Ten years, third month, and fifteenth day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, third month, and fifteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and thirty-fifth day since arrival).
The prison uniform had a dark gray shade.
No rank insignia, no identification marks.
Except for a serial number on the chest, back, and sleeves.
If one applies enough imagination, replaces the number on the chest with a command bar, the sleeves with chevrons, and simply ignores the back, one might think that "arrested Bren" is wearing a flight suit.
Alex chewed his lips, watching as the stormtroopers seated Tomax across from him.
A couple of seconds—and a thin but strong chain was threaded through a metal bracket on Bren's side.
Exactly long enough so that he, even if he had the desire, could not stand up and harm the visitor.
Exactly the same were placed on his legs.
And also chained to a bracket, but to the one mounted in the floor.
"Cold, are you?" Tomax asked him instead of a greeting.
Alex began to shake from rage and bewilderment as soon as he saw the shackles on the flight commander's hands and legs.
What is this even?!
Yes, arrested persons are escorted in shackles, that is a general rule, but for Hutt's sake!
This isn't some corpse-eating maniac!
Not a serial killer!
But a renowned hero of the Dominion, who ended up here because of two clever-clogs sentients because of whom a good person died!
You can't do that, can you?!
What danger to others, himself, or the institution—the place of detention—does he represent?
"It's not exactly a resort here," the visitor joked weakly.
"And they feed a bit worse than on a Star Destroyer," Tomax huffed.
Judging by the way he carries himself—not a hint of panic, brokenness, or anything of the sort.
"How are you anyway?" Alex asked.
"Unusual without alerts," Tomax admitted. "And without company it's kind of boring, I guess…"
"What?!" Alex was taken aback. "Hey, I'm going to talk to the local management now. I killed a heap of time studying detention conditions and departmental orders! They have no right to keep you in solitary! This is psychological pressure and all that."
Tomax looked at his friend for some time, after which he frankly guffawed.
Sonorous, a bit nervous, leaning back against the chair's back, head tilted back.
The squadron commander's laughter echoed through the visit room for pretrial detainees.
A couple of seconds later the door burst open with a crash and three stormtroopers clad in white-and-black armor appeared on the threshold.
The color even made his eyes swim a bit.
"What is happening here?" a dry, emotionless question came, issuing from the stormtrooper in the center.
"Sorry, sergeant," Tomax raised one hand while still chuckling. "My flight mechanic just said a funny thing…"
"What's funny about him being held in solitary?" Alex narrowed his brows, reproachfully poking a finger at the stormtrooper sergeant. "Tell your command that I won't just leave it at this! If needed, I'll go to the counter-intelligence leadership! To Vice Admiral Pellaeon! To Thrawn himself, finally, if needed! You treat him like a hardened criminal…"
"Sir," the stormtrooper, though clad in armor under which his eyes weren't visible, seemed to look with reproach. "I cannot place him in a cell with any other pretrial detainee."
"And why not?! This is a military pretrial detention center! He is a military man just the same. Just the same as they are…"
The stormtroopers looked at each other as if they didn't know what to say in response to the fairly strong motivation.
But, it seems, the sergeant was not a completely regulatory bastard after all and decided to be a bit softer with the visitor.
"Yes, sir. Exactly because of that."
Alex realized he didn't realize something.
Which he admitted.
"Sir, I am not authorized to give extensive explanations," a heavy sigh came from under the sergeant's helmet. "Just behave more quietly. We have other visitors too. Do not violate the institution's regime. This is the first and last warning. Upon a repeat violation, I am authorized to terminate the visit and hold the culprit responsible."
With those words the door closed.
For a moment the observation slit slid aside, in which the stormtrooper's visor appeared.
But it too was removed a second later. And the metal plate stood in its proper place.
"What a goat!" Alex uttered quietly, turning to his friend.
Tomax looked at him disapprovingly.
"Don't do that," he asked. "The guys are performing duty. No need to interfere with them—they have their work and delivering problems is not in my plans."
"But he just directly said he doesn't want to put you in a cell with other detainees because you are all military… but this is a detention center for military personnel?! Where else to put you…"
"You misunderstood him," Tomax smirked.
"What do you mean?.."
"The key in his answer was the reprise to your 'he is just the same as they are'," Tomax explained. "The others being held in the detention center—are the pilot whose face I struck and his flight mechanic."
"Oh my…" was all Alex could manage. "There are cells for some fifteen hundred detainees here…"
"And only three in stock," Tomax gave a crooked smirk. "And, if you read the rules, and, by the look of it, you did, then you should know that participants in one case are not placed in one cell. And not even sent to one prison. Well, so they don't settle scores with each other or something…"
"Wait, and where are all the other detainees?!" Alex wondered. "Well, the other fourteen hundred and ninety-seven…"
"There are none," Tomax huffed. "Only us, three idiots… The others would be smarter."
"You're not joking, are you?" Alex didn't believe it.
"Absolutely," Tomax nodded. "Perhaps we have discipline all right in the Armed Forces and it's just me being such an individual who started swinging fists. Perhaps the culprits just don't live to meet counter-intelligence. Maybe they are held in other detention centers, smaller or larger, in other sectors and so on… I don't know, in short. They don't report to me."
"H-m," Alex scratched his head. "By the way, did you get the package from our guys? We chipped in…"
"Package?" Tomax squinted. "Have you gone completely rogue? That's a three-ton container! The detention center head spent half an hour chewing my ear on the theme that my friends are good, but idiots. Did you decide to provide me with everything needed until the sentence and a little bit later?"
