangle everyone with them!" she screamed. "And then… Aaaaaaaa!"
Artificial lightning filled the cell again, making the prisoner shriek and convulse from muscle spasms.
"You did excellent work, Guardian Obscuro," Thrawn continued without turning. "And you too, Vex."
His partner, embarrassed by the praise, muttered something in reply.
"Intelligence has already examined the cloning cylinders," the Grand Admiral said, looking Reynar straight in the eye with his burning gaze. "They're not the latest generation, but perfectly usable for further operation. Since Lord Binali, as our enemies' puppet, can no longer interfere, no one will discover these cylinders. They've already been delivered to the main cloning base, connected to the primary network, and will soon be loaded for cloning. Thanks to you, we can produce more clones. The Dominion is in your debt."
Reynar noticed out of the corner of his eye that the prisoner, overcoming herself, had thrust her hands into her hair and begun digging at one of her horns.
As it turned out, he wasn't the only one who noticed.
With a deft motion of his right hand, the former Inquisitor covered his partner's mouth just as she opened it to speak.
She glared at him angrily and lightly bit the inside of his palm.
Reynar, without changing position, gave her a gentle cuff with his left hand.
Vex pouted as usual.
"I assume she was recruited after Warlord Zsinj's remaining forces were destroyed over Dathomir," the Grand Admiral continued, watching the trembling prisoner. "The New Republic mindlessly allowed the planet's inhabitants to leave if they wished. Most witches stayed, but not the Nightsisters. They largely abandoned the planet—probably before X1 and Darth Maul took control."
"Idiots," the prisoner hissed. "I served X1!"
Thrawn's posture didn't even change.
"You killed him," the prisoner rose on shaking legs, glaring at the Grand Admiral with hatred. "If I'd been there, I would have finished you and all your mongrels who…"
Another shock knocked her down, and the prison block filled again with cries of suffering.
"A survivor of X1's faction?" Reynar asked, realizing that where one wasn't finished off, others remained.
Though something didn't add up.
Revenge for a teacher's murder wasn't a tradition common among dark-side adepts.
Especially Sith.
"Yes," Thrawn agreed, turning to look at Reynar. "But it's not that simple. From your report I understood the late Lord Binali believed he was cooperating with Black Sun."
"That's correct," the Shadow Guardian confirmed. "I obtained a sample of his blood and passed it to your adjutant. Given the program on Smarck, I thought it prudent."
"We already have the results," the Grand Admiral confirmed. "Our medics believe he was a clone—telomeres shorter than they should be for his age."
"In other words, a Zann Consortium fighter?" Reynar suggested, watching the half-breed writhing under the electricity. "They're the ones playing the Black Sun game…"
"I cannot disagree with the latter," Thrawn nodded affirmatively. "But not the former. One could even suppose this woman was planted on X1. Unlikely, however. Our Jensaarai can sense hidden intent. As far as I know, it's fairly common among Force-users."
Reynar thought about it and agreed.
"Given X1's experience, he would have sniffed out anything like that," Thrawn continued. "The most likely scenario is that she, and others like her, served X1 willingly—among the recruited Dathomirian witches. And on Cartao she was sent to investigate the cloning problems that faction was having."
Obscuro thought about it and nodded.
Yes, that sounded more logical.
"And then she learned of her patron's death," Thrawn mused aloud. "I believe after our operation on Mustafar, she acquired a new master who found her through the Force and her Dathomirian nature."
"Consequently, we can conclude Tyber Zann has his own Force-sensitive agents," Vex blurted.
Thrawn looked at the Twi'lek as if the chief engineer had just heard a brilliant idea from the janitor.
Vex hurriedly looked away.
"I don't think it's that simple," the Grand Admiral said, stroking his chin with his fingers. "Major Tierce, could you temporarily stop the electricity?"
"Yes, sir," the adjutant snapped, and the artificial lightning ceased tormenting the half-breed's body.
