Nine years, five months, and seven days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, five months, and seven days after the Great Resynchronization.
"We'll be in the Tangrene system in fifteen minutes, Grand Admiral," reported Captain Pellaeon as he approached me.
Settled into the command chair on the Chimaera's bridge, I watched the countless blue-white lights of hyperspace flicker before my eyes, stroking the ysalamiri curled comfortably in my arms.
"Understood, Captain," I said in a calm tone. "Has a response come in from the Red Dragon?"
"No, sir," Pellaeon replied.
"Is that so?" I raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Responses from the other ship commanders?"
"Not a single one, sir," Gilad stated. "Complete silence to all our inquiries. And from the Moff of the Mordayl sector — the same."
"Maintain yellow alert," I ordered. "And send someone to our dearest friend, the Jedi Master. Have him report to the bridge."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon acknowledged.
So here we are, flying along — pleased with ourselves, battered, with a caravan of trophies behind us, not knowing what awaits ahead. A dangerous combination, considering I'm the one leading this little 'company of interests.' A man in a Chiss body, trying with all his might but not even close to living up to the aura of the great military commander, Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Well, I can only hope for one of two outcomes. Scenario Number One: the Ubiqtorate won't try to grind us to dust just to show who's in charge. After all, the commanders of Imperial Intelligence and the other intelligence agencies of Imperial Space aren't idiots. They won't blow their top over my demand to their fleet ships. The Ubiqtorate has always cared about the Empire's well-being. Starting a public inter-Imperial bloodbath between loyal Imperial forces isn't their style. That was the calculation when I passed Pellaeon the order for the ships based at Tangrene. The Ubiqtorate won't risk an open confrontation. They'll more likely send someone higher than a simple coordinator to negotiate.
Scenario Number Two. We arrive in orbit above Tangrene and find the fleet ships and everything they've got waiting for us. And then the meat grinder starts. In that situation, given my still-weak competence in space fleet matters and the enemy's numerical superiority, my only trump card is that infamous C'baoth. Rukh reported half an hour ago that the Master was seen wandering the Chimaera's living quarters. So the old geezer's come around. And if necessary, he can provide us with whatever support he can manage. In a matchup between 'a battered fleet with trophies backed by the Battle Meditation of a crazed Jedi clone' versus 'first-class Imperial military on ships with experienced crews,' I'd say our chances are at least even. If I'm being optimistic, I'm more confident things will go according to Scenario Number One.
"I am not your obedient puppet, Grand Admiral," a booming but slightly shrill voice rang out from the previously mentioned Jedi Master, who had emerged from the Chimaera's turbolift. "And I am not obligated to appear at your first summons like a padawan who's been up to mischief!"
Silence fell on the bridge. The clone's blatant challenge couldn't go unnoticed. I need C'baoth to coordinate forces whose professionalism has suffered significantly. But I can't allow him to cross the line — especially in front of my subordinates. That would undermine my authority first and foremost. And that's unacceptable.
Turning my chair toward the approaching C'baoth, I locked my gaze onto his eyes. Simple human eyes, gleaming with madness. I noted how Rukh tensed, crouching in the shadows of a bulkhead a few meters away.
"Master C'baoth," I greeted my 'dear guest.' "I'm glad you responded to my invitation to join me on the bridge. However, I find you've been overly irritable lately."
The clone came right up to me, looking down at me as if trying to crush me with the authority of his aged bulk.
"Where is my Jedi, Grand Admiral?" he demanded, hissing like a crawling venomous reptile. "I helped you in the Dufilvian sector! Where. Is. My. Jedi."
"Don't try to practice your commanding tone on me, Master," I noted calmly. "I am not your student. And you are not my master. We are partners. Don't forget that. If you try to undermine my authority again by addressing me with inappropriate intonations..."
"And what will you do, Admiral?" the Jedi Master sneered into his beard. "I've been inside your people's minds. One wish from me, and I'll take control of your entire crew!"
Now that was unforgivable.
