The Hapes Sector, or, as the locals called it, the "Xappyh Sector"—which was more correct from a linguistic point of view—served as a gateway on the way to the Corporate Sector.
Pierced from the southern to the northern territories by the Hydian Way, this region of space, though it had official designations on the galaxy's astrogation charts, in fact held little interest for influential sentients.
Hence the incorrect pronunciation in everyday speech.
The Hapes Sector. Also known as the Xappyh Sector.
Having studied the intelligence reports, Grand Admiral Thrawn ordered an explanatory briefing for his subordinates.
And now the Empire's dismissive "Hapes Sector" was to be pushed out of common use, replaced by the euphonic-for-locals "Xappyh Sector."
A trifle, it seemed.
But such a reverent attitude toward proper linguistics was a rather important fact for the natives.
A show of attention to their principles was a guarantee that among the ordinary peoples the Dominion's arrival would be received a little more gently than it otherwise might have been.
However, Counter-Admiral Shohashi, watching the darkness of deep space silently part before the wedge-shaped bow of the fast Star Dreadnought, cared little about this.
The narrow, eight-kilometer-long dagger of the Scarlet Dawn aimed its hull at a distant astronomical object, located directly on the ship's course hundreds of light-years from the flagship of the Red Star task force.
Not a single inhabitant of the massive space station, which for thousands of years had served as a haven for local pirates, smugglers, and other unsavory types, had any idea what awaited them.
They were confident in their untouchability, in their security, in their invincibility.
Eric knew this as surely as he knew that in his dreadnought's hangar at that very moment Lady Ventress's ship was coming in to land, returning from her mission in the Chiloon Rift.
The Scarlet Dawn still had some time to travel before announcing itself.
Exactly as much as the other ships needed to reach their combat positions and begin the assault.
But the Red Star task force's flagship was more ready for war than ever.
"All systems have been brought to combat readiness," the central control post reported.
"Good," Eric replied phlegmatically, drumming his fingers on the knob of his cane. "See to it that the newly arrived ship is landed exclusively in bay seven, and that the decontamination fields are running at full power. To be sure of safety, keep them on the ship for five minutes before allowing them onto the landing deck. Inform Lady Ventress that I want to see her on the bridge as soon as she leaves her ship."
Because of the problems with the HoloNet, getting a full report from her in advance was an unaffordable luxury.
Eric had no doubt that those aboard were who they claimed to be—Ventress had already completed all checks on approach.
But confirming the necessary biological safety and absence of any threat to the crew was still required.
That is what the decontamination system was for: hard radiation would kill any pathogen of any disease.
Including the plague.
Fortunately, the sector relay was still operating.
Because it had to.
Long days of preparation for a full-scale offensive had resulted in what Shohashi currently possessed.
Dozens of task units were ready to strike the enemy forces in the sector simultaneously.
One blow—and the enemy was crushed.
Yes, he could afford such a "luxury."
The Red Star was one of the most fully staffed task forces in the regular fleet.
In both manpower and starships.
And the Xappyh Sector was precisely the place demanding the close attention of the "Butcher of Atoan."
This sector was important to the Dominion.
For several reasons at once.
The Xappyh Sector was not only the threshold of the Corporate Sector, but also a vast territory so little studied that only a dozen systems held any truly comprehensible interest.
The rest were either lifeless and depleted of resources, or simply uncharted.
But there was something special here.
Something that would grant the Dominion the right to even greater sovereignty on a galactic scale.
A source of fuel.
A system forgotten by time because it had lost most of its reserves.
But it had once again gained significance when hordes of Zann Consortium fighters invaded it.
With the same motives—they needed fuel.
As much as possible, given their ambitions.
It was no surprise they had moved an ancient space station into that system, turning it into their headquarters.
It was to that system that the Scarlet Dawn was currently moving at full combat readiness.
"Put me through to the battle group commanders," Eric ordered, tearing himself away from contemplating the serene blackness.
"Yes, sir."
Leaning on his cane, the Counter-Admiral made his way to the holographic projector, on which volumetric projections of human figures at a quarter of their real height had already appeared.
They were arranged in a semicircle above the projector's flat panel, like toy pieces in a holoshakk game.
But each such "piece" was the embodiment of the might and crushing power they held in their hands.
"Gentlemen, we begin," Shohashi announced, looking at the officers awaiting the signal.
Some of them were exact copies of one another.
Others were individuals.
The former were indifferently calm.
The latter did not even try to hide their excitement about the upcoming battle.
They had waited too long for the chance to move to full-scale operations.
Not raids.
Not ambushes.
Not interceptions.
His subordinates had awaited the opportunity to launch a full-scale offensive, spending days and nights over star charts seeking the most advantageous tactical solutions within their zones of responsibility.
Eric, as the Regulations prescribed, had only developed the general strategy for conquering the sector.
It was the sentients standing before him who were to implement that design with maximum effectiveness.
