Nine years, four months, and fifteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, four months, and fifteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
When Grand Admiral Thrawn, less known by his full Chiss name Mitth'raw'nuruodo, had returned from the Unknown Regions of the galaxy a year ago, he had chosen the captain's quarters as his residence.
An Imperial-class Star Destroyer (ISD).
It was hardly a place of seclusion, for it resembled a miniature headquarters more than anything else. Located two levels below the battle bridge of the Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, Thrawn's quarters were in the same section of compartments reserved for senior officers. With one exception: the former captain's quarters were set apart from the others, on the opposite side, preventing officers from crossing paths with the ship's commander.
This arrangement of living quarters now allowed me to return to my abode in complete solitude.
Not counting the ever-present Rukh — the bodyguard from the Noghri species. A terrifying-looking, ruthless assassin whose people the Galactic Empire kept as elite saboteurs. And it did so using the simplest of deceptions. Debunking the myth of a benevolent Empire saving the Noghri homeworld from the aftermath of a great war — that was the reason for Grand Admiral Thrawn's untimely demise.
And as it happened, I now had to bear that blue skin, the jet-black hair, the proud posture, and the blazing gaze.
I had lived a long life back on Earth. A wife, children, even grandchildren had started to appear. In my youth, I was an ardent fan of the Star Wars universe — predominantly the Expanded Universe, of course, which was called "Legends" in my later years. So much money and time spent on buying books, games, and related material during my wild youth and young adulthood, before I settled down...
I don't know if it's an irony of fate or just how things turned out, but back on Earth, I ran a small company providing crisis management services to clients. And for some reason, it fell to me to become the crisis manager of the Imperial Remnant.
"You are dismissed, Rukh," I said, approaching the doors to my quarters.
The Noghri, whom no one could look at without an internal panic, silently dissolved into the dimness of the antechamber separating the living area of the cabin from the corridor.
Noghri Rukh, bodyguard to Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Left alone, I finally allowed myself to relax. The headache that had plagued me ever since I became conscious of myself in Thrawn's body — precisely at the moment Captain Pellaeon arrived with his report on the successful information raid on Obroa-Skai — showed no sign of releasing me. There was probably a reason for it, but at the moment I could only see one: the arrival of my consciousness in the Chiss's mind. But right now, it all felt like some meat grinder, where it was difficult — sometimes agonizingly so, with pain at the base of my skull — to separate my own thoughts and memories from those of the Chiss.
However, one question currently interested me least of all.
Was there any point in torturing myself searching for the reason I ended up here, now, in the body of Grand Admiral Thrawn? I didn't think so — at least not right now. It wasn't the primary task.
Captain Gilad Pellaeon had clearly suspected something in my behavior — it was no coincidence he kept glancing at me. And it was incredibly difficult to mimic Thrawn's mannerisms without actually knowing them. Facial expressions, behavior, gestures — all of that is developed over years and ingrained to the point of subconscious automation. So, time and again, the aura of cold calm surrounding the Grand Admiral was disrupted by my habitual grim mockery, my smirks...
I really want to live, if fate has given me a second chance. Even if it is in the body of a blue-skinned, red-eyed alien.
And if I want to live long, taking the place of the tactical genius of the Imperial Remnant — whose thought process and sharp mind I lack, and what remains of his memory is hardly a coherent picture — then... I will have to win. Through sheer perseverance.
Wonderful. What else is there to say.
The key to success lies in proper planning. Thrawn himself understood that, and I understand and apply it in life. Or rather, I used to. In that, we are alike.
In everything else... this creature's brain is a veritable living computer. It constantly analyzes something, breaks down the whole into parts, examining each one from every angle... Just think of something, and the thought inevitably begins to fragment into pieces, a situation into fragments of events... And it hurts.
I don't know what happened to the Chiss's consciousness, but I am grateful to him that his body is what it is. Because I know for certain that this drive to break everything down into elementary components is not inherent in me. Back on Earth, I only did analysis for work. But ending up in Thrawn... It's like being inside a matrix.
If anyone were reading these lines, they'd probably wrinkle their nose and start shouting: "Deus ex machina! Deus ex machina!" Yes, for god's sake! Deus ex machina!
The very fact that I'm a man from Earth, for whom the Star Wars universe is just a collection of books, games, comics, and other fan service, and that I ended up right where I wanted to be as a boy, identifying with various heroes and villains of a galaxy far, far away — that is a "deus ex machina," as those who enjoy watching characters overcome impossible odds like to say. Naturally, I'll have to wriggle like an eel out of the grip of causality from this moment until the situation with the Noghri, at whose hands Thrawn fell on the bridge of the Chimaera. And without his style of thinking, oh, how difficult it will be...
Still, no one will ever read these thoughts. To the Imperials, I am still Grand Admiral Thrawn. To the New Republic, which five and a half years ago in the Endor system blew up the "Death Star II" battle station with Emperor Palpatine aboard... I am no one.
Sinking into the massive chair at my desk, overcoming the pain in my head, I began to analyze. I had to do it immediately, or I might never get another chance — circumstances already indicated that the machinery of Thrawn's campaign had been set in motion. And willingly or not, striving as best I could to recall what I'd read on Earth, I had pushed Captain Pellaeon in the direction of the known events, which would end with shock therapy for the New Republic and Thrawn's death at the hands of the very same Rukh who was on duty outside the door. And until I came up with a plan to avoid the fate prepared for me, I would have to conform as closely as possible to what my predecessor had planned. Luckily, I remembered some things, and other things could be gleaned from his thoughts...
But it hurt so much...
Gritting my teeth, I pressed a hand — clad in an elegant glove — over my mouth to muffle the sound of a groan. I couldn't reveal myself now — and perhaps I would never get the chance.
I had to think.
You can't solve a problem without breaking it down into pieces.
So, unlike the Imperial Remnant, the New Republic still didn't suspect that it hadn't dealt with all of Emperor Palpatine's grand admirals. That was good. A certain time advantage. The longer this information remained secret, the better.
