Nine years, seven months, and the eleventh day since the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fourth year, seven months, and the eleventh day since the Great Resynchronization.
(Two months plus the thirtieth day since my arrival)
We received the response from Honoghr at the end of the second day of our time in the system. And I didn't like it at all.
The fleet was in a rush, repairing both our own ships and the captured ones.
Two escort carriers, two Assault Frigates, and, again, two Mon Calamari star cruisers beaten to scrap… Honestly, I'd happily trade those last two for another Star Destroyer. Or at least for a crew to man Red Glove. But if you don't have it, you don't have it…
— Looks like for the next battle, we'll need a passenger fleet with extra crews, — Pellaeon said with a chuckle, handing me a data pad with repair reports. — We've had to thin out the crew on some of our ships to gather a full complement for ferrying our captured vessels.
— The prisoners are all placed on the Destroyers? — I asked. Gilad nodded affirmatively. Indeed, distributing nearly fifty thousand New Republic POWs among six Star Destroyers was no small feat. The cheapest approach, of course, would be to load them all onto the most damaged ship and send it into the local star — no worries about dropping out of hyperspace mid-route, or about having too many prisoners… A simple solution, erasing all traces. But that we cannot do. Not out of humanitarian concerns—rather because we've a plan for them in the next phases of Operation Scarlet Dawn, and the more prisoners we have, the better for us.
— Any word from Tangrene? — I inquired.
— Moff Ferrus reports the ferry crews delivered all five heavy cruisers of the Vindicator type to the test system, — he replied. — On arrival, each was scanned in detail with specialized equipment to detect any tracking devices. In agreement with Ryan Zion and Nick Reyes, Moff Ferrus then ordered a second sweep—this time the ships remained in a masked field to block any outgoing signals.
— The results? — I clarified.
— Each cruiser had three such devices, — Pellaeon replied. — All were in standby mode, presumably triggered remotely. The gear has been isolated and installed on five freighters performing civilian cargo runs in Hutt Space and the Outer Rim. Exactly as you instructed.
— Not a nice surprise, but a fact, — I said. — Someone's very eager to learn all our secrets. Well, let them chase false leads away from our interests. Have we any news on the enemy fleet movement toward Honoghr?
— Yes, sir, — Gilad confirmed. — Their route is the usual: first the Randa system, then Little Kessel for course correction, then on to Honoghr. Arrival in about two standard days.
— In other words, they're coming by the well-known route, — I observed. — Very well. Anything from Laynuri?
— Scout droids picked up an arrival of armed freighters, — said Gilad. — Our intel section says they're using fake transponders for Mazzic's contraband ring.
— He's taken his time deciding, — I allowed myself a slight smile. — Now we wait for General Antilles' squadron. Let's hope nothing prevents his timely arrival so the performance can begin as planned. Any message from the Noghri?
— Just received, — Pellaeon replied, his gaze dimming. And I knew it would be unwelcome.
Scanning through the lines, I made no sense of them at first.
Then again… still nonsense.
On the third read, I finally saw that I'd seriously miscalculated when sending the 501st to clear that Temple. Not only did I get a strange feeling from just looking at that ancient structure—like I was reimmersed in those materials about one extremely interesting Jedi and glimpsing pictures of architecture from a civilization known as the Rakata. They ruled the galaxy over twenty-five thousand years ago and possessed technology beyond even this advanced millennium's understanding. They created enormous fully-automated factories that could rapidly replicate any type of machinery. And plenty more wonders.
So the architecture of that ancient Noghri "god temple" strongly reminded me of the structures of the Rakata homeworld I'd seen in my previous life's illustrations. Could they have been here? Quite possibly. Could there be something valuable inside? Likely.
But for that, I'd have to fight the Noghri.
Let's break it down:
First, trusting my memory going forward is dangerous. Because in the matter of the Noghri matriarchs, it betrayed me.
The plan was neat—liberate those clan heads, then speak to them about evacuating the populace to another world. If they want, we can fit everyone if we cram in enough. So what if some end up sleeping in corridors or jammed in living quarters three to four hundred souls apiece?
But I slipped up.
The "matriarchs" the Noghri have aren't actually "heads of clans." In fact, their official name in Basic is "maytrakh." The meaning is the same—"matriarch," but spelled/pronounced differently. Sort of like how my title might be translated not as "Grand Admiral" but as "High Admiral." The same idea, but the name is spelled or said differently. That's not what the Noghri are upset about, though.
