Nine years, five months, and six days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fourth year, five months, and six days after the Great Resynchronization.
Captain Kalian stood on the bridge of the Steel Aurora, a Victory I-class Star Destroyer, phlegmatically gazing at the blue-white tunnel of hyperspace through which his ship was rushing towards the distant Sprizen Sector.
The Sprizen Sector.
Bordering the territory of the Ciutric Hegemony, controlled by Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel, one of the warlords allied with the Imperial Remnant, the Sprizen Sector included about a dozen well-known star systems and a considerable number of completely unexplored ones.
The planet Abafar was located in the eponymous backwater system, situated in square H-5 on the tactical coordinate grid. There was little noteworthy or valuable about it — which is why the Imperial Ruling Council, under whose administration this region fell, hadn't even bothered to organize even an outpost in the system; the Empire frankly couldn't care less about the sector itself. Not even the simplest patrol had ever appeared here.
And now, the Grand Admiral had ordered an entire Star Destroyer sent to a remote system! As if the days of the Empire's former glory had returned, when Victory-class vessels operated on the galactic rim. The armament and air wing of such ships were enough to scatter the poorly armed, rust-bucket pirate and smuggler ships. True, in the past, they operated in pairs… Two Victory-class ships were more than a formidable force in the absence of line ships on the enemy side.
But now, the young commander of the Star Destroyer was interested in something more than simple memories of the past.
The reason why the Steel Aurora was sent to the eponymous planet in the Abafar system. Considering that the Grand Admiral had only nine Imperial-class and only two Victory-class Star Destroyers, excluding the Interdictor-class Star Destroyers from the linear combat equation, it seemed somewhat… wasteful. Any of the Victory-class ships could easily kick the tail of a rebel corvette or frigate, and under favorable circumstances, even a Mon Calamari star cruiser, which formed the backbone of the rebel fleet.
Probably, the Steel Aurora was destined for something important, since they were sent to such a backwater, and furthermore, "supplied" with a high-ranking officer of the Imperial Security Bureau, who had some business on this mossy little planet that the ship's commander had not been informed about by the Grand Admiral. Perhaps he considered it extraneous information. Perhaps the mission was secret (which would explain the presence of a high-ranking ISB officer on board), and Kalian simply didn't have the appropriate security clearance for the mission details. But, even more plausible — it was a test.
Various rumors circulated throughout the fleet about the reasons why the Grand Admiral, having as many as nine first-class Star Destroyers at his disposal, specifically singled out only six of them, which formed his personal armada. No one knew the exact answers, so fleet officers prone to gossip and rumors in their close circles over a mug of something mildly alcoholic could only speculate. And the most prudent speculations boiled down to the idea that the commanders and crews of only those six ships deserved the Grand Admiral's trust.
At a time when the Imperial Remnants had, for the first time in many years, a Grand Admiral — one of the twelve beings trusted by Emperor Palpatine himself, a genius of tactics and strategy — it wasn't hard to understand that the reckoning with the rebels would come soon. And if so, then it was the duty of every self-respecting Imperial officer to participate.
And if this mission was a test, then it should be carried out with maximum efficiency to prove to the Grand Admiral: Captain Kalian and the five-thousand-strong crew of his Star Destroyer were worthy of being part of active combat operations. Cruisers could wander around the backwaters of the Imperial Remnant, even Star Galleon-class frigates at worst. But not a Star Destroyer. Even a Victory I-class one.
"Time until arrival, Captain?" dryly inquired Lieutenant Colonel Astarion, approaching the ship's commander almost silently. Kalian suppressed the involuntary urge to flinch from the start, as well as the desire to didactically tell the "security man" that sneaking up on the commander of a warship like that was at least immoral…
But he was ISB; he wouldn't understand. Or rather, he would understand but ignore it, because he wouldn't consider it worthy of his attention.
"Four minutes," Kalian checked the chronometer, the commander of the Steel Aurora. Turning to the crew members on the bridge, he commanded:
"Yellow alert level! All crew to battle stations!"
The ship's klaxon briefly howled, letting everyone on board know that peaceful downtime was over. It was time for work.
The watch officer immediately began relaying the orders, communicating them to the junior officers.
Within a minute and a half, every crew member was exactly where the battle stations prescribed them to be. Except for the watch standers — they were already in place and would remain until the relief watch arrived.
There was no need to check whether the order had been carried out. Kalian had drilled his crew well enough that he didn't even need to wonder if they would make it within the time allotted by regulations. He knew perfectly well they would.
Usually, ships of the Imperial fleet, if not heading into a combat zone, exited hyperspace on "green" alert. Only the watch responsible for the operability of the ship's many systems was on duty. The rest of the crew was either in their berthing or busy with their own affairs. "Yellow" alert required all crew members to report to their duty stations — the gun deck, the hangar, the engine room, or elsewhere. "Red" alert meant it was time to launch the starfighters and interceptors — all twenty-four craft on board — into space; the turbolasers were aimed at their firing sectors; gunners already had their hands on the control panels of the deadly weapons; and concussion missiles or proton torpedoes were being loaded into the launchers…
The chronometer dutifully counted down the last moments of the flight, and the light tunnel dissolved, transforming into the familiar blackness of vacuum, dotted with the distant lights of stars.
"Watch Officer," Captain Kalian addressed the officer responsible for bridge watch actions. "Report the situation."
"No enemy starships detected," the officer reported, after checking with the officer in charge of scanning systems. "No allied or civilian ones either. The orbit is clear."
"Sounds good," Kalian stated. "Launch the patrol fighters. Lower alert level to green. Prepare the landing ships and escort fighters. Lieutenant Colonel Astarion — will you need your own shuttle?"
"I'll go with the landing force," the counter-intelligence officer tossed out. "Put the ship in orbit over the city of Pons Ora. During the Clone Wars, the Confederacy of Independent Systems stationed a facility there for extracting a volatile and explosive fuel — rhydonium. Our objective is to study what's left and commence extraction. I'll take command of the ground units — one battalion will be stationed in the city itself, the second at the extraction site."