"Well we kind of remembered that we have a salary, credits arrive," Alex faltered. "The squadron sat, thought… Then the interceptors joined in with their advice… Stormtroopers… Technicians… Well, in short, thought nothing would be superfluous… Captain Tschel arranged with someone from logistics, they delivered with our shuttle… We're undergoing a full modernization. That mad chief engineer is running around the ship, correcting blueprints on the fly. We have some new technologies appearing. New reactors are being installed, more compact hyperdrives… It looks like the Chimaera will become not just a 'three,' but a 'three with a surprise'."
Tomax laughed soundlessly.
"Lively at your place," he uttered. "And how is the situation on the front generally?"
"Fighting," Alex spread his hands. "We, though, are mostly in training battles. Training with the reinforcement. Tschel drives the crew as if Sith were chasing us… By the way, did you hear that Captain Asturias died?"
"The one from the Assault Hawk?" Tomax clarified.
"Uh-huh," Alex nodded. "The Star Destroyer was dragged to Tangrene. Well, how dragged… It came on the auxiliary hyperdrive. The superstructure was sheared off as if by a lightsaber, the hull is deformed, the structural frame is damaged. But, it made it on its own. Spoke with their pilots, they say an ambush was arranged, and the enemy caught them during the approach. Six proton torpedoes almost at point-blank range."
"Your…" Tomax shook his head. "Many dead?"
"Almost the entire officer staff, a third of the crew. It looks like our people, who will be taken off the crew during modernization, will be redirected to them for replenishment. Or somewhere else. In the current campaign quite a few Star Destroyers have suffered—some heavily, some not so much. On new territories, they say, heavy cruisers and corvettes are operating now, mopping up the remains, and the Star Destroyers with serious damage have been sent to bases. The rest have been sent as stationaries through new systems. Mercenaries from Axila, also say, nearly one and a half million died. A rumor went that the Grand Admiral returned from the raid and all commanders of strike units were summoned to headquarters to report on the situation. It looks like they plan to modernize all Star Destroyers currently under repair to 'threes' right away. Well, according to the modified project with new technologies. They will be supplied to us, again according to rumors, by some new members of the Dominion. So, apparently, while you're idling here, our war machine is little by little becoming self-sufficient."
"Good news," Tomax nodded. "Pity I'm not with you."
"That's for sure," Alex sighed.
"Who is the squadron commander?"
"Your clone," the flight mechanic looked aside. "A terrible blockhead. All I hear is: 'On combat,' 'Burst,' 'Evasion,' 'Maneuvering'… Sometimes it chills me to the bone. Like I'm talking to a droid."
"That is called—a normal working atmosphere," Tomax huffed. "In the Pilot Corps, if you've forgotten, long speeches and ambiguous orders during task execution are not welcomed."
"It didn't stop you," Alex grumbled.
"Because you like to talk, for Hutt's sake," Tomax smirked.
The flight mechanic sniffed.
"All this talk is beating around the bush," he uttered. "We chipped in with the guys here to hire a lawyer for you…"
"But I have one," Tomax raised his eyebrows. "State-appointed for the duration of the investigation. Though the fact that all circumstances are being established before trial, and not during the tribunal, honestly, is slightly unsettling…"
"I bet," Alex winced. "The new justice system… First a preliminary investigation, with the establishment of all possible facts, conducting maximum actions to obtain an objective picture, and only then it's passed to the judicial authorities…"
"Where everything starts anew," Tomax grimaced. "The same interrogations, the same comparisons of testimonies and assessment of evidence… It's all so long."
"Well, you know," Alex flared up. "Much better than it was under the Empire and is now in the New Republic. When five or ten papers from a detective are enough and that's it, they sent the folder to court, where it's all studied by the court, the prosecutor, and the defense… No thanks, better 'twice the same thing' than like before."
"Hard to say… The outcome is clear anyway."
"That's why we hired you a lawyer!" Alex spoke hotly. "For his own credits he'll eat the investigator and the tribunal alive! He'll turn any trifles or investigation blunders inside out…"
"And what's the point?"
"Procedural violations allow 'knocking' evidence out of the general structure! And when there isn't enough of it, they can't convict you either! They'll let you free…"
"Will it change what happened?" Tomax clarified. "Will it return Jainer? Will it change the system by which bonuses are calculated for prizes, and former 'militia' fly to earn a bit extra? Or will it return me to the past and the fact of 'hazing' won't have occurred? No. It's one thing to be acquitted because you didn't do something. And quite another—not to receive a deserved punishment only because someone made a mistake in drafting a document. It won't fix the situation."
"At least you won't pay because of those two as—"
"The punishment—is not for what they committed," Tomax cut him off. "But for my actions. It's in my case that they are the victims. But there is also another one—on the fact of Jainer's death due to their actions. And compared to what threatens me—their fate is unenviable. At all."
"I don't understand it," Alex admitted. "Well yeah, you hit them… But there was a reason! Because of them the Chimaera almost perished! If not for Jainer…"
"You're wrong there, Alex," Tomax stated warningly. "The army, the fleet, the Armed Forces as a whole—is primarily discipline. Imagine what it would be if I, during the assembly of the Scimitar prototype, instead of making remarks, broke your face every time?"
