Ten years, the second month, and the twenty-third day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, the second month, and the twenty-third day after the Great ReSynchronization.
(Nine months and eight days since arrival).
There are many roads leading into the Corporate Sector.
And even more are hidden within this region.
The hyperspace route known as the Shaltin Tunnels began in the territory known as Farana, located in the northern part of the Corporate Sector, crossed the latter from north to south, and then, through the Vil, Chorlian, and other sectors, led directly to the planet Lianna.
From there, via regional hyperspace routes or the Parlemian Trade Route, one could reach almost any point in the galaxy.
If one had the desire and time for such a journey.
At a distance of just one and a half light-years from the invisible borders of the Corporate Sector—practically in interstellar void, which was not yet part of the Vil sector but possessed one undeniable quality: there were no planets, asteroids, or even nearby stars—at a point on the Shaltin Tunnels hyperspace route, spaceships reverted to sublight speed.
They did not activate transponders or identification systems.
Most of them were not even armed.
A significant portion of this flotilla consisted of transport starships that had once been simple (or not so simple) civilian transport vessels.
But the outcome of their mission meant perhaps even more than the actions of a lone Imperial-class Star Destroyer and two Providence-class carrier/destroyers holding position on three sides of the transports.
"The ships have arrived in full complement, sir," the watch officer reported to Captain Astorias. "No losses among the transports."
"Good," the commander of the Stormhawk replied calmly, gazing into the interstellar void with his hands clasped behind his back, not averting his eyes from the transparisteel of the central viewport. "Proceed with deployment."
"Yes, sir!"
The three destroyers took the lead.
Spreading out in a wide net, they began ejecting dozens of spherical objects into space.
Each was the size of a TIE interceptor cockpit, but the internals of these devices were entirely different.
And their numbers were not as great as the commanders of these destroyers would have liked.
But nonetheless, the mass-shadow mines were being placed in the positions designated by the overall mining plan.
As soon as they were set in the center of the hyperspace route and began registering on scanners, the destroyers left the mining zone, yielding to the unarmed ships.
The weathered transports took their place and began dropping mines of a more conventional design, equipped with sensors, explosive charges, and maneuvering micro-thrusters.
These mines were arrayed around the mass-shadow mines in several echelons, creating truly massive barriers in the path of travelers.
Hour after hour passed as the transports continued their labor.
Dozens of mines.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Tens of thousands.
"Who would have thought these rusty buckets would ever be needed at all," Captain Astorias remarked, watching the starships—most in such deplorable condition that they likely could not continue operating for even a few more standard years—engage in activity for which the Empire had created specialized minelayers.
But such starships simply did not exist in the Dominion's arsenal.
Super Star Destroyers, Star Destroyers, battlecruisers, heavy cruisers, patrol cruisers, corvettes, frigates, gunboats—of all types and for every taste—but none were suited for this role.
Not to mention that every one of them had assigned combat tasks, which they were currently performing.
Of course, this applied only to those with full crews aboard.
"Mine deployment complete, sir," the watch officer reported to Morgoth. "All mines placed in accordance with the plan."
"Good," the Stormhawk's commander said. "Inquire with the pilots about the starships' condition. If no malfunctions, we withdraw to the supply point, load new mines, and proceed to the Hydian Way. We have plenty of work ahead."
"Yes, sir," the watch officer saluted, turning sharply over his left shoulder and striding quickly toward the pits.
Morgoth gestured to the communications officer to open a channel to the ships in question.
"Stormhawk calling Black Pearl and Colicoid Swarm," he said, addressing the holograms of the two auxiliary ship commanders. "We are preparing to return to base."
"About time," came a yawn from beneath Captain Tiberos's mask. "I'm already getting bored guarding these slowpokes."
"Is the principle of minefield construction clear?" Morgoth asked, ignoring the former privateer's demonstrative discontent.
"Perfectly clear, sir," Captain Irv, commanding the second Providence, replied calmly.
"Captain Tiberos?" Morgoth looked at the second hologram.
"Clear as a Tatooine noon," came the traditionally non-regulation response. "Only head-butting is simpler."
"I count on your attentiveness, gentlemen," Captain Astorias continued. "Because your next mine deployments will be conducted independently, detached from the Stormhawk."
Irv gave no reaction.
Tiberos hesitated briefly but soon resumed his proud posture of a confident sentient.