"Mark the start times," Eric said, looking at the man who commanded his former flagship. "Imperious. Begin."
Each system had its own borders and detection means.
Therefore the positions of the battle groups were at different distances from their objectives.
Accordingly, the hyperspace jump to the target would require different amounts of time from each ship.
"Yes, sir," the Star Destroyer commander answered in an everyday tone, and his hologram vanished.
A clone.
But an efficient, quick-witted, and talented one.
Eric had a fair idea of what was happening now.
The Imperious and its battle group had jumped to hyperspace, heading for the Kioloria system.
"Red Dragon," Eric looked at the previous battle group commander's twin. "Good hunting."
"Yes, sir."
That figure faded as well.
Accordingly, the Red Dragon had departed for the Cerilia system, taking with it—as any assaulting Star Destroyer did—several heavy cruisers, corvettes, and an Acclamator-class assault ship.
The latter, like any other assault landing ship attached to each battle group, was packed to the brim with armor and mercenaries from Cavill's Corsairs.
Because of a shortage of their own ground troops, they had to use private contractors.
Eric felt a certain distaste for them but had resigned himself to the necessity.
Circumstances outweighed his personal opinion.
"Thunder. Proceed."
"Understood, Scarlet Dawn," Captain Pril fired back with heat. "Thunder and Stalker are departing."
The only female Star Destroyer commander under his command also kept one of the most powerful Star Destroyers under her control.
But one of the slowest in hyperspace.
Its companion on this campaign was the Stalker.
The crews of both ships had regarded each other with, at best, strong dislike ever since they still served the Empire.
The peak of hostility had been reached by those ships' former captains.
But the Stalker had long since come under the command of a completely different man, and the portion of its crew that had agreed to serve the Dominion now consisted almost two-thirds of those who couldn't care less about the old feud between the two captains.
Eric couldn't have cared less about those squabbles.
The Stalker's commander and half of his crew were now clones who had no interest in maintaining an ancient argument over "which of the Stalker and Thunder captains is the more competent in military matters."
For Shohashi, the joint work of the Thunder and Stalker crews was determined by a single need: to bring the planet Nilgailon under control in the eponymous star system of the Xappyh Sector.
The planet was known in the sector for its dangerous sand mines, the main industry, which were worked and maintained by slaves and droids.
The Dominion did not like slavery and openly persecuted any of its forms, whatever "cultural and traditional foundations" might be invoked.
Slave owners generally did not live long enough to reach the field tribunals: they were destroyed on the spot.
And they themselves already understood perfectly well that talking was useless with Dominion forces.
Fighting them—even more so.
They would be destroyed in any case.
The Dominion was interested in Nilgailon's resources, which, despite decades of extraction, were still far from exhausted.
Eric was not even slightly bothered by the fact that the planet was under supposed Imperial control.
That could be said of nearly every sector near "the Corporates."
But the Dominion knew perfectly well that any "Imperials" heading such sectors were nothing more than puppets or willing criminal accomplices of the Zann Consortium.
Their fate was likewise sealed.
When Pril's hologram dissolved, Eric looked at the commander of the Black Star standing nearby.
"Captain Lennox—proceed," he ordered. "Tralphin must be taken within the specified time."
"Yes, Counter-Admiral," Xamuel nodded energetically, his motion synchronized with his reply. "I'll see to it in the best possible way."
From his appearance alone one could tell that the Black Star's commander was doing his best to keep himself within the Regulations, but impeccable manners could not conceal the enthusiasm with which he was participating in the fight with the Zann Consortium.
Lennox was one of the few (relative to the overall number of Star Destroyer commanders in the Naval Starfleet) Imperial officers who had gone over to the Dominion.
And among those who had, it was still a challenge to find a commander so talented and efficient.
No surprise that he had become a prime candidate for imminent promotion.
After this operation many of Eric's subordinates would head their own task forces, rising a step higher on the military ladder.
The holographic image blinked and vanished; the Black Star and its fleet had departed for the "paradise corner."
The planet Tralphin truly was a tropical world with marvelous resorts and the purest beaches.
It had long been used as a vacation spot for the wealthy from all over the northern galaxy.
Corporate Sector business elites, and the underworld kingpins standing behind them, had especially thrived there.
The Empire, as it had conquered sector after sector, had once not even considered it necessary to place a garrison on Tralphin—the local law enforcement had dealt with criminals harshly and efficiently enough.
Which, however, had not prevented Rebel Alliance agents from spending weekends there, sipping cocktails in local bars.
At present, the planet's law enforcement system was wrecked.
The resort areas had become entertainment zones for criminals, and the civilian population, after two failed attempts to rid themselves of the occupiers, had preferred to accept their fate as powerless servants.
In their view, becoming de facto slaves to criminals was much better than witnessing mass shootings after yet another failed liberation attempt.
Large Zann Consortium forces, both ground and space, were currently on the planet.
That was precisely why Eric had sent Lennox there along with elite mercenary forces from Atrisia.
