Good news, bad news. Bad news, good news. They seemed determined to balance each other out, leaving Miltin Takel in a state of frustrating limbo, and part of him wished things would tip all in one direction, even a bad one, just to give him certainty.

Good news: Fenn Shysa's little insurrection had taken another knock. During a raid at Jakelia, one of his Crusader corvettes had been intercepted by the Vituperator and destroyed. That left the Mandalorian Protectors depleted by one-third and significantly hindered their ability to hurt the Empire. They weren't giving up, alas. Just hours ago, Shysa's ship had knocked out an Imperial orbital station over Harswee. Things weren't over, and he still didn't have spare forces to throw at the Peralta problem, but they were at least tipping in the right direction.

Potentially good news: His spy on Peralta (who was still alive, undiscovered, and sneaking out reports when possible) said that Ontar Consantius had come to the city to personally oversee the battle. He was lodged securely in the spaceport, but plans were underway to retake it and the rest of North Antea. After considering, Takel had decided not to inform Vancon of his nemesis's whereabouts, lest the governor order the PPM to try something rash. Ideally the former senator would be captured, tried, and publicly executed for treason. Surely that would please Palpatine.

If only it were so easy.

Very bad news: The attempt to kidnap Skywalker had failed miserably. Every single one of Jabba's mercenaries had been killed, according to Takel's spy. He couldn't exactly be angry at Jabba for his thugs' failure, but he nonetheless decided to act like he was.

He waited until late in Magic Dragon's night-cycle to call the Hutt. After removing himself from the bed, leaving Veespa and Comara to doze there, he threw on a loose robe, tied a belt around his paunch, and went over to the comm console. After patching in the hail he waited a good five minutes, yawning, scratching the hair on his exposed chest, until finally the great worm resolved before him.

"You look as though you were the one roused from slumber," Jabba said.

"I was having difficulty sleeping," Takel replied in Huttese. "It happens when your friends bungle an extremely important mission."

Jabba's eyes widened. "They have failed? I received no word from them."

"Yes, they failed. They're dead, all of them," Takel said bitterly. "My agent confirmed it."

Though the holo only showed Jabba's wide face, Takel heard the angry slap of his tail. "I sent my best humans. You must have provided them incomplete information."

"Or your best were unprepared to take on the Jedi who killed the Death Star. Oh, they landed on Peralta, infiltrated Antea, even found Luke Skywalker amongst his Rebel friends, but they couldn't finish the job."

Jabba growled in frustration. "You have my apologies."

"Not good enough. We made a deal. I'm forced to reconsider it."

"Your promised to deliver seventy percent more spice, regardless of whether we got you Skywalker. You swore it."

"It was hardly legally binding. I'm starting to wonder if my spice wouldn't be better sent to more capable hands. Lord Durga, for instance."

"Besadii vermin!" Jabba slapped his tail again. "He would waste it all."

"Perhaps, but I'm willing to take a risk and find out myself."

"Fifty percent. I still lost valuable men. I need recompense."

"Twenty."

"Thirty percent more."

"Done."

Jabba made an angry rumbling noise. "I like you, Grand Admiral, but to not try me too much. I can be very cruel, especially to those I like."

"I don't doubt it. You'll get your thirty percent additional spice on the next shipment, and not a kilogram more."

"Very well. Is our business concluded?"

"I believe it is. Goodnight, O Corpulent One."

Takel tapped off the holo, plunging his cabin into darkness. Only stars drifted past in the viewport, and the pure-black void of Gargon's nightside. Takel sighed, shucked off his robe, and crawled into bed with Veespa and Comara. He slept best with a warm body on either flank. Neither of them stirred or gave any indication they'd been awake. Takel nestled between them.

It was done. Now he could sleep soundly, and when he awoke he'd attack his problems renewed.

-{}-

You never knew which seed would grow. Rufaan Tigellinus had planted a forest's worth across the galaxy. He'd made friends among the elite in the Core and in the far-flung navy. He'd sent out just as many spies to gather intel and blackmail material, in case wooing failed and he needed to coerce favors. He'd been sincere when he'd told Ardus Kaine that who you knew mattered more than what you knew. However, every now and then, what really came through for you.

One of Tigellinus's seeds was mistress to Miltin Takel. The grand admiral went through alien tarts at a fast pace, and Tigellinus had already arranged for one comely purple Twi'lek slave to pass under his notice and then into his bed. She'd gotten the boot after only a few months (sold, if he remembered correctly, to Takel's Hutt friend). Annoyed but dauntless, Tigellinus had arranged for another colorful floozy to fall into the lout's lap and this one had paid off.

