Ten years, three months, and sixteen days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-five years, three months, and sixteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year and one day since arrival).
The Star Destroyer Inexorable, like much of the fleet assigned to Rear Admiral Dorya's command, remained in its original state.
Still a standard Mark I, with all its inherent strengths.
Dorya saw no particular flaws in his vessel and was in no hurry to waste time and nerves sending the starships under his command for modernization.
Three Mark Is—the Inexorable, the Ubiquitous, and the Impartial—which, together with twenty Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers and twenty-five Corellian CR90 corvettes, supported by the cruiser-minesweeper Olowain and the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer Strangler, were more than enough to guard a single system in the Msst sector.
One system, yet strategically vital for the Dominion's existence.
Like the Dominion's other fortress worlds, Garos IV was protected by a planetary shield, Golan-type orbital stations, ion cannons, and planetary turbolasers.
Not to mention the minefields scattered at the system's edge, posing a deadly threat to any sentient being who dared to break into the system without proper authorization.
Dorya had designed the defense layout personally.
Given the system's distance from the Dominion's core, he had refrained from overusing the standard Perimeter defense practice.
True, there were minefields at every entry and exit point of the hyperspace routes leading into or out of the system.
As were the minefields.
As were a pair of Golan stations at each point.
And the patrol ships that inspected every starship entering the system.
Dorya had modernized the Perimeter system so that ships pulled out of hyperspace did not immediately find themselves in a minefield, but rather fell into a sort of bubble of clear space.
It was large enough to allow for determining the purpose of arrival in the system before the magnetic mines reached the intruder and blew their transport to the Hutts.
Only Dominion transports and their convoys, using the identification system, bypassed such "warm welcomes."
Many smugglers, enemy scouts, and other sentients whose intentions were clearly not pure had fallen victim to the minefields.
At the moment, it was the Inexorable's turn to stand watch at one of the entry points.
The watch had passed without incident.
A dozen or so traders had arrived in the system, interested in Garos's agricultural products, along with a couple of travelers dreaming of gaining access to the planet's resorts…
And finding themselves sorely disappointed upon receiving a refusal.
Trade on Garos, like any fortress planet outside the Dominion's core, was conducted exclusively at orbital stations, to and from which guests were escorted by corvettes and starfighters.
The only inconvenience in the whole process was that Dorya was once again reviewing his developed plan for seizing the systems of the Msst sector.
A plan that Thrawn had approved but did not consider its implementation a suitable step in the current reality.
Dorya could have managed with his own forces—three Destroyers and two dozen heavy cruisers were a very, very solid…
"Sir, an intruder has been detected," the Star Destroyer's executive officer reported over the comlink from the secondary bridge. "Relaying the information for your decision."
"Acknowledged, XO," the Rear Admiral replied. "Watch officer, take the target designation. Identify the target, calculate the entry vector."
Despite his promotion, Dorya had felt it wrong, knowing the regular fleet's personnel shortage, to request a commander for the Inexorable.
Therefore, he combined command of his squadron with that of the flagship itself.
"Has identification been performed?" the Rear Admiral asked, growing alert.
"Yes, sir," the duty officer confirmed. "Corellian CR90-class corvette. Transponder is off. Engine signatures do not match our ship database."
"Interception," Dorya ordered routinely. "Aim the artillery—be ready to destroy the starship if it does not immediately comply with the order to heave to. Take command, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir!" the duty officer responded. "Battle stations! Artillery, target the intruder. Interceptors—block possible breakout zones. Communications—establish contact with the unidentified corvette."
After every such uninvited guest, the mine placement had to be changed so that the enemy did not obtain precise data regarding the location of the dangerous obstacles on the path to Garos IV.
"Sir, the request to heave to has been sent," the duty officer reported. "No immediate response. Activate the self-propelled mines?"
The mines supplied for the protection of fortress worlds also differed from those used in the Perimeter.
But only in their method of self-activation.
While the former were always armed except when a Dominion ship was nearby, these specific models guarding the Dominion's peripheral systems responded only to a direct command from the duty starship or control station.
Their friend-or-foe response block was deactivated when placed on combat duty.
"Inform them that we are giving them one minute to think, Lieutenant," Dorya said. "After that, activate them."
To reach the edge of the cocoon required five to seven minutes at the cruising speed of a ship like a Corellian corvette.
An extra minute or two played no role in ensuring the security of the entire star system.
"Sir," the communications officer's voice came through. "We have received a response from the intruder. They report they are cutting engines and heaving to. They ask us not to open fire."
"Find out the purpose of their visit to Dominion territory," Rear Admiral Dorya ordered. "Dispatch the duty pair of interceptors for escort."
"Response to the query received," the duty officer reported. "According to their message, there are two sentients on board. Both are former Jedi who responded to the call of a certain Master Bre'ano Umakka."
"Since when have our Jensaarai been setting up their rendezvous points on Garos?" Dorya grumbled. "Prepare a courier ship. Escort the corvette to the inspection zone and send a prize crew. Stormtroopers are to use stun weapons and ysalamiri. Bring the Jedi aboard the Inexorable—I will speak with them personally."
And from the results of those conversations, it would be clear whether it was worth sending a courier to the regular fleet headquarters to verify the story of some "call" from the Jensaarai or not.
In Dorya's opinion, it would be best for the former Jedi to be telling the truth.
Otherwise, the stormtroopers aboard the Inexorable (of whom there were not too many anyway) would get excellent practice in hunting Jedi.
Fortunately, Garos IV had as many as two moons on which such training could be organized.
***
The first day after a year's stay in this universe, truth be told, he had planned to spend differently.
