He stared at the endless blue swirling dimension glistening before him. He had once enjoyed traveling at light speed, he remembered joining the Republic navy solely for the chance to travel the stars. But now—now he despised it. He was cursed to witness the seventh fleet enter hyperspace by force when the strange creatures grabbed them from orbit. He could still remember the cold embrace the monstrous tentacles had on him as they entered hyperspace. How they tightened around his neck—

"Captain Pellaeon," a voice called down the port side crew pit, interrupting his train of thought. "We'll arrive at Wayland in a couple of minutes."

"Excellent," Pellaeon said, clearing his throat. "Have our sublight engines on standby. And have the shuttle ready for launch as soon as we arrive. The Grand Admiral will be personally directing this operation. Lieutenant Tchel will be in command while we are gone."

"Understood, sir."

It took the Chimaera nearly five days to reach Wayland. But that was alright, because it took the engineers nearly that long to come up with a portable frame that would both support and nourish the ysalamiri. He failed to reason why Thrawn needed such ridiculous creatures to begin with, but hopefully that would soon be revealed to him.

Pellaeon took one last glance at the endless blue swirling void before turning around and walking away.

"I'm still not convinced this is really necessary," Pellaeon grunted, eyeing with distance the thick curved pipe and fur-scaled, salamanderlike creature attached to it. The pipe and its attached frame were blasted heavy, and the creature itself smelled terribly. "If the Emperor left one of his guardians on Wayland, then I don't see why we should have any problems with him."

"Call it a precaution, Captain," Thrawn said. "It's conceivable we may have trouble convincing him of who we are. Or even that we still serve the Empire."

The gentle roar of atmospheric friction was growing loud as the shuttle entered the planet's upper atmosphere. "We might have had an easier time convincing him with a squad of stormtroopers." Pellaeon muttered, watching the repeater display beside his seat.

"We might also irritate him," Thrawn pointed out. "An Inquisitor's pride and sensibility are not to be taken lightly. Besides—" he looked over his shoulder, "—that's what Meelwah is for. Any close association with the Emperor ought to be familiar with the glorious role the Noghri have played over the years."

Pellaeon glanced at the silent assassin seated across the aisle. "You seem certain that this Guardian will be an Inquisitor."

"Who else would the Emperor have chosen to guard his safe house?" Thrawn countered.

Pellaeon grimaced. Given the history of the inquisitors during the early days of the war, they weren't a very reliable source in guarding something so precious to the Emperor. "Still—" Pellaeon said, cautiously taking a glance at Thrawn. "—given our history dealing with Jedi, a squad of stormtroopers would have been a safer approach."

"Ah," Thrawn smiled. "You need not worry about any dangers of a Jedi or Inquisitor, Captain. That is what the ysalamiri is for. With these creatures, we are the ones in command now."

Pellaeon nodded silently. Reaching surreptitiously to his right thigh, he adjusted his blaster. Thrawn could be as confident as he liked, both in the ysalamiri and in his own logic. For his part, Pellaeon still wished they had more firepower.

As they continued to fly down towards the planet, they could see through the repeater display a small city resting at the foot of a mountain. "Is that Mount Tantiss?" Pellaeon asked the accompanying pilot.

"Yes, sir," the other confirmed, turning to look at Thrawn. "The trees are blocking any possible landing zone near the mountain. We'll have to land in the city."

"Then do so," Thrawn stated as he observed the numerous buildings that sat just south of the mountain's base. He had the pilot circle the area twice, and then put down in the center of what appeared to be the main city square, facing a large and impressive regal-looking building.

"Fascinating," Thrawn commented as he settled his ysalamiri backpack onto his shoulders. "There are at least three styles of architecture out there—human plus two different alien species. It's not often you see such diversity in the same region, let alone side by side in the same city. In fact, that place in front of us has incorporated elements from all three styles."

"Yes, I see," Pellaeon agreed absently, peering out the viewport himself. At the moment, the buildings were of far less interest to him than the people the life-form sensors said were hiding behind and inside them. "Any idea on whether those alien species are hostile towards outsiders?"

