Ten years and one day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year and twenty-first day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Seven months and six days since the arrival).
The guardsman in scarlet-and-black armor who entered the office remained silent and motionless until Grand Moff Felix Ferrus finally took notice of him.
"Delivered?" he clarified with the convoy commander.
"Yes, sir," came the voice from beneath the guardsman's helmet, lifeless and utterly impassive.
The helmet's vocoder would have concealed any emotions in speech, but Ferrus had no doubt that even without the guardsman's armor, the inflections would have remained the same.
The phenomenon was called "professional indifference."
The Dominion Guard, heir to the Imperial Guard, represented the quintessence of the best qualities of its predecessors.
Including complete indifference to anything that did not concern their direct duties.
But, to be completely honest, there were considerable doubts about that as well—the guardsmen were phlegmatic to the point of indecency.
The convoy commander stepped aside, allowing two of his fighters to escort the middle-aged man in simple civilian clothes to the lone chair opposite Ferrus's desk.
However, even if the grand moff had not known who was paying him this scheduled visit, he would have instantly identified the visitor.
The gaze, posture, and manner of marching directly indicated the guest's military past.
But there was also a certain "civilian" looseness that the invitee was diligently suppressing within himself.
Once the guest had settled in comfortably, Ferrus, ignoring how one of the guardsmen positioned himself silently like a shadow behind the newcomer, leaned back in his chair, inviting the guest to start the conversation first.
After all, it was he who had wanted to meet.
"I'm glad my request for a meeting reached you, Grand Moff Ferrus," the guest's voice rang out strongly, laced with the notes of a well-trained bass.
"Not every day do entire moffs from the ranks of freed prisoners bombard me with papers requesting an audience," Felix explained. "To what do I owe the honor, Moff Jarnek?"
"No longer a moff," the man stated. "Not since the Rebels tricked me and threw me in prison."
"As you say," Ferrus agreed easily.
Harlov Jarnek had once been the moff of the Tandon sector and had been captured as a result of a regrettable miscalculation.
In his time, Jarnek had graduated from a military academy, acquiring the military education so necessary for a moff. Among his colleagues, he was known as a cool-headed, effective leader.
The latter helped him advance quickly and methodically up the career ladder until he headed the Tandon sector.
In the same year that the first Death Star was destroyed, Jarnek acquired a pet.
Which turned out to be not only a sentient being but also a spy for the Rebel Alliance.
Jarnek had grown very fond of his new pet and kept the Rebel spy close to him, unaware that his "pet" was secretly transmitting vital information to the Rebels.
Months after the Battle of Endor, Jarnek traveled to the planet Spirador, where he owned a palace, and secured his personal safety with a planetary blockade using the forces of one Star Destroyer and stormtroopers, as well as battle droids.
And yet the moff was captured by Luke Skywalker and sent to prison, from which he and many other Imperial prisoners of war were freed by Dominion operatives and military personnel during Operation Crimson Dawn.
Along with tens of thousands of ordinary soldiers, officers, and specialists, the filtration camps for freed Imperials sometimes held quite a few Imperial bureaucrats and administrators.
The counterintelligence work consisted of assessing their usefulness to the Dominion.
If a person turned out to be a sufficiently valuable specialist who had not stained himself with repressions against the civilian population or connections to criminal elements, then such an individual was offered service in their specialty.
Harlov Jarnek was exactly the type of sentients that the metropole so sorely lacked.
His entire career had been built on a combination of hard work and the rigidity of his worldview.
In his sector, he had demonstrated miracles of effective management, but he was considered dangerous enough by the New Republic due to his lack of ceremony with criminals and lawbreakers.
Not prone to groundless malice and sadism, which many Imperials were guilty of, he nonetheless suppressed any dangerous dissent with force without hesitation or qualms of conscience.
He would do everything possible to make the system under his management work properly, but thanks to his inner self-discipline, he did not cross the line into cruelty and harshness.
His unsociable nature and drive, which he did not disdain to channel in the right direction, made him a lonely man, so he had become so attached to his "pet" at the time.
And yet, unlike most moffs, although he possessed basic military training, desk work instead of a military career made him far less competent as a military leader than as a civilian administrator.
In the position of an Imperial moff, combining both aspects, it proved to be a fatal mistake: he failed to prevent the defection and desertion of most of his troops, who sided with the New Republic and seized control of his armed forces, slaughtering the moff's loyal stormtroopers.
"So, to what do I owe this?" Ferrus asked.
The former moff Harlov Jarnek with his "pet."
"Rumors reached the barracks where I'm held that you're looking for civilian specialists, administrators, and former moffs," Jarnek stated his intentions. "I'd like to offer my candidacy, as well as a few capable guys from my squad, with whom I served my sentence in New Republic prisons. Each of us has the experience and necessary skills to integrate into the Dominion's civilian administration in any sectors you assign us to."