Steaming from evaporated bodily fluids, she barely moved on the floor, twitching and drooling.
"After X1's death, you were recruited by one of your countrywomen, weren't you?" There was almost sympathy in the Grand Admiral's voice.
"I'll say nothing," she croaked after several attempts, trying to rise on her arms.
But she weakly struck her head against the floor.
"In that case Major Tierce will continue testing your resistance to electric current," the Grand Admiral offered a bit of insider information. "I think it's worth speaking. You're in our custody, with no access to the Force. And we can torture you for a long time—electricity is free, and my adjutant's evening is wide open."
"Bastards…" the woman whispered.
"As far as I know, every person in this cell is a legitimately born child of their parents," the Grand Admiral countered. "No need to force us to move to harsher interrogation methods. Simply answer the questions. Hoping for rescue is foolish. You were used to lure my agents—sooner or later. But no one will come to save you—because they won't find you."
"You're wrong," the woman managed to lift herself from the metal floor on trembling arms.
She sat and glared defiantly at her captor's leader.
"I'll find a way to escape," she promised.
"Unlikely," Thrawn replied. "This cell was designed specifically to hold a Force-sensitive. And you are not the strongest of them. All your power is cut off from you. And it will remain so. In the three days since your capture, no one has come to Cartao to find you. From which I conclude that was the plan from the beginning. Without all this theatrics—you were supposed to surrender to Dominion agents. And you were supposed to meet with those agents' leadership. So I suggest we set aside the feigned pomp and grand words and begin our conversation with you introducing yourself. My name, I assume, you know."
The prisoner grimaced, but after glancing at Tierce ostentatiously flexing his fingers, she flinched, clearly imagining what awaited her if she refused to cooperate further.
"Fine," she rasped, glaring at the Grand Admiral with hatred. "We'll talk. You and I—alone."
"Do me the honor," the Grand Admiral requested. "Abandon the thought that you'll settle scores with me if we're left alone."
The woman looked at the Grand Admiral with uncontrollable hatred.
Then, shifting her gaze, she looked in turn at Major Tierce, Reynar, and Vex (the last with particular dislike) before nodding affirmatively.
Her aversion to the Twi'lek was understandable—while Reynar parried the half-breed's attacks with ease, Vex had pumped a stun charge into her and sent her into oblivion.
Then came sedatives, manacles, and delivery straight to the Grand Admiral's flagship.
"As you wish, Grand Admiral," she said with poorly concealed hostility. "But one day I'll kill you anyway."
Thrawn shrugged.
"Many would like to see me dead," he admitted. "But so far they've only ended up in my traps."
***
After my bodyguards took position outside the door, and Reynar and his partner headed to the hangar to leave the Chimaera for their next objective, I placed a simple metal chair a meter from the energy barrier.
Sitting down, I crossed one leg over the other, folding my hands so the prisoner could not see what was in them.
The half-breed herself, somehow settling 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 head horns, then, clearly satisfied with the result, declared:
"My name is Magash Drashi," she introduced herself. "Your pet Jedi was right—I'm from Dathomir. But not a Nightsister."
Magash Drashi.
"And which clan are you from?" I asked.
"The Singing Mountain Clan," the half-breed woman explained, occasionally shuddering as residual electric shock effects tormented her muscles.
I nodded, understanding what she meant.
"That's the clan from which the Nightsisters originated," I said slowly. "The clan leader's daughter was exiled along with several other witches and founded a new clan."
"You're well-informed," she smirked.
"Dathomir is part of the Dominion," I said. "And the history of that world is quite fascinating. Especially considering you trace your origins to criminals and Jedi."
"You say that as if it's something bad," the woman snorted, turning away as if embarrassed.
But I did not miss her eyes darting to the front corners of the cell.
"I neither condemn nor approve," I said. "After all, the purpose of this meeting is not to dig into your people's history. I want to know why you were sent to meet with me."