Despite the original Thrawn having returned from the Unknown Regions to the known part of the galaxy a year ago, the Imperials had somehow managed to keep his very existence a secret. And there were several reasons for this.
First — Thrawn knew the value of information. I remembered that well from my knowledge of the character. The Chiss understood that the longer he remained an enigma to his enemy, the greater his chances of using the element of surprise. When the New Republic learned who he was, they would move heaven and earth to find even a single scrap of data. And they would find it. You couldn't purge all the archives in the galaxy. Somewhere, data on Grand Admiral Thrawn would surely exist. If my memory served me right, the man who ruled Myrkr — the planet we were heading to now — knew of Thrawn's return. But he kept such a sensation to himself. That was good. For now, the secret remained a secret.
The second — and main — reason Thrawn failed in the Star Wars Expanded Universe was, of course, authorial fiat. But no small part of the Grand Admiral's defeat was due to the fact that the part of the galaxy under Imperial control, called the "Imperial Remnant," was not a unified state. After Palpatine's death, the galaxy had fractured. Generals, admirals, moffs, grand moffs, grand admirals — each had grabbed a piece of the fat pie and declared themselves ruler of their own territory. For over five years, the once most fearsome war machine in the galaxy had been devouring itself, while the former rebels, led by several well-known figures, were taking the galaxy back piece by piece.
And now, the New Republic, controlling the galactic capital of Coruscant, had nearly half (or maybe more) of the star systems and sectors under its sway. The Imperials were forced to make do with the scraps from the common table. A confederation of several large and small entities, each with its own ruler, its own army, its own fleet. And to all of them, Thrawn was just a steadfast tin soldier who heard the bugle call and reported for duty.
The Imperials, who had lost a colossal amount of resources and territory over five and a half years, who had broken their teeth in internecine strife and war with the New Republic, still clung to notions of discipline. And the appearance of a Grand Admiral — one of thirteen highest military ranks in the Galactic Empire — had forced them, those who had tasted both the bitterness and the sweetness of their own power and dominion over their territories, to submit to Thrawn, albeit grudgingly. I remembered that too — but only in the broadest strokes.
And even then, the Imperials had only agreed to this arrangement on certain conditions: the Chiss would not seek to seize control of the Imperial Remnant, as many other wearers of the white uniform had done; he would take no action to eliminate the remaining Imperial warlords; and in return, he would receive the resources he needed — money, ships, crews, access to the Remnant's shipyards for repairs. The overreaching rulers had made it abundantly clear to the Grand Admiral what his place was: waging war. He was, to put it mildly, shut out of everything else.
Unlike his other colleagues of the same rank, Thrawn did not primarily seek political power. All this squabbling over titles was foreign to him. He was a soldier to the bone, and therefore his lot was waging war, destroying the enemy. Everything else was secondary. That was why he didn't fight any of the Imperials over any territory — he simply did what he did best. He waged war.
As far as I remembered, he was quite skilled at it, inflicting many defeats on the New Republic. And he did so while organically using the meager resources allocated to him by the rulers of the Imperial Remnant.
Compared to what the New Republic had arrayed against Thrawn, and what the rulers of the Imperial Remnant had kept for themselves, it was a drop in the ocean.
The core of his fleet was nine Imperial-class Star Destroyers. Six were his personal armada, three in reserve. Two Victory-class Star Destroyers. Three Interdictor-class cruisers. That was the sum total of his line forces. Smaller vessels like star galleons, armed transports, cruisers, and the like were third-tier ships.
And with this modest force, Thrawn managed to smash his enemy. The very enemy who had at least four fleets, each with at least a hundred Mon Calamari star cruisers, the equal of any Imperial Star Destroyer.
And yet, it could have been so much simpler...
It could have.
He could have simply surrendered to the New Republic, as one of the Grand Admirals had done. He could have gathered all his available strength and retreated to the Unknown Regions, where Thrawn had his own Empire of the Hand brewing. But he stayed, to continue fighting.
But I was not him. Even if I had his textbook knowledge, his appearance, the authority he had earned — I was no match for the Chiss. I had to understand that clearly. My actions, even if I remembered everything I'd read in perfect detail, might not lead to the same causal chains. And therefore, the future would change. For better or worse — it was hard to say.
But still, I would have to choose. Where to go, where to turn. Whom to love, to whom to give myself over...
Okay, calm down. The situation wasn't as bad as it seemed. I just had to break it down into pieces. Identify the pros and cons of each decision, evaluate them soberly, and make a choice. Victor, you had already made a few rash moves that could lead to your exposure and potential death down the line.
Patience and analysis of the current situation — that was what would sober me up and give me the key to understanding my next steps.
But first, I needed to rest. Sleep. Reboot my brain and look at the situation from a fresh, sober perspective.
* * *
"Captain Pellaeon!" The commander of the Chimaera took a deep breath, closing his eyes and ignoring Lieutenant Tschel's shout echoing across the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer. "Captain Pellaeon!"
Therein lay the problem with the current generation of Imperial military personnel — the bridge was full of youngsters who had only recently been poring over textbooks in academies and training centers, and now they were responsible for the control systems of a frontline battleship.
Gilad mentally counted to ten — exactly how long it took the young lieutenant to move from the comm station to the central platform of the bridge. When Tschel arrived beside him, the captain, whose temples were now thoroughly gray, fixed him with a heavy stare. It didn't help — Tschel looked just as much a cocky idiot as before. Ah, but Thrawn, with a single appearance on the bridge, could instill faith in chain of command and make them search their brains for the relevant articles of the Code of Conduct.
"What did I tell you about shouting on the bridge?" the captain inquired, adding durasteel to his voice.
"This is not a cattle market, it's the compartment of a Star Destroyer, where shouting is not customary," the lieutenant recited the essence of their conversation that had taken place before their flight from the Obroa-Skai system without a single mistake. "Forgive me, sir..."