The Rancor Battalion.
A recently formed, manned, and combat-hardened unit that had formerly been part of the Dominion's 501st Guard Assault Corps.
Now an autonomous armored unit under the command of Major General Maximilian Yurgan.
And today they would see their first baptism of fire as an independent unit.
Why it had been necessary to form a separate armored battalion, Eric did not understand.
But he knew the initiative had come directly from the commander of the 501st Legion, Major General Maximilian Cain.
Somehow Cain had managed to convince Grand Admiral Thrawn of the advisability of such a move…
As if they were trying to repeat the path of glory of the Imperial Hammers regiment.
"Arbiter, Tyrant, Tyranny, Titan, Killer—you are to depart for the Tanta Zilbra system."
"Understood," the four ship commanders, also clones, nodded in unison, and their holograms dissolved.
Five Star Destroyers to conquer a single, not particularly large star system?
Granted, the other "Imperial" battle groups had at most one or two pennants apiece, escorted by heavy cruisers.
But here they had five Star Destroyers plus appropriate escorts…
There were twenty Crusader-II-class corvettes alone.
Five Acclamators, loaded exclusively with Dominion stormtroopers.
Yes, staff rats would have said the forces were too great for taking a single system.
But Eric disagreed.
First and foremost because he knew the objective control data on the Tanta Zilbra system.
Three planets and an asteroid belt.
Already a reason to look more closely at the historical data.
Flandar was a barren chunk of rock.
But still—one that possessed an atmosphere.
And also—an underground enemy base.
Hordon Kael was a volcanic world whose surface was riddled with rivers of magma rich in resources.
Which were extracted by the Zann Consortium.
And then processed on Hordon Kael's only moon, turning refined ore into metallic products.
Armor, construction trusses, droid plating, tank hulls, gun barrels, missile and torpedo casings…
Which then went to strengthen the enemy's forces.
No wonder the Dominion intended to seize it all.
The Jontona asteroid belt in that system was also a source of minerals serving the enemy.
But the primary interest was the system's main planet.
Tanta Zilbra proper.
It was a desert world rich in various kinds of caves and possessing a Type I oxygen-rich atmosphere.
In other words, humanoids and particularly humans could exist there without respirators, masks, or other devices.
But the more interesting part was something else.
The Dominion had learned of the planet from the "Kraken File."
The list of threats that the New Republic was supposed to neutralize to ensure its security.
And it was quite an interesting case.
Two years earlier a smuggler named Tanta Zilbra had crash-landed on the planet and had been the first to discover that fungal growths with healing properties grew in the local caves.
After repairing his ship, Zilbra and his crew left Tanta Zilbra and began looking for a sponsor for this profitable business venture.
After a deal was made with the New Republic to supply Zilbra's harvested fungus to a range of selected biomedical institutions, Zilbra established an outpost on Tanta Zilbra and managed to turn a reasonable profit from the contract.
This information raised more questions than it answered.
Because the discoverers of worlds with valuable properties were not usually placed on enemy lists, even by Republicans.
But General Kraken had not been an idiot when he made that entry.
The fact was that the cause of Tanta Zibra and his crew's crash had been the smuggler's flight from a pursuer.
Which, according to Tanta himself, had been a certain individual with extensive underworld connections.
To their credit, General Kraken and his people had figured out who that being was.
Tyber Zann, for whom Tanta Zilbra had once worked, supplying him with weapons.
Kraken had found such coincidences suspicious but had turned up no hard evidence of Tanta Zilbra's criminal activity.
Given the well-known information about Zann's death, accusing Zilbra of past "sins" had not been in the Republic's interest.
And the New Republic's pharmaceutical lobby had brought it all to the point where the former smuggler had become a monopolist in the supply of medicinal compounds derived from the fungi.
The Dominion needed any and all sources of income.
And also—raw materials for its own pharmaceutical industry.
The presence in the Tanta Zilbra system of several dozen enemy starships—the Zann Consortium's—confirmed the suspicion that the talented smuggler had simply used the Republicans to set up a lucrative business.
And thus, at someone else's expense, organized the supply of valuable resources and the enrichment of the Zann Consortium.
Such a thing could not go unpunished.
After the end of this day, the Tanta Zilbra system would remain under the Dominion's protection and total control.
"Liquidator—attack the Stick system," Eric ordered.
"It will be done."
Another regulation answer from a clone commander.
The mutable world of Stick was known for the fact that its hostile, cratered, rocky surface with an unusually hot climate was home to a species that had one hundred eighty genders.
But aside from the gender chaos, the natives were also known for their nuclear and matter splitting technology and fast-developing computer industry.
They were potential suppliers of valuable equipment.
Especially as they were already doing so for the Zann Consortium.
The Soko Jarel system was not terribly attractive in terms of natural resources or inventive population.
It simply had rich deposits of precious materials and gemstones, the extraction of which was being carried out by Zann Consortium forces.