But that was understatement. Her news, if true, could change everything. For the Empire, for the war, most of all for Tigellinus himself. If it was true. When Tigellinus read it, sitting in his cabin aboard Avatar, he could barely believe it. Yet why would she concoct such a lie?

Luke Skywalker, slayer of the Death Star, the man most wanted by Palpatine and Vader, was currently on the Outer Rim planet Peralta, pinned down in a besieged city with a band of rebel scum. Takel knew this and had already made one unsuccessful attempt to nab Skywalker. Apparently he'd not even used Imperial troops, but had called in mercenaries from that worm Jabba.

The oaf didn't deserve to present Skywalker to the Emperor. Tigellinus did, and his mind raced on how to steal the rebel out from under his rival. He was a man who tried to act dignified even in private, but this time he couldn't contain his excitement. He paced his cabin furiously, sometimes actually muttering to himself aloud, weighing his options and formulating a plan.

There was no perfect one. He needed Skywalker alive, or barring that with an intact body he could give the Emperor. Vaping the city was out of the question. He needed good soldiers—good, trustworthy, capable, Imperial soldiers. Tigellinus had cultivated some good captains for his ships, but he didn't think he had any ground pounders up to this task. Even if he did, the Outer Rim was not their field of operation.

This was where the second seed came. Tigellinus stopped pacing, soothed himself, drank a glass of pure water, and finally sent off a transmission. Its direction: the Outer Rim. It's target: Grand Moff Ardus Kaine.

Kaine was a busy man but he didn't keep Tigellinus waiting long. When his holo appeared the older man inclined his head in brief greeting. "Grand Admiral. I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

"I know you advised me to be patient, but an opportunity has arisen that could benefit us both."

Kaine's expression was skeptical. "Explain."

Tigellinus briefly hesitated. The identity of the Death Star's killer was shared only in the highest echelons of Imperial command. Grand admirals knew it. Grand moffs likely did, though he wasn't certain.

This was no time for subtlety. Tigellinus said, "I've obtained word that Luke Skywalker, the pilot who killed the Death Star, is currently with rebel forces on the planet Peralta. Its second-largest port city is currently contested. Peralta is in the Belsmuth sector, which falls under your jurisdiction, correct?"

"That is within my oversector." Kaine was still frowning. "However, that territory is under effective suzerainty of Grand Admiral Takel, as I'm sure you know."

"Someone better than Takel is needed to capture Skywalker. He already tried once and bungled it."

Kaine cocked a brow. "Did he?"

"Yes. My source is quite clear. We can capture Skywalker, together." Tigellinus smiled tightly. "Can you think of anything that would please our Emperor more?"

"I honestly cannot. What do you want from me?"

"I need your best ground units, ones who can enter a combat zone and capture a single combatant and are also able to pacify a heavily contested urban area. Specifically, the Hell's Hammers."

They were supposedly the best ground pounders in the Rim. Kaine chewed his inner lip. "Half of that unit is on detachment to Death Squadron."

"Because Vader knows how good they are. The rest remains at your disposal, correct?"

"You want me to detach them to your command?"

"I am willing to rendezvous with them at Peralta itself. We must act quickly."

"Takel won't take lightly to this intrusion. I don't want to be dragged into conflict between two grand admirals."

"Don't be afraid of conflict. Be only afraid of losing, and that will not happen. Takel is a glibiter lout who comports with Hutts and sleeps with alien trollops. He's not fit for the white uniform. I am."

Kaine's controlled expression went slack with shock. Apparently he wasn't aware of Takel's full depravity. He composed himself and asked, "Do you have a plan, a specific plan, to secure Skywalker?"

"I'm working on one. If you put me in contact with the commander of the Hammers, we'll arrange it together."

"I suppose I needn't remind you that the Belsmuth sector is outside your purview?"

"The Emperor has always made allowances for success, and I will not fail."

Kaine's brow furrowed in thought. Tigellinus stared at the blurry holo, heart pounding, waiting for the grand moff to decree his fate.

Finally Kaine exhaled. "I will send three battalions of Hammers aboard a frigate. They will depart from Orinda as soon as possible, which meant at least four days until they can reach Peralta."

"I will bring Avatar to meet them. Thank you, Grand Moff. You will not regret this."

"I sincerely hope not. I will send you the Hammers' contact information once they depart. Good day."

The holo winked off. Tigellinus stood in his cabin and felt excitement tingle through his body. This was what he'd been waiting for. This was the fruit of all his planning, his plotting, his forest's worth of planted seeds.

The grand admiral threw both fists in the air and released a shout of wordless exultation. Then, embarrassed, he lowered his arms, tugged his uniform straight, and went back to his work. There was plenty to do on the way Peralta.