It's the dynasts—those are the actual "heads" of Noghri clans—who are expressing dissatisfaction with me about desecrating an ancient shrine by sending troops without obtaining proper permission. And that "petition" is signed by only some of the clans. Far as I recall, there are more than a dozen total. This includes only nine signatories.
So memory digging deeper… If not for my mental games with General Solo, I would have recalled in time that the Noghri "maytrakh" is second in clan rank. A woman who serves as spiritual mentor, passing on traditions, dealing with clan schooling, literacy, etc. The "inner politics." Meanwhile, it's the dynasts who handle outward politics.
Hence my confusion about Rukh's reaction. If Rukh left upon hearing the maytrakhs' decisions about an external matter, he assumed the dynasts would concur, or that the maytrakhs had real sway. So perhaps he believed that the entire clan would share that stance. And I must be honest with myself—I messed up. I ran in to "save" them, but for all I know it was "gossip among the women"…
That's awkward.
My warships' arrival and the ground troops I deployed triggered dissatisfaction among certain dynasts.
A small piece of behind-the-scenes politics.
Once I laid down my authority as their "new master," the Noghri… became, let's say, "more willful." Based on Rukh's account, this "petition" likely came from clans that were anti-return-to-my-command or want an independent outward policy.
— So, — I concluded, — The dynasts of seven clans strongly "invite" me to Nistao, to the Great Dukha, to discuss my actions defiling their sacred place.
— Seems these aliens are getting too bold, — Pellaeon snorted. Realizing my glance, he cast his eyes aside. — Apologies, Grand Admiral.
— No need, Captain, — I replied. — I'm not here to practice rhetorical tolerance. After decades in the Imperial service, it takes more than a few rude words to get my attention.
— Understood, sir, — Pellaeon said evenly. — So the original plan is ruined?
— And why do you say that? — I asked, somewhat amused.
— Because we came here to protect the Noghri, — he clarified. — Yet they never summoned us, we arrived uninvited. Then we invaded their sacred place without the maytrakhs' blessing… Now they're so emboldened they're summoning you to answer for your behavior. Isn't that a bit much?
— Not for them, apparently, — I shrugged. — It's a normal development once they gain independence—having thrown off service, they feel free to make demands.
— I'd have liked to see their posture if Solo had bombarded their settlements after their Death Commando squads wiped out his paratroopers, — Pellaeon said with grim relish. — No gratitude for saving their maytrakhs.
— Indeed, the situation is interesting, — I said, narrowing my eyes. Bits of information coalesced into a plan in my mind. — We'll resolve it decisively.
— Shall I tell the gunners to level the Noghri capital? — Pellaeon asked. — Teach them some manners?
— That's too extreme, Captain, — I said. Noting his disappointment, I added:
— For now, at least. Prep a shuttle. Inform Major Tierce, Rukh, and Fourth Squad they'll accompany me to the surface.
— Only ten men? — Pellaeon gaped. — Sir, the planet has thousands of Noghri, hundreds of Death Commandos… At least the entire 501st Legion is needed for your safety! Right now you've only got a Guardsman and that Noghri out there in the corridor.
— Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Captain, — I rose from my seat, securing my computer with my code cylinder. — The Noghri may live in a primitive social structure, but they're well aware of our weaponry. None of them would risk the lives of their entire species just to capture or punish me. Especially since they're not united in their zeal. I suspect this message, — I pointed to the datapad, — is just a private initiative. The dynasts want me in a meeting. And only seven of them have signed the letter.
— The rest may have been killed, — Pellaeon noted. — Our scouts said the Republic paratroopers destroyed at least six dukhas across different clans. If the dynasts, as usual, were in their local dukhas, they may have been killed…
— Interestingly enough, Captain, — I said, — maytrakhs, like dynasts, are supposed to remain in their clan dukhas, but the special forces under Lieutenant Page captured them in some "god temple." So the destruction of six dukhas doesn't necessarily mean dynasts were killed. There's a contradiction between the data we had on the Noghri earlier and what we see now. They told us the maytrakhs only handle internal clan affairs. Yet Rukh left, sure that the maytrakhs' stance on an outward matter was the entire Noghri stance.