Naturally, given that auridium was the Dominion's standard "external currency," it would never pass up the chance to seize the planet.
And the Liquidator would do it.
The next name on the list was Dead Head.
Shohashi slid his gaze to the display of his personal datapad.
"Commodore Demmings, is your destroyer and crew ready to begin?" he asked.
This officer worried him more than any other.
"We are ready, Scarlet Dawn," the Commodore answered quietly. "We've been ready a long time. We've been waiting."
Quietly and somewhat too restrained…
The Counter-Admiral looked darkly at the Dead Head's commander.
There was no sense in expecting a good outcome from a long-range conversation, but even now the officer's expression was clear.
There was a detached and relentless determination in it.
"A war is on, Commodore," Eric said, staring intently at his subordinate. "And there is no place in it for personal revenge."
"I remember my duty, Admiral," Demmings replied tonelessly, looking away.
If Eric knew anything about psychology, that action evoked in him a burning desire to knock some sense into the man.
"Are you sure you properly understand what your duty is, Commodore?"
For a moment a flash of rage lit up Demmings's holographic face.
But the fire went out.
"Yes, sir. My duty consists in serving the Dominion, carrying out assigned tasks," Commodore Demmings forced out.
He had said exactly what Eric wanted to hear.
A report impeccable and strictly in line with the Regulations.
But at the same time not quite what the lover of strict rule-following could overlook in the Dead Head's commander's behavior.
"It's excellent that you remember that, Commodore," Eric said, adding a note of durasteel to his voice. "In other words, you are aware that your operation against Tiss'sharll consists first and foremost in capturing the planet, second—in capturing the ISD Vengeance under local pro-Zann forces' control, and only third—in committing forces to freeing your former crew from the tiss'shar race's prison camps?"
Eric could see clearly that Demmings still burned with a thirst for vengeance, with the desire to settle scores with the Zann Consortium for the blackmail they had played on him by threatening to execute his former subordinates.
According to intelligence before the HoloNet collapse, the tiss'shar had executed about a thousand of the Vengeance crew on orders from their Corporate Sector commanders.
Revenge for the fact that even though Demmings had fulfilled the terms of his deal with the Zann Consortium, the capture of Baroness D'Asta had still failed.
This had stirred a storm of indignation and seething fury in the Commodore.
If he were not reined in, he would order an orbital bombardment that would wipe the natives' cities off the map.
Not that he would have been wrong in making such a decision—Eric would have gladly bombed that vile species back to the stone age himself, returning their existence to an age of hunting and gathering with sharpened sticks.
However, such a display of emotional lack of restraint was unacceptable in a career officer.
One must not turn into an animal, however morally repugnant the enemy.
Nor may one destroy an entire species for what its leaders had done.
Of course, that applied only if the species did not wholly and completely wish to wipe out you, your army, your citizens, and your state.
In that context even the use of the Death Star was justified.
But Shohashi was not an advocate of planet-killing—the presence of mercenaries and clone stormtroopers always made it possible to capture, rather than burn, habitable worlds.
On the other hand, there was always the option of not taking enemy soldiers prisoner if they were ideologically set on destroying the Dominion.
Responses had to be calibrated according to the threat to the state.
The execution of a thousand Imperials who had not even tried to escape, no matter how close they had been as comrades, was not worth killing an entire world in turbolaser fire.
One could only hope Demmings understood that.
The clone of Major General Freja Covell leading Dead Head's ground contingent knew his business perfectly.
He could be relied upon.
But the Commodore himself…
The nod with which the Dead Head's commander confirmed the Counter-Admiral's words could almost be considered up to regulations.
"Yes, sir," his lips stretched into thin lines. "I am fully aware of the mission priority."
"And never forget it, Captain," Eric warned. "Be assured the tiss'shar, once captured, will pay in full for the deaths of your former comrades. But retribution will take place within the framework of the overall strategy and will not become an act of personal revenge."
One could see on Demmings's hologram how his hands clenched into fists and his jaw muscles twitched.
No, he still had not fully understood.
"And most definitely," Shohashi said in a silky tone, "no officer under my command will ever, under any circumstances, be found guilty of anything of the kind. I think I have made myself clear, Commodore. If you have any objections, speak now. Otherwise, you will be given your chance to express disagreement with my strategic vision only at a field court-martial."
Demmings pressed his lips so tightly they disappeared.
He was not as talented and intelligent as Pril or Lennox, but he was smart enough to understand the warning.
"Perfectly clear, Counter-Admiral," Demmings exhaled. "I will carry out the order precisely."
"Excellent," Eric drilled his subordinate with a piercing look for another moment, then nodded. "You have received the order to advance."
"Yes, sir. Dead Head commencing attack on the Tiss'sharll system. Out."
And so the list came to an end, and all the subordinates' holograms went dark.
Immediately afterwards, the readiness of the Scarlet Dawn's own strike groups was reported.
Eric let out a breath in secret.
From the outside it had always seemed as if Thrawn's ability to bend subordinates and enemies with words alone was a trifle.