"We'll manage," he declared.
"I hope so," Astorias replied. "Because you will answer personally to Grand Admiral Thrawn for any failure."
"Not the first time," Tiberos said.
"And one more thing," Morgoth added, getting to the point. "Ensure the mass-shadow mines remain inactive and their transceivers operate on the set frequency. The barriers must remain secret from our enemy until the Supreme Commander orders activation. This is critically important for the entire operation."
"Task understood, sir," Irv responded.
"Likewise," Tiberos echoed. "But I'd gladly hunt 'corporate' convoys further."
"Your personal desires are of no interest, Captain Tiberos," Morgoth rebuked the auxiliary. "You are part of the regular fleet. An order is conveyed—you execute it. No other way."
"Actually, the grand admiral himself previously assigned us tasks," Tiberos objected. "So I'm a bit unclear why we must follow your orders without Thrawn's confirmation."
"I have no such confusion," Irv shook his head.
Morgoth fixed Tiberos with a piercing stare.
"My orders come from Grand Admiral Thrawn," he explained. "Like it or not—they will be executed."
"Purely hypothetically—what if not?" Tiberos smirked.
"Purely hypothetically—then I'll grind you to dust," Morgoth said quietly but firmly. "Anyone who dares disobey. I think no further explanation is needed. Questions, captains?"
Naturally, there were none.
***
Once, during the Galactic Civil War—that is, quite recently—this complex had been called the "Satroya Weapons Factory."
It was located in the system of the same name in the Mieru'kar sector and was listed in the Ubiqtorate's registries.
As a Rebel Alliance facility.
Who else in their right mind would hide in poorly explored remote systems so the Galactic Empire paid no attention to their affairs?
Full of dangers and lawlessness, the galaxy's remote sectors had always served as numerous havens for all manner of scum of every species and variety.
It was only a matter of time before this festering sore on the galaxy's body burst and brought even more suffering and destruction.
But, strangely enough, for once Imperial Intelligence had done its job properly—Counter-Admiral I-Gor had seen this place in its "pristine" state.
When Imperial scouts landed on the planet to verify data on Republic and Rebel bases across Dominion territory, they found in this mountain range—tens of kilometers of man-made tunnels connected by more man-made passages—only traces of a total purge.
Some Imperial unit had not skimped on an orbital strike against the rock concealing the weapons factory, followed by a ground force landing and complete clearance.
Cave by cave.
The investigators who undoubtedly arrived after the Imperial victory had done thorough work—everything had been removed from the caves, from remnants of Rebel equipment to wiring and lighting systems.
But the base's location was indeed good.
One might say the Rebels had a truly inhuman penchant for burying their assets below ground level and placing underground bases, but to anyone versed in tactics, this would seem almost comical.
In reality, many meters of rock—granite, marble, or simply hard stone—meant no need to worry about defense "from above" for those basing here.
Over a hundred meters of rock from the nearest cave edge to the massif's surface—protection more serious than a Star Destroyer's armor.
In principle, among the known systems of the Mieru'kar sector, planets hosting someone's bases were common.
Take Greater Seltaya, for instance, where the late pirate Safonne Peldon hid his fleet and base in an extensive network of natural caves.
Or the Tiragga system, where on the orbit of the namesake planet, on one of its two moons, Rebels had also placed an outpost in underground caves formed over millennia by hot springs eroding rock—perfect for bathing.
True, no one in their right mind would go there again—even Imperial Intelligence, learning of a Rebel base on Tiragga's second moon, opted against a ground assault.
They simply destroyed the few Rebel starships and bottled them up on the planet.
A seemingly odd decision—after all, infection must be eradicated completely, without hesitation.
Yet Intelligence and Imperial fleet command deemed a ground assault on such a convoluted and dangerously located base near boiling reservoirs unwise...
This did not prevent scouts from eliminating a sizable Rebel band on the planet and reporting mission success.
How they managed it—unknown.
But afterward, the Imperial Navy's medical service issued a direct ban on visiting this paradise planet with Type I breathable atmosphere.
Reasons were never explained to anyone.
And apparently, the Dominion knew something of the system's danger, as it was closed to visitation.
This did not prevent Dominion transport starships from making regular runs there.
Counter-Admiral I-Gor knew this for certain, as he commanded the Dominion's armed forces in this sector.