— Perhaps he was just panicked, mixing up gossip with reality. And we believed him… — Gilad said delicately.
A subtle hint it was my error.
— Not quite, Captain, — I disagreed. — Rukh's an adult Noghri. He lived on Honoghr all his life until joining me. He knows their ways. If he assumed the maytrakhs' position would be the clans' as well, I'm sure there's something about their internal hierarchy we don't fully understand. Which of our specialists studied their society?
Pellaeon's face didn't flinch.
— No one, sir.
— Then we can't discount that the dynasts aren't truly as autonomous as we believed, — reminiscent of that old saying, "the husband is the head, but the wife is the neck, turning it where she likes." Possibly some parallel here.
— Hard to believe we never discovered anything about it all this time, — Gilad said somewhat uncertainly.
— You're sure of that, Captain? — I said mildly. — Up till now, we believed the only fertile sector of Honoghr safe from toxins was the "Clean Lands" around Nistao. And about that newly discovered temple, which the Noghri claim was built by their gods, we had no clue. Even though an Imperial garrison once stationed here, with experts. For nearly thirty years.
Pellaeon was silent, then smirked.
— Cunning little devils, — he said with a hint of admiration. — We even had orbital scans of the planet, found nothing.
— Add the fact that across all these years, they had droids in that temple they themselves couldn't have built, presumably from some older extinct civilization… we get a curious picture, Captain. We know far less about the Noghri than we'd like. Let's go, we shouldn't keep the dynasts waiting.
Yes, we know less than we want to. Thrawn apparently never discovered they can identify clan membership by scent. Or if he did, I see no mention of it. I suspect he didn't, or else he wouldn't have assigned them to kill the father of Leia Organa. But anyway…
We left my quarters together. Tierce and Rukh, standing guard outside, silently followed. Pellaeon went to give the designated stormtroopers their orders, while I pondered. Another mess that needs quick resolution. Abandoning them to face the New Republic alone doesn't suit me. As long as there's a chance to recruit any to continue serving, I must try. If that fails… it wouldn't be the first time a starship "crashed" on Honoghr. As harsh as it seems, I can't let them ally wholly with the New Republic. Eliminating them would be regrettable, but if there's no other choice… We mustn't hand the enemy an entire race of born saboteurs and assassins. Especially in times like these, when a misunderstanding might push the "noble" Noghri to see me and the Empire as a threat.
I was tempted to question Rukh about the details of Noghri clan structure. But I worried that the "real" Thrawn might have known. Doing so might raise serious suspicions. So I let it lie.
— Sir, — Pellaeon spoke unexpectedly. — You were right about them being well aware of our weaponry and what to expect.
Sounded like the start of an interesting suggestion.
— Go on, Captain, — I said.
— The Noghri traveled on patrol craft with hyperdrives, saw Lambdas and Sentinels in all manner of variants. But what if you arrived in something they know nothing about? Or at least not its combat potential? Might that not make them more cautious?
I almost bit my tongue to keep from saying I planned to take the Millennium Falcon for precisely that reason. Appearing civilian while armed enough to pass for a patrol vessel. But I held back.
— Continue, Captain, — I said. Gilad definitely had some reveal. Possibly a craft captured from the Rebels.
— Better to show you in person, sir, — he said cryptically, smiling.
A few minutes later, we reached the main hangar deck, where two Lambda-class shuttles stood. Correction, the T-4a was only one. The other… a storm variant? So many weapons it would make any boarding barge envious.
— It's been a while since I've seen one of these, sir, — Pellaeon said with a grin. — I was disappointed when Moff Ferrus couldn't buy any. "Cygnus Spaceworks" no longer makes them, apparently. I checked the open HoloNet for JV-7 sale listings, found none. Then saw it in the spoils list from Red Glove… — Gilad trailed off, apparently wanting to have it for himself.
— I see your interest, Captain, — I said calmly. Indeed, not only is the vessel good-looking, but it's significantly more heavily armed than a Lambda. Sleek proportions, strict, practical form, and it apparently has an aft turret—light turbolasers even. So if a corvette or frigate sneaks up behind, they'll get a nasty surprise. In that sense, the unguarded Lambda loses out. — A fine acquisition.