"Two extra shifts in the officers' head will forgive you," Pellaeon promised, inwardly gloating as the boy bit his lip. Proud, was he? Well, well, I've brought bigger ones to heel. "What is it, Lieutenant?"
"Course to Myrkr has been plotted, all systems functioning nominally," he reported without hesitation. "We'll arrive faster than a Jedi can whistle on a mountain..."
"Three shifts," Pellaeon corrected himself. "Lieutenant. You are in the military. Leave the jokes for civilian life."
"Aye, sir," the officer said readily. "Should I report the estimated time of arrival at Myrkr to the Grand Admiral?"
"Why are you discussing the orders of a senior fleet officer with me?" Pellaeon frowned.
"It's just..." Lieutenant Tschel hesitated.
"Just, even Gungans don't fight..." Pellaeon trotted out an aphorism from the Clone Wars era. "Get to the point."
"The Grand Admiral left no instructions," the lieutenant admitted. "That's strange, because..."
"Normally, he demands to be kept informed of everything," Pellaeon finished. "You're dismissed, Lieutenant. I will report myself."
From the very first day of his appearance aboard the Chimaera, Thrawn had established several immutable rules — including that he should be informed of the completion of his orders. Immediately.
For a whole year, he had been instilling this into the heads of the Star Destroyer's crew with the patience of a teacher, and now... he had forgotten to remind them of something he considered one of the pillars of shipboard discipline: keeping the senior officer informed?
Or was it a test?
Or had something actually happened to the Grand Admiral?
Pellaeon tried to recall when Thrawn had started acting differently...
Today. Yes, precisely today. When he had entered his cabin to report that the reconnaissance mission to Obroa-Skai had been successful, Thrawn had been silent for too long, sitting with his eyes closed. And when he opened them... his reaction had been completely atypical.
Thrawn did not flee from battles — he engaged them with ease and emerged victorious. But for some reason, he had ordered the Chimaera to retreat without firing a single shot. Yes, the crew was young and inexperienced. Yes, they were up against four New Republic Nebulon-Bs and a squadron of X-wings… But the enemy didn't have a single interdiction cruiser! They could have accepted the fight and given them a proper thrashing… But Thrawn chose to retreat.
Now he had forgotten his own order — since the ship had jumped to lightspeed, he should be receiving a report from the watch officer…
And they were flying to some little-known planet about which the ship's database had so little information that beyond the galactic coordinates and scant data on the local atmosphere's breathability…
What was going on?!
Gilad stroked his mustache impatiently.
This was utterly unlike Thrawn — giving orders, demanding their immediate execution, and then being the first to ignore them. No, of course, he was the commander here, but…
The aging captain removed his uniform cap and smoothed his hair.
He needed to stop racking his brain trying to find answers to what was happening.
Thrawn was impossible to understand — just when you thought you'd learned him, he would instantly adapt. And you'd be left looking foolish again.
All that remained was to hope that in the unfolding campaign of Grand Admiral Thrawn, it would be the rebels who ended up looking foolish, not the usual.
* * *
What woke me was a call on the comlink — Captain Pellaeon reporting that the Chimaera would be ready to arrive at the planet Myrkr in the Obroa sector within thirty minutes, which, according to the tactical map of the galaxy, was located in quadrant N-7.
"Very well, Captain," I said in a calm tone, studying what was now my face in the mirror. "I will be on the bridge shortly. End transmission."
I had managed to sleep for a while, which had only lessened the headache. That was good.
So I could think.
But the fact that upon waking, despite my hidden hope, I still couldn't recall anything of Thrawn's tactics, strategies, or even his criteria for evaluating works of art was discouraging.
If I strained, I could remember a great deal — faces, names, places… but it was all fragmentary, unsystematized. Not a full memory, just pieces of it. And possibly not the most important ones. So even Thrawn's possession of any secrets was a loss for me.
I doubted he had a hidden cache of personal records, like a diary, anywhere on the Chimaera. The image of Thrawn and a sentient who would record his conclusions on flimsi just didn't fit in my head…
Flimsi…
Flimsiplast. One of the most common writing materials in this galaxy. Acrylic-based, used for handwriting and printing data. It can be reused because inscriptions and printed text can be removed without losing the sheet's function. It can be dissolved in liquid.
So-o-o. I know what paper is called in the Star Wars universe. Wonderful. Not because I now understand that handwritten notes can be kept. But because during my Earth life, I didn't know such trivialities. I was more interested in the setting and events of the universe, not what office supplies were called here.
So this is part of Thrawn's memories. Not exactly useful, but…
Wait. What do I actually know about the galaxy I've ended up in? And here I was getting all cocky, thinking I'd decide which side to choose. Shameful!
I should be grateful that at least I can speak the official language of the galaxy — that is, I know this language. So maybe I can not only speak it but also read it? Because after that sleep, nothing seems reliable anymore.
Approaching the desk, I quickly found the built-in computer with a transparent curved monitor that had been hidden in the piece of furniture until now. As soon as I sat down in the chair and placed my hands on the desktop, the computer came to life.
Hmm… getting interesting.
So, I understand all these letters. And not just recognize them — I read them fluently. And judging by the way my fingers flew across the keyboard, I can type as well. At a pretty decent speed, too.
Good. I can speak, read, and write. I could go to Coruscant as a senator from any sector — I'd pass for one of them.
But jokes aside, business is business.
Only twenty-five minutes left until arrival at Myrkr. So I have exactly that long to fill in my gaps. At least in broad strokes.
Hey, that's an idea! Thrawn spent most of his time here, in his quarters. So I can sit here without hiding from anyone, studying reference information about the galaxy, historical events, figures — the Chimaera, like any other Imperial ship, has access to the archives on Bastion, the capital of the Imperial Remnant. But getting information from there isn't simple. Not even Thrawn's clearance level would be enough for that — you'd have to go there in person and obtain the data array. And study it only on Bastion: war is war, but the secrecy regime hadn't been lifted.