Eric was hardly meek by nature either, but the more subordinates he had commanded, the more he had realized how much easier it was to work with clone subordinates.
They did not contest orders.
The lines in the Regulations and the legality of the order were fully sufficient for them to carry out whatever was required impeccably.
With "originals" it was always harder.
Demmings was a prime example.
He would either grow past his impulsiveness or become a serious problem for command.
"Sir," the watch officer addressed Eric. "We have just intercepted a distress call from the Kioloria and Cerilia systems."
Meaning the Imperious and Red Dragon had begun their attacks on schedule, minute-perfect.
"Has anyone responded?" Eric asked.
"Yes, we are registering a reply from the enemy's command center," the watch officer glanced through the main viewport as if pointing to the source of the second transmission. "Decryptors indicate that enemy command has dispatched two Interdictor IV-class frigates to each system."
No more than token forces.
Both destroyers would deal with them at once.
"A distress call has been received from Nilgailon," the watch officer reported as another message came in.
"Enemy reaction?"
Resource extraction must always be a priority for anyone building a war machine.
"Two groups of three Acclamator-class assault cruisers each have been dispatched."
Yes, Pril would have a hard time, but she would manage to capture such valuable starships.
The destroyer commanders knew which of the enemy's ships were to be reduced to scrap and which would be needed by the Dominion itself.
Undoubtedly the enemy had studied Dominion commanders' tactics.
Hemmed in by minefields in a single sector, with no way of breaking out without losing most of their fleet, they had gathered all their forces into one fist for the system's defense.
But they could not ignore attacks.
Otherwise they would be considered weak, and a broad popular uprising would be unsurprising.
"Tralphin reporting an attack…"
"Tiss'sharll requesting support…"
"The enemy is limiting itself to dispatching insignificant forces."
So the time had come.
"Inform the special forces that the relay can be 'shut down,'" Shohashi ordered, looking at the hologram of the enemy space station. "The sector must be in radio silence in five minutes."
"Yes, sir."
He had pulled as many forces as possible away from defending that object.
"A transmission to the Tanta Zilbra system has been detected," the communications officer reported. "It is a status request."
"Has a reply been received?"
"Yes, sir. Tanta Zilbra reports that no enemy ships have been detected," the communications officer replied quickly.
By the time they detected the arrival of a formation of five Star Destroyers with landing forces and escorts, calling for help would be entirely useless.
The space station in the Hapes, also known as the Xappyh, Sector
(headquarters of the local Zann Consortium forces)
Eric removed an archaic chronometer from his pocket.
The lid opened with a soft click.
His thumb habitually slid over the engraving of Iren Riade.
The Counter-Admiral checked the dial's readings.
Midnight was near, and another standard day would begin.
A nice start to a new day for the enemy.
Eric himself would not have been pleased by it.
Then he turned his gaze to the Scarlet Dawn's distant target.
It was that ship that would turn the simple "dawn" in the target system into a scarlet one.
"Ten more minutes, and I think we can move out. Have the Corkscrew move to the assigned position and bring its gravity shadow generators online. Calculate the jump along the vector we transmitted."
"I don't wish to be intrusive, Counter-Admiral," a voice sounded behind him, "but are you really going to neglect the United Ruurian Colonies with your task force's attention? Or have you decided not to apprise me of this operation either?"
His lips twisted into a thin line, distorted by a grin of anticipation of battle.
The Alderaanian turned, leaning on his cane.
At the sight of Lady Ventress, looking him straight in the eyes with a restrainedly mocking expression, he could not help but glance at the pair of MagnaGuards standing silently behind the commander of the Scarlet Dawn's ground forces.
"I take it your mission in the Chiloon Rift is complete?" he asked the Dathomiri witch.
"I suspect you are not going to tell me you didn't know that everyone at Moff Harsh's base died of the Direllian Plague?" she asked, coming closer.
"Thank you for allowing me to keep my thoughts to myself," Counter-Admiral Shohashi answered in high-society tones in the best traditions of Alderaanian aristocracy. "But I do not think it would be remiss to remind you that your orders were to plot a course along the galactic fringe, not to investigate a contaminated base."
The witch's face twisted with a spasm of irritation, and she moved toward him so fast that the electrostaffs of two more MagnaGuards, emerging from behind a partition near Eric, barely managed to stop her.
Ventress looked contemptuously at the mechanical bodyguards, then began drilling Eric with her gaze.
"You put us at risk," her voice dripped venom. "If the station hadn't been depressurized by the time we arrived, we'd have boarded and been infected!"
"Hardly," Shohashi cut her off sharply. "Before departure you were given the necessary vaccinations to avoid becoming infected or a carrier. Not to mention that there had been no need for you to appear on the station at all. So I considered the risk of infection or any danger to you minimal."
Understanding appeared on Asajj's face.
Yes, that same procedure she and her apprentice had undergone in the medbay while technicians suffused her ship's interior with Shiarhk-root vapors before departure.