— One pilot, maybe six to eight crew, plus it can carry anywhere from ten to two dozen passengers depending on the mod, — Pellaeon went on. — This particular one seats ten. Judging by the interior comfort and new fittings, it was used for important passengers.
— Quite likely, — I said neutrally. — Have you seen it in action yourself?
— Encountered some patrolling the Outer Rim, — Gilad's eyes lit up, seeing no condemnation from me. — Twice I witnessed pirates, mistaking them for harmless Lambdas, attempt to capture a convoy of JV-7s. I'd never before seen pirates so thoroughly annihilated by a supposedly "defenseless" transport caravan. I suspect the Noghri also have no idea what it can do.
He turned a glance to Rukh, who nodded. So the Noghri indeed do not know.
Noghri? I've never even heard of a ship like that. Then again... Have I ever been deeply into studying Star Wars technology? No, only what was shown on screen or what I could read in various books. And my favorite Star Wars authors, Timothy Zahn and Michael Stackpole, never really delved into technical or descriptive details.
So be it.
The JV-7 Escort Shuttle.
Anyway, it's impressive. If it's truly as wonderful as Pellaeon claims, maybe I should get one for myself—although taking it from Pellaeon as a "senior officer's prerogative" is petty. I already have two personal shuttles, though I only need one. So maybe I can scavenge from the shuttle once used by Palpatine, or keep the new one hush hush, or something… That'd cost a bit, though.
First priority, however, is the Noghri problem. Fancy starships can wait.
— Let's go, — I ordered, noticing Fourth Squad standing at attention near the craft. — The dynasts have waited long enough.
***
What does the capital of a clan-based society look like—one that, until the Empire arrived, lived mostly as nomads? Right: mostly a scatter of huts, so flimsy you'd never call them "solid dwellings."
Nistao stands amid a broad, brownish sea of greenish grass. From above, you'd see small settlements around it, each with a central dukha—a communal tent for each local Noghri clan. Inside each tent stands the seat of the clan's dynast and the maytrakh's altar. Each apparently has only a single interior space, typical of these dome-shaped tents.
But we're headed for the largest tent on the planet, the Great Dukha, in the center of Nistao, where all the clan dynasts gather when circumstances demand. Also in Nistao is the bustling starport for ecological rebuilding specialists and relief shipments, plus some small workshops and Imperial labs dealing with environmental droids. These Imperial buildings stand out from the Noghri's flimsy huts—modern materials and tech, a little corner of civilization.
That's where my shuttle landed.
We couldn't see from the air if there'd be a welcoming party, but the moment we stepped down the ramp behind Rukh and Tierce, the greeting arrangement was plain—there was a split in the Noghri population.
One side had representatives from seven clans, the other from six. Who's who, I'm not certain, but Rukh's quick glances at one group of seven warriors told me his clan wasn't on his or my side—unfortunate. I recall that Rukh's "blood brother" in the 501st led them in the rakata Temple assault.
I cast a brief glance at the welcome committee, then raised my voice:
— The dynasts summoned me.
— Indeed, Grand Admiral Thrawn, — mewed one of the seven. It was obvious these were warriors, not leaders, by their unadorned attire and visible weapons. — We demand your soldiers surrender their arms.
— Demand? — I locked eyes on the Noghri, simultaneously signaling Tierce to remain put. If they keep pressing, I might give them a "lesson" here and now. — And who are you, to demand anything from me without stating your name?
Simple logic: For the old Thrawn, a subject who's not a clan dynast typically is unworthy of personal mention. Usually, being recognized by your "lord" is an honor. So this is a subtle intimidation tactic.
— I am Ehrihor of Clan Bak'tor, — the Noghri said, flustered. Perfect. If they truly believed in their cause, they wouldn't avert their gaze. A law of nature: if your eyes dart away, you cede ground.
— So, Clan Bak'tor, — I repeated carefully, tasting the name. That clan was on the "opposing side." — I've heard you, Ehrihor of Clan Bak'tor. Neither I nor my men will surrender our arms.
A wave of uneasy murmurs rippled among the seven Noghri. Ehrihor exchanged hushed words with them.
— That is unacceptable, Grand Admiral, — he said, eyes sliding away from mine noticeably. — Our clan's dynast insists…
— Insists? — I pressed, raising my voice. — Are you telling me the Dynast of Clan Bak'tor demands something from me?