However, the Chimaera's central computer had its own data archive — of an operational nature. Accessing it was fairly straightforward — you just had to insert your code cylinder into a special slot on the computer. A device that looked like a metal pen on the outside but contained electronics with stored data inside. Simply put, a "flash drive," an electronic key, and an electronic signature all in one.
And if I strained my memory, I could recall that in the movies, Imperial officers always carried such code cylinders in the breast pockets of their tunics. Though until now, I thought they were just writing instruments…
Well, what a fan I am… Fine, I'll deal with that later. Thrawn has several of these "flash drives" I'm sure there's plenty of interesting stuff on them. Or maybe not — maybe the Chiss kept everything in his vast brain.
Through an encrypted and secure comm line from the Star Destroyer, it was also possible to access the galactic information and entertainment network, similar to Earth's "Internet." Only it was called the "HoloNet." A ridiculously simple thing — there's a search engine, websites, chats, video hosting… Overall, in terms of media space, nothing radically different from the "world wide web" I was used to.
But I wouldn't go there yet — I needed to learn more about it. Perhaps, like in my world, activity on the HoloNet could be tracked. And I really didn't want a squadron of New Republic starships, the "rebels" as the Imperials called them, to show up and beat me and my entire fleet over the head for deciding to read some historical chronicles.
"Rebels"… Some rebels, controlling most of the galaxy while the Imperial Remnant holds less than a third. At this point, it's a question of who is the legitimate authority and who is the armed opposition.
So, the galaxy. What do I actually know about it?
From my memories, I can only recall that this galaxy has a considerable number of planets, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of different races known to humans… Wait. Not "humans." Here, to denote a sentient life form — both human and alien — the term "sentient" is used. Tolerant…
The Imperials flatly refuse to consider non-human races as "sentient," so they've come up with several epithets to replace the concept. "Non-human," "exotic"… The servicemen and civilians of the Imperial Remnant don't like non-humans and view them as little more than slaves. They are barred from positions of power; they are oppressed and mercilessly exploited. Thrawn was frankly lucky, because thanks to his tactical skills, Emperor Palpatine himself elevated him, personally making him his thirteenth and final Grand Admiral.
But, back to the galaxy.
What do we have?
Opening the galaxy map (understanding the galactic common language, known as Basic, allows me not only to write but also to read, so at least there are no problems with using simple technological achievements), which flashed up under the ceiling, I leaned back slightly in my chair, folded my hands like a steeple on my chest, and fixed my gaze on the ceiling.
The far, far away galaxy of Star Wars has no name among the locals. Just "the Galaxy." That's it. Although some races do have their own terminology, there is no officially accepted one in Imperial society.
According to the publicly available reference information from the Chimaera's navigation computer, the "scope of work" ahead was simply enormous. One look at the hologram and its explanations was enough to understand how incredibly difficult it was not only to create but also to hold power over such a vast territory. On that note, I should probably tip my hat to Emperor Palpatine, who managed in just over twenty years to subjugate most of the far, far away galaxy — imposing his own rule in some places and in others settling for the loyalty of planetary governments to his regime, granting them certain autonomous rights.
The galaxy has a diameter of one hundred to one hundred twenty thousand light-years. The galactic disk contains about four hundred billion stars, of which no more than a quarter had been properly explored by the galactic community, described, cataloged, and entered into the database. A significant number of stars remained undiscovered and unexplored, and their inhabitants unknown to the peoples of the galaxy.
So, for convenience, the galaxy is divided into eight regions, radiating outward from the galactic center: Deep Core, Core Worlds, Colonies, Inner Rim, Expansion Region, Mid Rim, Outer Rim, and Unknown Regions. The regions spread out like ripples in water from the center to the periphery — because the exploration and settlement of the galaxy happened exactly in that order, starting with the Core Worlds and the Core. Namely, human expansion began from the planet Coruscant, which for several thousand years has been the capital of the largest galactic states. For the past two decades, Coruscant, like the entire galaxy, had been under the control of the Galactic Empire and was called the Imperial Center. Now the planet, like most of the galaxy, is governed by the New Republic, which restored the planet's old name.
Imperial military command also uses a method called the "coordinate grid" for accurate course plotting. Something like the familiar game "Battleship," where letters are placed along one edge of a square and numbers along the other. The visual intersection of the imaginary lines of a specific letter and number was called a "square." Though it doesn't refer to a geometric flat figure but rather a cube that encompasses all planets, systems, and other astrographic objects within the boundaries of the designated "square."
Four spiral arms extend outward from the Galactic Core, also called the Deep Core — the Bakchu Arm, the Ettari Arm, the Southern Arm, and the Tingel Arm. It is in these arms that the majority of stars and systems beyond the Deep Core are concentrated. Closer to the galactic center, these arms practically intertwine, and toward the periphery they spread out like fan blades.
There are five known dwarf satellite galaxies, designated by the first five letters of the galactic common language: Aurek, Besh, Kresh, Dorn, Esk. Two more similar dwarf galaxies, designated Forn and Grek, were hypothesized to exist, but it wasn't entirely clear how large they were. The first two were the best known and at least somewhat studied, but again, no expeditions had been sent there, and if they had, I found no details in the Chimaera's databases.
According to many studies, the galaxy is surrounded by some kind of anomaly that prevents the stable operation of hyperdrives, which is why expansion beyond inhabited space is practically impossible. As far as I remembered, there was only one such expedition, but Thrawn destroyed it to prevent it from falling into the hands of the most dangerous enemy for all who lived within the galaxy. But there was still plenty of time before their arrival, so I could write them off for now. The enemies' self-designation was the Yuuzhan Vong, and they were heading this way with anything but a friendly humanitarian mission.
So… How much time is left until they arrive?
Again… Time.