The medicine had been procured months earlier through the smuggling network.
And that treatment, as well as the injections given to both Force-users, were nothing more than Shohashi's overcautiousness.
He had already had enough time to observe Ventress and had guessed that on seeing a dead base she would indulge her curiosity.
Which was exactly what had happened.
"Naturally," Ventress ground out between her teeth. "Don't bother with a little thing like warning me that something out there could turn me into a rotting sack of flesh and bones."
"Almost correct," Eric said. "Had you troubled yourself to follow your orders exactly, this conversation would never have happened. Your executor's excesses are your own problems. Do not blame me for the fact that your curiosity nearly got you killed. But doesn't the Force protect you from all possible misfortunes? If I recall, you got Brandei back on his feet with ease at our last meeting."
Ventress snorted and glanced at her apprentice.
"The Force's capabilities are not limitless," she snapped. "And yes, your little light show in the landing section is unnecessary—this filth dies without access to oxygen."
"Thank you, I am aware," Eric prodded.
He found it amusing to parry with Ventress like this, maintaining an outward air of complete composure.
Her face, contorted with anger, was quite a sight in and of itself.
At times even more attractive than her usual mask of indifference and contempt.
He wondered whether she'd caught on that his manner now was a mirror of her own past words and actions.
"Is that so?" Rage flashed in Ventress's eyes. "In that case, you might want to call a biohazard team aboard my ship. Because something very fascinating and instructive awaits you, Counter-Admiral."
"What have you done?" Shohashi asked.
"I have merely brought a survivor aboard your ship," Ventress now smiled with all the whiteness of her teeth.
A chill ran down Shohashi's spine, but his long association with Thrawn had borne fruit.
So apart from a painfully bitten lip, he showed no reaction to the witch's words.
"You are aware there are no survivors of that plague?" Eric asked coldly, issuing orders to dispatch a team of medics in biohazard suits to the docking bay.
With droid and armored stormtrooper support.
It would be a sight, to be sure.
"You and Grand Admiral Thrawn wanted to see how quickly the plague would wipe out Moff Harsh's forces," Ventress said condescendingly, her eyes burning with the dark fire of a professional avenger. "Well, here is proof that this biological weapon is not quite as effective. One of Moff Harsh's Inquisitors survived, healing herself with the Force. Don't worry, when we met we and Kyp were in spacesuits. And she was placed in a cryocapsule. Which, surprise, the base had in abundance. Hundreds of them. And a whole Imperial-class Star Destroyer piled high with rotting corpses. If I'm not mistaken, you don't have enough ships to assault Ruuria?"
"Ruuria and its colonies will be conquered when the time comes," Eric cut her off, knowing exactly what would follow.
Ventress smiled at him like an adult at a child.
"Sir," the watch officer's voice sounded. "The ship has been decontaminated. No plague pathogens were found. The cryocapsule with the woman has also been treated. We are ready to move her to the quarantine bay."
"Observe all precautions," the Counter-Admiral grumbled, looking the Dathomiri in the eye. "I will remember your little liberty, Lady Ventress. The Grand Admiral will be informed."
"Don't trouble yourself, Counter-Admiral," the witch chuckled with poisonous pleasure. "When the time comes I will personally answer for my actions at the late Moff's base. Including delivering a valuable asset into his hands. Inquisitors, especially those capable of healing, do not exactly grow on hyperlanes. Usually."
"Inquisitors in the Zann Consortium's ranks are potential spies and saboteurs," Shohashi declared. "They are a burden that could interfere with our plans. Including through Force communication."
Ventress watched his confusion and growing irritation with a delighted smile.
She seemed to revel in them.
Then she giggled.
"I seem to recall you have ysalamiri aboard your ship," she said, pointing at several nearby cages. "Which means her Force abilities can be suppressed. That makes her an ordinary sentient who possesses information about who sent her to Harsh, with what mission, and why she remained on the station all this time though she might have easily taken any shuttle and lost herself in the worlds of the Mieru'kar Sector. And then—one way or another—either gotten away or, on the contrary, operated in our rear."
"You assume she did it on purpose?" Eric heard his own voice.
"Of course," Ventress drawled lazily, watching the scene unfold behind the Counter-Admiral. "She somehow got rid of all the infected on the station, throwing them into space. Perhaps somewhere she herded them into a large group and then depressurized the station. There are so many ice-encrusted corpses around the asteroids that one could form several infantry regiments from them. Not to mention the fact that none of the infected used the Star Destroyer to escape. They are literally shoving the information in our faces that she supposedly wanted to help us."
"Perhaps that is indeed the case," Eric suggested.
"Don't be so naive, Counter-Admiral," Ventress threw back. "No one would ever have sent her into the Zann Consortium if they were not absolutely certain of her loyalty. She did this to win our trust. I'd bet that as soon as she is thawed, she will begin spouting speeches about wanting to join us and how she regrets not having done so earlier, how misguided she was, and so on."