"Not specifically with you," she said. "With Dominion leadership. It was thought to be Vice Admiral Pellaeon. And you, it turns out, are alive… Which is rather unusual, I must admit."
"Probably," I agreed. "So let's move to the details."
"Yes, of course. My leadership was closely watching your actions long before I joined them. And recently they decided the Dominion could help us."
"You were recruited after X1's death?" I clarified.
"You guessed correctly," the woman grimaced. "He couldn't clone Wookiees or Force-sensitives. He thought there were secrets hidden from him. And he sent me to Cartao to investigate the nature of the Spaarti cloning cylinders—they were assembled from remnants of Spaarti Creations production."
"And on the planet, gathering information, you discovered the Binali family was under Black Sun control," I continued.
"Exactly," she said reluctantly. "While figuring out how best to obtain the information, I sensed X1's death. Then my new employers approached me and offered work in exchange…"
"For knowledge of the Force," I finished.
"If you know everything, why ask me?" the woman snorted.
"Merely demonstrating that I understand your logic," I stated neutrally.
"They helped me, and I infiltrated the Binali circle as a Black Sun agent," the woman continued. "And honestly, I don't see how that helps our negotiations?"
"It certainly does," I replied. "Continue."
"Well, that's pretty much it," she spread her arms. "I watched the planet, waiting for your agents. When they arrived, I sensed a disturbance in the Force. And I followed them. From how both behaved I realized they were very strange Imperials. They were interested in Spaarti Creations but gathered information slowly. And cautiously, without drawing attention. I wouldn't have noticed them if your Jedi knew how to hide in the Force."
"As you did when you realized a Force-sensitive had arrived on the planet," I said.
"Yes," she answered. "I needed time to confirm he was the one I was looking for. It took effort to identify his ship's true owner. Realizing it was a pirate missing near Dominion borders who served Black Sun, I understood I was dealing with your agents. Exactly why I was left on the planet."
"Then you arranged the meeting between Lord Binali and my agents," I continued.
"Yes, I did," the woman said irritably. "And got rid of that Black Sun puppet at the same time."
"And gifted us eight hundred Spaarti cloning cylinders," I added, not missing her crooked smirk.
"Consider it a gift preceding fruitful cooperation with my employers," she said.
"I certainly will," I nodded in agreement. "Your employer wants the Dominion to help them destroy the 'Black Sun' that the Zann Consortium is impersonating."
"And they told me Dominion leadership would need everything spelled out," the human-Zabrak hybrid smirked. "It's pleasant dealing with someone sharper than those thick-headed Imperials. I'm sure you'll enjoy settling old scores with Tyber Zann."
I remained silent, giving her room to speak.
"You know the Corporate Sector is under his control?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied calmly and indifferently.
"They're preparing for full-scale war," the half-breed continued, frowning. "And they contributed to the Empire's collapse, replacing many moffs and warlords with clones."
"We know that too," I answered. Her expression soured and even puzzled her.
"And they stirred up the aristocrats in the D'Astan sector," she watched me expectantly. "Because nearly all of them have been replaced by clones on Zann's orders."
"That information reached me as well," I nodded. "Interesting to know where your employer got it."
"We have agents in the Zann Consortium," the Zabrak said, smiling triumphantly.
"Commendable," I agreed. "So what conditions of cooperation do your employers envision?"
"We have strong armed forces and can easily assist you in a full-scale attack…"
Clear enough.
"I suggest moving to the details," I proposed.
"Of course," Magash Drashi smiled. "We have large armed forces that will soon be ready."
"Not those details," I interrupted.
If at first I took her for a young woman, I now realized my mistake.
She was at least forty standard years old.
Simply, as they say, "well-preserved."
"Then what interests you?" she asked in bewilderment. "We're discussing military cooperation."
"Your past," I said. "How you became X1's minion."
"What does that matter?" she asked, surprised.