"Probably," Thrawn said, stepping to the shuttle's exit ramp. "Most alien species are. Shall we go?"

The ramp lowered with a hiss of released gasses. Gritting his teeth, Pellaeon joined Thrawn and Meewalh who were already heading down.

No one shot at them as they reached the ground and took a few steps away from the shuttle. Nor did anyone scream, or make any appearance at all. "Shy, aren't they?" Pellaeon murmured nervously. He slid out his blaster as he looked around.

"Let's see if we can persuade them to be hospitable," Thrawn said, pulling a megaphone disk out of his belt. He cupped the disk to his mouth and spoke into it with a deep and commanding voice. "I seek the Guardian of the mountain. Who will take me to him?" His voice boomed across the square, echoing from the surrounding buildings.Thrawn lowered the disk and waited; seconds ticked by without a response. "Perhaps they don't understand Basic," Pellaeon suggested doubtfully.

"No, they understand." Thrawn said coldly. "The humans at any rate. It seems they need a little motivation." He raised the disk to his mouth again. "I seek the Guardian of the mountain," he repeated. "If no one will take me to him, this entire city will burn down to the ground. And with the might of my army, you will all suffer."

He barely finished speaking when an arrow flashed towards them. Hitting Pellaeon in the side, before it bounced harmlessly off the armor hidden underneath his uniform. "Are you alright, Captain?" Thrawn asked him as Meewalh rushed to his side.

"I'm alright," Pellaeon replied, brushing himself off. He picked up the arrow that had hit him and observed the markings on it. "Primitives," he cursed.

Thrawn raised the megaphone again. "One of your people just shot at us." He said in a stern voice. "Observe the consequences of their actions." He lowered the megaphone and turned to Meewalh. "Do you have their location?" Meewalh nodded. He pointed his blaster to the two-story building across the square and to the right of them. Thrawn nodded an approval, and with a swift motion, he fired his blaster precisely towards the load-bearing walls.

The windows exploded as the blaster fire entered the building. Smoke filled the area as the continuous blast sparked fires throughout the building. A handful of shots landed on the walls and ceilings, killing anyone still inside in an instant. Eventually, with a thunderous crash, the once beautiful building collapsed in on itself.

Thrawn waited until the sound of the falling debri had died away before raising his megaphone again. "Those are the consequences of defying me," he called out. "So I'll ask one more time: who will take me to the Guardian of the mountain?"

"I will," a voice said from behind them.

Thrawn and Pellaeon turned around. The man standing in front of them was tall and thin, with unkempt dark gray hair and a beard that reached almost to the middle of his chest. He was dressed in shin-laced sandals and an elegant golden robe. His face was dark and regal to the point of arrogance. His crimson yellow eyes stared at them with both confusion and anger.

"There was no need for violence," the man spat at them.

"We were attacked," Thrawn told him coolly. He gestured at the pile of burning debri. "Were you its owner?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "I rule," he said, his voice suddenly going silent but with a menacing tone beneath it. "All that is here is mine."

For a handful of seconds he and Thrawn locked eyes. Thrawn broke the silence first. "I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. Warlord of the Empire, servant of the Emperor. And I seek the Guardian of the mountain."

The old man bowed his head. "I will take you to him. Just don't endanger any more of my people."

"You have my word," Thrawn vaguely replied. He turned to Pellaeon and Meewalh. "Stay close together," he murmured as he moved to follow the old man. "Be alert for any traps."

They walked for hours through the grand valley, Thrawn noticed how small the city appeared. And yet they were nowhere close to the mountain yet. "Where exactly are you taking us?," he asked impatiently. The old man turned to look at him. His cold gaze remains unchanged.

"To the Guardian of the mountain." He simply replied.

It wasn't until an hour later when they could see a majestic palace built near the edge of the valley. As they walked under the archways, Thrawn was amazed at such unique characteristics proudly carved on the walls. Like the city below, the palace had a mixture of both alien and human architecture. Given how up to date the building appeared to be when compared to the buildings in the city below, he estimated it was built roughly two or three years ago.