Turning, he strode towards the bridge exit.
"So that's why we were sent," Kalian thought. Well… an unusual decision on the part of the Grand Admiral.
Rhydonium was fairly well known in the galaxy. A volatile, almost gaseous substance with extremely high energy output. Compared to standard fuel, of course.
However, rhydonium didn't meet the safety requirements demanded by shipbuilders. Yes, this substance could significantly accelerate the engine of any small ship — perhaps even by orders of magnitude. But using rhydonium led to the actual destruction of the ship's propulsion system, destroying fuel lines and combustion chambers. Not to mention frequent detonations in the engine room during prolonged use of this fuel type. Modernizing the fuel system required such colossal funds that it was unimaginable that rhydonium might one day replace standard, relatively safe fuel.
Therefore, no one in their right mind would ever agree to such an upgrade — it meant additional tens, if not hundreds, of millions needed to refit a single ship. And even more so to have fuel tanks containing rhydonium on board a warship that could and should participate in battle… Suicide. Of course, if you value your crew and your goal isn't to blow up the ship — small amounts would be enough for critical damage. After all, it's a volatile substance. The effect of a fuel-air explosive upon damage to a fuel tank. Strange, of course, that the army didn't use this substance in its munitions…
Stop. Who said the Captain's mission wasn't precisely to obtain a new weapon to defeat the enemy?
If so, then of course, it explained absolutely everything that was happening. After all, how could a volatile and explosive fuel, suitable only for use in "disposable" engines, help the fleet? As an explosive? What nonsense — the fleet doesn't use kinetic munitions that could have such a "filling."
But…
Oh well, what difference does it make? He was carrying out the Grand Admiral's orders. And the Admiral definitely knew what he was doing.
Speaking of orders…
"Communications bay," Captain Kalian turned on his heels towards the "pits" and the rear of the combat information center. "Connect me with the Chimaera."
* * *
"Grand Admiral, sir," Captain Pellaeon appeared at the door of the cabin. "A dispatch from the Steel Aurora."
"Right on time," I looked up from the computer screen. "Tell me, what does Captain Kalian have to report?"
"'No enemy presence detected on Abafar,'" the commander of the Chimaera began reading. "'Ground forces deployed. The city and its landing pads, as well as the mines, have been secured. Work is underway to clear the old CIS rhydonium quarries. The local inhabitants own their own mines with a low level of substance extraction. Lieutenant Colonel Astarion intends to seize them…'"
"Unacceptable," I stated. "We will not be seizing anything from planets of the Empire. The ISB, as always, is overcomplicating the situation. Inform the Lieutenant Colonel to stop complicating things. It would be far more effective to negotiate with the locals and provide them with the means for rhydonium extraction. Their production — our money and transportation. Mutually beneficial cooperation."
"Sir," Pellaeon coughed delicately into his fist. "We don't exactly have an abundance of freely available funds to be paying some miners…"
"I am aware of our constrained situation, Captain. But thank you for the reminder. This isn't a matter of expenditure. It's a matter of efficiency. Nothing more, nothing less. How long would it take us to acquire mining equipment, learn to use it, and start extraction? Even if Captain Kalian and Lieutenant Colonel Astarion took the entire planet prisoner, we wouldn't avoid the problem of minor uprisings. It's another matter when we start buying rhydonium from the locals. From the looks of it, they extract it in small volumes, so the expenses will be minimal. Especially since we need rhydonium not only for the short term. Arrange for one Star Galleon-class frigate to be sent to them with the necessary equipment for storing and transporting rhydonium."
"As you say, sir," Pellaeon saluted. "A report came in from the Nemesis. They arrived at Myrkr. The signal source is Talon Karrde's base."
"Interesting," I said. "Life signs?"
"Scanners don't work there," Pellaeon reminded me, frowning.
"Good that you remember that," I hastily praised the Captain, mentally cursing myself for the oversight. Thrawn never forgets anything! A slip-up. "Land the ground units. Order the stormtroopers to act in strict accordance with the situation. Surround the base with several cordons to prevent our target from slipping out, should it suddenly change its mind about its role in the Empire's future."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon saluted.
"Have the orders for the Noghri been given?" I inquired.
"Yes," the Chimaera's commander replied. "Two combat squads are already moving towards Hypori."
"What about our task force sent to the Sluissi sector?" I inquired. I need to demonstrate to Pellaeon that the sensor malfunction on Myrkr was merely his test, not my own oversight.
"They'll be in position in sixteen hours and ready to begin the attack," the officer assured me.
"Remind them that their actions must coincide with the attack on Nkllon," I stated. "We absolutely don't need the base on Sluis Van to have the opportunity to send reinforcements to Lando Calrissian when Captain Brandei and the Judicator begin their assault. Any news from the Bilbringi shipyards?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. "Installation of the cloaking device prototype on the ship has begun to test the entire stealth system. We'll be notified separately upon completion."
"Good," I stated. "Has the Ubiqtorate responded to our request?"
"A message came that one of the coordinators is ready to meet with you," Pellaeon stated.
That's disrespect. A coordinator is a mid-level executor who oversees agent activities in various sectors. Nothing more than an intermediate link between the executors and the leadership of Imperial Intelligence. It's not even the Ubiqtorate, which stands above the intelligence command. This is exactly that — a "formal response" that I don't need. Not good.
"That doesn't suit me," I stated. "Such disrespect should not go unanswered. Do we have data on the ships and crews of the Star Destroyers that are at Tangrene?"
"Of course, sir," Pellaeon stated. "But they… are under the Ubiqtorate…"
"The Armed Forces are under the Supreme Commander," I cut him off. "The Ubiqtorate takes on too many extra functions. As always. Send me the information on the Tangrene defense fleet. We'll solve the problem of unified command."
* * *
Mara Jade opened her eyes, hearing a faint, almost imperceptible buzzer sound.
Her consciousness, trained by years of service to Emperor Palpatine, instantly shook off the remnants of drowsiness, switching to assessing reality.