"I prefer to know a bit more than nothing about those with whom I negotiate," I said. "For example, why you—having the chance after the New Republic lifted Zsinj's blockade—remained on the planet until X1 and Darth Maul began their recruitment campaign."
"That's personal," the woman snorted.
"That's precisely why it interests me," I admitted. "Without trust there will be no agreement. I assume you haven't had much contact with your handlers lately, so you don't know what's really happening. Zann is losing ground, building strength and pushing the Dominion against you."
"Then we must fight on the same side!" the Zabrak flared.
"That's exactly what this conversation is about," I explained. "Getting to know each other better. Building trust. After all, your employer—having the chance to do everything directly—chose this convoluted scheme, putting you in mortal danger."
"There was no danger," the Dathomirian snorted. "The Dominion recruits Force-sensitives. So I was assured they'd take me prisoner and deliver me to the top, considering me a Zann Consortium agent."
A small detail that stood out, though I wasn't one hundred percent certain.
"Quite logical," I said. "And fits perfectly into everything 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 Sith apprentice rather than a Jedi when Luke Skywalker visited Dathomir a couple of years ago," I asked.
"Because Jedi are weaklings and liars," the Dathomirian suddenly snapped. "I already asked one of them to take me as a student."
"And what happened?" I asked, noting the appearance of a Jedi on Dathomir who was not Luke Skywalker.
"Nothing came of it," she grimaced. "He accepted help. Mine and my clan sisters'. Then he left the planet. He returned and I was ready to become his student, but he made sure it didn't happen again. Then I realized they're all just liars."
"And joined the Nightsisters?" I clarified.
"Yes," the woman bared her teeth. "X1 said he would fight the Jedi, and I gladly followed 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 was so pathetic a couple of X1's soldiers captured it," the woman snorted. "The New Republic has no strength. Nor did the Old one. Every Jedi who came to Dathomir inevitably lost to us. X1 saw that and called on the Nightsisters to join him."
"And when he was gone, those we couldn't find found themselves a new employer," I said thoughtfully, voicing my conclusions.
"Nightsisters respect strength," Magash Drashi declared. "They had it. A lot of strength. And soon there will be even more."
No doubt.
"If they're so strong, why not deal with the Zann Consortium alone?" I asked.
"I don't know that," the woman stated.
"A messenger doesn't need extra information," I nodded. "Don't you think you're simply being used?"
"There's nothing wrong with being part of a grand plan," the woman said proudly. "You should join us and crush Zann together."
"Thank you for the offer, but I'll decline."
Surprise appeared on the woman's face.
"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.
"Very simply. Neither Zann nor your employers inspire the slightest desire to cooperate," I explained. "Both sides are corrupt and try to solve their problems with others' hands. Thank you for the generous offer, but a knife in the back is the last thing I need."
"Then you'll die," the woman snarled, leaping up and smashing her head against the wall.
The crack of breaking bone horns…
And nothing.
Magash Drashi looked bewildered.
"I don't understand…"
"Then perhaps you're unaware of this," I turned my palms forward, revealing their contents. "My apologies for the initiative, but we take a strongly negative view of anyone trying to smuggle transmitters and poison ampoules aboard our ships."
"Poison?" the half-breed looked at me in confusion.
"Oh, so you didn't know," 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, abandoning the last rules of decorum.
"Unlike you, I can always leave this cell," I declared, twirling the small device in my fingers. "Very advanced two-channel directional transmitter technology. My engineers encountered such miniaturization for the first time, but the design is distinctly Kaminoan. Did they operate on you there, or were these mobile procedures?"
"I'll tell you nothing," the woman growled.
"Of course not," I agreed. "Allow me to enlighten you."
"Keep your lying tales to yourself," she said, examining the broken pieces of her false horns on the floor.
"I'll keep your request in mind," I promised. "You see, you are indeed part of a grand plan. But not the one you were told about."