"Mr. Jarnek, you are aware that the Dominion is not a proponent of the New Order?" Ferrus clarified. "We honor the laws of the Empire, and much of them, in one form or another, govern the entire territory of the Dominion."
"I'm also aware that the Dominion does not enslave peoples, allows local self-government on planets, does not interfere in territorial laws, and does not dismantle existing authorities," the Imperial continued. "You have allowed planetary governments to continue their independent policies and adherence to their own laws, provided they do not contradict the laws of the Dominion. This is a wise step—a direct continuation of the Empire's policy toward loyal sectors. This point of view appeals to me. I'd like to join."
"Commendable zeal," Ferrus agreed. "However, your motivation remains unclear to me thus far. At this point, we've already selected two waves of prisoners willing to cooperate with us. Neither you nor those you're vouching for have expressed such a desire until now. What has changed?"
"For starters, I must note that both waves of volunteers are primarily military," the former moff declared. "The recruiters have only just reached the 'civilian' barracks. And among us, there are plenty who want to trade the filtration camp for normal housing, food, and pay. I don't think you know how disgusting the food in the filtration camps is. Take my word for it—compared to what you can buy in stores while working even as an assistant administrator or in some minor position, versus what we eat—it's the best motivation to get out of the camp as quickly as possible."
"That's exactly the calculation," Ferrus thought.
After all, no one thought that former prisoners, some of whom had even surrendered voluntarily, would be fed the finest dishes from restaurants?
No, on par with New Republic prisoners of war, they were fed solely nutritious but unimpressive fare.
The camps were not resorts; there were no chocolate fountains here.
The former military of the Galactic Empire had understood this immediately.
Or almost immediately.
It was no wonder that practically all of them, at the current moment, had either already passed counterintelligence checks by the Dominion and been assigned to units, crews, or forming formations with preservation of past merits, or were in the process of it.
But the queue had only now reached the "civilians."
No, of course, the most prominent administrators and specialists had already been individually freed or deported beyond the Dominion.
But those were precisely the mid-level specialists so necessary for the bureaucratic machine.
And moffs and their ilk…
"I believe you know full well that the food and medical care meet all the criteria of the Empire itself," Ferrus stated. "The foodstuffs and meals are supplied according to army rations."
"Grand Moff, forgive me, but I'm not trying to complain about the conditions here," Jarnek spoke up. "Compared to the slop we were fed in the New Republic, the nutrition here is on another level. Neither I nor those I represent have any complaints on that score. We're merely asking to expedite the review of our cases by the filtration units. We're ready to start performing the tasks assigned to us right now."
"Is that so?" Ferrus chuckled. "And why should I believe you won't betray us at the first opportunity and stage sabotage on the ground? As it happens, we're in a cold war with the other remnants of the Empire, which is about to turn hot."
"That's known to me as well," the former moff agreed. "I can't offer better proof of our loyalty than the fact that it was the Dominion that pulled us out of captivity, where we were held for our beliefs and disagreement with the 'democratic principles of the New Republic.' We want to leave the camp; we're ready to work where we're told and as we're ordered. And we have no intention of betraying the Dominion. It's not in our interests. The Empire abandoned us in prisons and thereby proved that to them, sentients of any level are no more than mere cogs that can easily be disposed of. That's insulting and doesn't add any love for those now at the helm of the Empire's remnants. You'd have to spit on your own 'I' and self-respect to crawl on your knees to those who don't give a damn about you."
"And are you sure the Dominion doesn't give a damn about you?"
"I'm only sure of what depends on me," Harlov cut him off. "But I see that you're recruiting from Imperial prisoners. And granting citizenship even to Republican prisoners of war if they prove their ability and willingness to act for the good of the state. This proves you're interested in filling the state system with patriotically minded and effective specialists. I've done some work for you and selected a few candidates who might be useful to you. Especially given that Grand Admiral Thrawn is dead, we thought the best demonstration of our desire to sever ties with the Empire and its Remnants would be to enlist in the Dominion. Many of us remember the crisis in the Empire when the Old Republic fell apart. And the unrest that followed the Battle of Endor. We wouldn't want to go through that again in connection with a power crisis. Our knowledge and skills could be useful in the current situation. Strong and effective local authority backed by the fleet and army could help reduce social tensions among the population. A crisis inevitably brings panic, and we, experienced managers, can help deal with it."
"Thank you for the work done," Ferrus said. "And who are these sentients?"
Jarnek leaned forward, slipping his hand into his trouser pocket.
He froze in place as a heavy guardsman's hand clamped down on his shoulder and the muzzle of a blaster pressed into the back of his neck.
The former moff licked his lips, not taking his eyes off the grand moff.