Her hideout was intact, no disruptions detected. Therefore, the unknown enemy had not crossed the base perimeter, but merely…
Glancing at the screen displaying images from several dozen holocameras she had set up, the red-haired beauty just sighed and shook her head.
She was wrong twice.
First — the enemy wasn't "unknown." On the contrary, well-known. And it wasn't necessarily an enemy.
Second — the beings that were quickly but cautiously spreading across the entire base hadn't crossed its perimeter. They had simply landed in the very center of the base in their Sentinel-class landing shuttle. And now a half-company of stormtroopers in dazzling white armor was methodically and thoroughly searching one room after another on the abandoned base. A strange tactic — stormtroopers don't act so foolishly, at least not before. Now, as she had heard, in many Imperial Remnants there was a practice of putting the notoriously grating white plastoid armor on ordinary civilians and passing them off as Stormtrooper Corps soldiers. Well, if so, then… So the beacons weren't left by Thrawn at all. Although… who knows what kind of chaos was happening in the internal workings of the Imperial Remnants now. What if the rumors weren't rumors at all, and now various incompetents ignorant of ground unit tactics were getting stormtrooper armor…
She clicked a switch, moving from one camera to another until she was convinced of the error of her assumptions.
No, it wasn't incompetents who had come to Myrkr.
The Sentinel in the center of the base was only part of the ground force. Three similar vehicles were positioned around the perimeter of Karrde's abandoned base, and now one and a half companies of stormtroopers were blocking the retreat into the forest.
And judging by the fact that the only reason she could detect the blocking force was the hulls of their ships, they were clearly not yesterday's farmers. Possibly the half-company in white armor was precisely a "distraction" factor meant to "flush out the game" and force it to bolt toward the saving forest. Straight into the hands of other stormtroopers. The fact that the cameras didn't pick up white armor beyond the base perimeter meant nothing — the Stormtrooper Corps had no idiots who would traipse through the jungle in their everyday uniform.
Remembering stories about the ground phase of the Battle of Endor, she bit her lip. Well, she might have been too hasty about idiots. But she was firmly certain that the base perimeter was surrounded by stormtroopers whose armor was painted in camouflage colors. Not to mention that a second wave of blockade likely held other units.
A hollow ache set in…
The stormtroopers' actions here on Myrkr, calibrated to the circumstances rather than the textbook, stirred a feeling of nostalgia. While the galaxy was going to hell and everything Palpatine had built was being torn apart by ambitious warlords or rebels, and she herself had lost everything she had achieved yet again, it was even somewhat pleasant to see that the men in white armor remained true to their traditions — being just as efficient and soulless heralds of death.
True, judging by the fact that an entire army of Imperial stormtroopers and soldiers hadn't been enough on the forest moon of Endor to stop a band of rebels — there were still questions about the competence of the men in white armor.
As there were about her own…
Mara felt a jolt from recalling the rebuke the red-eyed Grand Admiral had directed at her.
"Luke Skywalker is still alive."
That's what Thrawn had said to her during their last meeting. Here, on Myrkr…
A seemingly meaningless phrase. After all, what did it matter to the former Emperor's Hand that some Jedi Knight was alive? Especially the only one in the entire galaxy. And generally not such a big thorn in the side compared to stories about how the Jedi from the Order destroyed by Emperor Palpatine's order could have made life difficult…
If not for one "but."
The very one that had nearly driven her mad at the moment of the Emperor's death. Even being hundreds of light-years from the Endor system, she had seen Palpatine's death… He broadcast what was happening into her mind. How he sat aboard the Death Star II in his chair, his irises burning with molten amber, watching the lightsaber duel between Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. How both interrupted their fight and turned against the Emperor, destroying him… How on the brink of death he looked through space and time, straight at her, giving his final order…
The one only she could hear — the Emperor's Hand. The one who could hear any of his orders across hundreds and thousands of light-years…
"You will kill Luke Skywalker."
She shuddered. The echo of memories washed over her, stirring what she had tried to forget…
For a moment it seemed that the phrase had sounded in her consciousness as if spoken by Palpatine himself. But that was impossible.
He was dead. And she had spent years forgetting everything she had been taught. Even her Force skills. Only then had Palpatine's voice and his final order left her in peace. And ever since she had succeeded, she had been able to live at least somewhat as she should, as she wanted… Completely suppressing all enthusiastic memories of the Empire, deciding to live in reality, not the past.
But today she remembered the Emperor's order. For the first time in years. Just from thinking positively about what had remained unchanged in the Empire, and now…
Jade bit her lip.
It seemed she had shot herself in the foot. Wanting to return to Imperial service, she had forgotten that she would have to finish unfinished business. And until she did, the Emperor's voice, repeating the same order over and over, his final will, would torment her day after day.
And Thrawn had to remind her of it! Damn that moment when they met, and the Chiss reminded her…
Wait a minute! How did he know?
The thought was fresh, sobering, and coincided with the moment when the brave men in white began inspecting the habitation modules.
Only she in the entire galaxy could hear the Emperor's voice! Because she was his Hand! She felt the Force! And could command it! It was through the Force that Palpatine transmitted his orders to her!
And the Force, as Mara understood it, was not like the HoloNet News, where any hack-capable person could tap into the broadcast channel. But even if it were, and someone else could hear Palpatine's will, that being would also have to be Force-sensitive!
And the Grand Admiral was not. More precisely, it would be correct to say that Thrawn himself did not possess such abilities. But his colleague, Nial Declann, was a Force-sensitive being. However, Declann, like many others, had died with Palpatine.
Then… HOW, IN THE HUTT'S NAME, DID THRAWN KNOW PALPATINE'S FINAL ORDER!?
She had no answer. But there must be one. Definitely. Thrawn couldn't have just made up such a convenient excuse for her that forced her to introspect. No, he could, of course; it wasn't for nothing that Palpatine valued him. The Chiss could have guessed that Palpatine, before his death, would try to leave some message behind to add bitterness to the rebels' triumph.
But Thrawn could never have known what the order was.