"Well, I think at minimum you wouldn't have been lucky enough not to run into a 'response'," Alex huffed.
Then, turning serious, he added:
"Yes I understand what you're talking about. The Armed Forces, like the state apparatus—is a system. A system is built on order. There will be no order—the system will break. The army breaks—there will be no one to protect the Dominion. Anarchy, arbitrariness and so on…"
"The rules were invented for a reason," Tomax sighed. "The Dominion in this regard is more loyal than the Empire. For it there are 'mitigating' and also 'aggravating' circumstances. In the Empire it was simpler. They'd just have shot me behind the backstop as a lesson to the rest. But this way…"
"Judging by the fact they haven't let you go, I think they want to make an example of you," Alex sighed. "That very—instructive one. So no one else snaps at subordinates."
"The army—is a system of rewards and punishments," Torin tried to spread his hands, but the chains didn't allow it. "I know that perfectly well. And, truth be told, perfectly well understood what would happen. Но, had I seen clones in place of those two idiots, then nothing would have happened. I would have understood they did the maximum possible, because clones—are diligent and unquestioningly effective. But these ones… You know, if you abstract from my personality and look at the situation as a whole, it becomes clear that everything is being done correctly. Everyone in the army—both clone and original, and former 'militia'—must understand: we fight not to enrich ourselves. But to win. For the sake of the state, not personal benefit. Perhaps the coverage of this situation will become a lesson for many such 'militia' members, and they will submit reports for discharge. Or they will understand and accept, serve as they should, not as they want. They'll just figure with their brains that cunning for the sake of enrichment isn't worth the lives of combat comrades."
"I doubt ones like those two understand that clones are people too, citizens too, and their lives are just as important," Alex grumbled.
"It's psychology," Tomax tapped a finger on his temple. "It's hard for sentients to admit the fact that those who came out of a test tube—are just the same as those born naturally. For they can always create new ones, but to return the fallen 'originals' to life… In general, this is the philosophy of war. I think my example will give a push to understanding the boundary between…"
The entrance door crashed—completely unexpectedly for both.
Alex frowned—he still had no less than two hours for the visit before Tomax was led away for lunch.
They cannot be interrupted as long as order is not violated.
"What the Hutt are these stormtroopers allowing themselves," Alex threw out irritably, turning to face the door.
"…And what if not signed up?" a tall, strongly built man was raging, looking at the previous sergeant.
"Not allowed, lieutenant colonel…" he babbled monotonously. "He has a visit in progress. Not allowed to interrupt…"
"Well then sign me up on his visitor list," the man in a uniform cut him off, which Alex could in no way discern because of the corridor's gloom. "I won't distract them for long. Already settled everything with your boss. I'll put my identifier at the exit. That's all, dismissed!"
"Yes sir!"
Stepping inside the cell and entering the zone with good lighting, the lieutenant colonel waited until the heavy door slammed behind him, after which he grimaced, seeing how Alex jumped from his place.
Stretching to attention, the flight mechanic looked straight before him in a regulatory manner.
Tomax, despite the chains hampering his movement, tried to repeat the regulatory position…
But because of the short "free play" of the shackle chains, could in no way straighten up.
"Lieutenant colonel!"
"Lieutenant colonel!"
The counter-intelligence officer, having looked at both with a slightly twitching gaze, waved a hand crossly.
"Sit. Both of you!" he raised his voice when he realized the pilots were not reacting fast enough to his order. "What, not so operational in gravity conditions as in a Scimitar cockpit, eh, flyboys?"
Alex and Tomax looked at each other, completely not understanding why the Dominion counter-intelligence chief was conducting a conversation with them in such a key.
And what he was doing in a pretrial detention center at all.
"One day," Astarion sighed, "one day I will have a full staff of competent employees. And I will be able to sit in an office and grow a backside, run to fat, lay my cheeks on my shoulders, and generally be a tyrant. Но, it looks like I'll retire sooner."
The man, without extra words, began scrolling through something on a deck brought with him, after which he carelessly tossed it on the table before Tomax.
"Read," he uttered in a commanding tone.
"Sir?" the arrested man was taken aback.
"And at the controls he's a bit faster, eh?" the counter-intelligence officer huffed, removing his uniform cap and wiping sweat from his forehead with his palm. "Oh, flyboy, you really made a mess… May you have reactor heat dissipation from the reactor on your bomber go straight under the seat of your pilot chair until retirement!"
"Sir?" Tomax looked at him in surprise.
"Don't 'sir' me here," the chief counter-intelligence officer of the Dominion looked at him sternly. "Learned to fly, learned to bomb, look, even came up with a bomber between the two of you, you Hutt-blasted DIYers, but writing incident reports correctly, no?"
"Um…"
Judging by the surprise on Tomax's face, he was in clear shock.
It isn't that often that the absolute head of "security" visits a rank-and-file wing commander accused of using violence against a subordinate and held in a pretrial detention center.
At that, doing it PERSONALLY!
"So, Bren," the counter-intelligence officer returned the cap to its proper place. "You made a mess, that can't be taken away or put anywhere. The pilot 'offended' by you has no complaints, it had no significant consequences for him. Face is whole, brains are in place—at least so says the medical droid. Your self-will brought no grave consequences. But at the same time the order of relationship between subordinate and commander was violated. And that is not a crime—a disciplinary offense. And that is no longer a criminal prosecution, but a disciplinary one, a review within the framework of official subordination. The costs for treating that idiot will be deducted from your salary account—and there is nothing even to discuss here, you object—I'll break your face myself. And it's no joke…"
"I don't object," Tomax said, bewildered. "Is that… it? The whole punishment for me violating the foundations of official relationship, the foundation of discipline?"