"Well, then go ahead, Jedi Master," I said lightly, in the same indifferent tone, as if my very guts weren't trembling at the mere prospect of such actions. "Your control requires immobility. And it demands great physical and mental strength, leaving you vulnerable. In the time it would take for you to enter your meditative trance, Captain Pellaeon," Gilad, standing by my chair, swallowed tensely — "could go to the nearest armory for a service weapon five times over and shoot you like an old bantha. But he wouldn't kill you — instead, he'd shoot you in the arms and legs, so the pain would prevent you from interfering with my plans any further. And after that, we'd jettison you out of the nearest emergency airlock. Captain Pellaeon," I addressed the Chimaera's commander. "What do you think would happen to a man who finds himself outside a starship in hyperspace?"
"It's not known for certain, sir," Gilad didn't let me down. "But I'm sure his suffering would be many times greater than if he left the deck of my Star Destroyer intending to take a stroll in a vacuum without a suit."
C'baoth's combative attitude instantly evaporated. The old man was clearly panicking, frantically searching for the talisman hanging on his chest. Only once it was in his hands did the clone feel safe.
"You wouldn't do that," he stated confidently. "You need me to coordinate your incompetents! Without me, all your plans for restoring the Empire would turn to dust."
"You're wrong, C'baoth," I said firmly. "Without you, my plans would only be briefly delayed by the need for more extensive training with the ship crews. But you can't derail them. You're not in your own domain to behave as you please. You're aboard a ship that answers to me. And you are not permitted to act arrogantly toward any of my subordinates. So I offer you a choice — either you keep yourself in check and behave as an ally should, or it's the airlock, the vacuum, and the less-than-pleasant experience of your body cooling in interstellar space."
The old man was silent, chewing his lips. He did so furiously, perfectly understanding that an ultimatum had been given. His behavior was unacceptable. And he had just been made aware of it.
"Very well," he finally said. "I'm no fool, Admiral. I understand your words."
"If you were a fool, you wouldn't have understood," I confirmed. "Let's assume you'll remember your manners and behave accordingly. After all, you are the future leader of the Jedi Order. And people will judge what kind of new protectors of the galaxy you'll produce by your example. Need I remind you what happened to arrogant snobs who respected no one but themselves?"
Of course, I was exaggerating. I was so hyperbolic about the common opinion of the Jedi, shaped by Imperials over the past quarter-century, that even I felt a bit queasy. No, I respect the Jedi. The Jedi of the past. Yes, they had their missteps, but overall they were decent people. For the most part. But somehow, this particular individual was the one who survived.
"I remember the history of the Jedi Order perfectly well," C'baoth snorted. Judging by the contempt with which he spoke of 'his' brethren, his mind was clearly filled with Imperial propaganda. Or had he held those views even before his cloning? "So why did you need me?"
"First and foremost, to inform you that my plan regarding Corran Horn is now in motion. Our spies report that he is heading to the Dufilvian sector as part of Rogue Squadron to investigate everything that happened there."
Information obtained through the actions of Delta Source. Along with a number of other, undoubtedly important, pieces of data. Which absolutely no one else but me needs to know about.
"Excellent," C'baoth smiled. "So you'll be delivering him to me soon?"
"Patience, my dear ally," I asked. "First, we need to weave a suitable web of clues for Horn to follow so he can meet you."
"Then why am I here?" the Jedi Master inquired with a hint of irritation.
"We are arriving in the Tangrene system," I explained. "The local command has apparently decided to engage in a conflict with me. If it comes to a fight, I'd like you to support our forces with your coordination."
"Starting a little civil war, Grand Admiral?" the clone's eyes flashed.
"I intend to avoid it by all means," I stated. "But if they leave me no other choice..."
"I understand," he said, looking around the bridge. "Is there somewhere I can sit comfortably? The last use of Battle Meditation wasn't particularly pleasant."
"Of course," I said. "Captain Pellaeon, find a comfortable chair for our dear ally."
"Yes, sir," the Chimaera's commander said briskly.
Once he had a reasonably comfortable chair, the Jedi Master settled into it, fidgeting to get comfortable, then folded his arms over his chest and appeared to doze off.
"Sir," Pellaeon said quietly, leaning toward my ear. "Are you certain this... being will continue to abide by the terms of our agreement?"
"In this galaxy, nothing is certain," I stated. "Especially when it comes to dark Jedi."
Stroking the ysalamiri, I added, taking advantage of the fact that C'baoth couldn't physically hear us and couldn't achieve anything through the Force due to the dampening of his abilities:
"We need him — for a while. After that, we'll get rid of him and stop wasting time."