And yet, he possessed that information. The question is — from where?
She could guess until the second coming of the Galactic Republic, and it would still be a wrong guess.
Mara stood up, deciding there was no point in watching the Imperials any longer.
They wouldn't leave — she had called them here herself. To return to the Empire.
She had nowhere else to go.
Which meant it was time to stop sitting here and indulging in conclusions. It would be much simpler and faster to do something completely different.
Thrawn, at the meeting with Karrde and Jade, had said directly — he intended to bring back into the fold everyone and everything the Empire had lost, if these "resources" were ready to serve the Empire under his command. A simple and straightforward solution.
Thrawn told her that Karrde was not honest with her and his other subordinates. In the first case, he was right. In the second… No, more likely someone in his organization was fully in on Karrde's plans. But not her.
Well, dear Grand Admiral. You wanted the Emperor's Hand to leave someone who hides his dirty secrets and dealings from her? The Emperor's Hand left. You wanted the Emperor's Hand to return to service? Bravo, you got your way. She has returned. And she will serve the Empire under your command, Grand Admiral.
But only on one condition.
You will have to be extremely frank, red-eyed Grand Admiral.
Extremely!
* * *
Well, the Ubiqtorate has set itself up nicely. Really nicely.
The fleet defending Tangrene — both the planet and the shipyards themselves — surpasses mine even in quantity and quality of capital ships.
Six Imperial I-class Star Destroyers. Three Imperial-class Star Destroyers, but the Mark II. And a single Victory I. A simple count of this fleet's guns, as well as Tangrene's defensive forces, gives a clear picture that attempting to attack this facility with my damaged ships would only result in me being bloodied.
Every single ship in the "service" of the Ubiqtorate is crewed by teams with combat experience. Real veterans of the Imperial Fleet's remnants.
Tyranny, Titan, Shieldmaiden, Arbiter, Assassin, Black Star — these are the Mark I Star Destroyers. Eviscerator, Red Dragon, Eradicator were the Mark IIs. And a lone Victory named Crusader. I won't even mention the armada of frigates, corvettes, and other ships — I'm interested specifically in the capital ships.
The flagship of this entire armada is the Red Dragon. A very interesting Star Destroyer from the standpoint that it is the only one equipped with TIE Avengers.
TIE Avenger.
A fairly successful attempt to move away from the concept of cheap and unreliable TIE fighters, whose pilots died in droves when encountering the more expensive but higher-quality X-wings of the New Empire. A very interesting development, as it involved both a hyperdrive and deflector shields. But too expensive for widespread use in the Empire's vast fleet.
My jaw clenched at the realization of how many promising projects the Empire "swept under the rug" due to economic costs. The core idea of the New Republic was quality over quantity. In Imperial Space, the opposite. Both concepts of the military-industrial complex have vulnerabilities, but…
Words fail me! Is it really so hard to save up money and start modernizing the fleet? After all, in essence, after the Battle of Endor, Imperial Space hadn't built that many starships, mostly spending money on… Unknown where. Thrawn, in the events I know, didn't meddle in the affairs of politicians and economists, preferring to deal exclusively with military aspects — that was one of the conditions for his recognition as Supreme Commander. Although… I suspect there weren't many volunteers anyway. The Imperials preferred to sit in their sectors, praying that the evil and cunning rebels wouldn't take away their last possessions. Except maybe Ardus Kaine was building up his forces. Maybe try to forge a new, more "active" alliance with him? The question is — would the Grand Moff agree to that? He would easily respond, as I recall from reading, to the proposal of the Reborn Emperor to participate in the destruction of the New Republic. It's quite possible that he already knows about Palpatine's resurrection, and therefore is gathering strength to show himself in the best light before the old new master. The mere fact that he has kept the Reaper in combat-ready condition indicates that Ardus Kaine is head and shoulders above all his opponents in the Imperial Remnants. If so, then it's absolutely not in his interest to give me any additional privileges. Unless the "master" allows it.
And if that's the case…
Everything is very bad. I need credits, I need ships. This is a constant problem.
Additional issues — the Ubiqtorate's unwillingness to meet me halfway. Negotiations at the highest level through a coordinator is like a slap in the face. Or a test — whether I'll "back down" or not.
In any case — I don't like it. And therefore, it's worth reminding the overreaching gentlemen that the Imperial Armed Forces are subordinate to me. Yes, that applies only to those that the Imperial Ruling Council has assigned to my command. But…
Well, let's use an old, cunning, and wise tactic. "Don't know what to do? Act formally."
Is there a Supreme Commander? Yes. Are the Armed Forces subordinate to him? Yes. Is there an entire fleet that could be useful? Yes.
Well then, let it be useful.
"Captain Pellaeon," I contacted the commander of the Chimaera via comlink. "Transmit a message to the Red Dragon: 'Be ready for inspection and deployment.' Address the message from me personally. And inform them of our arrival time."
A tense silence came from the speaker. Pellaeon was probably grinding gears in his head. Because I had just stepped outside the bounds of my agreements with the Imperial Ruling Council, interfering in the activities of other Imperial authorities. And effectively intended to mobilize a fleet belonging to the Ubiqtorate, leaving their base with minimal cover! That's almost a declaration of war on one of the most powerful organizations in the Empire! Of course, one should think about whether we can handle it. So Pellaeon was thinking.
And at the same time, we'll check who he is more loyal to — me, who has already brought victory to the Imperials after many months of their inaction, or Imperial Space, which is desperately seeking to satisfy its own personal interests.
"Captain?" I asked into the comlink.
"Message sent, sir," Pellaeon replied. "Apologies for the delay — I was personally composing its text."
"Good, Admiral," I said. "Contact the fleet ships — we're going to yellow alert status."
"Yes, sir!" the commander of the Chimaera reported his decision (even two) quite cheerfully. He is a straightforward, direct, and loyal man. He had just confirmed his loyalty.
Loyalty to me.
Well, perhaps I was biased toward him regarding competence and intelligence. Let's see how events unfold further. Maybe a deputy doesn't need to be as "brainy" as his superior, and simple diligence with an ordinary level of initiative is sufficient.