Like Moff Brinkan, responsible for civilian affairs in Mieru'kar, I-Gor had specific tasks assigned not by the Triumvirate—merely a public facade for most sentients in the galaxy—but by the grand admiral himself.
Protecting the Tiragga system was prioritized for the counter-admiral.
Thrawn had not deigned to explain why the system was so vital to the Dominion.
He merely stated access must be denied by any means available.
And personally conveyed to I-Gor the protocol for hostile invasion.
Landing regular army troops on Tiragga's second moon was strictly forbidden—and precedents existed where patrols unhesitatingly destroyed curious intruders attempting entry.
This did not mean the moon was entirely empty.
Even with the naked eye, one could note on its surface, near mountainous regions, structures erected by construction droids for medical facilities and large volumes of transport containers delivered to the planet.
Only one type of starship—old, literally falling apart transports captured last year in "wolf pack" raider attacks—were permitted landing and takeoff.
They appeared rarely, piloted exclusively by droid pilots, with special permits.
And never repeated.
In other words, the same freighter never appeared near Tiragga's second moon twice.
Nor were they seen elsewhere in the Dominion.
This suggested certain thoughts: after such trips, ships were either destroyed or moved to a special boneyard to live out their already short (due to near-total wear of hull and systems) lives.
Sometimes the counter-admiral was tempted to ask the grand admiral directly: "What is the mission of these starships?"
But then he figured it out himself.
The answer lay in the ships' arrival schedule.
They arrived at the second moon no more than twice a month.
Fifteen days apart.
Exactly the time needed to produce clones forming the bulk of the Dominion's armed forces.
The Dominion's cloning laboratory—that was what was on Tiragga's second moon.
No wonder Thrawn ordered massive forces and resources to defend this system.
The planet's orbit was entirely sealed by minefields, blocking all but a few trajectories used by droids.
Simple space mines, impossible to clear except by destroying them with gunfire or one's own hull.
Nothing new—such mines had been used by Confederacy of Independent Systems forces to protect key planets like Hypori during the Clone Wars.
Cheap, containing only explosives and contact/proximity detonation systems.
And judging by their size—matching a speeder's diameter from nose to stern—they held no small amount of baradium or nergon-14.
Though more likely ryllonium, often used by Dominion forces in military projects.
In any case, the forces under I-Gor's command maintained ceaseless watch on the galaxy's and Dominion's backwaters, guarding perhaps the most strategically vital secret: where new regular Armed Forces fighters were born.
Was there a more responsible and honorable role for a military officer loyal to his state?
Probably not.
Yet one nagging question haunted I-Gor, relating to Grand Admiral Thrawn's words.
What part of the grand trap were he and Zyix K'zzt?
For though the grand admiral had promised, he revealed nothing critically important or secret in the briefing.
He outlined tasks for the counter-admiral and cloner—and that was all.
Adding that the entire success of his planned trap depended on their thorough execution.
But as I-Gor understood, Zyix K'zzt's task was to ensure the Dominion regular supplies of stable, high-quality clones.
And I-Gor now realized he was to guard the cloning laboratory.
But why hadn't Thrawn said so directly?
Why the circumlocution when tasks could be stated clearly and unambiguously?
And ultimately, what was the trap?
Surely the grand admiral did not intend to lure the enemy into a trap at the cloning laboratory?
Grand Admiral Thrawn was a strategist, but setting such ambushes risked critically vital infrastructure...
He undoubtedly had his reasons, but understanding them without outside help was nearly impossible...
"Sir, urgent report from observation station six," the watch officer informed him, appearing nearby.
I-Gor snapped from his thoughts and glanced at the screen of the proffered personal deck.
His eyes scanned the message lines.
"Information confirmed?" he inquired.
"By listening post number two," the watch officer nodded.
Monitoring stations and listening posts—the regular fleet's secret weapon, scattered across Dominion territories and nearby areas for early warning and alerts on major enemy movements or unregistered communications.
They also helped locate approximate vectors of starship travel and transmission sources.
Though built by regular fleet forces, they served Intelligence for scouting new territories in moffs' sectors, detecting advanced civilizations, spy ships, impulse transmitters (with large probable source areas), or alien satellites.
Numerous pirate and smuggler bases had been found thanks to these hidden assets safeguarding Dominion citizens' peace.