"Yeah, in your dreams," Astarion huffed. "Incomplete professional suitability—that's one. One more 'slip'—and you'll fly out of service with a kick in the ass. And not just you. You are transferred for the duration of the penalty's effect under the supervision of the Chimaera's commander—Captain Tschel. One more 'slip,' even the slightest—and a kick in the ass. Full deprival of bonuses for the duration of the penalty's effect and for a certain period after it. You are removed from wing command. You remain commanding the Scimitar squadron. Но, if one more 'slip'…"
"A kick in the ass, we've already heard that," Alex said distractedly.
"And you should shut up altogether, flight mechanic," Astarion got angry. "Half-baked lawyer… What, in your opinion, I have plenty of time and nothing to spend it on besides reading your individual and collective complaints from the squadron, the wing, the Chimaera crew, the Vice Admiral himself?"
"Complaint on behalf of the crew?" Tomax looked at his flight mechanic in surprise.
"And he didn't tell you?" Astarion wondered. "Every, mother of him, every Hutt-blasted day a complaint written by him fell on my table! And signed—either by himself or by the collective… I don't know how you talked Captain Tschel into signing ten at once, but the fact that Pellaeon sent me a courier in the morning with a request to personally look into what's happening with Bren… Here I had to set everything aside, read the riot act to the deputies like schoolboys right in the office and demand the investigator along with the case to me for a report. In short, only thanks to your services to the Dominion for creating the Scimitar, the fact that you are a donor for bomber pilots, have sat Hutt knows how long in the detention center already, and also the situation itself doesn't pull for criminal prosecution, consider you got off cheap. Reduction in position, in rank, the ship 'security' won't get off you in the near future—for sure. And remember, Captain, if you pull something like that again—then not only will you yourself receive according to the full severity of the law, but also those who took you on bail. And that is nearly the entire crew of the Chimaera, starting from your flight mechanic, ending with the ship commander! Hope you understand how serious everything is?"
"Sir, permission to speak, but I do not agree that so many sentients depend on my behavior!" Tomax was outraged. "After all I violated the foundations! For that a severe punishment is due, like in the Empire!"
"You didn't even understand, did you, Captain, what a stupidity you committed?" Astarion looked at him condescendingly.
"No, sir," Tomax admitted.
"I thought so," Astarion huffed. "Oh, flyboys… Learn to read at least some books besides your flight operation manuals or what else you have there instead of primers. Mechanic," he looked at Alex, "know why your commander sat in the detention center for so long?"
"For the crime committed…"
"Uh-huh," Astarion sighed doomfully. "It is a crime when there are consequences. My investigator killed a heap of time trying to find out who of the Chimaera crew saw the fact of violation and use of physical force, which could become a basis for the presence of consequences in the form of violation of authority, deleterious influence on military personnel and so on. Except for the four of you—not a single one saw it. So, collectively write non-disclosure agreements for what happened and so that you don't tell a single sentient outside the disciplinary proceedings! Is that clear?!"
"Yes, sir," Alex barked.
"Sir, but the entire crew knows…"
Astarion looked at the arrested man like an idiot.
"Analogous non-disclosures were taken from all of them when they were interrogated," the lieutenant colonel explained. "Anyway, the case will be transferred to disciplinary proceedings on board the Chimaera. Your things are already being gathered, Captain, you'll be released as they prepare all necessary documents. And if one more time," a threat sounded in Astarion's voice, "you write in your report that you committed a crime, insist on it during interrogations, because of which my guys have to work out not only the 'victim' side's versions, but yours too, to prove the fact of absence of a crime, I will personally do everything so that until the end of your days you pilot nothing capable of rising into the air. Understand me, Captain?!"
"Yes, sir," Tomax barked.
"Wait a minute," Alex scratched the back of his head. "So he sat here all this time because he insisted that he committed a crime?"
"By Imperial laws yes, it would be a crime," Astarion confirmed. "In the Dominion it is a disciplinary offense. Quite a serious one—people are usually kicked out for such."
"And were there such cases already?" Tomax wondered.
"Think you're the first to break a former 'militia' member's nose?" Astarion huffed. "Well no, not the first. And not even tenth or hundredth. Pellaeon's and my shortcoming was that we kept these facts quiet. Well now rejoice, Captain. Thanks to your case, 'security' will also conduct legal enlightenment for military personnel. And clearly, with eating of brains, they'll convey to each what should and shouldn't be done. Since you lack the brains yourself to study Dominion law, they'll explain what's what in the state and beyond its borders."
"So, in fact he wouldn't even have been convicted?" Pursing his lips, Alex looked at Tomax barely restraining himself from rage. "So, he hung around here for so long because of his stubbornness?!"
"Because of his stubbornness and the position 'I committed a crime'," Astarion explained. "Don't boil over, flight mechanic. I'd have gladly put him through all the moral 'to the full severity' myself, but I've spoken my mind, I feel better…"
"Sir, in my defense I must say that I believed Dominion and Imperial criminal laws to be identical until now," Tomax shifted on the chair. "And assessed my actions as a crime…"
"By and large, the problem is solved," Colonel Astarion announced. "Put a handprint on the document, Bren, that you've been notified of the change in the proceedings' status from criminal to disciplinary. And gather your things—get out of my institution. And no more 'slips.' Or else…"
"A kick in the ass," Tomax repeated. "I understand, sir."