"I would have thought the Guardian would be living within the mountain." Thrawn commented as the old man guided them inside. Pellaeon was surprised at how strong the old man appeared to be when he opened the humongous doors.

"He did, once," the man said to Thrawn. "When I began my rule, the people of Wayland built this for him." He crossed to the center of the ornate foyer room, where a set of double doors awaited them. "Come," he said, gesturing towards the doors, an odd glitter in his eyes. "The Guardian awaits you."

Silently, the doors swung open, revealing a large throne sitting high and proud. A hooded figure sat on the throne, his face hidden by the casted shadow. Thrawn stepped forward to present himself to the Guardian. "I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. Warlord of the Empire and servant to the Emperor."

The Guardian did not answer. In fact, he did not move at all. "Hard of hearing, perhaps?" Pellaeon suggested. Thrawn frowned. "No," he said, gesturing at Meewalh. The Noghri walked towards the throne. He reached out towards the hooded figure and pulled back its hood. He immediately stepped back as a rotting skeleton dressed in imperial armor fell at his feet. "So, he is dead," Thrawn said after a minute, turning to look at the old man.

"He is dead," the old man confirmed.

"How did he die?" Thrawn asked as Meewalh got back in between the Admiral and the old man.

The old man smiled faintly. "I killed him, of course." He raised his empty hands in front of him, palms upwards. "Just as I kill you."

Without warning, blue lightning bolts flashed from his fingertips. The lightning quickly enveloped them. Both Pellaeon and Meewalh grabbed their blasters to attack, only for Thrawn to order them to stand down. Confused, Pellaeon looked up to argue that it was a moment of life or death, only to be amazed at the sight before him.

The lightning never touched them. It never even reached them. The sparks flew just inches from their faces, but as quick as the lightning appeared, it also quickly vanished. The old man stood there perplexed as to why his attack was ineffective. He stared at Thrawn before attempting to unleash another wave of lightning at him. And again the lightning quickly faded into nothingness.

"You are no Jedi," the old man stated, "how are you doing this?"

"Join us and learn, Guardian," Thrawn suggested.

"The Guardian is dead!" the man yelled, his voice echoing through the massive throne room. "He was a weak fool who never understood what real power was. So I killed him."

"Indeed," Thrawn agreed. "Which makes you the new Guardian. It is you that now serves the Emperor's will and protects his mountain."

The old man began to laugh. "I serve no Emperor!" He cackled before standing up to his full height. "I am a Jedi Master! I serve no one. Especially the lesser beings."

"My apologies, Master Jedi," Thrawn said in a mock-serious tone. "In that case, let us join you." His glowing red eyes bored into the old man's face. "And permit us to show you how you can have more power than you can ever imagine. All the power even a Jedi Master would desire."

For a long moment the old man continued to stare at Thrawn, a dozen strange expressions flicking in quick succession across his face. "Very well," he said at last. "Come, we will talk."

"Thank you," Thrawn said, inclining his head slightly. "May I ask who we have the honor of addressing?"

"Of course." The old man's face was abruptly regal again. "I am the Jedi Master Jorus C'baoth."

Pellaeon inhaled sharply, a cold shiver running up his back. "Jorus C'baoth?" he breathed. "But—" He broke off. C'baoth looked at him, much as Pellaeon himself might have looked at a junior officer who had spoken out of turn. "Come," he repeated, turning back to Thrawn. "We will talk."

C'baoth walked towards the makeshift throne and removed the skeletal remains of the old Guardian. Brushing off the dust with his golden robes, he sat in the now empty chair, looking down on them.

"You will now tell me," C'baoth began, "how it was that you defeated my attack."

"Let me first explain our offer," Thrawn said, throwing a casual glance around the room. Probably, Pellaeon thought, the Grand Admiral was examining the bits of artwork scattered around. "I believe you'll find it—"

"No!" C'baoth shouted suddenly. "Tell me how you defeated my attack."