Counterintelligence adored these installations too, but unlike scouts, Colonel Astarion's agency not only suspected their existence (counterintelligence and regular fleet shared equal access and personnel at each), they used the data without questioning origins.
Scouts deserved pity—unfair treatment.
But they reported to Defense Forces, unrelated to active Armed Forces.
"Ship affiliation established?" I-Gor asked.
"Presumed," the watch officer pointed to a line on the next page. "Data matches fleet archive records. For detailed identification, a spy droid is needed in the system where they adjust course."
I-Gor took seconds to correlate regular fleet dispositions in the sector and realize none would reach before intruders departed.
Perhaps one more, maybe two.
The unknown starships approached from the sector's northern part, with many gravitational anomalies complicating navigation.
Scout ships, let alone Defense Forces, avoided permanent presence there.
Except...
"An escort frigate of the Defense Forces should be in the Petrusia system," he said. "That's the closest ship to the enemy's position."
Escort frigates were no longer luxury but essential for transport caravans to remote Dominion parts where peace and order were not fully established.
Petrusia was not the most backwater world, inhabited by beings speaking a so-called "musical language."
They were utterly peaceful, non-confrontational, often starving sentients recently joining the Dominion.
Moff Brinkan regularly supplied food, technology, and surveyed for minerals.
Results were poor—the world lacked fertile soil and metal deposits.
This explained low population density and undeveloped technology.
"You want to send conscripts there?" the watch officer blinked.
"Captain Pril and the conscripts fought at Smarck," I-Gor reminded. "Took losses but none faltered, flooding headquarters with transfer requests to the regular fleet. Yes, I want them sent. Not to fight. Approach for positive identification, release spy droids, and flee. Simple task—even 'green' conscripts can handle it."
Not to mention that in critical moments, the regular fleet could fully subordinate Defense Forces.
"Yes, sir," the watch officer, apparently recalling this tenet, rushed to communications.
He spent mere minutes there before returning at the same pace—nearly running—to the commander.
"Sir, the escort frigate is not in the Petrusia system," he said, not winded.
"How so?" I-Gor was stunned.
He checked the bridge chronometer, confirming his date sense.
"They should remain there another day before departing."
"Sir, they cannot depart because they were never there," the watch officer stated. "We contacted the frigate—they were redirected to southern sector territories. No deliveries."
"Brinkan decided to cheat the Petrusians on expanding arable land?" I-Gor frowned. "Nonsense. If not finished soon, weather changes, no sowing or harvest. They won't survive last year's poor yield and die out by Hutt standards."
As he recalled, this delivery included machines for clearing new fields.
Critically important.
The moff could not just...
I-Gor darkened.
"Contact every ship larger than a cutter in sector Defense Forces," he ordered. "Request their positions."
Hope lingered for a suitable conscript ship somewhere.
"Report results to me and prepare a link to Chimaera," I-Gor added finally, gazing through the bridge transparisteel at his squadron's starships. "Time remains, but battle preparation is needed."
"You think they're coming for us?" the watch officer clarified.
"Certain of it," I-Gor added grimly. "And I think I know why."
***
When Captain Astorias's hologram dissolved and their small flotilla jumped to hyperspace, Irv massaged his temples.
"I don't like this whole setup," Yazuo said unexpectedly seriously, appearing beside him. "Astoria's no Shohashi—a middling sort—but I'm inclined to believe his threat to deal with us."
"If we fail to execute orders," Aut-O's head rasped. "I doubt our ship's commander desires that."
"My only desire now," Irv muttered, "is to bellow like a banta being carved by a rancor. Because time and again, just as I plot a new target for our voyage—Thrawn assigns some new task."
"Yes, this alien excels at spoiling the pleasure of pretending you're independent corsairs," no, droids cannot giggle. "When he wishes—you do what he needs. My logic chains tear and flee to the Maw Cluster thinking how pathetic pirates I must serve now."
It's all in his head.
Droids cannot express or show emotions.
Just sleep deprivation, nothing more.
"Since when does the head whine about its droid fate?" Yazuo asked loudly, demonstratively shifting his vibropike from hand to hand.
Aut-O's head tracked his actions unblinkingly, as if the tactical superdroid truly feared the deputy commander might harm it in the captain's presence.
"Since one of the three best CIS fleet ships is commanded by a traitor," Aut-O declared.