"There's a data chip in my pocket," he explained. "May I retrieve it?"
"Only slowly," Ferrus advised. "And preferably in such a way that the guardsman can see the contents of your hand. It's not worth making them nervous—they don't like sudden movements."
"I understand," the man sitting opposite said, unaware that the Chiss, whom he and much of the Dominion's population believed dead, was at this moment more alive than many.
Under aim, he withdrew his hand so that the data chip lying in it was visible to the guardsman.
Who immediately took it, turned it over in his hands to check if the device was a dangerous fake, and only then handed it to the grand moff.
Ferrus connected the data storage to a separate deck, the contents of which he could easily part with in case the chip contained malicious software.
But the information protection programs written by the slicers of the Dominion Armed Forces headquarters detected nothing of the sort.
"Interesting candidates," Ferrus declared, reviewing the list. "Moff Vensell. Isn't he the one who handled the withdrawal of Imperial forces after the engagement with Rebel Alliance troops at the planet Jerichador in the Calaron sector?"
"Precisely," Jarnek confirmed. "With the forces of two ships—just two cruisers, one heavy and one medium—he routed a large Rebel force. And withdrew his starships from the battlefield without losses. He led search teams for Rebel cells after Endor. His ships fell into an ambush and were boarded. He and over a thousand loyal subordinates surrendered. Over the last five years in various New Republic prisons, they staged more than one uprising and riot. The moff and his people attempted three escapes but couldn't advance and lose themselves on enemy territory. At present, in the sixth barracks, there are nearly seven hundred military fleet specialists loyal to him, ready to follow him. Each is a veteran. If he ordered an escape from your filtration camps, they would have done it already. But Vensell ordered them to wait. Take him on, and his people will transfer to your service. You can fill many vacancies at once, and you needn't doubt: if Vensell swears loyalty to you and knows you won't abandon him in a tough spot, he'll be faithful to the grave."
"I'll consider this proposal," Ferrus stated, shifting his gaze to another candidate. "Well, well, well… Each new name makes it all the more interesting. Grand Moff Lynch Hauser?"
Jarnek grinned crookedly.
"He's as much a 'grand moff' as I am a 'moff,'" the interlocutor explained. "He once held that rank. After the proclamation of the Galactic Empire, Palpatine made Hauser grand moff of the Dustig Oversector and appointed him commander of the Seventeenth Sector Army."
"'Chrome Shield,'" Ferrus pronounced the more common civilian name for the Seventeenth Sector Army. "Honestly, when I saw his name on the lists of freed prisoners, I thought it was a joke."
"It's not," the interlocutor stated. "Hauser in person. I understand your skepticism—after he triumphantly exposed the shady dealings of one governor embezzling natural resources and replacing stormtroopers with pirates, his name should have rung out across the Empire."
"But instead, his subordinate, who investigated the case, fell in love with a lady who was apparently a descendant of the local royal line, disobeyed Hauser's order to execute the rebel, and fled with her," Ferrus recalled. "They hunted that boy's head for quite a while."
"And found them in the end," the former moff reported. "The lovers were executed in front of the boy's father, Admiral Trommer. Palpatine intended to make an example of the latter too, as it was believed the admiral helped his son hide. Hauser stood up for his subordinate and fell into disgrace as well. The latter's connections were enough to keep him and Trommer from execution, but they were thrown into a high-security prison for a long time. When the New Republic captured the facility, both prisoners continued serving their sentences. In response to the fact that both Admiral Trommer and Grand Moff Hauser had gone to great lengths in their time to eliminate all popular unrest and all provocateurs, Rebel agents, and saboteurs."
"Admiral Trommer's name is on this list too," Ferrus noted. "So I take it they're both disillusioned with the Empire and the New Republic, so they've decided to try their hand in the Dominion?"
"Something like that," Jarnek confirmed. "But with a caveat—they in no way claim restoration to the same ranks they held under the Empire. Trommer expressed a desire to become an instructor at a military academy. The guards said you have your own educational institutions, but of course, it's not for us to decide where to send him. It's just a wish."
"And what does Hauser want?" Ferrus inquired.
"I can even quote him," the man opposite smiled. "'I've already been a grand moff. I'd try again under Thrawn's leadership, but I'm not in a position to demand anything. I'm old and experienced. I'll gladly help where needed. But I can't sleep on that hard bunk anymore. Even as a secretary, but away from the barracks.'"
"Amusing remark," Ferrus chuckled.
In fact, he wouldn't mind having an assistant or advisor with the colossal experience that Grand Moff Hauser possessed.
During the years of his rule in the Dustig Oversector, the latter had never experienced any significant upheavals and was renowned for its stability.
On which the grand moff succeeding Hauser rested.
Until the Rebels executed him, "liberating" the oversector, which at present had turned into a hotbed of lawlessness and democracy.