Of course, without anniversary cakes with candles, a boisterous drinking session at the nearest bar, and a trip to a strip club.
In fact, it differed little for me from any ordinary day, regardless of whether it was a holiday or a weekend.
The Guardian hung in orbit over Tangren, docked to the grid of an orbital repair facility.
Through the viewport, I could watch numerous port tugs scurrying around the Super Star Destroyer, adjusting the starship's position in space and placing gravity anchors.
It was difficult to make out, but I knew for certain that thousands of labor, assembly, and other droids were now "walking" across the starship's hull, driven by technical specialists from both the ship's crew and the orbital shipyard workers.
Work to repair the damage the starship had sustained in battle began as soon as the ship returned to its base in the core territory.
A lonely giant surrounded by numerous Star Destroyers—the flagships of the units that had carried out the counter-offensive against the positions of the Zann Consortium's allies.
Like any parasites, the Zannites were unable to exist solely on their own resources.
For that reason, they had surrounded themselves with satellite sectors to pump everything they needed from where it had already been surveyed, and most importantly—where it existed in the required volume.
And the latter, as usual—the more, the better.
I looked out at the serene cosmos, wondering how much reality had changed compared to what I knew.
There was no longer any point in relying on the future being as the authors of the Expanded Universe had depicted it.
I recalled the summaries from the time when "isekai" literature had not yet become tedious in its typicality.
The Butterfly Effect.
The past has been changed, and consequently, the future is not cloudless.
It is a choice that has been made.
And there is no going back.
And is it even necessary?
Now only the problems remain to be solved.
Which arrive beyond all measure.
Behind my back, I heard the hiss of the opening door separating the conference room from the corridor.
The guards in blue-black armor standing on either side of the passage did not even stir, silently reacting to the appearance of the sentients invited to the briefing aboard the Guardian.
Rukh, staying a meter away from me, also showed no reaction to the newcomers.
Nor did Lieutenant Colonel Tierce, sitting calmly at my right hand in the seat assigned to me by protocol at the table.
Only Captain Pellaeon, a young copy of the Vice Admiral of the same name, sitting to the left of my chair, flinched when his eyes met the original's.
Nearly synchronous turns of their heads to the left to avert their gaze.
Which once again confirmed my assumption about the reasons why Mitth'raw'nuruodo, in the events known to me, had not cloned the commander of the Chimaera.
At least, I could not recall such a fact.
Pellaeon, though he did not say it openly, held a negative view of his own double's existence.
Despite the fact that he was quite comfortable with clones in principle.
A rectangular metal piece of furniture, in the center of which a holoprojector was placed, and on both broad sides, input ports for personal datapads and information chips were installed.
Dry official greetings from Pellaeon, Ferrus, Astarion, and shipbuilder Ryan Zion, who was shifting a datapad and a bundle of information chips from one hand to the other.
On whose face was frozen the traditional dissatisfied expression of a man who had been dragged into a meeting.
Torn away, moreover, from work vital to the entire galaxy.
Well then, so be it—we shall start with him first.
"Please be seated, gentlemen," I said quietly, pointing to the four seats on the side opposite where Captain Pellaeon, Lieutenant Colonel Tierce, and I had settled.
The newcomers took their seats.
In doing so, Gilad positioned himself as far as possible from his clone.
Pointedly so.
"Let's begin," I announced, focusing my gaze on the first speaker.
"Shipbuilder Zion—the floor is yours."
With the red light of his eye implant flashing, the named "comrade," having finished connecting his datapad, cleared his throat and launched the first hologram.
"I have developed a modernization project for the Imperial-III based on the data our intelligence and military have gathered regarding the enemy's newest capital ships…"
Judging by the way Gilad Pellaeon rolled his eyes and Grand Moff Felix sighed resignedly, they were not hearing this for the first time.
And from the author's own presentation, no less.
Astarion chose to pretend it did not concern him.
Well, the information on each attendee's report had been delivered to me for study yesterday, so I already had certain points of my own.
***
When the first and, apparently, senior among them finished his story, Rear Admiral Dorya did not hide his skepticism.
"And you want me to believe you?" he clarified, looking at each of his guests in turn. "Or what are your intentions, Knights Kid Proko and Eles Dersen?"
Both former Jedi remained completely steadfast.
Though the human was clearly nervous and seemed to be trying to look around.
That was exactly what Dorya did not like.
Just like the excessive composure of his older companion.
"You are free to believe whatever you wish," the Quarren replied calmly, folding his hands on the table. "I am not compelling you to anything. However, your ignorance of Master Umakka's actions saddens me."
"Knight Proko, I am beginning to doubt that we have arrived where we were supposed to," the second Jedi replied.
A middle-aged man with a thick bandage over his eyes, making it impossible to see anything.
However, Dorya knew this was by no means the result of any injury or trauma.
Members of the Miraluka race are born without eyes.
But nonetheless, they live perfectly fine lives and do not go around bumping their foreheads into every corner.
"We are where we are supposed to be, Knight Dersen," the Quarren corrected his companion.
Kid Proko (Obtained from open access. Original: https://ru.pinterest.com/pin/lexiconus-qor-302585668694014443)
"Don't get twitchy, kid," Dorya advised. "I like your story no more than you like my ignorance of some 'call'."
"Eles is disoriented," the Quarren continued just as calmly. "He is of the Miraluka race."
"I've already realized that," Dorya replied. "And how does that explain the fact that he's sitting before me like he's on pins and needles?"
"The Miraluka have no eyes," the Quarren explained to the Dominion officer. "They see through the Force. And something in this room repels it. He is blinded, disoriented, and panicking, believing in his youth that he is in a trap."