I don't know… in my past life, I didn't get along particularly well with deputies.
* * *
Karrde read the message from New Republic Intelligence again. And pondered.
"You think it's a trap?" Aves watched impatiently as the "Claw" stared thoughtfully at the ceiling of his residence on the planet Rishi.
A small, actually even "modest" dwelling a few blocks from a group of warehouses where numerous supplies and unsold goods were stored, for which a buyer hadn't yet been found. But one would definitely turn up.
"Unlikely," the "Claw" stated after five minutes of tense silence. "If they wanted to catch us, they would have done it in the Dufilvian sector."
"And how?" Aves was surprised, scratching the back of his head. "Actually, we had 'clean' data on the transponder codes of the freighters…"
Oh dear. Aves is Aves. He's smart, proactive, loyal… but not Mara Jade.
"The New Republic knows me by sight," the "Claw" reminded.
"From where?" Aves's eyes widened. "We sent the information for General Cracken to New Republic Intelligence only in your name. We didn't attach a holocard with your appearance."
"You forgot that I helped them on Thyferra resolve the issue with Booster Terrik? I'm sure that General Cracken and all of New Republic Intelligence know me by sight better than I do myself," Talon said. "No, they want to negotiate."
"So we already passed on the message about the Imperials collecting asteroids," Aves reminded. Reminded disapprovingly — because the organization hadn't received a single credit for this gesture of goodwill.
"Nothing more than bait," Talon explained. "To make them want more. And they did. That's why they're offering a meeting. They want to understand if they can get another piece of information for free, and if they have to pay, how much."
"Are you going to try to dump military gear on them again?" Aves suggested.
Talon chuckled, running his hand through his beard.
"If they had the money to buy it, they would have bought everything we have in stock long ago," he said with a mild laugh. "No, Aves. I'm sure they want to try to get free information about who exactly defeated them in the Dufilvian sector."
"You think it was our acquaintance with red eyes and blue skin in the snow-white uniform and polished boots?" the assistant grinned.
"Do you have other candidates in mind?" the "Claw" inquired.
"Well, actually…" Aves hesitated. "The Imperial Remnants have plenty of military personnel. One of them might have had a rancor step on their corn, so they staged a punitive raid. Kaine, for instance. He has an entire Super Star Destroyer — the only one in the entire Empire's territory."
"Grand Moff Ardus Kaine generally doesn't care about the New Republic," Karrde said. "Or about the Empire as a whole. He has his beloved Pentastar Alignment, and he's happy. For five years he hasn't undertaken any large-scale actions, just building up his forces. If it were him, he would have chosen territories closer to the Alignment. No, it's our old acquaintance the Grand Admiral. Of course, if the destroyers had identification codes, we could say for sure, but…"
"Imperials are no longer that gallant," Aves chuckled.
"It's not about gallantry," Talon remarked. "They don't have that many Star Destroyers to allow the New Republic to count them by identification codes. By turning off transponders, the Imperials try to avoid identifying their ships, hoping that someone won't have enough brains to think that Imperial Space has more Star Destroyers than it actually does."
Aves scratched his stubble awkwardly. Yes, he would definitely have fallen for that trick.
"So, will we sell the New Republic the Grand Admiral's name?" he suggested. "For a couple of million."
"No way," Talon shook his head. "The New Republic thinks it got rid of all twelve Grand Admirals. The name of the one they clearly don't know about is worth a lot. Much more than they can offer."
"Then I don't understand why in the Hutt's name we should meet with them," Aves lamented. "I think they know themselves that the Empire attacked — Imperial ships all over the sector gave them a beating. You're not going to sell the Imperial commander's name…"
"Not yet, definitely not," Talon clarified. "But I'll hint that I know it. Let them scrape their coffers, maybe they'll break a few piggy banks — I don't care where they get the money. But I won't sell the Grand Admiral's name for less than ten million. Even if they offer me an exclusive contract for shipping across the New Republic."
"Well, you've gone too far there," Aves laughed.
"Not at all," Karrde remarked coldly. "Han Solo already tried approaching smugglers with a proposal for legal shipping. He was politely hinted to take such initiatives to Coruscant. But they gave him my name for contact. And so, taking the opportunity, Lady Leia Organa Solo is flying here for negotiations — practically the New Republic's top diplomat. And it would be one thing if she were traveling aboard a Mon Calamari star cruiser, but no. The supply convoy with humanitarian aid is moving separately, while the Millennium Falcon and Rogue Squadron are moving separately. Interesting. Han Solo wanted to build bridges regarding smugglers working on cargo transport lines in the New Republic — and for that, he needs our organization. Leia Organa Solo plans to discuss 'the previously reported information about what happened in the Dufilvian sector' with me." The Claw recited part of the message General Cracken had sent from memory. "And they're bringing an elite squadron as escort. Its commander is Wedge Antilles, protégé of Booster Terrik, my... associate. And Corran Horn serves in that same squadron. A half-baked Jedi, married to Booster Terrik's daughter."
"You made a nice pile of credits on that bet between Horn and Booster's daughter," Aves reminded him of the old dispute with the elder Terrik.
"I'm sure Booster holds no grudge," Talon smirked. "At least the bet was fair. Quite an interesting group assembling... It looks very much like the New Republic has gathered everyone they possibly could to put on their best pleading expressions and get something from me for free."
"And Terrik himself won't happen to be coming?" Aves inquired.
"Booster doesn't involve himself in Republic affairs unless they directly affect Antilles's, Horn's, or his beloved daughter's safety," Karrde noted. "Especially in such troubled times, when the Empire has trumpeted across the shadow HoloNet that it's ready to shell out plenty of credits for combat starships."
"Speaking of which," Aves looked at him uncertainly, "that's a good deal. Should we take it? Minimum risk, huge profit."
"Let thefts be handled by someone on Niles Ferrier's level or that brain-damaged pirate," Karrde said with hints of irritation. "Yazuo Vane. Finally remembered his name. No, ship theft isn't our business."