A slight grimace, quickly suppressed, touched Thrawn's lips. "It's quite simple, actually." He looked up at the ysalamiri wrapped around his shoulders, reaching a finger to gently stroke its neck. "These creatures you see on our backs are called ysalamiri. They're sensible tree-dwelling creatures from a distant planet. They have the unique and quite rare ability to push back the Force."

C'baoth frowned. "What do you mean, push it back?"

"They push its presence away from themselves," Thrawn explained. "Much the same way a bubble is created by air pushing outwards against water. A single ysalamiri can create a bubble as large as ten meters across; a whole group of them reinforcing one another can create a void in the Force."

"I've never heard of such a thing," C'baoth said, staring at the creatures with a childlike intensity. "How is it that they came about?"

"I really don't know," Thrawn said sincerely. "Not that it matters. For the moment, the ability itself is sufficient for my purpose."

"That purpose being to defeat my power?"

Thrawn shrugged. "We were expecting to find the Emperor's Guardian here. I needed to make certain that he would allow us to identify ourselves and explain our mission." He reached up again to stroke the ysalamiri. "Though as it happens, protecting us from the Guardian was really only an extra bonus. I have something far more interesting in mind for our little pets."

"That being?"

"All in due time, Master Jedi," Thrawn smiled. "And only after we've had the chance to examine the Emperor's storehouse on Mount Tantiss."

C'baoth lips twisted. "So it's the mountain you really want, eh?"

"I need the mountain, certainly," Thrawn acknowledged. "However, it is what is inside that interests me."

"And that is?"

Thrawn studied him for a moment. "There have been rumors flying around that the Emperor had placed a highly developed cloaking shield somewhere in this mountain. I want it. Among other things . . ."

"Ah, so you are certain that you can find this technology inside the mountain?"

"I expect to find either a working model or at least a complete set of schematics," Thrawn said. "One of the Emperor's purposes in setting up this storehouse was to make sure that interesting and potentially useful technology didn't get lost."

"So you want the Emperor's little toys; and now you demonstrated that you can just walk into the mountain with or without my help," C'baoth said lightly. "So why are you still here?"

"Because the mountain is only part of what I need," Thrawn said truthfully. "I also need the partnership of a force wielder. A Jedi Master such as yourself."

C'baoth settled back into his throne, a cynical smile showing through his beard. "Ah, so this is where you offer me all the power even a Jedi Master would desire?"

Thrawn smiled back. "It is indeed. Tell me, Master C'baoth: are you familiar with the Imperial Fleet's disastrous defeat at the Battle of Endor?"

"I've heard rumors about it, yes. One of the offworlders who came here spoke about it," C'baoth raised the skull of the Guardian, observing its features. "Though only briefly."

Pellaeon swallowed. Thrawn himself didn't seem to notice the implication. "Then you must wonder how a few dozen Rebel ships could possibly rout an Imperial force that outgunned it by ten to one."

"I didn't spend much time with such wonderings," C'baoth said dryly. "I simply presumed that the rebels were better warriors."

"In a sense, that's true," Thrawn agreed. "The Rebels did indeed fight better, but not because of any special abilities or training. They fought better than the Fleet because the Emperor was dead."

C'baoth leaned forward, stroking his beard as he heard this. "Are you suggesting that the Emperor was manipulating the Fleet himself?"

"Precisely," Thrawn said. "From what I understand, the Emperor's unique abilities were a Jedi technique."

This time C'baoth let out a small chuckle. "Battle Meditation," he murmured to himself. "So this is what you want me for, Grand Admiral Thrawn?" C'baoth asked him scornfully. "To turn your ships into puppets for you?"

"Not at all," Thrawn told him lightly. "The Emperor's fatal error was in seeking to control the entire Imperial Fleet personally, as completely and constantly as possible. That, over the long run, is what did the damage. My wish is merely to enhance the coordination between ships and task forces—and only at critical times and in carefully selected combat situations."

C'baoth looked over at Pellaeon. "To what end?" he rumbled.

"To the end we already discussed," Thrawn said. "Power."

