It was a strange battle.
The Inexorable and the Interdictor had trapped the Keldabe II in a gravity well without much trouble.
A brief exchange of fire between the three ships followed.
Fierce, bright, and it could undoubtedly have dragged on for a long time, however...
The Keldabe surrendered.
And this Alexander could not understand or accept.
The enemy dreadnought's sublight engines, weapons, deflectors, armor, hyperdrive were not damaged enough to simply surrender to the victor's mercy.
But the fact remains.
The Keldabe asked for quarter.
Lowered its shields.
Shut down its engines.
Drifted.
And, what alarmed the commander of the Inexorable even more.
All this reeked of a trap.
That's why several assault shuttles, filled predominantly with battle droids, were sent to the ship.
Shock Troopers were also present, but only as commanders for the "tin cans."
The mocking term used by soldiers in white armor for mechanical fighters, which appeared during the Clone Wars, was returning to use...
And it didn't matter that the guys under the armor were "not the same," and the droids served on the same side as the Shock Troopers...
Soldier slang from the past was returning.
Sitting in the command chair on the bridge of the Inexorable, Alexander appeared unflappable, calm, and confident.
In reality, he was torn by internal contradictions.
He did not expect an easy victory.
He did not expect the enemy to surrender on their own initiative.
And certainly did not expect the Keldabe's surrender to not be a trap, which they had already encountered.
The enemy, realizing they could not be saved, lured as many Dominion personnel as possible onto their ships, then detonated their starships' reactors.
A final desperate act.
Which cost the Dominion transport ships and droids sent to check this trick.
Now... it's different.
The enemy surrendered, but for some reason did not request a Dominion commander to come aboard.
The Keldabe's crew allowed the Shock Troopers to disarm them, take control of all key compartments—from the bridge to the reactor room, from the artillery decks to the armories—without the slightest problem.
Moreover.
Their leader was now flying to the Inexorable himself under the guard of droids and Shock Troopers.
Alexander wanted to capture the enemy commander.
And he was coming right into his hands.
Alarming.
Unclear.
But at the same time, he was not afraid for himself, nor for his glorious ship, nor for its crew.
They were protected from any sabotage, and the enemy leader had been searched before departure.
He had previously surrendered his weapon—a lightsaber—without unnecessary questions, which spoke of his Force sensitivity.
However, the ysalamiri cages placed throughout the ship neutralized even that advantage.
And the search was not only before departure from the Keldabe.
But also after arrival on the deck of the Inexorable.
And in three compartments away from the bridge of the Dominion Star Destroyer...
Nothing.
As if the enemy leader truly was just looking for a convenient opportunity to surrender.
Be that as it may, whatever tricks the enemy leader intended to perform, the bridge was occupied by Guardsmen, Shock Troopers, ysalamiri, and armed crew.
By the sound of footsteps, Alexander, without even turning around, could tell that sentients were approaching the central dais.
To state this fact unequivocally, it was enough to look at the reflections on the transparisteel of the Star Destroyer's main bridge viewport.
White reflections of Shock Troopers.
Red reflections from the Guardsmen's armor.
Alexander, timing it, turned his chair to face the arriving sentients.
"Sir," the commander of the Shock Trooper squad, clad in white-and-black armor, saluted him. "The commander of the enemy dreadnought has been delivered."
Commander...
This designation didn't fit what Alexander Mor saw before him in the only sentient he didn't know.
A tall woman with a sickly pale, almost milky-white skin on the exposed parts of her arms.
No tattoos on her face or hands.
Intricate bracers worn over the simple fabric of what might be a sleeveless robe, or a gown...
Or just a tunic over undergarments.
But what confused the Star Destroyer commander most was the headdress with long, narrow feathers from unknown birds protruding from it, and two cloth ribbons inscribed with writing hanging down in front.
Judging by the fact that her clothing was adorned with embroidery made of aurodium threads, and the feather in the front of the headdress was even made of precious metal, this was clearly no ordinary Force adept.
"There are about thirty more like her on the ship," the Shock Trooper commander explained.
"Clones?" Alexander was taken aback.
The Dominion, though it had cloning capabilities, never allowed itself to duplicate the gifted.
Thrawn was categorically against such a thing.
And no one dared argue with him.
"No, officer," the woman, who resembled a custom-made porcelain figurine, had a deep, sensual voice, but without the slightest hint of flirtation. "They are all, like me, members of the Night Sisters clan. We are Force adepts from the planet Dathomir. My name is Baritha."
Baritha.
"Alexander Mor, commander of the Star Destroyer Inexorable," the officer did not hide it.
And what was the point in such "hide-and-seek"?
"And you also commanded Dominion forces at Kessel," a half-smile appeared on the "figurine's" lips. "Until your boss arrived there on a Super Star Destroyer."