"To those deprived of the Force, you cannot understand what a great design means!" the woman declared triumphantly.
"Nor can your leadership," I countered. "Everything they do is a pathetic parody of Zann's operations. Nothing more. Though the situation with the cloning cylinders is quite an interesting trap."
"It will work," the woman smiled unexpectedly. "The transmitter has a failsafe—if the false bone no longer blocks the closed contact springs…"
"The data packets will go to the nearest relay," I finished. "Yes, my technicians clarified the situation. But that won't help you—we're in a zone where all signals are blocked."
"Impossible!" the woman declared. "I was promised…"
"You were lied to," I corrected. "You were sent here not for negotiations at all. You were indeed prepared to meet Dominion agents. And those fake eight hundred cloning cylinders Lord Binali supposedly discovered are excellent bait for sabotage. I'll admit—the copies are excellently made. This proves your employer saw real Spaarti cylinders up close. Clearly on Smarck before the 'destruction of the organization.' And when your spies reported we captured that base, this plan was born."
"You speak smoothly," the woman smiled predatorily.
"Study 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're wrong on both counts," I countered. "The blocking field is a side effect of the camouflage type we've maintained on this facility for months. And as for discharging… Ordinary technicians can't do it. But only if they don't have Kaminoan specialists on hand. I do."
Magash Drashi looked overflowing with rage.
"You were told you'd infiltrate the Dominion to avenge X1's destruction," I continued. "And for that you were given copies of eight hundred cloning cylinders. Only this equipment is packed with explosives set to detonate after you activate the transmitter by breaking your false horns."
"My leadership calculated you'd deprive me of the Force one way or another," the half-breed said.
"Yes, a decent plan," I agreed. "Without a powerful power source these cylinders are useless. There was no point leaving them on Cartao. And given we already had cylinders from Smarck, it would be logical to connect them. Then the explosion would destroy all installations, leaving us without cloning capacity."
From Magash Drashi's silence, she knew that part of the plan.
"And this capsule," I showed her the small sealed container that had been hidden in one of her horns until now, "upon breach of the seal would release a choking gas. I suspect—also Kaminoan development. And most likely it was meant to kill everyone near you at the moment of capsule deformation. That's why you insisted on speaking with me alone. I assume your employer knew perfectly well I use ysalamiri—I wouldn't be surprised if they previously tried to 'find' me through the Force. And you were told this poison would kill me, everyone around, and the ysalamiri, allowing you to use the Force and escape."
The woman was silent, but her pursed lips were the most eloquent answer.
"And you knew that too," I nodded to my thoughts. "Fifty seconds from the first breath—and you, and everyone who inhaled it, are corpses. First comes dryness of the lips and mouth. Then blood flows from the corners of the eyes, nostrils, and ears—that means nerve endings are dying and the victim no longer feels their blood vessels bursting… Quite an ingenious poison, I must admit. Seems like gas but acts very atypically—perfect for covering tracks. But they probably didn't tell you this poison would kill you too."
"Lies!" the woman declared hotly. "It doesn't affect those who possess the Force."
"No," I said, shaking the capsule, making the half-breed catch her breath. "This substance, mixing with oxygen, turns into an incredibly concentrated nerve-paralytic gas that kills everything alive within a hundred meters. You were used to damage the Dominion, frame it as a Zann Consortium attack, and thereby provoke us to strike them. And this was done right after our agents infiltrated the Hoersch-Kessel Drive office and learned you're building Lucrehulk-type military transports. Combined with upgraded Keldabe-class battleships and Crusader-class corvettes—a perfect mix for transporting and fighting with the army you're preparing in the galaxy's eastern reaches."
Magash Drashi stubbornly remained silent.
From her vacant stare—she was digesting what I said, not believing a word.