"And what sort of power are you offering me?" C'baoth asked him.

For the first time, Thrawn was taken aback. "The conquering of worlds, of course. The final defeat of the Rebellion. The reestablishment of the Empire's new order."

C'baoth shook his head in disapproval. "You don't understand power, Grand Admiral Thrawn. Conquering worlds you'll never see again isn't power. Neither is destroying ships and people and rebellions you haven't seen face-to-face." He raised his hands in the air, his eyes glimmering with an eerie fire. "This, Grand Admiral Thrawn, is power. This city—these people—this planet. It all belongs to me. Every human, every Psa-dan, and Myneyrsh who live here are mine. Mine." His gaze drifted to the world beyond. "I teach them. I command them. I punish them. Their lives and their death are in my hands."

"Which is precisely what I'm offering, only at a larger scale," Thrawn countered.

"I have no desire in ruling over the faceless masses." C'baoth said shortly. "I already have what I desire."

Thrawn frowned. "I need your help Master C'baoth. Just name your price."

C'baoth began to laugh loudly. His laugh echoed throughout the room. "My price?" And as quickly as the laugh began, it quickly stopped. "I am a Jedi Master," he said in a deep menacing voice. "Not a mercenary for hire like you're Noghri there."

He threw a contemptuous look at Meewalh who was standing tall next to Thrawn. "Oh, yes, Noghri—I know what you and your people are. The Emperor's private Death Commandos." He turned back to Thrawn, sitting upright. "There is nothing that will change my mind, Grand Admiral Thrawn. Not even with the presence of your Noghri and your Star Destroyer orbiting my planet. You will leave Wayland now."

Thrawn didn't move. His glowing red eyes staring deadly into C'baoth eyes. "So it's the personal, face-to-face sort of power you prefer, Master C'baoth? Yes, I can certainly understand that. Not that there can be much challenge left in it—not anymore. Of course," he added reflectively, glancing around the empty room, "that may be the whole idea. I expect that even Jedi Masters eventually get too old to be interested in anything except to sit out in the sun waiting for death to arrive."

C'baoth immediately got up from the throne. Anger filled his eyes again. "Have a care, Grand Admiral Thrawn," he warned, raising a finger at him. "Or perhaps I'll seek the challenge of your destruction."

"That would hardly be a challenge for a man of your talents." Thrawn countered with a shrug. "But then, you probably already have Jedi here under your control to do your bidding."

Pellaeon's eyes widened in surprise. "Sir—" But before he could say anything, Thrawn gave him a warning glance. C'baoth frowned, obviously thrown by the sudden change in topics. "Other Jedi?"

"Of course. Surely a Jedi Master would have students he or she can teach, command, and punish at will."

A shadow crossed C'baoth face. "There are no Jedi," he murmured. "Vader and his Inquisitors have killed them all."

"Not all of them," Thrawn told him softly. "Two new Jedi have arisen in the past five years: Luke Skywalker and his sister, Leia Organa Solo."

"Skywalker, eh?" C'baoth asked. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

This time, Thrawn let out a small crooked smile. "Because, Master C'baoth, they are the offspring of Anakin Skywalker, the great Jedi Knight."

C'baoth eyes widened in realization.

"And I can deliver them to you."

For a long moment, C'baoth stared at Thrawn. Disbelief and desire struggling for supremacy on his face. The desire won. "Both of them?"

"Both of them," Thrawn nodded. "Consider the endless possibilities you will have with brand-new Jedi. Especially ones that come from a great and powerful lineage. Mold them, change them, recreate them in any image you chose." He cocked an eyebrow. "And a very special bonus . . . because Leia Organa Solo is pregnant. With twins."

C'baoth inhaled sharply as excitement shone in his eyes. "Jedi twins?" he hissed. His eyes darted to Pellaeon; back to Thrawn. And he stepped off from the throne. "Very well, Grand Admiral Thrawn," he said. "In return for the Jedi, I will assist your forces. Take me to your ship."

"In time, Master C'baoth," Thrawn said calmly. "First we must go to Mount Tantiss. This bargain is dependent on whether I find what I'm looking for there."