Yes, my hearing is fine. I'm just stirring tension by pointing out the clan's insolence.
— It's needed… for safety… — Ehrihor barely managed.
Right. If the job of "welcoming visitors" had gone to diplomats instead of warriors, they'd phrase it more politely. The Noghri have no specialized diplomats yet, evidently.
Wait, that other group of six is attired better, possibly older. Some have grayish complexions or even hair. So these six are likely the six supporting me. Meanwhile, these seven are the younger clan reps. Interesting.
— So, Ehrihor of Clan Bak'tor, since you say that after I revealed the Empire's deceit in enslaving you, the men of Honoghr have grown so "weak" that a dozen armed men are a threat? — might as well poke at their warrior pride.
— No, — Ehrihor flared, — the Noghri are strong and…
— I've seen that "strength," warrior of Clan Bak'tor, — I said with scorn, glancing at the other six. — Your pilots were destroyed by those who didn't even consider you a threat, intruding on your system. They landed troops on your planet, took your maytrakhs hostage, and now you speak of your strength? Don't waste my time, Ehrihor of Clan Bak'tor. I came here at the dynasts' invitation. Either you, who dares speak for them, escort me to the Great Dukha with my men, or the meeting does not happen.
Sorry, Ehrihor. I have no actual grudge against you. But you're a pawn in the "small big politics." If these dynasts think to impose terms, they're mistaken.
— Grand Admiral, — said a typical older Noghri from the group of six, stepping forward. He bowed his head respectfully. — I am Ir'khaim, dynast of Clan Kihm'bar. My warriors vow on their blades and lives they won't let anyone harm you. Might I be honored to escort you to the Great Dukha?
So this is the quickest among that group of six, presumably. The others looked resentful. Fine.
— I'd be honored, Dynast Ir'khaim, — I said, scanning the other five "loyally minded" or at least "less hostile" dynasts. — if you and your associates would accompany me there.
So let them decide.
Ir'khaim bowed and set off for the Dukha. The other five followed. Rukh slid into position on my right. Tierce marched behind me with a Stormtrooper squad led by Sergeant TNH-0297.
It only took a few minutes walking before we reached a large tent. A crowd of Noghri stood around—children, women, young warriors. Some wore bandages from the recent fighting. Judging by their slight bows, those on my right side were friendlier than the rest. Duly noted.
At the entrance stood thirteen Noghri women—maytrakhs. One I recognized: she had dislocated the shoulders of that big commando lieutenant Page. This apparently frail elder. Good. I was relieved to see her among the six who bowed to me.
Inside, the air smelled of burnt wax, herbs, spices. The source was a large suspended bowl that also provided the lighting.
Around the center of the hall were twelve stone thrones, reminiscent of the command chairs on Imperial Star Destroyers. Possibly copying the Empire's style?
Again, a mismatch in numbers. I see twelve seats for the dynasts, but aren't there thirteen total clans? So one is missing a seat. Possibly a sign of the tenuous position of one of my supporters.
— Any of these seats is yours, — Ir'khaim said quietly, gesturing to the empty thrones. Refusal would risk offending them, so…
I chose the central one. Four dynasts took the other free chairs. Ir'khaim stood to my left while Rukh held his usual post. Another Noghri—likely a dynast—took position near Ir'khaim. Possibly an advisor?
Yes, we know so little of them.
Meanwhile, Tierce remained behind them, the stormtroopers lined along the back wall behind me, Sergeant half-turned casually—an apparent breach but actually wise, letting him watch the tent's canvas walls so no one sneaks up from behind.
— Dynasts, — Ir'khaim announced, his voice resonant, — Grand Admiral Thrawn has arrived, as you requested.
— Your trial begins at once, — muttered one from the group of seven. Tierce's vibropike stirred faintly. The six apparently supporting me hadn't expected this turn.
— What nonsense are you talking, Vor'korh? — Ir'khaim demanded.
— You came here armed, Grand Admiral, — the same one said. — You intruded upon our planet. You desecrated our ancient temple, violating our maytrakhs' sanctity. Worse still, you entered the Great Dukha with weapons…
— Enough nonsense, Vor'korh, — hissed the leader from Kihm'bar. — You're shaming all Honoghr!