Irv, ceasing his activity, gave the tactical superdroid head a playful cuff.
"You can pray to your god, Aut-O, but nothing more changes," Irv warned. "You and I—the last 'Separatists' in the ranks. And so it is—you'll serve me."
"Hope on, human," no, the metal definitely snorted. "Since you tied up with this Thrawn, I've functioned successfully even without tactical protocols."
"Do we really need him?" Vain asked.
"Definitely," Irv confirmed, turning the head's optical sensors toward him. "Now strain those vaunted protocols and calculate—what and why are we doing this?"
"Deploying mines," Aut-O said impassively. "For the uninformed, per 'Regulations on Tactical Defensive Actions': 'Mine deployment is conducted to...'"
"Stop," Irv interrupted. "I know the theory, understand it. I've deployed mines myself. Primarily defensive weapon. Secondarily—blocking. But what does Thrawn need to defend in the Corporate Sector?"
"The question is different—why now? And precisely on the Shaltin Tunnels?" Vain spoke up.
"Based on our raids and buzz droid placements in the Chorlian sector, one might assume the Shaltin Tunnels facilitate outflow of goods and objects from the Corporate Sector that the grand admiral wishes to prevent," Aut-O hypothesized. "This would support minefields as blocking weapons. More accurate analysis lacks data."
"Doesn't add up," Irv shook his head. "Astoria said our mining work will increase—next deployment by three groups. Thus, three more routes blocked. But which—unclear."
"Of those leading from known galaxy to Corporate Sector, only the Hydian Way remains," Vain pondered. "Which two more does Thrawn intend to block?"
"Analysis incorrect—we lack available information," Aut-O repeated. "Better to conclude from coordinates received upon base return."
"That will be an independent mission," Irv reminded. "And I have no desire to dive in without understanding who we'll spring this hyperspace-exit-in-minefield trap on."
"Weapon characteristics suggest most likely targets—ships with modern sensor systems," Aut-O unexpectedly stated.
"Explain," Irv frowned.
"The simple mines we deployed have minimal active sensors," the tactical superdroid head explained. "Like micro-thrusters, they register faintly on modern scanners or invisible on older. Design limits approach speed compared to modern mines, like those Kuat Drive Yards used protecting the secret route to Rotana. Given Dominion's unique Kuat technology—mass-shadow mines—one can state they know superior armament but deliberately use slower variants. This suggests target specificity—non-modern ships with inferior scan frequencies and processor speeds. Allowing simple mines faster reach before countermeasures."
"Modern..." Vain repeated. "Which?"
"Scanning systems no older than forty years," the droid clarified. "Lacking fresher databases, I cannot provide precise data. However, per Anaxes War College requirements, systems update decennially."
The men exchanged glances.
"Thus, trap designed for ships commissioned before Empire's height," Irv realized. "Venators. Acclamators, Dreadnoughts... Even Victories—no longer 'modern.' Equipment at best decade-old. Recall modernization stopped around year ten of Imperial rule."
"Funny how it works," Vain smirked. "Remember the 'corporates'' signature—buying old junk in bulk."
"So trap crafted specifically for their fleet," Irv nodded. "Judging by one deployment—premature. But I suspect subsequent ones identical."
"Still a question," Yazuo persisted. "What exactly does Thrawn aim to achieve? Block 'corporate' fleet inside the sector, or prevent external aid?"
"I doubt we have the loyalty level for a truthful answer," Irv sighed. "Well... If Thrawn's target is the 'corporates,' no great worry. Our Colicoid Swarm matches most of their fleet's weight class."
"Would, if you'd scavenged more funds for upgrades," Aut-O's voice now grumbled.
"That's why I'm still single," Irv concluded. "Couldn't handle a second brain pilot."
***
As the hologram of the Shadow Guard—former Inquisitor Reynar Obscuro—formed, overcoming jamming from masking systems, our gazes met.
"Grand Admiral, your assignment is complete," he said.
"Excellent," I replied. "Thus, you know the timelines for the destroyers captured by the Alliance at Lantillies entering service?"
"Yes," the man answered. "In twelve days, they will be fully combat-ready, crewed, and prepared for deployment anywhere in the galaxy."
"Faster than expected," I noted.
"Work accelerated at the yards," Obscuro explained. "Restoration—not only these but all Alliance-delivered ships—proceeds twice as fast."