"In other words, a planted Inquisitor."
"Naturally," Ventress smiled. "She was assigned to Harsh for a reason. Perhaps for surveillance, perhaps to be a weapon against the Dominion's Force-users. And when she realized the Moff's group was doomed, she did what was necessary for infiltration. So she must be interrogated, we must find out what she knows, and then we can throw her out the airlock."
There was logic in Ventress's words.
But what mattered most now was something else.
The witch was right—for taking Ruuria and the other colonies, Eric lacked ships.
Because the United Ruurian Colonies, the government of the planet Ruuria, possessed a massive population of insectoids—from five hundred million to a billion—who, contrary to the usual view of that type of sentient, were in essence pliant and obedient to their masters, the Zann Consortium.
Conquering them with the Red Star's current resources would not be easy.
At least not for the Red Star alone.
Which was why Eric had chosen to leave the Ruurrians "for dessert."
First and foremost he was concerned with the armed forces and extractive, industrial enterprises serving to maintain the criminals' military presence.
"Sir," the watch officer's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "The Corkscrew has emerged from hyperspace. Gravity wells are online. Vectors have been transmitted. Navigators have plotted the course."
"Jump," Eric commanded.
In the next second, the Scarlet Dawn punched a hole in space-time and departed to meet the enemy fleet and space station.
At Shohashi's signal the MagnaGuards stopped restraining Lady Ventress, and he gestured, inviting her and her apprentice to the main viewport.
"We are about to fight on the station's territory," he said, glancing sideways at the witch. "Are you and your apprentice ready to join the stormtroopers?"
A snort sounded from the Dathomiri's side.
"I presume you have already developed an assault plan for the object," she said. "So I do not think my leadership there will be necessary. Given the opportunity, I would rather act independently with the brat," she nodded at the young man, who pressed his lips together angrily, "he's a lousy pilot, hasn't assembled his own saber, but at least he shoots decently. I suppose we will land and have some fun as well. Naturally," she flashed a mockingly charming smile, "if you do not oppose it, Counter-Admiral."
"'Fun' is not needed there," Eric warned. "We are attacking a space station trapped in an asteroid belt. Every rock in this system is saturated with volatile and explosive fuels suitable for ion drives."
"Oh, so we're fighting for our fleet's gas," Ventress chuckled. "Stormtroopers dying for fuel."
Judging by Durron's smirk, he enjoyed the joke.
Eric did not share their sense of humor.
At the moment this asteroid belt was the only accessible, free source of fuel for the Dominion, for which it did not have to pay outrageous prices on the black market.
And unlike the refineries on gas giant orbits, extraction in an asteroid belt was less difficult and costly.
Once upon a time, fuel from this system had been extracted and shipped to Telos IV during its restoration in one of the ancient internal Jedi wars.
At some point, a collapse had occurred in the system, and most of the fuel-rich asteroids and part of the ruined planet had been destroyed, blowing all mining infrastructure to elementary particles.
As a result, the system had been abandoned because it no longer interested investors—there was no point in sinking new billions into constructing fuel-mining facilities.
A few hundred years after the explosive destruction of the mines, the system had become a haven for smugglers, and they had established a small fuel depot there for their own needs.
At present, in addition to the still impressive asteroid belt, the system also contained the enemy's headquarters station.
And a lifeless planet from which, in an even earlier crisis, a chunk had been torn, exposing its molten core and turning the ejected world fragments into that selfsame fuel-rich asteroid field.
The system's history was not as spectacular as that of worlds in other parts of the galaxy.
Just two explosions: one that had made it a famed fuel supplier, and one that had ended interest in it—those were its only bright moments.
The Scarlet Dawn dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of the asteroid belt, so dense that it was simply dangerous to fly large ships into it.
Despite a cleared and sufficiently wide channel leading into the belt's depths, in a pocket of free space, the enemy forces were assembled.
The fast dreadnought came to a halt fifty units from the mouth of the channel, next to the Corkscrew.
One of the first Dominator-class Star Destroyers.
A former Imperial, assembled from scrap on Raxus Prime by Separatist remnants and captured last year by Captain Stormaer.
And now—refitted under Project Three, having received gravity field generators.
Both ships, having launched their fighters, did not hurry to enter the channel, preferring to "size up" the dozen Acclamator-class assault cruisers hanging directly ahead of them, one hundred fifty units further in.
Eric gauged the channel's width: one hundred ten units.
The enemy had skillfully used the advantage of the asteroid belt, making it just long enough that it was impossible to attack with modern energy weapons, whose maximum range was seventy-five standard units.
The width, too, was no accident—by moving strictly down the center, one could avoid the blast wave if the blockers on the flanks were detonated.
To attack them, the Dominion would have to enter the channel at least far enough to come into firing range.
The enemy could easily open fire on the asteroids on the channel's edges, with irreparable consequences.
For everyone.
So no one was rushing to fire.