Running his eyes over what was written on the deck screen, the officer applied his palm to the screen.
The smart device read the palm and finger prints, checked it against the database and issued a confirmation.
That's it, the worst part was over.
Looking at his by no means friendly-minded flight mechanic, the high-speed bomber pilot inquired:
"Sir, permission to remain in the detention center until my comrades change their minds about dealing with me in the most sophisticated way they are capable of?" he asked.
Astarion's nostrils flared like a hawk-bat's wings.
"GET OU-U-U-U-T!"
***
In the tactical hall of the Scarlet Dawn it was quiet and empty.
Erik had sent the officers out of the compartment by order.
Much needed thinking about.
In particular—about what information would be delivered to him regarding the operation in other sectors.
"Messenger ships from secondary systems have arrived," Rear Admiral Shohashi raised his eyes to Lady Assage approaching the tactical holoterminal.
The Dathomiri witch, sporting a form-fitting outfit with open body parts, with an indelible smirk-smile on her face, approached the device from the opposite side from Erik.
A hood thrown over her head, form-fitting pants and a sleeveless shirt, several long strips of fabric acting as a narrow cloak and a fragmented "floor-length" skirt.
And all this emphasized by her pale skin as strongly as if she weren't wearing these rags at all.
What for the Hutt dress like that on a military ship?
Erik believed the witch was doing it on purpose, as a small revenge for her assignment in the Chiloon Rift.
For before the journey there she tried to cover the naked parts of the body, not emphasize them.
The commander of the "Red Dawn" squadron ran a thumb over the engraving depicting Irene, closed the chronometer lid and hurriedly shoved the device into a tunic pocket.
"You should look for a uniform for yourself suitable for the Regulations' provisions, Lady Ventress," he advised the subordinate without malice.
"Hm," she huffed. "You too wouldn't be hurt by changing the uniform, Rear Admiral."
Erik cast a glance at the Alderaanian military uniform and shifted his gaze to the woman standing before him.
"I have personal permission from Grand Admiral Thrawn to wear this type of clothing form," he reacted calmly to the pointless remark from the commander of the Scarlet Dawn's ground forces.
"Reminds you of a glorious past?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow, demonstrating her interest in the answer to the voiced question.
"Something like that," Shohashi answered emotionlessly.
"Well I'm the same,"—and again that irritating smirk.—"And, imagine, when I agreed to this job, that same sentient issued me an indulgence for a free style of clothing. At minimum that which doesn't hamper my movements in battle. The campaign in the Happikh sector proved that I don't work well enough when I'm in all this baggy uniform."
As proof, the witch pointed to a pair of healing scars on her naked shoulders.
Asajj Ventress.
"Zappy," he automatically corrected the subordinate. "The official name of the sector—is 'Zappy'. Take the trouble to remember that. Or were you issued personal permission for that too?"
"No, I have no such will," Ventress huffed.
"I need a clear answer," Erik cut her off sharply. "Will you remember the official name of the sector, or would it be better for you to write it down somewhere? For example—as a tattoo in a visible place?"
"Hm," the witch huffed. "That would be something new. I suppose I agree to a tattoo if you make it yourself, Rear Admiral. Right here."
Asajj pointed to the healing scars.
Though Erik could swear the witch could easily have avoided these wounds and received them on purpose to have formal grounds to irritate him.
No, well everything was fine, eh?!
Since when did the witch decide that she can behave like that.
"In that case, General Ventress, upon completion of the campaign I will request your transfer from my ship," Erik announced in a mundane tone, as if he were discussing a breakfast menu. "Likely the journey to the Chiloon Rift and training young Durron in some way forced you to think as if you were above regulations and my lawful orders. Your frivolity of communication with a senior in rank does not contribute to the productivity of joint work."
Well, and what will you say to that?
A certain bewilderment appeared on the pale tattooed face.
Ventress perfectly understands that she is needed by no one like a Sith as a combat officer.
Units and ships are manned by clones of Generals Covell and Veers and they are quite enough.
Even on the Scarlet Dawn there is such a clone—and he holds the position of Ventress's deputy.
Her removal from this position will instantly lead to his promotion—he deserves it.
He also developed the campaign plan for capturing the Zappy sector.
And who else, if Ventress was occupied with another mission?
And besides, the more often Erik paid attention to the witch's work, the more he was convinced that commanding large forces was a burden to her.
All the routine work she dumped on her deputy, preferring to sport on the front line.
Where the contingent commander is not recommended to appear.
"Harsh," she commented. "Unobtrusively putting out the airlock the one who doesn't dance to your regulatory tune?"
"I don't plan to discuss my decisions either," Erik cut her off. "Remind me, with what report did you come here? If you have nothing to tell me—please leave the tactical hall."
For a few seconds Ventress scrutinized him as if trying to burn him with her gaze.
Likely due to the presence of ysalamiri and "MagnaGuards" nearby—it didn't work.
"Reports have arrived about successes in the peripheral systems of the Aparo sector," the woman uttered with the same mockery in her eyes.
If only she'd looked away! Shown that the commander's opinion meant at least something to her!