"Additional workers hired?"
"Yes. Along with heightened security requirements and inspections of every worker starting shift," the former Inquisitor said. "Hiring occurs under yards' security service oversight. Only locals with high social ratings accepted. Others screened as unreliable. But this doesn't deter applicants—higher pay plays its role."
"Understood," I leaned back in my chair. "Your information source reliable?"
"As reliable as a yard chief can be," a smirk appeared on Reynar's lips. "And he's as informed as he is fond of tipsy Twi'lek girls."
Well, the last phrase explained how Obscuro obtained the information.
"Return to Shadow Guard base," I ordered. "New assignment later."
"Yes, Grand Admiral," the man bowed, and his white-blue projection dissolved.
I turned to my adjutant, silently standing by my desk with a deck of operational summaries.
As proper, he had provided them, filtering routine reports to a dry extract of internal and external Dominion affairs.
Minor matters the Triumvirate could handle within competence.
"Heightened security at Lantillies is no coincidence," Grodin stated.
"Yes," I agreed. "The Alliance ramps up counter-agent efforts. The incident with their cruisers and our use of their starships to create tension in the Thanium Worlds played its part. The enemy learns from mistakes. Though draws erroneous conclusions."
Which undoubtedly benefits us.
I need a "buffer" for some time.
The Alliance—impossible to negotiate with—fits perfectly as a structure able to withstand tripartite pressure for months.
At least while they're hunting agents we never had at Lantillies, we needn't worry about interference in my dealings with the "Zann Consortium" or their gaining (or conquering) new sectors along the Parlemian Trade Route.
"Meanwhile, they intend to pit the Tion Hegemony against the Allied Tion," Tierce reminded.
"Correct," I agreed again. "Delusions lead to unpleasant consequences they'll soon face. The outcome won't please them."
"Yes, sir," Grodin Tierce replied, glancing at the deck to signal shifting to more critical reports. "Our scouts report movement of numerous unknown ships in northern Mieru'kar sector. Monitoring stations note engine signatures characteristic of Aggressor-class Star Destroyers and Vengeance-class frigates. The Zann Consortium continues its offensive."
"Is that so," I narrowed my eyes. "Interesting target priority."
"They ignored the obvious in Korva sector," Grodin said evenly. "Likely decided they distracted our central forces to borders. Observers noted transports escorted by warships. I presume second phase."
"Unlikely such idea drives them," I said thoughtfully. "No, a carefully calculated maneuver. They probed our perimeter without significant success. Now using the unknown northern Mieru'kar route to reach Tiragga. Via Galaanus, second strike."
"Attacking Tiragga could force us to withdraw perimeter forces inward," Tierce logically concluded.
"Indeed," I agreed. "It could. But formations remain in position. The enemy knows our secrets' locations, craves them, burns with desire to win..."
I cut off my own words unfinished.
Quite an interesting combination.
Double strike.
With all forces?
I had done everything for exactly that.
The question: how strong the second flotilla I intend to halt here?
Worth risking hypothetical breakthrough when another combination avoids risk?
Not simple in any unpleasant variant.
Whatever the Zann Consortium fleet heading my way, they'll thin "Perimeter" defense significantly here.
Reasonable to risk so, knowing possible multiple Palpatine agents in the organization?
Destroying the invasion fleet with the defensive line would severely deplete it.
Could the Emperor exploit this?
Given his ship quantity advantage—certain he would.
The question: are others ready for such a blow?
Hard to say.
For the deliberate trap was built on nothing and ill-suited for full-scale war there...
Recalling frontline formations wrong too—double strike might be mere distraction for breakthrough elsewhere.
Thus, manage with minimal forces.
Minimal quantitatively, not qualitatively.
Amusing...
Tschel suggested withdrawing the ship; I objected.
Now considering the same.
The young captain won't miss reminding me.
Well, I'll have a retort ready.
"Contact the defensive sector commandant," I ordered. "Order deactivation of the 'Perimeter' on our front section."
"It will be done, sir," Grodin Tierce said routinely. "Shall I inform Captain Tschel we're leaving the station?"
"No need to spoil the young officer's moment of glory," I smiled. "That he was right after all—I'll tell him personally."
"As you wish, Grand Admiral," Tierce saluted regulation-style and silently left my office.