— Calm yourself, Dynast Ir'khaim, — I said. — Let him finish.
Vor'korh cleared his throat and continued:
— You brought war to Honoghr, Grand Admiral. The Noghri chose their own path, but you wouldn't accept it. You brought that outcast here, — he pointed at my gray-skinned bodyguard. — Seven dynasts say you caused the death of thousands of our sons yesterday, burned our dukhas, and defiled the God Temple. Before we punish you, the majority of dynasts allow you to speak in your defense.
Ir'khaim hissed something in Noghri at the man next to him, who gave a grave nod.
— That's all, dear Vor'korh? — I asked icily. He and his allies nodded.
I spent a moment scanning them, letting the tension build. One looked away, maybe the clan Bak'tor. But we have no proof…
— I've heard your ludicrous accusations, Dynasts, — I said calmly, — and I reject them.
The seven exchanged uneasy glances. Vor'korh parted his lips, but I cut him off:
— You already had your say, Dynast. Now it's my turn. Listen to my accusations of the Noghri.
A wave of shock spread among the thirteen. Even Rukh stiffened.
— Does the Grand Admiral have charges against the Noghri? — asked Vor'korh. — Didn't we serve you while deceived?
— Are you saying you accuse me of deceiving you?
He paused.
— …No, — Vor'korh said grudgingly, — but your words have confused the Noghri.
— So we're both in the same situation, — I mused.
— Might I ask what you mean, Grand Admiral? — Ir'khaim prompted quietly.
— Exactly what I said, Dynast, — I replied. — About deceit.
— Did you lie about the Empire's tyranny over Honoghr? — inquired another of the seven, warily.
— I never said that.
— Then…
— I told Rukh everything I know on that matter, — I said curtly, indicating no desire to elaborate. — Now my charge concerns the Noghri themselves.
— It's dishonorable to accuse the clans of deceit! — Vor'korh bristled.
— Indeed, Dynast? — I asked softly. — Perhaps you want to say the Noghri were always open with me while in my service?
— Absolutely, — he declared, ignoring the dryness in his voice.
— Dynast Ir'khaim, — I turned to the supportive clan leader. — What punishment do the Noghri give one who lies to their master?
— Death, — he answered. — But the Noghri have no master…
— Currently, yes, — I clarified. — Because I freed you of that burden. But you served me for years. And all that time, you deceived me.
— That's a bold lie! — Vor'korh claimed.
— Is it, Dynast? — I said. — Perhaps you or your peers can remind me when the dynasts told me about your god temple or the droids maintaining it?
The accusing spark left his eyes.
— That's in the past, — he muttered uncertainly. — It… doesn't matter.
— Clever position, Vor'korh, — I said. — So you decide to omit from your wrongdoing anything that tarnishes your reputation. If I did the same, the Noghri never would have learned they owed Vader's "life debt" for a lie. So how do you want it, Dynasts? If you want to bury your deception, maybe I should bury mine too?
They remained silent.
— Or perhaps I should forget how, once I became your new master, the Noghri neglected to mention the commando squads from Bast Castle searching for that hidden world Yalara?
The leaders' faces darkened.
— Or how the Noghri, concealing from me their ability to "smell" a being's clan affiliation, never told me they possessed that skill?
All heads bowed in shame.
— You remain silent, clan leaders, — I said. — You hate hearing accusations turned on you. You know if I hadn't freed you from that life debt, I'd have demanded the execution of every dynast. Indeed, every Noghri who withheld information. Possibly the entire planet. Because that's the standard under your own traditions for lying to one's master. And so it might have been if I were minded to do it. But I didn't.
Ir'khaim trembled lightly. Indeed, each Noghri knew their entire race would be guilty. A massive purge, if I so wished back then…
— You summoned me here to judge me, — the tragedy had reached its moment of truth. — Very well, I've heard your charges. Now hear me. I reject them all. First, you say I "invaded" your planet. I don't deny that. I also say I came at Rukh's plea for your salvation.
— He's an outcast and traitor, — Vor'korh retorted. — He left Honoghr without the dynasts' leave…
— Since I'd freed you from your vow, why should I track Honoghr's internal events? — I cut him off pointedly.
They had no reply.
— So your argument that I was "tricked by Rukh" doesn't hold water, — I went on. — None of you told me Rukh was an outcast with no right to speak for you.