I made another query to the ship's computer (I really hope there isn't some system administrator on board who will silently gape when reading the query history from my terminal) and shook my head.
So, as befits such a vast state, there are various calendar systems. And… they differ from each other, sometimes radically. But studying them all is pointless. The Imperials use a calendar officially called the "Standard Galactic Calendar" and also known colloquially as the "Coruscant Standard Calendar." This method of timekeeping had been the primary one since the founding of the Galactic Republic twenty-five thousand years ago.
Since then, the method of reckoning has changed several times, but the way of measuring time and the standard date format has remained the same. Year, month, date. That's it.
The Galactic Empire, as well as the Imperial Remnant, used the same calendar and the same principle of dating — either from the Great Resynchronization, which occurred forty-four years ago, or from the date of the proclamation of the New Order twenty-eight years ago.
The Rebel Alliance and the New Republic measured dates from the Battle of Yavin, which happened nine years ago, but the Imperials ignored this dating — after all, for them, the Battle of Yavin was not a day of triumph.
However, any calendar in the galaxy was based on the size and rotational speed of the planet Coruscant. It was a "solar-lunar" calendar, tied to both Coruscant's orbit around its star and the orbit of the planet's primary moon, Centrax I, around Coruscant. The standard unit of time is the standard second. And it seems to be analogous to Earth's — at least, my attempts to count the length of a second using the known "one-Mississippi" method led to that result. Minutes, hours, days — these time units matched Earth's. The differences began at the "month" level. The galaxy has two options for counting the number of days in a week: the Earth-like version, i.e., seven days in a week, or the "standard" version, where there are only five days in a week. In that case, a "standard month" has seven weeks, since a standard month equals seven standard weeks, or five — but with seven days each. But in both cases, a standard month equals thirty-five standard days. A standard year has 368 standard days, collected into 10 months, three holiday weeks, and three holiday days. Since hyperdrive theory allowed space travelers to overcome relativity, a unified time duration was established for all regions of the Galaxy. Convenient, I must say.
But one must understand that different planets and different corners of the galaxy have different local times.
So, returning to the Yuuzhan Vong… They will arrive, again, if my memory serves, twenty-five years after the Battle of Yavin. Which means — in sixteen years. And all that time, the galaxy will be filled with nothing but infighting — Imperials against Rebels, Rebels against someone else, and so on…
The real Thrawn knew about the threat from the Yuuzhan Vong and was ready to fight them, using the weaknesses he could identify. But I…
What are my chances of acting even half as effectively as Thrawn? I don't have his knowledge, I don't have his talent. All I have is knowledge of the Expanded Universe of the far, far away galaxy. Not all of it, but if I dig through my memory, I might recall something…
What can I offer against a genius of strategy and tactics? What data do I possess to carve out my place in the sun in this brave new world?
Service in the analytical department of my home country's Navy? In a universe where multi-kilometer ships that travel at lightspeed exist? That's not even serious…
Or is it?
I want to live too, since I got a second chance. Preferably far from wars and potential genocides. But if I remember correctly everything that will happen in the galaxy, sitting it out won't work.
So what should I do?
The Yuuzhan Vong will be defeated by the Republicans. At the cost of heavy losses, the collapse of their state, but they will win. The Imperial Remnant, weakened by years of civil war and the fight against the rebels, will also take a back seat. And if I recall correctly, even the morally outdated Star Destroyers of the Remnant would be able to fight the Yuuzhan Vong much better than Republican starships.
And the pressing question becomes — which side to join?
It's pure math here.
In the Imperial Remnant, I am a Grand Admiral. A prominent military figure with a certain, albeit limited, authority. Thrawn has many ideological supporters. Not to mention that behind him lies an entire power in the Unknown Regions, where a significant part of his service to the Galactic Empire took place — a state called the Empire of the Hand. But for some reason, Thrawn never revealed it to the Imperials in the Remnant. Why?
I had to think it was because he knew what their next moves would be — squabbling over new resource sources, possibly even intervention. There aren't that many ships in the Empire of the Hand — slightly more than Thrawn currently commands. The best chance to preserve everything he created was to keep the existence of these territories secret.
The lack of unified command among the territories of the Remnant is why the Remnant is losing the war against the rebels. In reality, after the fall of the Empire, much remained that could be used to win against the rebels. But all of it is in the hands of ambitious and selfish leaders who only imagine themselves to be brilliant and great rulers. Their neighbors are happy that the rebels are eliminating their competition. And so the Remnant is doomed to lose vast territories — the New Republic will nibble them away bit by bit. The process began five years ago when the rebels captured Coruscant — since then, their machine for restoring democratic rule in the galaxy hasn't slowed down. They emerge from every crisis with gains for themselves.
Thrawn is the last of the Imperial commanders who made not just a sector or two in the New Republic sweat, but everyone — from the common soldier to the government.
Or would it still be more expedient to go over to the New Republic's side?
After all, even now, Thrawn in my form could offer them a lot.
For example — lure my own fleet into a trap and help the rebels get rid of significant Remnant forces. Reveal the location of Honoghr — and the Noghri are superb saboteurs and assassins. Anyone on whose side they are would only benefit.
I could offer the Empire of the Hand itself and the knowledge it possesses about the Unknown Regions — I'm sure the New Republic has nothing like that. They don't even know what lies in the northern part of the galaxy — even on Imperial maps, it's just blackness, devoid of star markings or hyperspace routes.
If I had the data about Thrawn himself in my head, Imperial secrets — I could offer those too…
On the other hand, what can the New Republic give me? They'll hold me in a cell, thinking I'm playing some elaborate game with them, saying I know absolutely nothing about the things they'll try to learn from me? Because they will definitely try — it's naive to expect them to welcome me with open arms, give me a little house with a white picket fence somewhere in a paradise spot, and calmly smile at me at every meeting. More likely, I'll be tried by the "fairest of courts," and then locked away somewhere. A high-ranking Imperial officer of Thrawn's level cannot simply join the rebels and remain above suspicion for the rest of his life.