Ah, so that's what it was.
An interesting race.
"And are you certain you aren't in a trap?" Dorya could not resist the irony.
He had stood guard over Garos for a long time.
And the inner skeptic, and a master of biting sarcasm to boot, was taking over, overriding his usual politeness.
"I trust my intuition," the Quarren explained. "And I know that Master Umakka's call was meant to lead the Jedi specifically to the Dominion. After all, our place is precisely here."
Jedi Knight Eles Dersen
"Well, let's say," Dorya drawled. "Let's say you are on our side. Both of you at once. All these years you've been hiding, and then, one message," he nodded toward the archaic holographic transmitter, which still bore the mark of the old Jedi Order.
"Assumption is not the path to truth," the Quarren countered. "We have arrived to serve the Dominion. We flew here voluntarily…"
"Surrendered our weapons," Dersen added.
"Offered no resistance to your stormtroopers," Proko continued as if nothing had happened. "As you know, the Jedi and the Empire have their own history of mutual hostility."
"And I find it hard to believe that you both, master and apprentice, managed to escape the Imperial stormtroopers thirty years ago," Dorya said. "As I recall, the Jedi back then were generals and surrounded by an army of clones…"
"We did not escape together," Kid Proko replied. "I commanded clone units in the Core Worlds when Palpatine ordered the extermination of the Jedi."
"I was on a humanitarian mission in the Mid Rim," Knight Eles Dersen explained.
"But you said you were master and apprentice," the Dominion Rear Admiral squinted.
"My master was killed by clones," Dersen replied somewhat sharply. "At the cost of his life, he gave me the opportunity to escape and hide. I traveled the galaxy until I settled on Poderis in the Orus sector. There I met Master Proko, and he completed my training."
"As for me, after I escaped the clones, I was on the run for a long time, reflecting on the fate and purpose of the Jedi," the Quarren told his part of the story calmly. "Staying in motion allowed me to throw the hounds off my trail. I arrived on Poderis many years ago, forcing myself to completely forget what it meant to be a Jedi in practice. I became a simple mechanic, waiting for the Order to be reborn in a new light. In the light of my new philosophy, according to which Jedi should not avoid emotions but control them. They should not shun violence if it is inevitable, but bear responsibility for it. New Jedi must cast off the old dogmas and evolve, learn about their enemy and adopt the tools with which we were destroyed—that is what I taught Dersen."
"But you refused to be called a Jedi Master," the Miraluka noted with a grumble.
Dorya noticed a certain peevishness in the young Jedi's words.
As if this conversation had happened more than once.
Judging by the way the Quarren's facial tentacles began to twitch irritably, he clearly did not approve of his former apprentice's words.
Dorya was not particularly strong in psychology.
Nor in interrogation, for that matter.
Right now, he was merely gathering the necessary minimum to compile a report regarding this pair.
The courier with the message to the Dominion had already departed.
Half an hour ago—when these two had told him why they had come.
Now Dorya, having notified command, was simply passing the time by amusing himself with a conversation with this pair of non-Jedi.
Perhaps something they blurted out now without thinking would help counter-intelligence and the Jensaarai Order deal with them more substantively.
Service under Thrawn's command had already shown his subordinates that there was no such thing as useless information.
Judging by the behavior of this pair, the Quarren's reluctance to increase his social significance in the Jedi hierarchy greatly annoyed his former apprentice, the Miraluka.
Not much, but a possible lead nonetheless.
"Fine, let's assume," the Rear Admiral stated. "Why specifically the Dominion? Why not the New Republic? Why not the Empire? One has a restored Jedi Order. The other has Inquisitors."
"Reincarnating the Jedi Order is a pointless endeavor," the Quarren declared with his characteristic calm. "We have already seen what happens to the Order when it becomes a servant to a bunch of senators. Each of whom pursues their own interests. No, that is not our path."
"In the Empire, the Inquisitors are a punitive organ," the Miraluka continued his former master's thought. "The Jedi must not become a tool of terror either. To protect and safeguard, to suppress lawlessness—those are the common tasks for Jedi. What Master Umakka spoke of."
"There is also the Alliance," Dorya reminded them.
"At the head of which stand Mon Mothma and Bel Iblis, and the Congress—a parody of the Senate—is filled with the same champions of 'democracy' as in the days of the Old Republic," Kid Proko summarized. "No thank you, I would sooner bite off my facial tentacles than enter the service of those who advocated for or supported the proponents of cutting the Grand Army of the Republic's budget. Because of their attempts, sometimes even successful ones, instead of a unified impulse to band together and defeat the enemy, the Grand Army constantly lacked what it needed. Sometimes soldiers, sometimes equipment, sometimes protection. While the senators sought ways to turn the military budget into a new kind of feeding trough, the Grand Army and the Jedi Order entered the war effectively unprepared, with old or inferior weaponry. Umakka spoke of renewal—and that, as far as I know, is exactly what the Dominion is doing. Or do you mean to tell me that rumors lie about the Dominion modernizing its major ships and military equipment for better efficiency?"
"Perhaps one day you will find out," Dorya chuckled.
"I, like any other clear-thinking Jedi, would never go to serve the Alliance," the Miraluka declared. "In addition to what Master Proko said, one should not forget that according to the latest information, Anakin Skywalker's daughter is the Alliance's Minister of State. And his son—is seeking to recreate the Jedi Order. Which, apparently, will be the same kind of toy, but now in the hands of Mon Mothma and Bel Iblis."
"And why does the name Skywalker bother you so much that you emphasize it like that?" Dorya asked.