Rukh glanced at me in mild surprise. Indeed, I'd cunningly pinned the blame on them for not clarifying. Perfect.
— I arrived in response to the maytrakhs' call for help, — I said. — Yet you fault me for that.
— The maytrakhs have no such authority, — Vor'korh barked in.
— You want me to note yet another Noghri deception, Dynast? — I hammered back. — Or do you want to claim the maytrakhs, bound to remain in their clan dukhas, "accidentally" ended up at that "god temple?" Not once, but twice—first when Rukh left you, second when they were taken hostage. Are you going to keep lying about the maytrakhs' real role in your society?
He fell silent again.
— Next, you say I "desecrated your ancient temple built by your gods" by ordering my men to free your maytrakhs. Indeed, we had to do that. The Rebels seized them as hostages. I had no clue that temple even existed because you Noghri hid it from me. We overcame the scum together with your warriors. None of your people told me the land or temple was "off-limits." So your outcry is meaningless. In turn, you also never told me about that farmland or orchard region beyond the so-called "Clean Lands." Once again, you lied.
The seven said nothing. The one from Bak'tor looked ready to pass out.
— Finally, you accuse me of entering the Great Dukha with weapons. That, dynasts, I flat-out deny.
All thirteen sets of eyes locked on me.
— And what do you mean, Grand Admiral? — asked the leader from Bak'tor.
— Does anyone see me carrying a weapon, Dynasts? — I spread my hands on the throne's armrests.
— No, — Ir'khaim said with the hint of a smile. — You are unarmed, Grand Admiral. Only your soldiers are armed—and no one demanded they disarm before entering.
— They demanded it at the starport, — said the clan leader of Bak'tor.
— I don't answer to dynasts or maytrakhs or anyone else on Honoghr, — I hammered each word like a nail in their coffin.
— No one can bring weapons into the Great Dukha, — Vor'korh repeated. — We commanded you to surrender them.
— Commanded? — I raised a brow. — Since when can Noghri "command" me?
— Because it's our law, — insisted the clan leader.
— Indeed? — I asked calmly. — Then show me the official code with all dynasts' signatures.
They couldn't. Just silence.
— It's our tradition, — the same one said, searching for a lifeline.
— I respect foreign traditions, — I gave a slight mocking nod. — But then why did you let me in with an armed detail in the past? Because I was your master? Pathetic. Now you must earn that "privilege." A shameful performance.
— You mock—! — the clan leader started hotly, but I silenced him with a raised hand.
— I state the facts, — he growled softly. — If that truly was your tradition, why let me in with armed troops just now? Why not forcibly disarm them at the landing pad? Terrified we'd open fire on your civilians? Absurd. I've never fired on the defenseless. No, I suspect you worried I'd leave at once if disrespected, so you let us pass. Now you gather in this "court." Each argument you brought is laughable, absurd, and worthless.
— We concur, Grand Admiral, — Ir'khaim said. — Their accusations have no basis. On behalf of the Noghri, I ask you to forget this incident, so as not to break our good relations…
— I'm not finished, Dynast Ir'khaim, — the clan leader froze as if never having spoken. — I've dismantled your "accusations." But you never addressed mine. I've caught your people in lies, deceptions, manipulation. I gave you everything—the chance to serve me fairly, the chance to remain free once I exposed Vader's lie… yet you repay me with baseless attacks and slander. Dynast Ir'khaim, what is the Noghri punishment for slander?
Ir'khaim froze, glancing at supporters and opponents.
— Who among us has slandered you, Grand Admiral? — Vor'korh asked faintly, apparently seeing his doom.
— Did you not accuse me of entering with a weapon? — I reminded him. — We established that was false.
— Indeed… — the clan leaders mumbled.
— So here, in your Great Dukha, I was slandered by Dynast Vor'korh, correct? — The indicated Noghri looked at me like he was seeing the devil. Possibly an apt comparison with my glowing red eyes.
They had no reply.
— You said I "brought war to Honoghr," that I caused yesterday's Noghri casualties. Again, false claims from Dynast Vor'korh. The truth is: The New Republic came here because Executor Sedriss—Palpatine's servant—handed your coordinates to General Han Solo, the husband of Princess Leia Organa-Solo, Darth Vader's daughter.