"As I already told you—you are part of a grand plan, but not the one you were told about," I said. "Your employers never wanted an alliance with the Dominion. They wanted revenge for the operations we conducted against them on Hypori, Shola, and Salukemai. Revenge for destroying your forward detachments. And again, as I said—to commit an act of terrorism, sacrificing an inexperienced fanatic willing to stick her head in a rancor's mouth to deal with the enemy. You see, among dark-side adepts and especially Sith, it is not customary to avenge murdered teachers. That opens prospects for the apprentice's own path."
"Nightsisters do not kill each other for politics or personal glory," the woman snapped.
And thereby confirmed my suspicions.
Now everything was clear.
"We can verify that," I shrugged.
"You're unlikely to have the courage to fly to Kamino and ask directly," the woman smirked.
"I will be there," my promise slightly cooled her ardor. "But we can find out whether I'm right or wrong right now."
"How?" the Zabrak smirked.
Instead of answering I smashed the container with the liquid poison against the floor.
With a terrible hiss the Kaminoan geneticists' creation turned into a cloud of pale blue gas filling the Chimaera's prison compartment.
My nostrils caught the barely perceptible scent typical of medical facilities in my past world.
"You should have thrown that into my cell," Magash Drashi smirked. "If you kill yourself, 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 just inhaled the poison the same as I did."
The Zabrak'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-breed woman visibly shudder.
"What do you want?" she asked. "I still won't believe you until the poison takes effect."
"But you've already felt it," I noted. "And besides—this isn't for you."
"Then for whom?" she asked in confusion.
"For me," setting aside the transmitter extracted from her horns, I unashamedly revealed the pneumosyringe mark in the middle of my right forearm.
"What's that injection mark?" the woman frowned.
"Before coming to meet you I was administered the antidote," I explained, returning my tunic sleeve to its place.
"You developed a cure for an unknown virus that quickly?" the Zabrak snorted, thinking she was being played.
"Our scientists believe this poison has much in common with viruses Imperial Intelligence implanted in its agents. The structure matches, but the Kaminoans turned it into gas—to increase the number of victims. And shortened the reaction time to fifty seconds—on agents it could linger for a long time, then slowly manifest, killing over weeks—just enough for a person or any recruited sentient to realize the futility of existence and contact their handler. With the original poison formula, developing a cure isn't that difficult. Which once again proves—behind much of the Empire's genetic and biological weapons often stood races they supposedly 'oppressed' and considered inferior to their human status."
"You couldn't develop an antidote that fast," the Zabrak 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 you might try to recruit me somehow. I won't betray my sisters!"
"No need," I shrugged. "Your reaction has already said everything—my conclusions are indisputable. And your leadership will pay for this treachery. I'll find and eliminate them all."
"Only if your vaccine works," the woman smiled nervously, licking her dry lips.
"Either that, or in twenty-five seconds we both die," I concluded, glancing at the chronometer again. "Twenty-four…"
"You're insane!" she shouted, running her hand under her nose. "You'll die with me!"
By the end her exclamation dropped to a barely audible whisper.
I silently watched Magash Drashi examine the blood streaks on her hand.
"It seems," I said slowly, "the medicine worked. You've moved to the second phase, and I haven't even felt dry lips."
"It can't be," Magash Drashi's lips trembled. "Sisters don't kill each other. That's what I was told…"
"Perhaps the issue is that you're not a sister to them?" I asked. "They are born Nightsisters, and you're from the Singing Mountain Clan. To them you're an outsider, expendable."
The seeds of panic fell on fertile soil.
The woman looked at the chronometer in horror.
"Ten seconds," I stated mechanically.
"What do you want?!" the woman screamed, sobbing as she fell to her knees.
"Serve me," I slowly drew a pneumosyringe from my trouser pocket and approached the energy barrier. "Swear loyalty—as Dathomirian witches do. Unbreakable, until the end of your days. Your life is in my hands," she looked at the pneumosyringe in my hand. "And the chance to avenge being used—among other things. As promised—I will soon be on Kamino. And settle scores. Want to be there?"