"Details," Shohashi demanded.
"Systems Beshka, Boztrok, Glit-Ven, H'relak, Lo'Uran, Mavva, Tel, Oshetti, Venderal have been captured and occupied by our forces," as if in mockery she reported to Erik in a calm "regulatory" tone. "Effectively enemy forces have been thrown back from the entire territory of the sector. And are concentrated in the three remaining systems. Two of which—Kadomai and Hydra—belong to the territory of the Catarlo subsector. Where the traitor-moff is located is unknown."
Yes, those are very, very good news.
Well, almost all.
Among these listings few planets and systems are on general astronavigational maps at all.
Many of them became known at all only thanks to "incidents" that occurred on them.
Lo'Uran in its time became "famous" in the Empire not only because it was considered a backwater planet on which the military even felt embarrassed to place even a minor garrison.
But also because its governor in his time was caught and executed as an accomplice to criminals.
To whom he sold Imperial property and equipment.
Needless to say those with whom he traded were representatives of the "Zann Consortium"?
The Oshetti system is altogether known only for the fact that luminescent bacteria are bred there.
Or a fungus.
From which afterward quite a decent paint is obtained.
With which locals cover clothes.
Or they create such clothes from this glowing brood.
Erik didn't know exactly, and even more exactly—wasn't even interested in such.
Most of all he was interested in the planet Lur.
A snow-covered world on which the Empire established a blockade.
Storms raging in the atmosphere led to failures in electronics work, because of which no small dozen reconnaissance droids were destroyed, barely having managed to reach the planet.
But even what the scouts managed to learn—is enough to understand a simple thing.
Lur is important for the "Zann Consortium."
In its orbit—more than a dozen defense stations built by the "Zann Consortium" and "Golans" directly, delivered clearly still during the Galactic Empire days.
And one must take into account a diverse but strong defense fleet pulled from across the sector.
Order of ten Star Destroyers of "Imperial" and "Victory" type, five "Venators," nearly a hundred corvettes, frigates, and cruisers of various types.
Undoubtedly part of them—former Imperial ships, either captured or surrendered to the enemy's mercy.
Possibly Imperial defectors even serve on them, which raises the campaign's danger times over.
And they all guard a single, not even tropical and not rich in useful minerals planet.
There is something here.
And, as Erik suspected, the reason lies in that the local residents, again according to data from Imperial Intelligence archives and from the Obroa-skai library, were engaged in "forbidden sadistic genetic experiments in the field of animal husbandry."
Such a vague formulation, and even indicated in both sources at once, brought the thought that the Empire tried very hard so that the true reasons for the introduced blockade remained unknown.
Erik hypnotized the tactical hologram of the Aparo sector as if the view of three pulsating points—the unconquered systems—could in itself provide the answer to the question tormenting him.
The offensive cannot be stopped.
Clear that the enemy had much more strength before—part of them died during attempts to get beyond the sector's limits and blew up on minefields.
But now, while Erik was busy with the Zappy sector, the "Zannites" clearly entrenched themselves in the system.
Reconnaissance ARC-170s report the presence of minefields and a large number of frigates in the system.
Each of which may also be the enemy's converted combat starship.
Lur has become a "tough nut" he needs to crack.
Aparo—is the sector closest to the "corporates'" territory.
Most reasonable to establish an operational base exactly here, from which an offensive will develop in the future.
Or a defense will be played out.
But for that Lur must be taken.
Leaving a large enemy grouping in one's rear, or even laying siege to the system—is a big tactical blunder.
Which will undoubtedly turn out to be a big stupidity in the future.
As soon as "HoloNet" starts working, the enemy will be able to coordinate its communication systems.
Yes, the sectoral repeater is under a cloak from hybridium and not a single signal passes either to it or from it.
But there are hundreds and hundreds of repeaters in the galaxy that do not belong to the Dominion and are not controlled by it.
The central server will start working—and the enemy will get at its disposal the possibility, albeit with a delay, to receive and send messages.
And the problem lies in that no one really knows where the auxiliary centers and servers of the Intergalactic Communication Center are located and how soon "HoloNet" will be launched.
This.
Is.
Too.
Bad.
"They say if you look at a hologram for long, you can go blind," Ventress pulled him from his thoughts.
Erik shifted his gaze to her, wordlessly observing the Dathomiri witch.
"Thinking how to capture Lur?" she inquired with such an independent look as if she were inquiring of him what color the high-speed dreadnought's plating was. "Yes, it would be possible to send a person to the planet who would raise an uprising among these furry geneticists, the 'Zannites' would have big problems on the surface."
"Yes, that would distract their attention from orbit," Erik agreed.
And immediately caught himself:
"Furry geneticists?" he asked.
"Well yes," the Dathomiri witch stated as if it were nothing. "Never seen Lurrians? They are almost like Wookiees, only small. And instead of paws with claws they have regular limbs with fingers. I think five on each palm and sole. I don't remember exactly…"
"In what sense 'don't remember'?" Shohashi clarified, interested in her words.
"Well almost thirty years have passed since the Clone Wars," Ventress reminded him. "The Confederacy used the situation with Lurrians and other races to inflate the propaganda machine against the Republic."
Lurrian.
"What situation?"