"Anakin Skywalker was considered the Chosen One in the Order," the Quarren said reluctantly. "A golden boy, extraordinarily gifted in the Force. People hung on his every word, forgave him his antics. Over time, behind the mask of a hero, there grew a petulant…"
"Suck-up," the Miraluka interjected.
"…and intolerant, self-absorbed Jedi who could not bear a difference of opinion," Knight Proko finished his thought laconically. "And it was Anakin Skywalker who led the 501st Legion of stormtroopers as they killed Jedi—from the oldest to the youngest—during Operation Knightfall. Only he was called something else by then. Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith."
"A touching story," Dorya didn't even blink. "There is a 501st Legion in the Dominion. I'm just telling you, just in case."
"I doubt a single clone of Jango Fett remains in it," Proko remarked. "As I recall, the clones' metabolism is twice as fast as a human's. They entered service at a biological age of twenty. Much time has passed since then… After thirty years of service in the Empire, they would have to be eighty-year-old men by now. If they didn't die sooner. So, I doubt those with the blood of younglings and padawans on their hands serve you."
"And yet, the 501st Legion is a symbol," Dorya reminded him. "With a distinct history. How do you intend to serve the Dominion if you have such a unit right next to you…"
"Silently," the Miraluka snapped, pressing his lips together.
And there was the second trigger.
Moving on…
"So how did you conclude that Umakka was calling you to serve specifically the Dominion?" Dorya repeated his question. "Neither coordinates nor names were mentioned in what I saw on your comlink," he pointed to the old communication device.
"I am a Consul, just as Umakka himself is," Proko enlightened him. "In his speech, words about a beginning, about a new path, were heard more than once. Anyone with eyes and ears would realize that this is merely a screen to attract attention. And one must act the opposite—focus on the latest. The latest state to form in the galaxy is the Dominion. If one believes the information—both your propaganda and the rumors on the HoloNet when it was working—one can conclude that while you may hold Imperial ambitions, a human-centric path is not your goal. I was convinced of this as we were led here. I doubt that you, as the commander of this ship, and at such a rank," Kid pointed a clawed finger at Dorya's rank plaque, "are unaware that several pilots aboard your Destroyer are representatives of other races. I saw Zabrak, Twi'lek, and Rodian in your ship's corridors. Pilots, technicians, even one fleet specialist. A gunner, I believe. So Umakka's hint and my own observations—and I am certain that I reached the right place with Eles. Perhaps because the HoloNet ceased operation quite quickly after Umakka's broadcast, you simply weren't informed."
"And besides, his words sounded like an impromptu," the Miraluka added. "Given that the head of the New Republic publicly stated he is forming an Order, and on the old foundations no less, Master Umakka's speech, saying the opposite, was clearly not a redundant announcement."
"In other words, the process of elimination," the Quarren explained.
"And besides, a smuggler arrived on Poderis who gave Master Proko information from the Alliance. They, apparently, also intend to acquire their own old-style Jedi."
"Is that so," Dorya noted to himself.
"That was largely the trigger for us to flee," the Miraluka explained. "Fortunately, they flew to Master Proko for a supposedly repair. And to pick up a load of engine conductors that I, as his apprentice whom no one ever notices, had been repairing in the annex to the workshop. We hijacked the ship and escaped. Since the Alliance knows about us, or about one of us, they won't let go."
Now that sounded more like the truth.
These two might have been considering joining the Dominion.
But it seemed they were satisfied with the past.
Yet the appearance of smugglers delivering recruitment messages from the Alliance—which they despised—regarding Jedi had finally convinced both of the need to run.
If the Miraluka was right and he had been there like a ghost, then the Alliance knew or would find out only about the flight of one Jedi.
Not two at once.
"As some smugglers who dropped by Poderis told me, a large fleet group under Jedi Rahm Kota is on Sullust," the Quarren continued. "And he is a well-known revanchist among Jedi. A proponent of the Order's infallibility—in its core tenets. And Kota serves the Alliance."
"It's still a crooked story," Dorya stated.
"You can attribute our appearance here to the will of the Force," the Miraluka suggested, crossing his arms over his chest.
His tone had become calmer, as if he had found some point of balance and peace here.
And had used it without the Garos squadron commander's permission, to boot.
"I prefer facts to conjecture," Dorya explained his position.
"In that case, you can arrest us and hold us until the circumstances are clarified," Dersen suggested. "But even without the Force, I know that a skeptic like you must have already sent someone to check—whether we are telling you the truth about Master Umakka's actions."
Dorya chuckled.
"Enough for today," he ordered. "You will be escorted to your holding cells. Until I am told what to do with you next, you are both my prisoners."
"We clearly didn't arrive at the right place," the Miraluka lamented.
"We did," the Quarren countered. "The Force simply led us not to the sentient who would believe us. Perhaps such a person does not exist at all—trust is the most expensive of galactic currencies these days. But I am certain everything will soon become clear."
The Rear Admiral did not even comment on what he heard.
The facts would tell.
***
"I have studied the technology samples delivered to Tangren on the Kruger," shipbuilder Zion spoke quickly. "The Pho-Ph'ean are indeed, as Captain Reder indicated, a treasure trove of technology. Their hyperdrives are not inferior in quality to those on our ships. However, it must be understood that first-class hyperdrives for ships larger than a starfighter or a gunboat are not yet available to them for industrial manufacturing."
"Our ships have second-class hyperdrives," I reminded the shipbuilder.