"Your orders, sir," the Chimaera's commander replied. "Thirty seconds to exit from hyperspace."
"Excellent," I replied. "Make sure everything is ready for our dear allies."
After the measured seconds passed, when the hyperspace tunnel dissolved into streaks of light that contracted into the sparkles of stars, I realized I had been holding my breath the entire time.
Only after hearing Pellaeon's report did I cautiously allow myself to exhale. It seemed the Ubiqtorate had chosen a third option I hadn't accounted for.
They had fled, abandoning Tangrene.
I calmly listened to the Chimaera's commander's report.
"Jump complete. All fleet ships have arrived in the system. No losses or stragglers detected," he said. Yes, despite the galaxy having used hyperdrives for thousands of years, cases of losing one or two ships during such long transits — through dozens of sectors — still occurred. Someone gets off course due to a nav computer malfunction, someone due to a hyperdrive glitch... The reasons could be completely different. But the fact remains — today we arrived at our destination. All of us. And even in one piece. "The Victory I-class Star Destroyer Crusader has been detected in orbit. Captain I-Gor has sent a welcome message and congratulates us on the victory in the Dufilvian sector."
'Is that right?' I mentally chuckled. Interesting...
"Contact Captain I-Gor," I ordered. "I expect him aboard the Chimaera in three hours. Send an invitation to the Moff for a meeting in..." I quickly calculated in my head how long the organizational measures and gathering information about what had happened here would take — "two hours."
Not a single ship, except for a few utterly insignificant orbital shuttles that couldn't even delay an armed freighter. So where had all that 'wealth' I was counting on disappeared to?!
"The shipyard is broadcasting that it's ready to receive damaged ships," Pellaeon continued reading the report summary.
"Make arrangements for that," I ordered. "Only the ships whose repairs we cannot manage without the dock go in. For the rest — assign an orbital patrol schedule. Deploy spy droids throughout the Tangrene system and the adjacent ones. We need full control over everything happening here."
"Sir," Pellaeon said cautiously. "The Ubiqtorate might not understand the reasons for our actions and..."
"The Ubiqtorate won't do anything against what we do on Tangrene," I voiced my assumptions. "Don't you see, Captain? The fleet has left orbit. Most likely right after I demanded their actual integration into our operations."
"Which means..." Pellaeon began to realize.
"Which means Imperial Intelligence has made its move," I sighed. "Rejoice, Captain. One headache fewer."
The expression on the Chimaera's commander's face could only be read as: 'Or more?'
"Sir," Lieutenant Tschel addressed Pellaeon as he approached. "A Lambda-class shuttle is approaching the Chimaera. It's transmitting Imperial Intelligence identification codes. The codes are active. What are your orders?"
Pellaeon looked at me expectantly.
"Clear them for landing," was my order. "Clear all personnel from the hangar and send a company of stormtroopers there. Disarm the guests and place them under guard. Bring the senior officer of their mission to the flight crew briefing room. Carry it out, Lieutenant Tschel!"
"Yes, sir!" the young Imperial blurted out with youthful enthusiasm and rushed to a console to relay my orders to the crew.
"Come along, Captain," I ordered. "Let's see what the renegades of Imperial Intelligence want to talk to us about."
Rising from the chair, keeping the ysalamiri in my arms, I headed for the exit.
As I passed C'baoth, still sitting in the same position, I mentally chuckled.
The old clone was asleep in the chair, smiling blissfully.
* * *
"Your cabin, Lady Jade," the commander of the Nemesis said, indicating the captain's quarters to the red-haired beauty.
"As I recall, this section of the living quarters belongs to the commander of an Imperial Star Destroyer," Mara Jade said doubtfully, glancing briefly at the four stormtroopers clad in snow-white armor standing behind the Nemesis's commander. "Or do you, Captain Von Schneider, think I'd be less comfortable in an empty cabin somewhere else?"
Commander of the ISD-I Nemesis, Captain Von Schneider
"I believe the captain's cabin will be more comfortable for such a distinguished guest to wait out our transit to the base," the officer replied dryly.
'And also because it's the easiest to guard,' Mara understood. Picturing the layout of the living section of an Imperial Star Destroyer's superstructure, she realized her memory wasn't failing her. Indeed, there was only one way out — through the main entrance. And 'the boys in white' would be standing there. Who also had cages with ysalamiri on hand. It seemed Thrawn, in his favorite manner, was securing a plan within a plan within a plan.