Though the last two concepts were practically synonyms.
Reviewing the entire list took some time, during which Ferrus exchanged remarks with Jarnek about one candidate or another.
Some, like the former Grand Moff Nigel Nivers, the grand moff rejected outright, as counterintelligence had already processed them and deemed these sentients unfit for recruitment.
That same Nivers had "distinguished" himself after Endor by becoming one of the numerous warlords. And he sought to enslave one world, promising the locals that they would either work for him or he would make them suffer.
The intervening Rebels crushed Nivers's armada, and he himself was thrown into prison.
How such a New Order fanatic wasn't shot—unclear.
But he was useless even as a clone donor—stupid and envious. Yes, a talented organizer, but this was precisely the case where the minuses outweighed the vaunted "pluses."
Letting such near power was highly imprudent.
Even on Jarnek's list, he and all those rejected stood apart.
"I'll repeat—you've done tremendous work," Ferrus declared when the list of more than a dozen names of moffs, grand moffs, and administrators alone came to an end.
And the list held hundreds of names of lesser bureaucrats and specialists… In fact, if all went well, such a "personnel drop" could qualitatively bolster the administrations stitching together on the ground in the sectors.
"I, like many others, just want to be useful," the interlocutor replied. "Besides, working to one's abilities is much better than idling or laboring in the camp workshops."
Unlike New Republic prisoners of war, who under the supervision of numerous intimidating nonhumans from the Dominion were sent to newly habitable planets to build outposts, former Imperial military and civilians, during filtration, could work in the camp workshops if they wished.
There, uniforms for prisoners of war, criminals, or clothing for the filtrants themselves were sewn.
In a word—self-sufficiency, as factories and plants worked to supply the Dominion's civilian population or armed forces.
And the clothing and footwear of filtrants and prisoners of war often wore out before their fate caught up with them to return home or epiphany with a desire to join the Dominion's side.
Simple and unpretentious work that required no great skills in the new profession but allowed filtrants to earn a small amount of credits to improve their own living conditions.
"The edited list will reach counterintelligence leadership shortly," Ferrus reported. "I promise nothing, but if your comrades are indeed as you say, there won't be problems. You'll work under the supervision of our specialists for now. If all goes sufficiently well, you'll eventually get full freedom of action on the ground."
"Thank you," Jarnek stated. "For us, understanding that we're still needed by someone is worth a lot."
"There's nothing worse than being full of energy and cast aside from life at the same time," a thought flashed through Ferrus's mind.
On that note, they parted ways.
Left alone, Felix activated the holoprojector.
A volumetric projection of territories under Dominion control emerged.
Yes, one's own clones in power in the sectors was, of course, good.
But clones were short-lived.
They were created (as were clones in the Armed Forces) to serve as an operational "crutch" for the limping bureaucracy.
And now there was a real opportunity to do it all differently, as it should be.
Pondering for a few more seconds, the grand moff reached for the encryption equipment.
To send the candidate lists to counterintelligence, it was worth discussing the initiative with the grand admiral first.
Hearing his considerations on such a crucially important matter was critically necessary.
***
If you look at the headquarters of the Dominion's armed forces, you can notice that one hemisphere of the enormous sphere has essentially been disassembled into component parts.
The structures have been towed into nearby space, where hundreds and thousands of specialists work on them, repurposing and repairing sections that in the future will be reassembled into one.
But now it will no longer be a lightly armored civilian object crudely reworked by Ennix Devian's engineers.
When the sphere is reassembled, it will represent an excellently armored sphere bristling with thousands of guns and launchers of the most various calibers.
Developing such a project could have taken years—as it did with the Death Stars.
We essentially used the blueprints of the battle station to rework the internal contents of the habitable sphere and turn it into a fortress that would not share the fate of its predecessors.
After Counter-Admiral Shohashi's attack on the habitable sphere, the object sustained significant damage, but there were still all chances for full restoration with superior modernization results.
Fortunately, we have the blueprints for the Death Stars and habitable spheres, and chief shipbuilder Ryan Zion has the opportunity to work with them directly on-site.
Headquarters of the Dominion Armed Forces (condition: "just need to patch up the load-bearing structures a bit").
"Repair teams are working in three shifts," the chief shipbuilder reported, summarizing his briefing on the headquarters, "but the repair and modernization work is far from complete. At the current stage, we've restored only ten percent of the hull and structures. But the matter concerns those sections that, like on the Death Stars, had common components."
"Are you saying the habitable spheres were built on the same projects as the Death Stars?" Vice Admiral Pellaeon clarified, seated to my right at the long metal conference table.