A stir among them.
— Vader had a daughter? Not just a son? — Vor'korh asked.
— Yes, — I said.
— You knew this and didn't tell us, — he said, his voice growing stronger. — You lied to us!
— Did I? — I asked ironically. — Perhaps you gleaned it yourself or never asked me. Just as with Vader's lineage. Actually, you only learned of Vader's child from me, correct? So you want to accuse me of not telling you sooner?
They had no retort.
— I questioned General Solo, — I continued. — Sedriss promised to reveal Leia's location if he bombarded Honoghr.
Uneasy murmurs.
— Do you have proof? — Vor'korh challenged.
— Rukh was there, — I said. — Also my Guard, Tierce.
— We can't trust an outcast. And the Guard is your man, hardly impartial, — Vor'korh argued.
— But we do have an audio recording, — Rukh said softly, producing a small infochip.
The sly devil. On one hand, I'd like to hug him for solving the problem, on the other, strangle him for unauthorized recording. Contradictory impulses.
No one moved to take it.
— So you want so badly to blame me that you won't even consider proof? — I asked in mild surprise.
— That's not needed, Grand Admiral, — said the Bak'tor clan leader. — You… you never lied to us. We accept your word.
— Why would Palpatine want to exterminate us? — Vor'korh asked.
— Because you're trained killers and saboteurs, — I answered. — Once you left Imperial service, you became an asset for its enemies. I told Rukh as much. He presumably told you.
— He did, — Vor'korh admitted grudgingly.
Silence. So the "trial" had reached an impasse. They had no idea how to proceed. Except me—I wouldn't stand as the accused for no reason.
— So then, — I resumed, speaking slowly, — when do I see the punishment of Dynast Vor'korh for slandering me?
All eyes turned bleak.
Interesting Noghri customs—maybe the only punishment is death or exile?
— When do you punish the Noghri who lied to me, your once-master? — I continued. The dynasts exchanged uneasy stares, each trembling at the possibility. Under the Noghri code, guilt had no statute of limitations. Rukh had also lied.
— You're silent, — I declared. — Fear grips you, that I'll have you all executed for deceiving me. Fear that you'll kill each other for your wrongdoing. Yet you also fear that either way is monstrous. Meanwhile, you want "justice" from me, having summoned me here. Let me guess: after all that, you want some kind of fairness?
They raised their gaze, looking defeated. Each of them was effectively broken.
— By Noghri custom, the penalty for all these crimes is death, — I said, letting that sink in. — But you soiled my honor as well. I suspect death to cleanse my honor would be too easy for you. Rukh included. He's preparing to kill himself, just as the rest of you might, out of guilt. A pointless end. Because you parted ways with him… He left on a mission to save you. General Solo said he had no intention of bombarding Honoghr. But remember the Clone Wars. The same pattern. Once the hammered spaceship crashed, the Grand Army arrived—clones under Jedi leadership—to salvage some cargo, you killed them, they killed you, the cycle. Now the New Republic is inbound, and after all that happened, I have no intention of defending this planet. Let it burn—there is no honor here. But perhaps justice has descended.
None looked up.
— For all your crimes, the penalty is death, — I repeated calmly. — That's your code. But I also have my code. And I find that death to preserve my honor is… insufficient. Look at him—the outcast you cast aside, who's bowing with you even now, ready to die with you. You spurned him, yet he returned on a mission to help. The New Republic is unstoppable, the Temple fiasco is your doing… So I ask, does anyone see how thoroughly you have undone yourselves?
They felt every word. They were hopeless, seeing no way out.
— I sentence you… to life, — I said softly.
It was like a bomb went off. The dynasts stirred, glancing at one another, baffled.
— I freed you from a life debt gained by Vader's trickery, — I reminded them. — So for deceiving me in that time, your punishment is this: return Rukh to your society. He is no longer an outcast or target. He's a Noghri with more honor than you. That's only part of it. The second part is: go back to your clans, speak to every man, woman, child and elder. Tell them how you were disgraced and how you dishonored yourselves and the entire race. I grant you your lives. If anyone believes, by me sparing your lives, that I hold a rightful "life debt," they may gather their belongings and come with me, and serve me not by force, but by their own free will, 'til death. I reject all other Noghri. I have no interest in them. Their fate no longer