"You know quite a lot," Alexander remarked.
"Knowing more than my enemies assume is the key to staying alive."
"A useful life credo."
"It helped me survive on Dathomir when the warlord Zsinj decided to destroy my sisters."
This time, a full smile appeared on her lips.
Not a hint of superiority, contempt for men, usual for Dathomirian witches from among the Night Sisters.
Strange.
Unusual.
Doesn't fit the usual stereotypes.
"Let's get to the point," Alexander requested, staring intently into the woman's eyes. "Why did you organize all this?"
"Specifically what?" she smiled again with the corner of her mouth. "Came here with my followers? Killed the officers and part of the Rancor's crew? Surrendered the ship to you?"
"I wouldn't mind hearing the answer to each of those questions," Alexander admitted.
"I volunteered for this mission," Baritha explained. "And took with me those Sisters who fully share my views on what is happening in the galaxy and with our people."
"And what is your mission?"
"Silri wanted to know if anyone from the Dominion would respond to her offer of a meeting and alliance."
So-o-o...
It seems "Thrawn's answer" was supposed to be eloquent and strictly targeted.
"Then why didn't she come herself, if it's so important?" Mor inquired.
"Your command isn't here either," Baritha noted. "Leaders have much more important things than traveling across half the galaxy. Besides, Silri needed to conduct certain purges among her followers and close associates."
"To what end?" Alexander clarified.
"To the same end for which she got rid of Namman Cha and Kairissa during the Battle of Kessel," the witch explained, staring at the Star Destroyer commander with her grayish-green eyes.
As if he should know these reasons.
For several seconds, they looked into each other's eyes.
Then, with another half-smile, Baritha decided to clarify the misunderstanding that had arisen between them.
"Silri takes advantage of opportunities to get rid of unwanted individuals and other spies of Palpatine," the witch said. "First, both Inquisitors, now it's time for the rest. First, they helped her organize everything, kept her Sith army in fear, and now, when the army's obedience to Silri is unquestioning, she gets rid of those who annoy her. Or, as in my case, have significant authority within the clan. And could challenge her for power over the entire organization."
'Interesting, why did she even need to keep you alive all this time then?' Alexander thought.
"I am alive to this day only because Silri would not be able to command the Night Sisters who switched to her side," the Dathomirian witch explained. "Until now—no."
"And what has changed?" Alexander asked. "And for the future—reading my thoughts is hazardous to your health."
"Ah, officer," Baritha laughed, theatrically covering her mouth with her palm. "In my time, I tortured so many Imperial officers on Dathomir that I no longer need to get into their heads. I understand everything you're thinking. It's written on your faces."
Alexander felt a fine, but very unpleasant shiver run down his spine.
Behind all this "doll-like beauty," Baritha's well-honed oratory skills, and (why hide it?) her casual conversation, the Dominion Star Destroyer commander had completely forgotten that before him stood a bloodthirstly hag from a tribe feared not only by Zsinj but by Emperor Palpatine himself.
And she so unobtrusively reminded him of that...
As if torture for her was something utterly mundane, so boring it only elicited laughter.
"You haven't answered the question," he reminded her.
"Silri watches as others fight for her," Baritha said without a trace of a smile. "She now has plenty of time to deal with purging potential rivals. I don't mind fighting for power. But not when I have a few dozen allies on my side, and she has thousands of battle-hardened Sith warriors."
"About the latter—in more detail," Alexander ordered.
The "porcelain figurine" only shook her head in denial.
"Forgive me, Commander, but I will relay that information only to someone capable of making decisions in the context of the entire Dominion."
"And what makes you think I'll drop everything and fly you to my command?" Alexander asked.
"Shall we think?" she offered. "I evacuated from Kamino thirty trained and taught to use the Dark Side Night Sisters, whose natural magic was honed by Palpatine's Inquisitors. I realized faster than my dreadnought's commander that the empty shuttle was a trap. And I guessed what needed to be done to attract the attention of those watching. My sisters and I eliminated those who could harm your ship. And now you have the opportunity to obtain a fully combat-ready, newest Keldabe-class dreadnought, built at Rothana Heavy Engineering shipyards. I know what forces Silri possesses and have an idea of her immediate plans. I know some for certain. And, moreover, I did not allow the IFF equipment on the dreadnought to be destroyed. And now your command can easily bypass the minefields leading to Kamino and Rothana."
She leaned forward slightly, putting her hand to her mouth as if wanting to shield her words from prying ears.
Alexander instinctively leaned forward.
"Just don't tell anyone that I erased the codes from the computer but memorized them," the Dathomirian witch whispered loudly, smiling straight into his eyes.