"Sure?" Aves pressed. Talon nodded silently without a moment's hesitation. "I heard the Corellians lost a DP-20 frigate..."
"And so what?" Talon asked. "Ships go missing all over the galaxy. Some lose them, others find them."
"That's true enough," Aves agreed. "But as your first mate, I have to keep my finger on the pulse... So, just yesterday it came out that two CR90 corvettes were stolen right off Corellia."
"Let me guess," Karrde narrowed his eyes. "The ships had just finished repairs, but due to some signals, the crew was forced to abandon ship, after which they waved goodbye?"
"Uh-huh," Aves nodded. "Thinking the same thing I am?"
"If you're thinking Ferrier made a nice haul thanks to carelessness and his 'foolproof' theft scheme, then yes, that's what I'm thinking," Karrde said.
"And I've been calculating," the first mate reported. "Why has Sly suddenly gotten so active stealing ships? And not just any ships, like he always did, but ones that have barely been repaired. Usually he'd steal even ones whose hull plating was about to fall off. A buyer can always be found..."
"I think in this case too, Sly has a solvent client," Karrde replied dryly.
"Thrawn?" Aves clarified. The Claw nodded silently.
"Our Grand Admiral is assembling a fleet with all his might," the smuggler said thoughtfully. "As escort ships, these vessels performed well in service with the Rebel Alliance and the New Republic. High speed, decent turbolaser armament... I recall Warlord Zsinj used several such ships with major refits as light carriers. With some effort, a whole squadron of fighters or interceptors could be housed on the hull or in the hold..."
"Claw, have you considered that all these Imperial maneuvers might hit us?" Aves asked. "If this guy has lots of light ships, he'd have no trouble recovering old debts and starting to search any freighter..."
"Even in the old days, we knew how to negotiate with Imperials," Karrde reminded him. "And even now we have good contacts in Imperial Space. If he starts hunting us, interferes with business — we'll find a way to rid ourselves of his annoying attention. But for now... I think we need new freighters."
"Why?" Aves was surprised.
"I want to create a shell company, not directly tied to me," Karrde explained. "The Solo family will clearly try to get us involved in transport shipping across the galaxy. We won't do it directly — too conspicuous. Besides, trading with Imperial Remnants brings more profit than with the New Republic. No, let an outside organization handle that venture. Find ships and suitable sentients for crews."
"So," Aves looked at his boss in confusion. "If legal shipping won't bring us big money, why spend on it?"
"Information," Karrde sighed. "The Empire will pay plenty for details on how defense systems are arranged for various planets in different sectors of the New Republic. Grand Moff Ardus Kaine periodically indulges an interest in such matters — and pays excellently for it. At the meeting, we'll gauge just how deep the New Republic's pockets go and decide whether it's worth giving them similar details about the Empire."
* * *
The Coordinator finished reading the report, set the datapad aside, and noticed that the long-range holographic projector had begun blinking with a red light.
Fastening the collar of his uniform shirt and tunic, he touched the activation key. The hologram that appeared, a quarter of a real person's size, was familiar to him.
"Bravo-2," the supervising Ubiqtorate officer addressed him without preamble. "What's happening in your area of responsibility?"
As if you don't know? Or has the Ubiqtorate stopped monitoring its own agents at some point?
"Grand Admiral Thrawn was not pleased with our meeting," Sergius said. "I believe he finds it beneath him to deal with a rank-and-file Ubiqtorate operative instead of representatives from leadership. He demonstrated this clearly by sending a mobilization message to the commanders of the Tangrene Defense Fleet."
"It seems this alien is getting too big for his boots," the Curator snorted. "He's not in a position to demand anything from the Ubiqtorate."
No, Sergius thought. He absolutely is. Supreme Commander, after all. Especially one who just achieved a resounding victory.
"Sir," the Coordinator maintained cold professional courtesy. "The Grand Admiral destroyed the enemy fleet and bases in the Dufilvian sector. This has generated enormous resonance among the military stationed on Tangrene. The first victory over the enemy since the destruction of Warlord Zsinj. As far as I know, significant spoils were captured, including rebel ships. With seventy percent probability, the Grand Admiral intends to contact Imperial Intelligence to conduct further intimidation operations..."
"I read your analytical report, Coordinator," the Curator cut him off. "'Provide all possible assistance to the Grand Admiral to strengthen Imperial Intelligence's authority throughout Imperial Space.'"
"Precisely, sir," Bravo-2 agreed. "That would be the most favorable course of events. This way, we can authoritatively inform the Imperial Ruling Council that the Ubiqtorate and Imperial Intelligence contributed to destroying the rebels. This would allow us to finally finish off the Imperial Security Bureau and optimize the system in our interests..."
"ISB is already practically exhausted," the Curator declared. "They are no longer our rivals. There's no need to build a long-term strategy treating counterintelligence as our opponents. Very soon they will finally prove their incompetence, and the Imperial Ruling Council will place them under our control. The Grand Admiral poses a far greater danger."
"As you say, sir," Sergius didn't argue. And what's the point if the Ubiqtorate has already decided everything? "Are there any instructions?"
"Yes," the Curator was quick to announce his decision. "We are recalling the Tangrene Defense Fleet to Yaga Minor, to headquarters. Let Thrawn try ordering ships that fall under Grand Moff Ardus Kaine's authority now."
Bravo-2 remained silent, analyzing everything he'd heard.
After the rebel attack on Tangrene, the Ubiqtorate realized that remaining at the disposal of the rapidly declining Imperial Ruling Council meant losing their own position as well. So all Ubiqtorate facilities and Intelligence Command resources were being moved to the Pentastar Alignment. The reason for choosing the new location wasn't shared with frontline operatives — orders came from above and were not open to discussion. In any form.