"Yes," Zion replied without delay. "Of course, the habitable spheres have few combat systems, but in fact, whoever produced them used the same data and blueprints as for the Death Stars. I've already said that the power plant, layout of command and administrative decks, living quarters and modules, docking bays and hangars, energy distribution plan, even the force frame—identical. The differences are only in that on the stations, the power buses went, for example, to turbolasers, while in the habitable sphere—to trading compartments or entertainment centers. This greatly aids us in repurposing, as the main components of the power and energy supply system don't need reworking—only the peripherals. Yes, we have a lot of work in the parts where Devian's workers failed to properly repurpose decks they turned into hangars and production complexes, but we're advancing in that direction."
"And when do you plan to finish?" I inquired.
"With current funding and workforce?" Zion clarified.
Receiving an affirmative, the shipbuilder pondered for a moment, then issued:
"In the best case—from two to five years."
"Nearly twenty thousand workers and specialists labor on you!" Pellaeon exclaimed in surprise. "You said yourself the projects have numerous similarities! Where do such timelines come from?!"
Honestly, I'd like to know that too.
"The station is enormous; the scope of work is colossal. The budget isn't exactly huge to hire droves of workers from nearby sectors, so you need to understand that bringing this object online is a far from quick matter. Twenty thousand workers—that's not even the necessary minimum. It's a speck of sand on the scale of Tatooine. Already, restoring operations in the central sectors and decks, thanks to which the sphere can perform headquarters duties, is akin to a miracle. Given the damage from internal explosions here, the situation is far from simple. We're already unable to power the entire station due to damage from blasts and shelling. Secondary power plants are either critically damaged or completely knocked out. Or require costly repairs, which, as I understand, we can't afford."
"Not entirely," I agreed. "The Death Star's budget was astronomical. We don't have such revenues."
"Half of it was embezzled there," Zion grimaced. "I looked at the invoices. The same items could be delivered up to twenty times. Either the convoy is attacked en route, or the cargo vanishes, or something else. We're not building everything from scratch—we have over seventy percent of the habitable sphere, at least its force frame and internal compartments, remaining as they are now. And we haven't registered any equipment losses; material supplies are proceeding properly. With armament, of course, not all is well, but I think when the industry for producing turbolasers and anti-aircraft guns reaches the necessary capacity, we'll have completed mounting all repaired sections, and it will only be necessary to install the armament and defense systems. And provide the station with a crew. With automation organs applied, it will, of course, decrease substantially, but for now, I won't venture to say by how much. I haven't even done hypothetical calculations…"
"Let's set aside plans for outfitting the headquarters for now, shipbuilder," I said. "At present, I'm more interested in our Interdictor cruiser project of the Immobilizer type."
"And what's wrong with it?" the man looked at me in astonishment.
Pellaeon, sighing heavily, covered his eyes with his hand, pretending that he was more interested in the dry recitation of the shipbuilder's already stated words on his own deck's screen.
"You tell me," I requested. "At present, there's only the technical specification and your words about the project's readiness. Meanwhile, the need for these ships is great, given the colossal quantitative leap in our fleet."
"Didn't I brief you last week?" Zion frowned, shifting his gaze from me to Gilad, as if trying to find on our faces the answer to whether we were joking.
"Last week I was at the Dominion's borders," the explanation made the shipbuilder furrow his brow.
"Then I briefed Vice Admiral Pellaeon," the man with the artificial eye stubbornly repeated.
"I returned from inspection just a few hours ago," Gilad set his deck aside.
"And who was I talking to then?" Zion asked into the void, suspiciously looking behind him.
But found no one there except Rukh, boredly checking the sharpness of his obsidian dagger.
Tierce sat silently a bit behind me, engrossed in his work.
"Tell me, shipbuilder," I addressed him. "When did you last sleep?"
"What 'sleep'?" Zion stunned with his response. "Ahhhh… you mean sleep. Quite recently, I dozed off."
"And the slight hand tremor, bags under the eyes, and burst capillaries—that's just our imagination," I thought, perfectly understanding what was happening.
Not for nothing had the man sat in such a way until his briefing turn that he didn't draw much attention.
And thereby did the opposite.
When the main briefer during the report is not himself and doesn't "bottle up" every five minutes—it's highly alarming.
"Now it all makes sense," Gilad pronounced. "You've overworked yourself."
Tierce silently approached me and whispered a few phrases in my ear, then returned to his workstation.
"You haven't slept for fourteen days, shipbuilder," I said. "That's from objective labor normalization control data. It's hardly surprising that you've started confusing events in the end. I understand correctly that you've been on stimulants for the last two weeks?"
The man flashed his artificial eye like an infrared optical sight.
"We're just working on forming proper internal berthing docks for Star Destroyers. In a week, that work will be done, and then…"
"Then there will be other work," Gilad said. "And then more and more. This process has no end."