"I…"
"Only five seconds left!" I barked, simplifying the mental dilemma in her head.
"I agree!" she shouted, 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 hit the control panel and the energy screen fell.
One second.
The pneumosyringe plunged into the half-breed's neck and with a barely audible hiss the medicine entered her blood.
Thanks to the two hearts inherited from her Zabrak parent and rapid circulation, the antidote spread through her body.
For a moment I saw her face contort in a spasm.
The half-breed grabbed my arms with bulging eyes, unable to draw breath.
Blood gurgled in her throat, indicating the final phase of Kaminoan poisoning.
We stared into each other's eyes, understanding the unenviable essence of what was happening.
But understanding differently.
Her body arched, and a stream of hot blood poured onto my trousers and boots.
A convulsive breath and a frenzied look containing genuine gratitude and a promise of loyalty.
With a rasp and tearing, she breathed.
But could not speak clearly.
"Remember this moment, Magash Drashi," I said, pulling her hands from my tunic and watching blood spread across the prison block deck plating. "Today I demonstrated two critically important life lessons for your future. First—you meant nothing to those who send 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 you would see the light and understand what real cadre value means," she wiped her bloody mouth with her hand. "When today's shock passes, I advise thinking whether it's worth bringing your sisters from other Dathomirian clans to their senses."
Magash Drashi did not answer.
She merely bowed her head obediently 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 Tierce.
The adjutant approached my desk, placing a small medical-marked case on it.
The locks clicked dryly, and in Grodin's hands appeared a pneumosyringe.
"The coagulant worked," he said, handing me the injector.
"As did the vaccine," I noted, giving myself the shot.
Coolness spread through my body.
"You took a great risk, sir," he said.
"The chemical formula is identical," I reminded him. "The medics confirmed the only differences are reaction speed and delivery method. With high probability, if the vaccine hadn't worked, I would have had time until its development. The coagulant delayed the second phase by a month. No more danger."
No lies or trickery—just sleight of hand.
I hadn't injected myself with medicine—only the coagulant, which reduced the poison concentration in my blood to a safe level.
That's exactly how Imperial Intelligence treated its spies—to complete the mission they were given the virus, then promised the cure in exchange for obedience.
Those who disobeyed—died.
Those who agreed and did what was required—received the coagulant.
Along with it—a month's reprieve and a new assignment.
There were no guarantees the cure would work—so the half-breed 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 could cure myself too.
"The risk wasn't worth the hypothetical gain," the adjutant declared. "One witch is nothing."
"On the contrary, Major," I stated. "One witch who has switched to our side is exactly what we need. She will go to Dathomir to tell what threat the Nightsisters pose. And that the Dominion stood up for her. Not all, but some will agree to join us. And we will gain recruits for the Jensaarai Order. Considering what we learned from her, and our future confrontation with Sith, the New Republic, the Alliance, Jedi, Yuuzhan Vong—we need Force-sensitive fighters. Even if they are witches we attach to our special commanders."
One way or another, by extracting Dathomirian witches from their planet without violence or dictation of our will, we will integrate them into Dominion society.
Sooner or later they will give us Force-sensitive offspring.
And the strategic plan to increase Force-sensitive sentients in the Dominion will bear fruit.
As will the tactical one.
"What are your orders regarding Magash Drashi's former masters?" my adjutant asked, packing the used syringe back into the case. A disintegrator flash gleamed—the equipment and particles of my skin and blood destroyed.
"The incident led to no irreparable consequences," I said. "But at the same time the enemy will not get away with it. The eastern grouping decided to join the big game, pushing us to act against Tyber Zann. Very well, we will respond to this overt aggression in turn."
The adjutant was silent, awaiting the continuation of my thought.
"The Dominion always strikes back," I said. "But most often—before it suffers itself. Time to set this criminal nest ablaze."