Straightening up, she added with satisfaction:
"Don't judge too harshly for such liberties, but a weak woman must ensure guarantees that sweaty Dominion fleet officers won't use her for their dirty purposes and then throw her out an airlock once they've learned everything valuable from me?"
A smile reigned on her face, without a hint of arrogance or contempt.
She wasn't even gloating about having somehow "outmaneuvered" her captors.
And, yes, if she truly possesses such information, she should be delivered to the Dominion immediately.
Because this information is indeed valuable.
And the sooner it reaches the Grand Admiral—the better.
That's probably the calculation.
"Well," Alexander smiled. "I see you've thought of everything."
"The basis of survival," Baritha replied with the same smile. "Don't be offended—I have nothing against you personally. Just a precaution."
"Then, I'm sure you'll understand me," Alexander snorted, giving a hand signal to the Guardsmen.
Before the Dathomirian witch could react or even be surprised, with one sharp movement the nearest Guardsman plunged a pneumatic syringe into her neck.
The piston reached the bottom of the cartridge in a fraction of a second, injecting a dose of a powerful tranquilizer into the "porcelain doll's" body.
Strangely enough, Baritha did not shatter into pieces, falling to the deck.
"Where are her subordinates?" Alexander asked, looking at the Guardsmen and the Shock Trooper commander.
"Locked in one crew quarters on the Keldabe, sir," the latter reported. "Under guard. Disarmed and searched."
"In that case—vent the air from the quarters so they have nothing to breathe," Alexander ordered. "And when the oxygen is gone—restore the air supply. But before that—mix in sleeping gas. When they're all knocked out—stun them. And," he pointed at Baritha, "just like this one—inject with tranquilizers. Then deliver them all to the galley before they wake up."
"To the galley, sir?" the Shock Trooper commander clarified.
"Exactly," Alexander explained. "That's where the carbonite food freezing unit is. Need further explanation, or will you figure it out yourselves?"
"No, sir, no need," the Shock Trooper faltered. "Proceeding to execute."
"Officer of the watch," Alexander turned his chair to face the main viewport. "Prepare a prize crew for our trophies and send an assault group for the damaged Crusader. We're taking all of it, and after our witches are frozen, we jump to the Metropolis via Kessel. Need to prepare the system for defense."
"Aye, sir!"
*
Khomm was burning.
And the fire was visible not only from the surface, the upper atmosphere, or low orbit.
Ysanne Isard's clone could observe the glow of hundreds of fires on the planet as soon as the Lusankya exited hyperspace.
The clone of the Ice Queen watched with absolute indifference as the planet burned.
The homeworld of the Khommite race.
One of the galaxy's not-so-numerous natural-born cloning masters.
For the two hours her flagship had been in orbit around the planet, not one of the massive conflagrations ravaging the planet's continents had ceased.
On the contrary — they had only grown stronger.
One could now compare Khomm to Mustafar, thanks to the sheer amount of fire filling the continents.
The Iceheart looked at the image of the planet displayed on one of the monitor screens.
The pale colors of the flat surface, occasionally intersected by low hills, had lost their pristine hue.
Now they were either black or ashen shades, sharply contrasting with the small islands of the original landscape.
And standing out starkly against the bluish surface of the local seas and oceans.
Ysanne was by no means opposed to extreme measures and the use of ultimate weapons or tactics.
Planet Khomm before the invasion.
But Khomm held almost paramount importance for Palpatine.
"Director," a young, oozingly smug male voice sounded behind her.
Ysanne continued to stare at the rivers of fire, catching herself thinking how magnificently they harmonized with her scarlet uniform.
An impatient cough was heard from behind.
Thus, the guest on her ship was making it clear that he had more important things to do than stand here and watch her admire the scenery of the catastrophe he had orchestrated.
The Iceheart began to ponder how easily and casually the order to bombard the surface had been given…
And judging by agent reports, it hadn't even caused a bout of moral anguish.
No doubts.
Only faith in his own infallibility.
The decision made is carried out.
A simple mechanical action.
One order — and an entire civilization is ground to dust.
"I came at your command, ma'am!"
Displeased tones crept into his voice.
That was a mistake.
Ysanne slowly turned to face the officer.
Her gaze cut across the Imperial Sovereign Protector standing slightly behind the "guest" who had arrived on her ship.
She was clearly valued, if the Emperor had assigned her one of the champions of his Imperial Guard.
In the past, as she knew, even those closer to the Emperor only had "defective" regular guardsmen under their command.
"You burned Khomm, Vice Admiral Dobramu," she stated.
"The little planet is still burning," a haughty smile appeared on the young man's face.
Yet his meteoric rise from a simple sycophantic hanger-on to the senior command staff had happened largely not due to his merits, but to his complete loyalty to the New Order.
And the purges the Iceheart had initiated among the Imperial officers who had flocked to Palpatine.