Or he didn't fully trust her. Then again, if she were in the Grand Admiral's place and faced a similar situation — the return of the Emperor's Hand — she would also take several precautions. Who knew what to expect from someone who had spent over five years pretending she never existed, and had even worked with smugglers who associated with the Empire's enemies.
"Thank you for the kind words, Captain Schneider," she smirked. "So I take it you won't tell me where we're going?"
"I don't have that option, Lady Jade," the officer admitted. "My apologies, but those are my orders."
Whose orders — she didn't need to ask. There weren't that many ranks or people in the Empire who could order a Star Destroyer captain to fly halfway across the galaxy for a single person. But Thrawn had that kind of authority.
Still, she could satisfy her curiosity in a completely different way. She just needed to be alone and find any console.
"But can I at least ask — when are we departing?" she asked.
"In fifteen minutes," the ship's commander caught her off guard.
"What?" The girl was unaccustomed to feeling like she didn't understand. "Won't you be loading the cargo left at the base?"
"No, Lady Jade," Von Schneider replied just as plainly.
"Well, actually, that base and its contents were presented to me as 'severance' when I left my last job," she narrowed her eyes. "You could say it's my personal property. Which I wanted to present to the Grand Admiral as a contribution to our future common cause."
"As you wish, Lady Jade," the Nemesis's commander was clearly growing bored with the casual conversation. "But no item will be brought aboard my Star Destroyer before it has been searched by our specialists."
"But..." were they really afraid that somewhere in those crates there might be surveillance devices or bombs? Well, that couldn't be ruled out — during her time on Myrkr, she hadn't had time to fully search everything she'd acquired. Talon 'Claw' Karrde, if he was inferior to Thrawn in resourcefulness and tactical skill, it wasn't by much. And consequently, it would be a good idea to scan and double-check the items left on the planet before hauling them into Thrawn's secret lair. It seemed she hadn't quite moved past the mindset that assumed 'the Claw' could be trusted. Well, she'd get over that quickly enough — definitely before the end of the flight.
"Those are the orders, Lady Jade," Von Schneider stated in an icy tone. "If you're done with your questions, Miss, please proceed to your cabin and remain there until the end of the transit. These stormtroopers," he nodded toward the four troopers, "will guard the entrance to ensure no crew member can accidentally encounter you."
'Uh-huh,' Mara's thoughts grew darker. 'First, they deliver me aboard in a black robe so no one can identify me, now they lock me up, supposedly with good intentions. And then what? Will they implant a transmitter under my skin? Or a radioactive tag to track me more easily?'
"I understand perfectly, Captain Schneider," the girl turned easily toward the door. The metal panel slid into the recess in the wall with a soft hiss, letting the red-haired beauty into the apartment that had once belonged to the captain. "I hope I won't have to trouble you with requests."
"I would be grateful for that, Lady Jade," the officer saluted her, turned sharply on his heels, and strode away.
The girl snorted, giving the stormtroopers an instructive and appraising look. Four troopers responded by turning their heads toward her with complete neutrality. Not the slightest desire to fall to their knees and confess their sins, or snap to attention so precisely that their body positions could be measured with instruments like instructors did on Carida...
Well, well. Maybe the Empire was still the same, but the role and authority of the Emperor's Hand had already been forgotten. Otherwise, even with a priority order, Von Schneider wouldn't have dared to simply put her under arrest for the duration of the flight. Then again, what authority of the Emperor's Hand could there be if the Emperor himself was no longer alive? All that was left was to yearn for the past and indulge in memories during the flight...
Well, she could figure everything out in a few minutes. She just needed to find a console, and use a few special codes that allowed the Emperor's agents to directly influence the central computer to obtain the necessary information.
That should happen now too, but...
Mara looked ironically at the terminal installed in the captain's cabin. She pressed some buttons, hoping the device would come to life. Just like the first time, nothing happened.
The girl smirked. Simple, but effective.
Either Thrawn might have suspected something and isolated her somewhere where there was no way to access the ship's electronics, or this was Captain Von Schneider's own initiative.
Either way, she was being unambiguously told not to meddle in matters that didn't concern her and to rest peacefully until the Nemesis delivered her to her destination.