Each Hutt-thick chunk of rock was a time bomb that would detonate as soon as even one was blown.
The chain reaction would destroy everything else.
The asteroids.
The mining stations.
The Dominion ships.
But not the enemy starships.
Nor the massive wheel-like headquarters of the local Zann Consortium forces.
Which had prudently placed itself in the pocket of free space inside the asteroid belt such that there was a fifty-unit safe distance from the nearest rock to the outermost pirate ship.
On every side.
A safe harbor inside the Sarlacc's maw.
"Open a channel," Eric ordered.
Once confirmation of signal reception had been received, he spoke to the criminals:
"This is the fast Star Dreadnought of the Dominion regular fleet Scarlet Dawn," Eric introduced his forces. "I offer you the chance to lay down your arms and accept prize crews aboard to avoid needless bloodshed. Your systems in this and the neighboring sectors are under attack and will be taken. You have nowhere to retreat. I promise you a fair trial and just punishment for your crimes."
There was no need to add that they all faced either life in labor camps, death, or "a ticket to Kessel."
"Listen up, 'Butcher of Atoan,'" came the audio reply, presumably from the fleet's commander. "I'd rather eat my own tail than surrender to you. You come any closer and I'll fry you. These rocks have enough fuel in 'em to power thousands of ships for decades. It'll be one hell of a bang. And I don't care where or when I die."
"As you wish," Eric said indifferently, cutting the channel.
Well, he had given them a chance.
And had received his answer.
Turning to the watch officer, he ordered:
"Dispatch the Scimitars. Let them eliminate any possibility of the enemy blowing the asteroid field."
Direct line of sight and the channel's cleared space were a perfect opportunity for high-speed bombers to strike.
And blast to the Hutt everything—the ships, all laser and turbolaser emplacements, launchers…
They would cross the channel unseen, destroy the enemy's forces, and allow transports with landing troops to approach and board the station with little trouble.
"Neatly done, Counter-Admiral," Ventress chuckled. "Turning their own defense against them…"
Eric remained silent, only nodding in thanks for the genuine, non-sarcastic compliment.
He watched the first Scimitars leap forward.
The battle for the Peragus system had begun.
***
Well…
Another "dot" had been placed in the conflict with the enemy.
"It's over, sir," Captain Pellaeon commented.
Though he needn't have.
He was watching, with me, through the main viewport as the burnt and shattered hulls of enemy ships drifted past.
A giant heap of scrap metal in which dozens and hundreds of sentient lives were buried.
"Your summary, Captain," I requested. "General."
"With the Venators we captured four MC80 Home One-type Star Cruisers without damage, six MC80b Star Cruisers, and an MC90 battlecruiser," Pellaeon rattled off. "The pirate starships, as well as both fleets' starfighters, are completely destroyed. The remaining twenty MC80b Star Cruisers have engine and deflector damage. At present we are conducting sweeps…"
Yes, we are…
But we have losses as well.
One Venator had its main battery and reactor damaged, the second—its engines destroyed.
The Quasar Fires had not exactly covered themselves in glory in the battle either.
The Star Destroyers had taken damage, but it did not seriously affect their combat capacity.
We had held Kessel.
We had taken tremendous spoils.
Thirty-one Mon Calamari starships…
No joke.
An armada capable of making a lot of noise.
But for now—it would not.
"See to it that all Republican prisoners are delivered to the Guardian's main hold," I ordered.
"There will be a mix of those captured in the fight with General Solo's forces and the new prisoners," the Guardian's commander warned.
"All the better," I replied simply.
"Sir, that is a large mass of sentients," Pellaeon went on didactically. "Two hundred thousand prisoners in the first battle, and around a hundred and fifty thousand in this one… There are more prisoners aboard than crew!"
Yes, after the refit there were fewer "folk" on the Guardian.
But the prisoners were hardly at liberty.
They were not "dear guests."
The one consolation—the Alliance fighters, after an hour of waiting in space without functioning systems, no longer offered serious resistance to our assault groups.
They had come to understand that captivity and its consequences were preferable to suffocating to death in a slowly cooling metal box.
"Do not worry yourself, Captain," I advised. "Their number will soon be reduced. Significantly."
"Yes, sir. Your orders?"
"Contact Commodore Brandei. Inform him that we and our prizes will be arriving in the Kartakk system shortly."
After all, twenty ships had been taken from them and transferred to the New Republic for the operation to capture the Reaper and its forces.
That gap had to be filled.
"Sir, do you intend to turn this fleet over to the Kartakk Defense Forces?" Pellaeon asked, looking at me.
Clearly, our trains of thought had been similar.
Our final conclusions, however, were opposite.
"Incorrect, Captain," I contradicted. "The Dominion no longer needs just any ships to build up its forces. We have the types of starships we require—for both the Defense Forces and the regular fleet. I have another use in mind for all Mon Calamari-designed ships we own, except the Home One-types. But first they must be properly refitted and prepared for the last battle of their existence."