Purges that were only just beginning.
"Your mission was to capture the planet," she reminded him.
"I lost three Star Destroyers out of five storming this Hutt backwater," Dobramu suddenly grew fierce. "Four and a half legions of shock troopers were destroyed by those Hutt Ailon nova guardsmen already on the surface! I had no intention of suffering further heavy losses! Orbital bombardment solved the problem of surface resistance."
"To my knowledge, the Ailon did not fight your shock troopers in the Khommite cities."
"And that doesn't change the fact that the locals helped them in every way they could," Dobramu snorted.
"And you burned the cities."
"Yes."
"Between one hundred and five hundred million Khommites lived on the planet," the Iceheart reminded him.
"And every one of them is not human," Dobramu presented an irrefutable argument. "Just like the Ailon scum."
"A keen observation," Isard agreed.
"So why was I summoned to the Lusankia?" asked the Vice Admiral, his entire demeanor demonstrating that he felt not the slightest guilt.
"Your report, which was sent by courier to the Emperor some time ago," Isard clarified the reason for her interest. "Is it accurate?"
"From beginning to end."
"Looking at the blazing planet behind my back and the cities subjected to orbital bombardment, I doubt you indeed captured every single cloning facility of the local population," Isard clarified her position. "'Intact. Undamaged. Ready to serve the New Order.'"
A smug smirk appeared on Dobramu's face.
Previously, Isard had thought there were no people this repulsive.
It's useful to learn new things.
"I await your answer, Vice Admiral," Ysanne reminded. "Though, I would also accept obtaining the information from your screams."
All the mirth was wiped from the man's face in an instant.
"The Khommite cloning cylinders were concentrated in one center," he hastily explained. "I breached the planetary shields. Landed diversionary forces to engage the Ailon subhumans. Meanwhile, half a legion captured the center and secured it."
"And after that, you burned the Ailon cities and fortresses," the Iceheart summarized.
"Exactly so, ma'am," Dobramu nodded, smiling timidly. "I obtained for the Emperor what he desired. Now our master can produce as many clones as he wishes. Any kind."
It seemed this man, like other senior officers who knew she was not the Original, thought he could look down on her.
"Excellent," she replied coldly. "You will be rewarded for your zealous service."
"To serve the realization of the Emperor's plans is my highest reward," Dobramu declared proudly. "All for the glory of the human race!"
"Of course. However, I am troubled that you consider yourself above the Emperor's will to task me with purging his army and fleet of smug traitors and sycophants."
"How fortunate that I am merely a faithful servant of the throne," Dobramu snorted. "And I am in no danger."
Ysanne studied this man and understood clearly who stood before her at this moment.
And she knew perfectly well how to use him.
But first…
"Champion," she addressed the Sovereign Protector. "Vice Admiral Dobramu has earned a reward for his actions here and now. Reward him. With particular diligence."
The Vice Admiral looked first at the Iceheart, who had turned away from him, uncomprehendingly.
Then, realizing the threat wasn't coming from her at all, he turned, only now understanding that the sentient standing behind him wasn't just an escort.
The Sovereign Protector silently kicked him behind the knee with the toe of his armored boot.
Then slapped him across the face, knocking the commander of the Javelin task force onto the deck plating.
Now followed kicks to the stomach and torso.
"Three broken ribs should suffice," Isard said coldly, watching as the Protector literally stomped the officer into the deck with particular diligence and ferocity. "A day in the bacta tank will remind the Vice Admiral of the basics of interacting with the Director of Intelligence."
"Yes, ma'am," Dobramu rasped in pain.
"And if not," Ysanne turned her head just enough so that the officer, jerked to his feet by the Protector, could see her profile, silhouetted against the planetary glow. "Then I will visit you again, Vice Admiral Dobramu. And that meeting will be your last. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," the officer rasped.
"Dismissed," she ordered.
Without another word, the Protector grabbed the man by the trousers and with one powerful motion threw him halfway across the bridge toward the exit.
Ysanne showed not the slightest sign that this demonstration of inhuman capabilities had unsettled her.
"Champion," she called softly.
The addressed one approached and stood so as to be within her line of sight.
"Remove your helmet and state your name," she ordered.
The Protector seemed momentarily confused.
But a second later, he complied.
"Carnor Jax, Director," he said in a colorless tone.
"How interesting, Champion Jax," Ysanne fixed him with her heterochromatic gaze.
A burning gaze and a freezing gaze.
Unity and struggle of opposites in one bottle.
"How interesting," repeated the Iceheart, observing the bead of sweat that had appeared on the forehead of the impassively standing Protector. "How interesting…"
Her gaze shifted to the blazing Khomm.
The Iceheart did not utter another word.
But that didn't mean her curiosity was satisfied.