No. For them, I'm just a carrier of Imperial secrets. Of course, they probably won't torture me, but given that my ignorance will most likely be interpreted as a reluctance to share what they don't know themselves but desperately want to learn — like the secret of the lizards from the planet Myrkr, or the Emperor Palpatine's secret treasury on the planet Wayland…
A thought, like lightning, struck me.
Wait. Imperial secrets. Things no one knows but wants to find out.
Things the galaxy doesn't know about. Things that will reveal themselves later, during certain events.
Crumbs left after the pigs ate all the delicacies from the table.
I remember! Not in detail, but I remember some names, significant events, approximate dates! I read about all of this! Or heard about what I didn't read firsthand.
Okay, not everything, but the things that were iconic for this galaxy. So I couldn't have forgotten them. Especially not with Thrawn's mind, which, like a computer, calculates, analyzes, processes…
I just need to strain my memory…
It's a shame that all the dates and events in the books were given from the perspective of the rebels and the New Republic, meaning the count started from the year of the Battle of Yavin. I'll have to recalculate, but that's only a small part of the problem.
Things are much worse because very soon — in a year, maybe less — someone will make himself known… Emperor Palpatine.
Yes, he died at the Battle of Endor five years ago. But few know that the Emperor is a Sith Lord, a sentient capable of manipulating a metaphysical matter — the Force. Like the Jedi, who by default are for all that is good and against all that is evil, but the Sith are ambitious sentients, most of whom want only two things — power over everything and everyone, and the death of all Jedi.
Emperor Palpatine almost succeeded in achieving both goals. His death at the Battle of Endor caused the Empire to shatter into pieces and enter a protracted period known as the Imperial Civil War, when the Empire's territory was divided among various Moffs, governors, generals, admirals, Grand Admirals, and gods know who else.
By now, most of them are already dead — killed by rebels or each other. And the rebels have subjugated their territories, realizing that sooner or later the Imperials' song would be sung…
But they don't know that on the planet Byss — which appears on no star chart, hidden in the Deep Core — Emperor Palpatine will be reborn, or perhaps already has been reborn, and is gathering his followers.
I don't remember exactly when all this will start spinning, because the resurrected Emperor's campaign was depicted in a series of comics I never read. But I do know what will happen — broadly speaking.
Palpatine will gather under his command all the loyal Imperial commanders and their forces. He will sweep through Republic worlds — and others besides — with fire and sword, crushing his enemies with a colossal fleet. Among his ships will be Star Super Destroyers — multi-kilometer warships capable of scouring entire planets. Some by the sheer power of their artillery. Others with superlasers similar to those mounted on the Death Stars. But in the end, Palpatine's obsession with obtaining Leia Organa-Solo's children will play a fatal trick on him.
If only I knew exactly when this whole mess would begin...
Why? Because from an epic clusterfuck like that, you stay the hell away. The resurrected Emperor is insane. His primary goal isn't to restore the Empire or confront threats from beyond the galaxy. He wants to settle scores with the Skywalker pair — the children of his underling Darth Vader, who caused Palpatine's death aboard the Death Star. And there are only two of them: Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa — who married the smuggler and Rebel general Han Solo. The latter is technically retired now, but...
Okay, stop again. Palpatine will die trying to possess the body of Han and Leia's youngest child — Anakin Solo, who at the time of the resurrected Emperor's campaign has barely been born. Yes, that won't be his final death, but it's an event I remember. Palpatine will die permanently only the following year after being killed while trying to seize Anakin Solo's body. And with the resurrected Emperor will perish the cream of the Imperial Fleet — the best ships and officers.
But if I remember correctly, right now Leia Organa-Solo is pregnant not with him, but with her older twins. Right! Both children will be born just before Thrawn's defeat this same year in the events I know. So Anakin Solo will be born at least next year.
So, considering that in the events I know, Thrawn died in the same year he launched his campaign against the New Republic, the resurrected Emperor's campaign will begin next year.
That means I have only five months of this year to implement my plan for my future.
What plan?
Well, definitely not switching to the New Republic's side.
Fuck them. I have nothing against democracy or the New Republic, but according to the books, it's endless chaos and crisis after crisis. Help them by joining? Many New Republic military personnel are former Imperials. But that trick won't work anymore — those who supported the Alliance from the start are valued and respected. Those who joined later are just extras. And I don't want to be an extra.
Just like I don't want to be a target for Palpatine — and I will be if I switch sides before his death. Thrawn was special to Palpatine. He won't forgive such betrayal.
Join Palpatine? No thanks. Setting aside the fact that he's insane, you have to remember he's also a Sith. And who knows — maybe a Sith can read in my mind that I'm not who I claim to be? How did it go? "Your emotions betray you, Luke." And while I'm relatively confident about the Republicans — those guys won't stoop to torture — the resurrected Emperor would turn me inside out to discover what I know. And something tells me you can't negotiate peacefully with that guy.
Leave everything as it is? Then I'll die. If I don't intervene in certain events — Thrawn's death is guaranteed. And after that, the Imperial Remnant loses its position.
Take over the Remnant myself? Yeah, that's a lot to want in my first week here. My very first battle — in the Obroa-skai system — I "lost." I fled in disgrace, and now I'm thinking about capturing vast territories, dozens if not hundreds of sectors... Since when did I develop megalomania? I'll be up against career military officers who have been fighting for years, if not decades — first against the Separatists about thirty years ago, then against various local rebels, and for the last ten to fifteen years against the Rebel Alliance, now the New Republic. My chances are minimal, if they exist at all.
But on the other hand...
Among those same rebels, there weren't that many career officers, but they still gave the Empire a bloody nose. And they started small too. Why am I even overthinking this? The rebels' starting conditions were far worse than mine! They fought in various junk, trading ships, and converted starliners. And they won.