That's why, in response to the Grand Admiral's meeting request, the Ubiqtorate merely brushed him off with Bravo-2. He was being written off too. Tangrene was losing its importance to the Ubiqtorate. It looked like Intelligence Command had decided to defect to the stronger Imperial Remnant — the Pentastar Alignment. If the process of transferring information and relocating personnel only hinted at this, the recall of the fleet guarding both the planet and its orbital shipyards spoke for itself. When the Ubiqtorate withdrew just one Imperial-class Star Destroyer from Tangrene, replacing it with a Victory, Bravo-2 had already understood two weeks ago that a full troop withdrawal was approaching. But this soon...
"Sir," Sergius said cautiously. "Without the fleet, the base and shipyards will be vulnerable to the enemy. Especially given that the enemy still considers them part of the Ubiqtorate system..."
"All the better," the Curator stunned him. "We need to reduce expenditures and our own communication lines. You'll stay on the planet with a few agent groups in case of need. Major Molo Himron will command them." Bravo-2 was beginning to grasp what was happening. But he wanted to hear it all through. "Thrawn wanted Imperial agents? Fine, let him think he's got them. Of the fifteen garrisons on Tangrene, only one will remain — it's already been formed from the least effective units of the other divisions. To keep up appearances, the Crusader will continue guarding the shipyards. The smaller ships are also being withdrawn. According to our information, Thrawn's ships sustained damage in the Dufilvian sector battles. So they'll be at the shipyards for a while and will provide security. After that, let him deal with the planet and shipyards himself. The Ubiqtorate will not let anyone dictate terms to them!"
"Yes, sir," Sergius snapped. "So I understand the maintenance of Tangrene now falls entirely to Imperial Space?"
"Exactly," the Curator said. "Your task is to monitor Thrawn's activities and any officers who wish to serve under him. The Ubiqtorate must know their names immediately."
"It will be done," Bravo-2 replied calmly.
"Has the Grand Admiral made any further requests to Imperial Intelligence archives?" the Curator asked unexpectedly.
"No, sir," Sergius answered in a steady voice.
Waiting for the transmission to end, he slowly unbuttoned the collar of his uniform tunic. Then he unbuttoned his shirt collar as well.
So that's how it is.
The Ubiqtorate was abandoning Tangrene. That Star Destroyer, replaced by the Crusader, had almost certainly been evacuating the top brass of Imperial Intelligence and the most valuable information sources. They'd apparently already made a deal with Grand Moff Kaine for patronage, abandoning Imperial Space and siding with the Pentastar Alignment as the strongest faction.
So all the archives had also been moved to Yaga Minor. Most likely, only general databases were left on Tangrene — ones that had numerous copies across all Imperial Remnants. And which Grand Admiral Thrawn kept taking an interest in.
As the Coordinator of everything happening in the Morshdine sector, Bravo-2 had perfectly tracked all incoming information requests, compiling reports for the Ubiqtorate. How serious an official crime had he committed by concealing from command the Grand Admiral's increasingly frequent requests about Clone Wars events? It no longer mattered. He was effectively being written off.
It wasn't stated outright, of course, but no one would say it.
The Ubiqtorate had weeded out the unnecessary, leaving them only for appearances of presence. Thanks to multi-channel communications, they could operate from anywhere in the galaxy, and no one would suspect that command had settled on Yaga Minor.
Simple and elegant. And moreover, it was still an open question — was the Ubiqtorate and Imperial Intelligence even in the Pentastar Alignment now? Or had this information been given to Bravo-2 to cover their tracks?
Sergius could bet his monthly salary it was the latter.
It wasn't for nothing that the Curator told him his new assignment was to record the names of Imperial officers who sought to join Thrawn's banner.
Most likely, he himself had been written down as one of the Grand Admiral's supporters. Along with Major Molo Himron and his operatives. And the Crusader...
Searching his memory, Sergius even smiled. How could he have forgotten? He himself had reported to the Ubiqtorate that Captain I-Gor was expressing irritation with the Tangrene Defense Fleet's inactivity, while Imperial Remnants could easily strike enemy worlds and subjugate them without much trouble.
The Moff responsible for the Morshdine sector was also a Thrawn supporter. After receiving word that the Grand Admiral was heading to Tangrene, the Moff had developed an almost indecent level of activity preparing the shipyards to receive the non-human's vessels.
So he'd been written off too. He was sure the last remaining garrison on the planet had also once voiced support for the Grand Admiral.
The shipyard workers... who in the Ubiqtorate even considered them people anyway?
All in all, the situation was more or less clear.
Imperial Intelligence had gotten rid of the unreliable, transferring them to the de facto command of a Grand Admiral who was too dangerous to leave in power. The Imperial Ruling Council's initiative to appoint the last Grand Admiral as the ruler of Imperial Remnants (should he, of course, achieve a turning point in the war with the rebels) had inadvertently stepped on the Ubiqtorate's toes — they had their own plans for everything happening in the galaxy. So they decided to deny the Grand Admiral optimal resources to slow the growth of his victories, and consequently his authority, within Imperial circles.
Why? To prevent an equal confrontation between Thrawn and Grand Moff Kaine, obviously. The Ubiqtorate intended to make the Grand Moff the new Emperor. As the most capable organizer. That's why the Ubiqtorate didn't want to help the Grand Admiral — even a little would displease their chosen candidate.
Consequently, in the near future, against Thrawn and his allies... No, the Ubiqtorate wouldn't start a war within Imperial Space. Not for anything. They understood that would let the rebels seize even more territory.
So how would they get rid of Thrawn?
An assassin? Possible. But not now — they needed the Grand Admiral to achieve victory. As many victories as possible. Only then would he become truly dangerous to Kaine — when he started annexing more and more territories. Until then, they needed him merely as a source of trouble for the rebels...
Sergius pushed back from his desk, massaging his temples.
How simple things had been when he was just an Imperial Intelligence special forces commander. Carry out missions, think at your own level... But no, he'd always thought more broadly. That's why he got the Coordinator position here on Tangrene. And now they'd gotten rid of him.
He could swear that whatever reports he sent to the Ubiqtorate from now on, no one would read them. No, for appearances, he'd have to keep working. As a facade of activity. But accurate data...