"What, didn't you learn history, Rear Admiral?" Ventress huffed, looking at the man with mockery in her eyes. "Though I too know this story fairly one-sidedly and without details. But what information I possess, I'll share since you need it so. It's about the ban on non-military cloning. The Old Republic at one point realized they lacked single-faced soldier-boys and by means of the ban on non-military cloning decided that cloners from all over the galaxy would flock to them for permission. And they themselves would collectively task them with orders for the production of new clones for their Grand Army. At least that's how the Confederacy presented it. As for the real motives of the Old Republic… I won't say they really interested anyone at that time on this issue. In any case what was planned didn't work out. Most cloners didn't give a damn about the Republic and its laws as they were either outside its jurisdiction or too far for it to do anything to them. That's why the Confederacy didn't succeed…"
Were engaged in "forbidden sadistic genetic experiments in the field of animal husbandry"…
Kaminoan uprising…
"Lurrians—are cloners," Erik exhaled heavily.
Wanted to swear very strongly.
Possibly even from the arsenal of obscene abuse.
How he miscalculated when he designated Aparo as the second order of attack!
An oversight!
And a weak word for it.
And now possibly the most important of the worlds controlled by the "Zann Consortium" is under their powerful defense!
If clones were indeed produced on Lur, then on the planet's surface, and on enemy ships too, resistance many times exceeding the presumed enemy forces can be met.
"I won't say they're the best," Ventress continued with laziness. "But bioengineers they are and experts in genetics—very, very valuable. At one time one Lurrian could be found on the slave market at a price from five to fifty thousand credits. And that is almost for free. For they do not leave their planet and they could be obtained only by flying to their inhospitable little planet and capturing a couple or three families into slavery. Considering what 'critters' they create for themselves, quite an adventure…"
Erik squeezed the pommel of his cane with his palm for all it was worth.
Pain from the facets of the gemstone digging into the hand went from fingertips to brain.
But it didn't become clearer.
At least in the issue of capturing the planet.
He has not enough strength to control the captured territories and attack with a guarantee of success!
Need to pull up reserves, arrange a recall of ships from secondary directions…
And distract attention.
"I thank you, General Ventress," Erik looked into the Dathomiri witch's eyes with a smile.
"For what?" the former Separatist warlord became lively.
"For the advice on how to capture Lur," Erik explained. "Pack your things. A mission awaits you."
"Where?" she inquired without interest.
"To where you'll need a large number of warm things," and now a crooked smirk cut across Erik's face.
Before ridding the Scarlet Dawn of her presence, the Dathomiri witch will work properly for his squadron's cause.
***
Must be honest with oneself.
Going to Grand Admiral Thrawn's apartments after all that happened between them…
It's even kind of scary.
No, she washed the mugs.
Cleaned up after herself.
Even the scratches left by Rukh's claws on the floor and kitchen furniture—those too are polished and not visible.
At that, the traces were removed with the help of Rukh himself.
But right now, when they arrived in the metropolis, after Thrawn had avoided her for two days…
And truth be told—she too preferred not to cross paths extra.
Well she very much doesn't want to hear addressed to her something that would tear the usual patterns of relationships with Thrawn.
Or in some way negatively reflect on him and his plans.
But most of all Mara feared seeing the collapse of the flint as which the Grand Admiral positioned himself.
No, well how much of that had she seen in the Empire's service?
Outwardly—a brave warrior and magnificent commander.
And just look into his backstory—and he's such a goody-goody, and loves Wookiees, and doesn't approve of slavery…
Thrawn had already undergone a fairly substantial catharsis—as had all former Imperials in his service.
Didn't want the mountain to start crumbling.
Passing through the airlock, she found herself in the apartments.
As always, semi-darkness reigned here.
But now it seemed more sinister to Mara.
As if Thrawn's eyes, already burning with hellfire, glowed even brighter.
Or it seems so to her because the Grand Admiral traditionally met her sitting behind the screen of a double ring of monitors.
At that, each of them output some information.
Curious…
Thrawn seems to have only two eyes.
And how does he manage to follow everything demonstrated on the monitors?
"Come in, Mara," the Grand Admiral uttered quietly, indicating with a nod of the head a sofa in the "negotiation zone."
The girl, maintaining her composure with all her might, followed wordlessly to the place indicated for her.
The girl felt a light breath on the back of her neck.
"No nonsense," Rukh whispered in her ear barely audibly.
Mara turned but could not find Thrawn's bodyguard in the gloom, as if he had dissolved in the shadows.
What a little brat!
Thrawn sat across from her, joining the company several minutes after her.
All this time Mara spent as if on pins and needles.
"Your assignment," Thrawn wordlessly placed an information chip on the coffee table before her.
So.
Mara felt a cold lump form inside her.
And how to understand this?
Just like that "turned on" the old Thrawn?
And there will be no talk?
Like, how to live on and the rest.
No, of course she didn't expect the Grand Admiral to pour ash on his blue-black hair and start, wringing hands, explaining himself…
Mara inhaled loudly.
So, pull yourself together, rag!
Enough of these hints of bipolar disorder.
Wanted it not to get worse herself.
It didn't get worse.
Better didn't either.
Although, regarding the latter, one should still think well.
Thrawn seems not to have changed…
Maybe the best of the options is really—to leave everything as is?
Yeah, right?!
Well no!
If you do—do it.
No need to stop halfway.
Or is there?
I wonder, will Rukh wring her neck if she pulls something now, or poke with a knife somewhere in the area of an artery?
Better not check.