Either this galaxy's infamous Force helps those whose life motto is "foolishness and courage," or there's some secret. For instance, the fact that at the center of most crises is a member of the Skywalker family. I don't have a single one at my disposal, but...
I have afterknowledge! And a desire to survive. Not to conquer territories to feed a sick ego, but so that there won't be a major "ouch" in the future. No, it'll happen anyway, but there's a chance to reduce its scale. And find my place in the world.
Well, why not? Am I a transmigrator, or just out for a walk? There's no chance for those who do nothing.
I have power — a decent-sized fleet. With a favorable turn of events, I could try. But again — a military conflict within the Remnant will weaken it against the New Republic. So while I'm fighting over scraps on one side, the Republicans, who have far greater forces than I do, will bite off a bigger piece from the other side.
And let's be honest, starting another bloodbath among Imperials won't win me popularity with the Remnant's population or the military on its territories. And when I need all forces to subdue the Remnant, they might not support me...
Okay, stop. Support is ensured by loyalty. Soldiers and sailors of the Imperial Remnant's territories are loyal to whoever currently holds power. Because those people have more weapons, they have money, and unlike Thrawn, these commanders have made their mark in the war against the New Republic.
Thrawn's entire authority now rests largely on the fact that he's the last Grand Admiral of the Empire. The only alien to receive such a rank. Which means he didn't earn that white uniform from Palpatine — known for his xenophobia — for his pretty face.
If I start throwing around phrases like, "I built myself a state in the Unknown Regions!" it won't help much. The value of a sentient in the Empire depends on their efficiency. Thrawn was efficient — very much so.
Therefore...
Since I don't want to be a bird in the New Republic's golden cage, I don't want to be a target or servant for a mad resurrected Emperor, I don't want to be a puppet in the hands of the Imperial Remnant's warlords — I need to carve out my own niche in this galaxy. And to make sure that niche isn't the size of a coffin or a prison cell — I need to win, to gain popularity among the Imperials.
To do that, I need to use what Thrawn did in his books. With the exception that defeats are unacceptable. And the betrayal of the Noghri is outright life-threatening.
Let's set aside the Empire of the Hand for now — it won't help at this moment. Everything produced there goes immediately to defend the Empire of the Hand's own borders. So I won't get any ships or soldiers from there.
And I need ships and soldiers if I intend to carve out my place in the sun. And I very much want that.
The simplest way is to act as Thrawn acted. But don't make the mistakes that turned into catastrophic errors. And again — that's a short-term strategy. A long-term one isn't on the horizon yet either — the resurrected Emperor's appearance is approaching.
So, the goal is set — my own state. It's not safe to talk about this to anyone yet — unhealthy. The Imperial Remnant might take offense and demand back everything they've given. And you can't ask them for more — they need help themselves.
So again, we return to the methods of achieving the goal. The galaxy has long been divided into spheres of influence. Which means I'll have to conquer territory for myself. For that, I need ships and people in my service.
Thrawn has already taken steps in that direction — Myrkr and Wayland will provide him with manpower. As for ships... Let's see... He attacked a shipyard to capture disarmed New Republic vessels. But why are warships disarmed in such turbulent times?
Think, Viktor, think...
Then again, why think when I can consult intelligence reports?
Let's see... The Rebel fleet...
Found it! The New Republic has holes in its pockets. Meaning, their budget is as deficit-ridden as my situation is bad on all fronts. And they desperately need to establish cargo transport. They don't have enough merchant fleet. And some very clever fellow named Ackbar ordered some warships disarmed and used as transports.
A plan as reliable as a Swiss watch, I have to admit.
Remove the weapons, reduce the crew — and all the free space is filled with cargo. Very useful for any side.
A very tempting target — attack the shipyard where the ships are sitting for unloading, land assault troops, and steal some warships right from under the Republicans' noses. Bold, daring, but... Thrawn didn't succeed.
Good, I remember exactly why, so I can try to change the outcome. But first, the entire plan needs to be broken down into parts. And each of these parts needs to be thoroughly studied, evaluated, and understood — what exactly went wrong and where.
That's the first scenario for increasing fleet size.
The second — like Thrawn in the events I know — announce a "contest" among starship hijackers, smugglers, and other illegal types to purchase stolen warships. Understandably, in a situation where there's money but not a lot, you can't pay full price. And for less, few will want to work. But there will definitely be takers.
Another question is that ships obtained this way will, at best, not be the best. Possibly outright junk. The Mon Calamari Star Cruisers that form the backbone of the New Republic's fleet differ significantly in performance and technical specs from Imperial-built starships. And a logistics and repair nightmare — mixed-type starships. I understand the original Thrawn didn't shy away from this either — what he couldn't use himself could be used for other purposes, as long as it weakened the enemy. But I have a head on my shoulders too. The Imperial Remnant already suffers from less-than-ideal organization, and if I start bringing Mon Calamari cruisers to the shipyards for rearmament and repair, for example — how quickly will they be ready for action? This equipment isn't very familiar to Imperial crews. Consequently, the effectiveness of using such starships is questionable.
But there's a third option — to get my greedy hands on things that aren't being watched. Those very crumbs and Imperial secrets that in the events I know will surface in a year, two, five, and so on... Of course, I can't even think about stealing ships from the Imperial Remnant, although I wouldn't say no to an Executor-class Star Super Destroyer called the Reaper, belonging to Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, who leads the largest territorial entity in the Imperial Remnant. But he'll never give it up. Not only can such a nineteen-kilometer giant tear apart an entire fleet on its own, but for Imperials, it's also a symbol of power. And you don't throw symbols around.
So, I need to take ships and equipment where they're lying around and unwanted. Or where no one knows they're lying around.
And at this moment, there are... a lot of such places in the galaxy.
I feel like my head has turned into some kind of computing center. Disjointed facts surfaced in my memory — events that connected logically or dialectically, forming an overall picture, but... The puzzle wasn't coming together very well yet. But I think it's a matter of time.