"Which makes it even more attractive to integrate them into our technologies," the shipbuilder continued to chatter. "As for weapon systems… Well, no better, but no worse than what we have. Defensive technologies… At the same level. But most importantly—much cheaper than Kuat's. And higher quality than Sienar's, Mon Calamari's, or Rendili's. And the compatibility is the same."
"I object," Astarion spoke up. "The quality is the same. At least, so say the experts from counter-intelligence."
"What do they know?" Zion snarled, seemingly stung by the fact that his authoritative opinion was being challenged.
"Do not get distracted, shipbuilder," I asked conciliatory. "Pho-Ph'ean technologies."
"I understand they have joined the Dominion?" the shipbuilder looked at the Grand Moff.
Ferrus Felix nodded in agreement.
"Full members," he explained. "The document for joining the Dominion has been drafted but requires signing, like the others. I think we should hold off on imposing monetary taxes on Pho-Ph'ea for now."
"Are you suggesting we tax them in kind?" I clarified with the Grand Moff.
"Yes, sir. If their technologies are indeed that good, then why do we need this bureaucracy?" he asked. "We will apply a system of mutual offsets. We'll calculate the threshold for taxation and other duties. We'll convert it to a monetary equivalent and receive technology from them. No turnover of cash. We have already applied similar approaches to some other races. But in matters of security on colonized planets, construction, and so on. We simply turn to them for the required amount of goods—and that's it."
"Sounds reasonable," I agreed. "Except that their technologies, if we move to self-sufficiency in hyperdrives, weapons, and shields, will become our sole source of supply. And that implies colossal logistics volumes."
"In other words, we'll be asking for more than they owe in taxes," Ferrus said. "Yes, that's casuistry. But perhaps the best option would be a proportional approach? For example, what is owed in taxes, we take in technology, and the rest—we buy?"
"Work on this issue," I ordered.
"What is there to work on?" Gilad joined the dialogue. "We, in fact, only need suppliers of hyperdrives. Turbolasers, lasers, deflectors—we produce those ourselves, in state-owned enterprises."
"In limited quantities," I noted. "But your point is taken. Grand Moff Ferrus," I looked at Felix again. "I think it would be more sensible to unify our technologies and theirs. Reducing everything to them producing nothing but hyperdrives is wrong. We have a large number of ships undergoing modernization or being built. State factories are receiving orders they are practically unable to handle on time if large-scale rearmament begins. In that case, we could use a second supplier. Provided," I looked at Zion, "that their technologies are indeed no worse than what we have now."
"No worse," the shipbuilder confirmed. "And the ship generators are even better than what's currently on the Mark IIIs. In fact—while they aren't more compact than the Kuat emergency reactors on the Imperials before modification, they are more efficient. One of the new modifications I am proposing for the Imperials is to stop installing SFS reactors and place more compact Pho-Ph'ean reactors on the ships. Together with the primary power source—the solar ionization reactor produced by the state—they will provide the necessary energy for the Star Destroyers. And for us, to avoid wasting time on additional internal re-planning of the Destroyers, we can install these reactors. This will significantly ease the modernization of ships to Mark IIIs. According to my estimates, given the experience gained and the absence of major internal reworks, we will reduce the modernization of Imperials to Mark IIIs to one month."
"And construction?" I asked.
"That parameter hasn't been calculated yet," Zion replied without blinking. "We have nearly five hundred Star Destroyers of various classes and types. Imperials, Victories, Venators, Gladiators, Interdictors… Not to mention that with the new technologies, it would be good to re-repair the Guardian and other Super-class ships."
"Not everything at once," Vice Admiral Pellaeon winced.
"I agree," Ferrus supported. "We have a rather fragile budget, predominantly—a deficit one. Huge expenditures on colonizing new worlds, mining and processing minerals, building new cities, settlements, bases, and so on… We aren't talking about a surplus by the end of this year—that's for sure."
"The position accounting for the new sectors to be annexed?" I clarified.
"Information from the field is fragmented, sir," Ferrus admitted. "Until the auditors work through the issue with each planet, I cannot speak categorically. But the most obvious thing is that we will once again have to dip into the reserve funds to establish life in the new territories."
"Do the reserves allow it?" I asked.
"For now—yes," Ferrus said reluctantly, as if every new expenditure were tearing a piece of his soul away. "But we cannot exist solely on aurodium reserves. Yes, we are replenishing them, yes, we have switched to using aurodium only for external trade, and within the state, we have returned to settlements via credit chips. Но the expenditures are enormous."
"But necessary," I countered. "We are building a state. Not from scratch, but our core doctrine—the development of all territories—must be strictly followed."
"I understand, sir," the Grand Moff replied. "But if we don't want to find out one day that our aurodium reserves are exhausted and we can no longer conduct settlements for external supplies, then we either need to cut them or find new sources of aurodium."
One might think we were annexing resource sectors solely on my whim.
"According to shipbuilder Zion's words, we will soon be able to stop purchasing a significant portion of military technologies from abroad," I looked at Ryan.
The man nodded in agreement.
"What we are unable to produce ourselves and openly, we can replace with Pho-Ph'ean analogs," he confirmed. "Yes, it will take time to replace all the elements, but…"
"There is absolutely no need to do that right now, this very second," Pellaeon interrupted him. "At our disposal are hundreds of warships of almost every class we need. We must conduct a full unification of calibers, systems, and so on. And as soon as a replacement is needed on the ships—we install our analogs, not pull out what was bought on the black market or elsewhere. But with all due respect, sir, I will not allow our ships to be put under the plasma cutter now just to have functioning systems replaced with new but 'ours'."
"No one is suggesting that," I agreed. "I fully support your aims. We need to strengthen our Armed Forces, not send them for modernization time and again for every reason."