"May I learn in what my mission will consist?"
"Certainly," Thrawn responded as if nothing had happened. "Some time ago information about an asteroid that once belonged to a Sith Lord named Darth Vectivus came into my hands."
That name told her nothing.
"To check the information I sent Ahsoka Tano there…"
So, now it's clear where that Togruta lady with Jedi leanings went.
"So I understand connection with her is lost?" Jade assumed.
"Spy droids indicate she is still there. I want to know what is happening and whether Tano has lost loyalty."
"Will do," Mara picked up the information chip with two fingers and sent it into a hidden pocket in the left sleeve next to a tiny blaster. "What will be the instructions if it turns out she is no longer on our side?"
"Your first task—is reconnaissance," Thrawn clarified. "If the assumption voiced by you is confirmed, then you must return and report this. Further processing of the situation will be handled by other sentients."
Meaning most likely the Shadow Guard.
And that means Maul, Obscuro, Streen and whoever else is there…
"So I understand you are sending me for the reason that I am better acquainted with Tano than others?" she asked.
"You are neutral toward her," Thrawn explained. "As she is toward you. If I wanted reconnaissance to be performed by someone she knew, I would have sent Lady Ventress to her. But I'm afraid a conversation wouldn't have happened. But an unnecessary escalation—yes."
And what?
Personally Mara would have liked to see how these two old ruins would fight against each other.
Both—experienced duelists, and veterans too…
But yes, Thrawn is right.
Most likely one would provoke the other to conflict and then there certainly wouldn't be peaceful negotiations.
Wait, what?!
Mara only just realized.
Thrawn could have sent a Star Destroyer to Tano.
Could have flown there himself.
Or a capture team with ysalamiri.
Or right away—the Shadow Guard.
But he preferred to send her.
No, of course one could assume he just wants to remove her from sight or generally get rid of her by other hands.
Double-Isard did vanish after all…
Along with the Lusankya, by the way.
But if there was something Mara had begun to understand in Thrawn, it was that he significantly differs from who he was under the Emperor.
Became more cautious, I guess.
Doesn't rely only on military force and military cunning.
Searches for delicate ways to solve the problem.
He clearly knows more than he says.
And certainly, had he considered that Tano became dangerous, he would have solved the problem at once and radically.
Wouldn't have dragged time with negotiations.
Wait. And why did the task start with the word "first"?
"Task understood. May I proceed?"
"You may," Thrawn agreed. "As soon as we arrive at Tangrene. You will be provided with a new ship. That is the second part of your mission. I want you to study our new acquisition and upon return issue a summary."
"Of what kind?"
"To what extent this type of starship is suitable for operations of your profile," Thrawn uttered.
Now she is also a test pilot…
"Certainly," Mara said distractedly. "I'll do all I can… And what starship is it?"
"Possibly it is familiar to you. It is called the Rogue Shadow."
Mara looked straight into the fires of Thrawn's eyes for several seconds.
No, he isn't joking.
"It seems a ship with such a name belonged to Starkiller, Darth Vader's apprentice from whom Palpatine ordered to get rid," she said.
"Correct."
"And now you have it."
"Exactly."
"And…?"
"No," Thrawn answered. "Galen Marek's clone managed to get away from me. And instead of capturing his beloved—Admiral Eclipse—мы only got her corpse. The situation has complicated."
Ever since Marek's clone appeared on the Alliance's side, who beat Vader himself like Windu beat Palpatine…
No, the situation has not complicated.
It has become like a catastrophe.
And Starkiller's ship is now with Mara.
"You know, I don't like being bait," Jade said. "I'm not very comfortable flying in others' starships… Something is constantly happening with them. One I blew up, on the second the heating didn't work… And this… individual… was clearly at odds with his head. May I ask you to spare me from the fate of using this starship?"
"No," Thrawn cut her off. "Technicians checked it—it is clear of any 'beacons'. And also its systems are advanced enough to ensure stealthy movement and escape from pursuit. I want to know everything about it. And not only the technical part. But also the operational one."
Mara wanted to argue with Thrawn but changed her mind.
It looks like Thrawn intended to use Marek by taking his girlfriend captive.
It didn't work.
And now Thrawn, perfectly understanding that the clone will retaliate and even surely knows against whom, gives her the ship that is suitable for secret movement through the galaxy and is untrackable.
Could it be a hint that he is removing her from the opponents' field of view for some time to immerse himself in solving the arising problem, what is called "with the head"?!
The answer is obvious.
"I understand, Grand Admiral. Permission to leave?" Mara asked.
"Leave, Mara," Thrawn answered just as dryly.
Finding herself outside the door, the girl disappeared into the corridor with a fast step.
And only when she found herself in her apartments did she collapse exhaustedly onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
No, indeed it became better.
The flint didn't crumble.
And didn't wear away.
He still thinks as befits the Supreme Commander of the Dominion.
And at once solves several problems.
Including—taking care so that Jade doesn't get hurt while he solves the Galen Marek clone problem.
Likely one can flatter oneself with the thought that she is dear to him so much that he doesn't want her to share Eclipse's fate.
Well or just sends her far away so that she doesn't get in his way…
The answer to these questions will become clear when she meets the missing Ahsoka Tano.
Or "missing" and this whole task is just a prop or "for the record" while Thrawn himself perfectly possesses the information.
But Mara flattered herself with the thought that at minimum she guesses Thrawn's real motives.