"Vice Admiral is right, Mr. Zion," I supported my deputy. "You have an enormous scope of work across all directions. And it certainly won't diminish if you drive yourself into the medbay from organ exhaustion. If it helps you understand, I order you to rest. After first visiting the infirmary, where they'll neutralize all the chems you've already pumped into yourself."
"I didn't ask for that!" Zion raised his voice, clearly not in control of his emotions.
"You can consider it an order," I clarified the conflict between desires and vital necessity.
In the matter of extracting short-term gain and activity with prospects for multi-year profitable projects, one should choose the latter—if the goal is long-term success.
Driving the only certified and unblinkered shipbuilder on our side, with prospects for his prolonged treatment and possibly health issues— is not the way.
It's a path to "nowhere."
Especially considering how much in the Dominion depends precisely on this specific individual.
"As you wish, Grand Admiral," Zion grumbled in an displeased tone. "Can I at least briefly inform you of what the Interdictor program will actually represent?"
I caught Pellaeon's surprised gaze on me.
I hope I managed to keep an impassive expression.
Because I hadn't ordered Zion to work on the entire program either.
Interdictor—this was the name of the overall project linking all types of our starships equipped with gravity well generators.
That included Star Destroyers of the Interdictor type, Immobilizer-418 interdictor cruisers, and the currently in-project Immobilizer-type interdictor cruiser.
Given that after "rescuing Lianna" we obtained absolutely all technical documentation and exclusive production rights for equipment, devices, assemblies, and units from a fairly broad nomenclature of Santhe Technologies, there are no major problems with producing specifically the last two models.
The basis for the interdictor cruisers is the Vindicator-class heavy cruiser produced by Lianna.
The Immobilizer-418 is also a product of Santhe Technologies authorship.
And we can produce them in huge quantities.
Given that after the Battle of Sluis Van, the Dominion acquired over one hundred fifty Vindicator-class heavy cruisers, several dozen Interdictors and Immobilizer-418s, the necessary base for putting Immobilizers into production is in place.
Not for nothing did two dozen orbital docks stolen at Sluis Van arrive in the Dominion?
They not only significantly speed up repairs but also allow deep modernizations in short order.
And in prospect—precisely on them and the orbital repair yards will fall the entire burden of fleet ship repairs, while our planetary shipyards are planned to be used primarily for building starships.
"Judging by your own words, you've decisively stepped beyond the assigned task," I realized.
"It's not complicated," Zion said smugly. "Some developments I proposed back in the distant past on Kuat, so now it's just polishing existing material."
"I take it that since you mentioned Kuat, the matter concerns not only the Immobilizer project?" Pellaeon clarified.
"Correct," Zion confirmed. "When I was tasked with working on the Immobilizer, I thought: 'Why not improve the Interdictor?'"
"I think I see where you're going," Vice Admiral Pellaeon slowly forced out.
"I haven't said anything yet," Zion objected, launching a hologram of the well-known and excellently proven Interdictor-class Star Destroyer on the projector.
"Given how you pride yourself on the Triad project, especially the Imperial modernizations, it's reasonable to assume you've decided to modify this ship type precisely in that modification," I explained Gilad's words.
"Uh-huh… When you put it that way, it does sound extremely simple," Zion said, abashed. "Well, it doesn't change the nature of what's happening. Yes, I've prepared a modernization project based on the Interdictor. It provides for upgrading it to Triad standard, but I think you understand that due to the four gravity well generators, we can't critically boost its combat capability to Triad level. But the power and number of turbolasers grow to Imperial-I level, and I've managed to make the anti-aircraft artillery on the ship equal in quantity and quality to the Triad's. But naturally, with the changed geometry of the upper and lower hull sections, the placement of anti-aircraft artillery ensures coverage of 'blind spots' and protection for the gravity well generator spheres. To my great regret, I couldn't install a large number of turbolasers in the lower hemisphere—only repeat my successful experience protecting hangars on the Triads. Additionally, I've complicated enemy pilots' actions in the lower hemisphere with a revised anti-aircraft gun distribution scheme who want to attack the ship from below. Covered firing sectors, hangar protection, flanks, stern, superstructure, more competent artillery distribution based on Allegiance-class battlecruiser experience…"
"Instead of inline turbolaser placement, you've put them on the diagonal?" Pellaeon raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, but I've placed a full set of heavy turbolasers in eight-gun turrets in the ship's upper and lower hemispheres, so now all guns of this type can fire and the gravity well spheres won't obstruct them," Zion explained. "And powerful anti-aircraft cover and reinforced barbettes provide greater protection for firing points. Unfortunately, I couldn't significantly reduce the crew with design automation—it's the same as on the Triad, but only due to the greater number of technical specialists needed to service the gravity funnel generators, plus increased requirements for the number of gunners. The fighter wing is slightly expanded—by one squadron…"
"Slightly," Pellaeon snorted. "Additional twelve craft—that's fifty percent more than originally."