And I do have time. Apparently, Thrawn's mind, even if it only carries residual information — like the simplest, most straightforward data such as reading and writing skills — is itself a weapon. One that digs through my memory, pulling out more and more new details... Though, useful ones for my cause right now are few.
But they exist.
From memory, I can recall a good dozen places where various "abandoned goods," left to the whims of fate, can be found. In fact, the first such "easter egg" is practically within my grasp. And I'm talking about Emperor Palpatine's treasure vault on the planet Wayland — a lost world where many secrets of the Galactic Empire's ruler are stored.
Thrawn possesses information about the location of this world. And... if only he'd entered that data...
No, it's not in the Chimaera's navigation computer.
Shit. Am I facing failure?
Wait, stop. Would a Grand Admiral keep such an important secret freely accessible to the crew before he'd laid his own hands on it?
No, Thrawn definitely wouldn't.
So I need to look elsewhere. But where?
Especially since we're about to arrive at Myrkr and I should return to the bridge.
Think, think, think! Secrets like that aren't stored in public access. You keep them on your person.
Right! On my person!
The file with a set of coordinates that didn't match any planet's position in the galaxy was found on the second code cylinder. The first contained Thrawn's access codes and his service record. His personal file, basically. Interesting. I'll have to study it later.
Amazingly, the planet Wayland — if these coordinates really belong to it — is relatively close to Myrkr. So the flight won't be long.
That's good news.
I felt my body strain slightly when it experienced weak, barely noticeable, but still — forces. They're hard to describe, but it felt like going up or down in an elevator.
We must have dropped out of hyperspace.
I sighed, switched off the computer. Threw on my tunic, fastened it. Slid the code cylinders into my pockets — regulations required it, after all — and headed for the cabin door.
I stopped in front of the reflective surface next to the door and looked at my reflection.
With an effort of will, I wiped the smirk off my face. Thrawn doesn't do that. Thrawn is serious and calculating. I can't make mistakes.
One slip, two — they'll write off as the Grand Admiral's personality quirks. But the more there are... As the old saying goes: "Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action." I don't need to be exposed by "my own people." Imperials certainly won't stand on ceremony with interrogation methods.
The decision is made. I'm on the Empire's side. Not because I'm a tyrant and a despot. Because the Empire is effective at fighting enemies. But not the Empire that remains now. The one that was.
And the state I will build.
This isn't a fast process, so for now I'll use what I can dredge up from my memory. Interstellar travel isn't quick here, and the Chimaera's memory banks are full of service information, including textbook tactics and strategies. I need to study all of it. Process it, organize it using a brilliant mind — now my mind. And make it all a weapon for creating a new state. I don't think calling what I want the "Thrawn Empire" would be right — that would be an instant trigger for the Rebels. And the galaxy has had enough of various "Empires" lately. No, I need something else. Something more viable and without the senile stench of Palpatine.
Still, I'll have time to think about that. And acquire new knowledge about this galaxy. For now, events haven't gone too far, and I can use the foundation the real Thrawn built. But change everything for the better. In the direction that suits me.
One small step for the Chiss whose body I've inhabited, and one giant leap for sentient beings in this galaxy. And it will happen today, right now.
My mind is already analyzing and building a strategy. Today's events will already change the future. The way I want it.
Time to greet the master of this world. And make him a cautious business proposition. An offer he'll refuse.
Though, if I remember everything correctly, I'll have a chance to meet not only Talon "The Claw" Karrde, the smuggler leader.
He serves the woman Emperor Palpatine once called his Hand.
A very valuable asset on the ruins of a fallen Galactic Empire. And she will be mine. Or no one's.
It's time to remind Mara Jade of her oath of loyalty.
* * *
"I'm dreaming," Luke reminded himself, staring into the endless expanses of Tatooine. Just as yellow, just as merciless, just as...
Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker.
"Luke," a voice sounded behind him, and the young Jedi turned.
"Ben!" he breathed joyfully. "Ben! You've been gone so long I thought you'd never appear again. I'm so glad to..."
"And I, Luke," the bluish-blue ghost smiled. "It's heartening to see what a powerful Jedi you've become."
"I'm trying," the young man hesitated. "The last of the Jedi, after all..."
"Be careful," Obi-Wan Kenobi said sternly but good-naturedly. "The Emperor and Vader are dead..."
"The Emperor and my father," the young Jedi mentally corrected his old friend's words.
."..but the Dark Side of the Force is still strong in the galaxy," the Force ghost stunned him with an unexpected admission. "You must have felt the disturbance in the Force that occurred not long ago?"
"Yes," was all Luke could manage. "Something strange, almost alien... But I couldn't understand what it was. Just a slight ripple in the Force that became almost imperceptible. Forgive me, Ben, I couldn't figure out what was happening."
"Don't blame yourself," Obi-Wan said firmly. "Your journey is only beginning, Luke. Be patient and disciplined. The Force is with you, don't forget that. Mistakes have happened and will happen — there's no escaping that. But you can learn life's lessons from them. Don't look for easy paths — take the right road."
"You speak as if you've come to say goodbye and give your final instructions," Skywalker said sadly.
"It's becoming harder to cross the veil between the world of the living and the dead, Luke," the young Jedi thought Kenobi's face should have worn a bitter smile, but no. Obi-Wan regretted nothing. He was simply stating a fact. "I think this is the last time we'll see each other. Listen to the Force, Luke. It will help you find allies where you least expect them. And it will reveal the schemes of your enemies..."
"I certainly hope so," Luke said, watching Ben Kenobi's image fade. Even the sands of Tatooine began to ripple. "Farewell, old friend."
But Obi-Wan Kenobi didn't answer him.
The old Jedi had vanished. Luke Skywalker opened his eyes, wiping the moisture from them. He was still in his room. Staring at the ceiling of his bedroom...
And despite the fact that his twin sister, Leia, was somewhere in the Imperial Palace, the young Jedi felt incredibly alone.