"Of course," C'baoth eyes flashed. "Let us both hope that you do."

It took an entire day of searching through the large fortress hidden within the mountain. Its size was triple what they had expected. But, eventually, in the end they found the pieces Thrawn had been looking for. The cloaking shield . . . and the other small, almost trivial, bit of technology.

The door to Grand Admiral Thrawn's command room slid open. Pellaeon stepped inside, carrying a worried look on his face. "May I have a word with you, Admiral?"

Thrawn looked up from the schematics he was reading. "Certainly, Captain." He set aside the schematics and invited the captain to sit before him. "Has there been any updates from Coruscant?"

"Uh, no sir," Pellaeon replied timidly. "I can request one if you'd like."

"Probably unnecessary," Thrawn shook his head. "It looks like the details of the Bimmisaari trip have more or less been settled. Alert Team Eight to dispatch before the Rebels arrive. Then we will have our Jedi."

"Yes, sir." Pellaeon said, silently rehearsing one last time how he was going to say this. "Admiral . . ." He said, bracing himself. "I have to tell you that I'm not convinced dealing with C'baoth is an entirely good idea. To be perfectly honest, I don't think he is entirely sane."

"Though I agree with your sentiment, Captain Pellaeon, we must take the risk of teaming up with an unaffiliated Dark Jedi," Thrawn said truthfully.

"C'baoth is not an Inquisitor?" Pellaeon asked, his voice raising a bit. "Then who have you brought aboard my ship!"

"Peace, Captain," Thrawn said in a stern, yet calm voice. "Jorus C'baoth was a Jedi Master who was originally supposed to go aboard the Outbound Project," he explained, "I'm not sure if you were established in the Republic navy yet."

"I was," Pellaeon snorted out. "But from what I heard, the Outbound Project was scrapped before it was launched."

"It was," Thrawn confirmed. "Instead of being part of the colonization efforts, Jorus C'baoth remained on Coruscant until the Clone Wars ended. Where he was later captured by the Inquisitors and taken into Imperial custody. He must have gone mad being locked up for all those years."

"So how did he get out?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Thrawn paused for a moment, observing Pellaeon's facial expressions. "But this isn't what concerns you, is it?"

Pellaeon looked down, avoiding Thrawn's glare. "No, sir. It's just—I'm worried if what you are doing is a wise choice. Teaming up with a Dark Jedi that is not affiliated with the Empire is madness. You even offered him two Jedi, are you going to give him Bridger as well?"

"He will never get Bridger," Thrawn said sharply. His hand, curling up into a fist. "Bridger will remain here, and once C'baoth deals with the Jedi, only then will we decide Bridger's fate."

Pellaeon glared back at Thrawn with the same intensity. "I'm still not convinced, Admiral. If C'baoth gets too strong, we don't have enough ysalamiri to protect the whole ship. Especially if we also want him coordinating the fleet's attack."

"There is a certain degree of risk involved," Thrawn agreed. "But we are at war, Captain. Risk has always been a part of warfare. In this case, the potential benefits far outweigh the potential dangers."

Reluctantly, Pellaeon nodded. He didn't like it—was fairly certain he would never like it—but it was clear that Thrawn had made up his mind. "Yes, sir," he muttered in defeat. "You mentioned a message to Team Eight. Will you be wanting me to transmit that?"

"No, I'll handle it," Thrawn said, smiling sardonically. "Their glorious leader and all that—you know how Noghri are. But do please update our status to the Imperial Shadow Council. That should keep them busy enough." He looked back to the schematics again, observing every unique detail. He looked up again to see Pellaeon still seated before him. "If there's nothing more . . .?"

It was, clearly, a dismissal. "No, sir," Pellaeon said, getting up from his seat. "I'll be on the bridge if you need me." He turned to go.

"It will bring us victory, Captain Pellaeon," Thrawn called after him. "Quiet your fears and concentrate on that."

If it doesn't kill us all. "Yes, sir," Pellaeon said aloud, before leaving the room.