"Well, it's not eight squadrons like on the Guard Imperials now," the shipbuilder reasonably objected.
"And yet," I cut off the budding argument, "the modification is truly significant. I understand correctly that all Triad qualities, including distributed hull scanners, sensors, long-range and other comms equipment, shield generators under armor, SEAL system—all that is installed?"
"Yes, sir," the shipbuilder replied. "As well as additional reactors, automation systems, Type-I redundant command system on the reserve bridge, three triple medium turbolaser turrets in the forward superstructure—all that, plus other distinctive features and novelties of the Triads, are reflected in this ship type."
"In other words, only the general hull features and engines with gravity interdiction generators remain from the Interdictor," Pellaeon snorted.
"About right," Zion agreed. "It's hardly an Interdictor anymore. My designers jokingly suggested claiming the first name this type had at the Kuat Drive Yards, but the Empire preferred another…"
"Like that story with the first name for Imperials, which in the first generation were called Emperors until it finally enraged all the senators on Coruscant?" Pellaeon nodded understandingly. "They said these ships are symbols of the Empire, not just the Emperor's glory."
"Yes," Zion agreed. "But on Kuat, they whispered that despite the renaming initiative coming from our senator, the mastermind of the whole campaign was Palpatine himself, pretending to be offended by such changes in ship type names."
"And in fact, he just threw the senators a bone, pretending they managed to wound him in something," Gilad snorted, casting me a cautious, interested glance.
Meanwhile, I still didn't understand what they were talking about at all.
No, I knew that Imperials were originally called Emperors.
But not the reason that led to the name change.
And certainly not that Interdictors suffered the same fate.
Asking directly—foolish.
Evidently, this was well-known and widely disseminated information that an Imperial officer simply couldn't not know.
Amusing…
" Sir, the initiative truly has logic," Pellaeon stated. "Essentially, all rights to Interdictors and their production belong to Kuat Drive Yards. Mass construction of this ship type could provoke an unwanted conflict with them."
What an interesting game in a Galaxy Far, Far Away with copyright and intellectual property.
Two things can be essentially identical, perform the same tasks, be assembled from parts developed by the same manufacturer.
But change some key elements on one so the overall similarity ceases to be noticeable, and that's it—now two different products on the market.
"I agree," I said. "Given the significant reworking of the original design, it would be right to give a name to the new ship type. What did your subordinates suggest, Shipbuilder Zion?"
The man scratched his forehead.
"The first name for Interdictors," he clarified little. Looking at me, he apparently realized I awaited a more detailed response and added:
"Dominator, sir."
Hm… Well, now I understand why they passed on it.
"There's something to it," I agreed. "But we should fully abstract from the existing name. 'Dominant' sounds far more appropriate relative to the Interdictor that's become twice as strong."
"'Dominant'—another name suggested for the Interdictor," Pellaeon noted cautiously.
"But it was almost immediately rejected after vetoing 'Dominator,' and changing a starship's name based on a derivative of the failed designation type…" Zion suspiciously fell silent. "Imperials didn't welcome such."
"We're not Imperials," I reminded. "The name suits this ship. Given it's intended for direct engagements as an independent combat unit capable of blocking an entire fleet's escape with an artificial gravity field, it's destined to be the dominant Star Destroyer on the battlefield."
"True enough," Zion said, leaning to the panel and quickly entering new data into the schematic.
Yes, he changed the project name.
"Incidentally, preparatory work is already underway on Tangrene to begin modernizing 'scrap' Destroyers into Interdictors," Pellaeon reminded, as if I could forget my own order. "Perhaps it's right to test the Dominant project on them."
"So we shall," I summarized the discussion on one of the projects. Looking at the shipbuilder, I inquired:
"I hope you have positive news on the Interdictor project as well?"
Ryan traditionally smiled crookedly.
"Better," he said, connecting another data chip to the holoprojector. "Here's a real breakthrough."
At first glance, the same Immobilizer as initially envisaged, but… Something was off.
And when my eye fell on the two spheres in the ship's central section, I understood what exactly.
"You've mounted only one gravity well generator," Pellaeon blurted out first with overtly angry intonations. "The technical spec called for two! And there were no solar ionization reactors in the fleet's request at all!"
"I'm sure Shipbuilder Zion will explain it all to us now," I said, not taking my eyes off Ryan.
"Of course," he stated. "Installing two gravity funnel generators would require displacing part of the internal space with additional reactors, which we're taking from fleet stocks acquired with Ennix Devian's base. Essentially, these are SPHA self-propelled howitzer reactors. Comparatively compact size, but high energy output at the same time. The Vindicator-class cruiser is compact enough as is, and to accommodate that much additional equipment, it would need to be enlarged significantly—nearly four hundred meters—to preserve and supplement its original artillery. Moreover, the original modernization plan assumed maximum aviation on the ship, as Santhe Technologies did in the latest models of these ships—six full squadrons. Which in turn turned the heavy cruiser into an independent raider or leader of a detachment sweeping hyperspace routes within the Dominion."