"And that wouldn't be possible at the snap of a finger anyway," Zion explained. "Modernization, even accounting for full staffing of all existing shipyards and orbital docks—we are talking about constant work over the course of more than one month. More likely—several years. And given that we also have other ship types that also require modernization or repair. Therefore, I am only speaking of applying new technologies to damaged ships, like the Chimaera or the Assault Hawk."
"Based on the report, I am positioning the Pho-Ph'eans as a potential technical resource," the chief engineer nodded affirmatively.
Consequently, if we involve the residents of Pho-Ph'ea as workers for our existing shipyards and workshops, and possibly even as technicians and engineers on regular fleet ships, this significantly frees up our cloning capacity regarding the production of specialists for the regular fleet.
If one imagines for a second that in every batch of clones, every fifteen days, there will appear not a hypothetical three thousand technicians for the numerous orbital docks captured at Sluis Van, but crew members for Vindicator-type heavy cruisers, then the "game is worth the candle."
Our territories are growing.
A large percentage of our starships are frankly idle—there are no crews for them.
To negate the needs, we have to neglect the production of stormtrooper clones—all in favor of filling the fleet with personnel.
Zion's proposal could untie our hands.
In the current reality, this is more than necessary.
I would even say—vitally necessary.
"Yes-yes-yes," both of Zion's eyes lit up now. "The technologies I studied indicate that they handle flow work excellently. Therefore, given a sufficient number of workers, we will be able to staff the idle orbital docks, shipyards, and repair shops with them."
"Can we rely on the Pho-Ph'eans?" I asked Astarion.
"DBS has only just begun work on their planet," he replied. "Their mentality implies openness with an ally. And blood vengeance for deceivers, oppressors, and so on. They will repay good with good. Evil—with triple evil. Captain Reder made the right move—he interested them by helping with defense and the liberation of their kin. If we are completely transparent with them—there will be no problems."
In other words, they are conditionally suitable for us.
"Continue the checks," I ordered. "Simultaneously, begin recruiting those who want to work at our shipyards as primary technical personnel—let us admit them to work at the shipyards and docks whose locations are known. I expect a report upon the completion of the verification measures."
"Understood," Astarion made a note.
"Continue," I said, turning to Zion.
"And only then—and only then," he spoke as if he hadn't stopped, "can we talk about increasing the speed of starship repairs and their total modernization. At the moment, I am only proposing to carry out work on the Mark IIIs to replace the generators with smaller but more efficient ones—and thus we will have nominally 'standard' reactors on the ships that were installed back at Kuat or other shipyards. But at the same time, the increased number of weapons, protection, and other systems in the Mark III project will be fully powered. Furthermore, based on an analysis of the enemy's use of ships of the newest designs, I strongly recommend installing no fewer than five launchers for anti-ship class missiles or proton torpedoes on our Imperial-III Star Destroyers."
"That would mean additional reworks," Vice Admiral Pellaeon argued.
"That would mean a manifold increase in the ships' combat capability!" Zion insisted. "We have already seen such modernization on the former Judge and Accuser—the Mon Calamari installed proton torpedo launchers on them. And those ships are successfully deploying those weapons. Not to mention that I would recommend the headquarters issue a technical specification for the development of a new type of missile. The size of a regular anti-ship missile, but serving only as a carrier and the main striking force for a complex of smaller missiles installed inside."
"I beg your pardon?" I didn't catch the meaning.
"The idea arose from an assessment of the use of launchers on the Guardian in the Battle of Soullex, as well as privateer ships when they used expensive anti-ship missiles to destroy enemy starfighters," Zion explained, projecting a new hologram. "The concept is this. We take an ordinary anti-ship class missile. We change its contents, reducing the volume of explosive material inside. We fill the freed-up space with a batch of light cumulative missiles. According to the deployment concept—during the launch of such a missile, the enemy, using starfighters, rushes to intercept. The carrier missile, continuing its mission—a strike on the ship—detaches the cumulative missiles with homing heads. The enemy starfighters are no longer concerned with hunting the main missile. It hits the target, while the cumulative missiles hit everything that tried to prevent it from getting there."
"Less explosive in the warhead—less of a result," Gilad Pellaeon reminded him.
"But efficiency increases," Zion declared. "I have studied the reports on the use of the enemy's new fighters and bombers very carefully. They have a high missile-torpedo load. If we don't want an E-wing squadron to turn our Destroyers into gnawed pieces of scrap metal with a volley of nearly two hundred starfighter-grade proton torpedoes—then we must work ahead of the curve. It is time to accept the obvious—our primary machines, the TIE interceptors, are at best capable of fighting an enemy that is mass-replacing its fleet. Но victory in such a fight is almost a lottery. From a ship designer's perspective—I am proposing a version with additional armament in the form of launchers and a new type of ammunition for them. Or else—we should accelerate work on the production of TIE Avengers and TIE Defenders."
The Grand Moff flinched as if from a slap.
"That will bankrupt us," he warned. "While we are producing them in small numbers for elite squadrons—the military budget still manages. Accelerate the construction of factories to produce these machines—the reserves will fly away faster than we anticipate. Forgive me, but I am categorically against changing machines now. We have only just switched to TIE interceptors for the regular fleet! We cannot, in less than a year, change the primary combat aircraft for the entire fleet twice!"
"I completely agree with you," I said. "The analysis of counteracting the Alliance's new machines shows that interceptors are capable of fighting them—provided the pilots know the necessary tactics."
Zion took a breath to fire off another tirade.