Command had made a big mistake if they thought they could just discard their employees like that. He felt sorry for Himron and his people — they were very promising guys, real aces at their craft. Specialists for all occasions. And now they'd been written off just because Himron spoke positively of Thrawn as a sentient who continued to uphold the ideals of the Empire. One phrase: "He will lead the Empire to victory!" had cost Molo his career. And his men had supported their commander, sharing his views.
Sergius knew this better than anyone.
He was the one who reported the Major and his subordinates' declining loyalty to command. And now he'd been discarded like trash himself.
Resentful? No. He'd suspected this could happen. But he hadn't expected it would.
Maybe I should try jumping over the Curator's head and contacting someone higher? Practically impossible — he knew no one except his Curator.
So there was only one option left...
As the Curator had said, "Thrawn wanted Imperial agents? Fine, let him think he's got them." Only now this applied not just to Major Himron's group, but to himself as well — Sergius.
I wonder — does Thrawn need only spies, or would a sabotage operative do as well?
The Ubiqtorate Coordinator, Operative Bravo-2, Sergius.
* * *
"You know what, my dear Grand Admiral," Yazuo Vane could barely contain his rage, staring at the indifferent holographic image of the Imperial commander. "These games of yours don't fit up a rancor's ass! We had a deal — a dozen ships in exchange for my people. I delivered the ships. And not a Hutt's word was said about me having to drag myself to an Ubiqtorate base! I, by the Hutt's own balls, still value my ass and what's in it!"
The Grand Admiral calmly listened to the entire tirade, then began examining his gloves with an air of boredom.
"Mr. Vane," he said in a calm tone. "I understand your concern over my order. I am even willing to sympathize with your position. After all, you would be risking your dearly beloved body part quite considerably by setting foot on Imperial territory belonging to an institution that has spent five and a half years trying to find whoever was involved in the theft of twenty Tartan-class patrol cruisers and seven Carracks." The half-breed pirate felt a chill run down his spine. No kidding? Since when did Imperials learn to put two and two together? "I suggest you stop wasting my personal time and drop the act of innocence. I have no interest in your past, and I do not intend to pursue you for the theft of Imperial property. Provided, of course, that you return it voluntarily as a sign of your gratitude and respect for the Empire. Creating a suitable cover story to clear you of charges would not be difficult. Now, a test of honesty. How many Tartans do you have left?"
"Three," Yazuo lied. This Imperial was pleasing him less and less.
"I doubt your sincerity, Mr. Vane," the Grand Admiral said in a disappointed tone. "But as a token of the fact that you have handed over a full dozen Tartans free of charge..."
Oh, you... Yazuo shifted in his captain's chair, glancing through the viewport at the Strike-class medium cruiser hanging nearby.
."..I will forgive you this small lie," the blue-skinned alien declared. Interesting — how did he even become an Imperial officer? With their famously known dislike for various non-humans. "Furthermore, I will tell you that in gratitude for your assistance, I will fulfill my part of the deal — I will release all of your crew members who have experienced Imperial hospitality. They will soon be at the Imperial base on Tangrene." Yazuo ground his teeth. Tricky, then. Either fly to the Ubiqtorate base, or forget about your subordinates. If he refused to pick up the prisoners, the rest of the group would decide Vane had chickened out and wasn't going to rescue the guys. That would damage his reputation and cause a split in the group. "Well, since we no longer have any reason to work together, you are free to leave..." With pleasure — just let me warm up the thrusters. And I'll get as far away as possible. The Hutt take these ships — I'll find someone to offload the other six. To the Pentastar Alignment, for example. Not to this overly cunning red-eyed bastard. I just need to figure out how to rescue my friends... "However, I have a more substantial proposal for you. And this time — paid."
Yeah, right, I know your 'payments.' You give them your whole soul, and not only do they take fourteen starships right from under your nose, but they also take crew members prisoner. And they unsubtly drag you somewhere a sane person would never go. Because Imperial Intelligence would flay him alive for that theft almost six years ago.
"After everything that's happened, I'm not really in the mood to work with the Empire," Yazuo Vane declared.
"No one is offering you work for the Empire," the Grand Admiral noted. "Work for me personally."
Come again? How am I supposed to understand that? Aren't the Grand Admiral and the Empire one and the same?
"I'm completely lost now," Yazuo grimaced. "What's the difference?"
"You don't need to know that," Thrawn stated. "The main thing is, you'll be paid for your services. With pleasant bonuses on top."
"Sounds promising," Yazuo scratched his ear. "And what's the job?"
"First — bring the remaining six Tartans you have to the Pakuuni system," the Grand Admiral declared. "You will be paid their full value. Given that you wouldn't get even half the ships' worth anywhere else, this will cover your losses on the rest of them. After that, proceed to the Tangrene system — I will be expecting you. Agree to work for me, and you'll have no problems with the Empire. Refuse... well, I think you understand — I don't make offers one has a chance to turn down."
Yeah, it's clear enough. Say 'no' now, and that Strike will hit you with everything it's got — they won't even find the wreckage. Say 'yes' but actually refuse to cooperate — there'll be big problems. The New Republic nearly got on my tail when I tried to sell a single Tartan four years ago...
On the other hand... six Tartans at full price comes to just over twenty-five million. That's an enormous sum of credits — enough to really get things moving. And no one on the crew will grumble anymore about scraping by on petty raids when they've got a gold vein in their hands. Plus there's some work from the Imperials on top of that...
"Could you at least give me a hint about what kind of work I'll be doing?" Yazuo suggested. "I'll be flying to Tangrene — I can start thinking about how to do it right."
"Work details are for the in-person meeting, Mr. Vane," the Grand Admiral declared. "But so you don't get bored during the flight, I recommend reading an article in the HoloNet titled 'Privateering.'"
After the hologram vanished, a predatory grin spread across the half-breed's face. He looked at his crew members, who were watching him expectantly, and his smile became even more menacing.
"Well, there's our lucky ticket, boys," he announced. "Contact the base — tell them to haul those Imperial tubs over here."