"That's exactly what you promised us initially," Pellaeon stated. "And that plan was approved! You were to start work precisely on that technical specification, not waste time on your own projects for which there's no need yet."
"I know that, Vice Admiral," Zion stated. "However, after we gained access to all of Lianna's technologies, I stumbled upon several interesting programs. In particular, an experimental project to increase the power output of the gravity funnel generator's deployment vector by boosting supplied energy."
"Lianna was developing a new gravity interdiction project?" I immediately grasped the essence.
"Exactly," Zion confirmed. "The order came from Black Sword fleet command a few years before the Battle of Endor. They were also experimenting with deploying mines directly from hyperspace, but achieved no significant results. And the Empire's dissolution led to shelving the enhanced gravity interdiction project. These are mostly developments, but quite promising. Lianna couldn't complete them independently due to lacking necessary automation technologies. For the linkage—solar ionization reactor and upgraded gravity interdiction—up to six hundred additional crew would be needed to service the entire tech array. Which in turn would unmanageably increase crew numbers on ships. Moreover, Lianna's scientists encountered an extremely unpleasant side effect. If upgraded gravity interdictions are placed in direct contact with each other, they generate interference. The formed gravity waves literally tear ships and everything in the artificial gravity impact zone apart. They're literally destroyed by the gravity wave, then pulled toward the gravity source. Even if the generator is shut off, the gravitational effect remains stable for pulled objects. And catastrophe is inevitable."
This… Sounds very familiar.
So familiar that memory obligingly supplied the name of the planet where something similar happened.
Malachor V.
During the Mandalorian Wars, the Jedi activated the so-called "mass shadow generator."
Which ripped allied and enemy ships alike from orbit, smashing them all against the planet, which in the end was itself destroyed.
"Thus, in direct combat, only one ship with a single gravity well generator, stronger than the original, can participate," I summarized.
"Yes, the artificial gravity zone is nearly equal to that of two standard generators operating, and the ship problems are the same. Inability to move due to the generator's operation, reduced energy output due to power-hungry equipment. But installing a standard solar ionization reactor from a Victory-class Star Destroyer solves the problem. Not the first, but the second!"
"A standard reactor on a heavy cruiser?" Pellaeon marveled. "You must be joking! Vindicators were created as cheap Star Destroyer analogs! And your proposal effectively multiplies the Immobilizer's cost several times!"
"We shouldn't dismiss this proposal outright, Vice Admiral," I advised. Zion gratefully looked my way. "The technology is truly interesting."
"Yes, but we won't have enough reactors from Victories for every such ship," Pellaeon pressed his point. "Especially since these ships were needed now or in the near term. And instead, we get an obvious long-term build. We have no spare such reactors—we've already installed all we had on ships. Damaged reactors are in repair, but until our own production of this technology is set up, they're our salvation in case of power plant damage on Victories."
Updated variant of the Immobilizer-class interdictor cruiser.
"Removing one reactor won't cause anything," I stated. "We'll build a prototype, then test it in action. If the promises match reality, we'll put the starship into series. If not—we'll return to the original plan for Immobilizers."
"Sir, but we need interdictor cruisers for sector patrols today!" Pellaeon insisted.
"And we have them," I replied. "We captured them at Sluis Van. Like our other trophies, they're in the fleet holding area, awaiting crew assignment. Without which they're useless. As built Interdictors would be useless too. We have a personnel problem, not a technology one. Moreover, this approach reduces expenditure of the limited number of gravity well generators, whose production we still haven't set up, and outfitting Dominants with them is already provided for. At present, we've reduced operations beyond the Dominion, so Immobilizer-418s can provide aid and support to the Defense Fleet for now."
Gilad looked at me with some disapproval but remained silent.
"I hope at least you can reduce the crew?" he clarified to Zion in an unhappy tone.
"Of course," he stated. "But the marine complement will have to be halved as well."
Pellaeon rolled his eyes…
"Not a problem," I replied. "The Immobilizer is a squadron flagship, as already stated. Additional boarding parties can be found on escort ships. And it won't be entirely defenseless due to reduced marines. Two companies of stormtroopers supported by battle droids instead of four hundred basic stormtroopers—negligible change in combat capability."
"And if we rework all our Vindicators into Immobilizers, we'll have heavy cruisers with Star Destroyer aviation and off-the-charts firepower," Shipbuilder Zion said dreamily.
"You definitely need to rest," I said, rising from the table. "When sentients start confusing necessity with folly—it's already dangerous to life."