"But at the same time, I believe the initiative to equip ships with launchers is the right one," I finished. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon, make use of shipbuilder Zion's developments. Find us those who will build the new type of missile. It is not only an offensive weapon—but also a weapon for the defense of our ships."
On the "fire-and-forget" principle.
The homing heads will handle it themselves.
***
"Thank you for listening to my opinion, sir," Zion gave a crooked smile. "Next. Another proposal of mine. Grand Moff Ferrus wants to save the budget. As Vice Admiral Pellaeon correctly noted, unification is necessary. I agree with them. And I have a proposal. But not only for things larger than a gunboat, but also in transport aviation. At the moment, we have about ten nomenclatures of transport shuttles. These include Lambdas, Kappas, Deltas, Sentinels, and Hutt knows what else. They are often used on the Imperial principle—'What difference does it make what we fly?' Moff Ferrus…"
"Grand Moff," Felix corrected.
Zion gave him a look that frankly read his not entirely benevolent attitude toward authority.
"Grand Moff Ferrus," he corrected himself, "wants savings. But at the same time, we have a production line for Lambda-class shuttles purchased from Cygnus. We produce these ships. They transport not only infantry squads, as was intended, but also officers on their business, ferry crews, deliver supplies, and so on. Fuel, time, and so forth are spent on all of this. We have too large a nomenclature at our disposal, requiring significant logistical support. Not to mention the costs of fuel, consumables, and so on," Ferrus nodded in agreement.
Yes, this problem was well known.
And, unfortunately, unresolved. For one simple reason—both the state and the military machine of the Dominion were built on what we had "inherited" from the Old Republic, the Galactic Empire, and so on.
"I propose to unify the models of shuttles used," Zion continued. "Given the access to Pho-Ph'ean manufacturing and technology, there is a chance to modernize our production, refine what we have, to obtain maximum efficiency from the existing types of ships. At the moment, work on modernizing large ships is proceeding as usual. I have the time and opportunity to refine the projects we received from Lianna, purchased, and so on. The Empire, thanks to its scale, had the ability to maintain dozens of types of transport ships—all costs were covered by giant military budgets. I hear that you want to cut them. I propose to do it immediately. Among Sienar's blueprints, for example, are developments for the Mu-class shuttle. With the new Pho-Ph'ean technologies, we can rework this ship type, making it, for example, that very officer shuttle. It will be small in size, economical, and meet the necessary parameters. But at the same time, if our commanders and officers use Mus for travel instead of Lambdas, then across the entire fleet, this will be a daily saving in fuel costs of millions of credits."
The Grand Moff, hearing about savings, grew animated.
"I'm for it," he blurted out.
Who would have doubted it.
"I must point out, Mr. Shipbuilder," the commander of the Guardian said, "that you arrived aboard my ship not on a Mu, but on a Lambda."
A chuckle came from his original's side.
Even a fleeting smile appeared on Tierce's lips.
Ferrus wisely turned away, shaking slightly with silent laughter.
Astarion, hiding from no one, was grinning from ear to ear.
The counter-intelligence officer looked rather worn out.
Zion's red implant flared with fire.
But the shipbuilder remained silent.
"Do you already have proposals?" I asked.
"Only approximate ones," he admitted. "There is a nomenclature for everything that passes through the shipyards… if I am given permission, I will work on optimization and refinement."
"In coordination with the Armed Forces headquarters," I unobtrusively tied Vice Admiral Pellaeon to the shipbuilder.
What was the point of developing something new or modernizing the old if we ended up with a ship that neither the fleet nor the army needed?
Another "freeloader" was definitely not needed.
At all.
"Is that all?" I clarified.
"No, sir," Zion said. "I would like to speak about the modernization of Separatist transport ships."
"Zion only ever talks about modernizations," Vice Admiral Pellaeon remarked quietly (but everyone heard).
The shipbuilder looked at him intently.
"I spend twenty-three standard hours out of twenty-four in a day to ensure the entire mechanism of the Dominion's repair and restoration capacity works," a threat now sounded in his voice. "I long ago gave up on my own projects for building capital ships, because I understand: we don't need them right now. There is no point in building new ones when we literally have mountains of ships under our feet that are still combat-capable and fit into the concept of the Dominion! And I, a shipbuilder who was promised far more than what I am currently doing, am spending my talent, my time, my thoughts on creating ships that will never have my name in the accompanying documents and blueprints as the author of the project! I have put a cross on my career so that you would have something to fight on! And what do I get in return, mockery? Then deal with this scrap metal yourselves! If I am not needed—let Reyes or some other undereducated fool dig around in this mess. And then you'll be happy that your cannons have become more powerful because some idiot connected them to the hyperdrive!"
One could recall how he himself had proposed something similar, but it wasn't worth it.
The man was on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
Working "to exhaustion" has never extended anyone's life.
"Calm down, Zion," I ordered, realizing that the meeting was moving beyond the limits of constructive communication.
Now it was clear why he was so wound up.
The shipbuilder was simply not getting enough sleep.
And that was my direct fault.
How many projects had he developed recently?
A good dozen for sure.
How many of them had become independent, rather than reworks of what existed?
Slightly less than one Dominant.
The thought that he had entered my service and not become famous was akin to complete humiliation for such an ambitious man.
A little more, and he would simply burn out.
"I am calm," but his voice didn't sound like it.
"Vice Admiral Pellaeon obviously wishes to apologize for his intemperate reaction," I looked at Gilad.
The Chief of Staff, remembering our conversation about his relationship with Dorya perfectly well, jumped up from his seat as if on a spring.
"Indeed so," he said, looking at the shipbuilder, who was staring back at the speaker incredulously. "I offer my sincere regrets, shipbuilder. Your labor is priceless. And fundamental for the Dominion's Armed Forces. To be honest, I didn't even think that after so many changes you've made to our ships, you aren't considered the author of these projects."
"Because most of the systems on these ships—were not created by me," the shipbuilder explained faintly. "I only modernize, which Reyes could probably handle too. He's not a completely stupid kid, seemingly. But we should be building… It's better to build."
And that was very bad indeed.
If such an egocentrist and narcissist as Zion had decided to praise a man whom even half a year ago he had considered only capable of implementing his projects, then things were indeed taking on a very dangerous outlook.
Shipbuilders are a rare commodity.
There might be a few dozen, maybe a hundred in the entire galaxy.
And each of them wants to build, not repair and modernize what another created.
***
That thought had already crossed my mind.
And so we came to the conclusion that the Interdictor-III should become a new ship type, the Dominant.
A ship built by us.
But at the moment, how many had left the docks after modernization?
Five, if memory served.
And it did not fail me.
How many had participated in battles?
None—the crews were undergoing combat coordination.
Its "younger brother," the Immobilizer—the cruiser-minesweeper—resided exclusively within the Dominion.
"Shipbuilder," I called softly to the man who stood opposite me, as if frozen.
"Yes?" he started. "What?"
"First—you need to rest," I ordered.
"No ti—" catching my gaze, Zion stopped grimacing and nodded affirmatively. "Understood. Tomorrow."
"After the meeting concludes—you go to rest," I edited his plans. "As you said yourself, work is proceeding without your involvement. Have the transport ship blueprints been reworked by you?"
"There wasn't much work there," Zion winced. "With the new technologies, according to the project, they will become even more cargo-capable. By twice as much, for certain. Miniaturization and automation…"
"Consequently, you have almost completely reworked the projects for the core ship and the fleet support ship?" I clarified.
"Well, yes," he nodded. "Only the hull shape and the name are left from the old ones."
"By what percentage can Pho-Ph'ean technologies replace, say, Kuat's technologies?" I asked.
"Practically all of them," he replied. "We can produce everything we need from them—from electronics to Destroyer engines."
That was exactly what I wanted to hear.
"In that case, I see no major contradictions in you editing your existing projects for modernized ships to use Pho-Ph'ean technologies after you rest," I said. "Grand Moff Ferrus, see to it that Pho-Ph'ean enterprises enter the Dominion's military-industrial complex conglomerate on the basis of a public-private partnership."
And the main storefront of this association for us is Lianna technology, which no longer belongs to Santhe or Sienar.
It is ours.
Entirely and completely.
"Yes, sir, of course," Ferrus said, sounding bewildered. "But, forgive me, why? Wouldn't it be better to have a private contractor?"
"No," I replied. "Military technology is the prerogative of the state. This must be communicated to the Pho-Ph'eans. We are not depriving them of private orders. But what they produce for us—that is the basis of our autonomy."
"Yes, of course," Ferrus reflected for a while, then nodded affirmatively.
In fact, nothing changes.
Except one thing.
"And since Pho-Ph'ean technologies are not inferior, and sometimes superior to Kuat's or any others, does that mean that using their equipment in our modernization or construction projects will mean it is entirely OUR product?" I asked Zion.
"Well… Yes," he blinked his one real eye. "Wait a second… Are you saying that…?"
He fell silent, looking at me nervously.
"Precisely," I said calmly. "Rework the projects you are working on to use OUR technologies and feel free to put your name as the author of the projects."
Pellaeon, who had not yet returned to his seat, whistled.
"And yet Kane only gave the Immobilizer-418 a 'cosmetic' repair, added some guns, and called it a new ship type," he stated. "With the corresponding fame for its creator."
"Dubious fame," Zion replied automatically. "The ship turned out to be bantha poodoo…"
"But you have produced excellent cruiser-minesweepers, Interdictor Star Destroyers, primary Star Destroyers, missile-carrying Star Destroyers, Super Star Destroyers, Star Destroyers with ion cannons, universal landing ships, heavy cruisers, and cargo ships. Even a battlecruiser—that too passed through your hands. Next are the transport shuttles," I announced by no means the full list of the shipbuilder's labors. "Add to that the Mandalorian ship types we use. And, it seems to me, you have marked yourself in every niche of existing starship types used in the military fleet…"
"I'll have to at least change the appearance a bit for the sake of decency then," Zion said sheepishly. "To… No," he said firmly. "That won't work with the Venator, the Acclamator, or the Dreadnought… There are systems there patented by the Kuat and Rendili yards…"
"As I recall, they stopped producing Acclamators and Venators over twenty years ago," Pellaeon said.
"Which means their blueprints are lying in the Kuat Drive Yards archives and have long been of no use to anyone," I continued. "Except us."
"That will be very expensive," Ferrus sighed resignedly. "But I don't object, of course. Self-sufficiency is self-sufficiency. But it will cost us trillions of credits. Kuat is greedy beyond belief!"
"In that case, it's time we faster start developing the mineral deposits in the Chiloon Rift and in the new territories," I suggested as a solution to the problem. "In any case, what we use must be—from the blueprints to the last system—produced under Dominion patents. We are on the threshold of a major war with half the galaxy. We simply cannot afford to depend on supplies from abroad."
"Well," Zion said slowly, with a crooked smile. "If we use this fraudulent move, then… It turns out I am the most productive shipbuilder in the galaxy."
"It turns out so," I concluded.
"But I will still build something that is MY OWN—from the ribs to the bridge," he stated firmly.
"No one doubts that," I said. "After you rest, I'll have a personal assignment for you. I need an exclusive starship…"