Well, for starters, it was worth trying other ways to get the panel working. If that didn't work, then yes, she would stop dismantling the Imperial Star Destroyer piece by piece. But this failure would give her even more questions for Thrawn.
Sighing, the girl pulled a thin metal needle from the standing collar of her jumpsuit and began poking it into the technical hatch of the non-functional panel.
* * *
So that's how it is...
I studied the relatively young man sitting across from me.
Sergius, as he introduced himself. Ubiqtorate Coordinator for the Mordstein sector.
In the recent past — an operative of Imperial Intelligence.
And now he was offering me his help. While sharing his superiors' secrets.
And the secrets, I must say, were not the simplest.
"So, the Ubiqtorate has gone over to Grand Moff Ardus Kaine's side," I summarized everything that had been said, keeping my eyes fixed on the young man. He simply nodded in confirmation. A man of few words, I had to give him that.
Also — focused, reasonably tense, and not for a second ceasing his attempts to analyze me. A dangerous sentient. With him, as with all the others, I would have to stay on my guard. Temporarily or permanently — that was a separate question.
"Thank you, Bravo-Two, for the detailed account," I said slowly.
And I really didn't like what was happening. If the leadership of every single intelligence organization in Imperial Space had decided to pick a favorite in Grand Moff Kaine, then clearly they wouldn't be helping me. Though I had to give credit where it was due — the Ubiqtorate, even though it had brushed me off, had left behind plenty of useful things.
An entire legion of stormtroopers on the surface of Tangrene. That was no small thing — at least one of the fifteen garrisons had stayed put. And... it wasn't enough to protect the planet in case of a full-scale invasion followed by a ground assault.
Pathetically little, considering just how valuable a target Tangrene represented.
It wasn't just a base abandoned by the Ubiqtorate. It wasn't just the hundreds of production facilities on the planet that allowed the Type II orbital repair yard drifting in orbit above this world to carry out its work.
It was also warehouses full of military supplies — uniforms, food, medicine, spare parts, fuel and lubricants, not to mention weapons and armored vehicles. Unfortunately, right now they were empty. There was nothing left — the intelligence operatives had swept it all clean, everything that didn't fall under the purview of the legion they'd left behind on the planet's surface.
I wouldn't say the Ubiqtorate's actions, which had essentially bled the planet's defense systems dry, particularly bothered me — after all, we could at least restore the garrison numbers, however poorly, using Spaarti cloning cylinders.
But something else mattered now.
At this very moment, I — and only I — had at my disposal a fully operational, complete, repair-and-production-capable Type II orbital yard.
That truly was a gift worth forgetting all the dirty tricks the Ubiqtorate had "thrown in as a bonus."
So, what exactly had I acquired?
Built by Kuat Drive Yards — and there were quite a few such yards scattered across the Empire (in the distant past, of course) — this structure resembled one side of a Rubik's cube. Nine nearly square cells arranged in a single plane. Each cell could accommodate a ship the size of a Star Destroyer. But!
Imperial Orbital Shipyard, Type II.
Only the central cell was "enclosed," meaning it had all four sides in a single plane. All the others lacked one "side" the one facing the outer edge of the section.
Given that Imperial ship repair and construction regulations required a ship to be placed parallel to the yard's "sides" in the dock, secured with connecting arms and special sliding booms to hold it in a fixed position, Imperial workers had more than once applied a "partial" placement method to repair larger Imperial Navy vessels, sliding them partway into the outer cells — the external ones, naturally. Not to mention that when ships exceeding the cell's dimensions needed repairs, such a vessel would be moved outside the yard, docked to its outer surfaces, and whatever repairs were feasible would be carried out in that position.
And I had to admit, at that moment I was in a state of euphoria.
Yes, I would have to dig deep to maintain this yard. Since it had previously been under the Ubiqtorate's control, the Imperial Ruling Council hadn't seen fit to include the planet's maintenance costs in its budget. After all, the intelligence operatives could take care of themselves, couldn't they?
So my preliminary conversation with representatives of the Imperial Ruling Council regarding the chain of command for the yard and the base on Tangrene had left me deeply satisfied.
The base, the shipyard, and even the infamous Victory-class Star Destroyer — all mine. Under my command. Along with the legion of stormtroopers, the administration, and the very Moff governing the sector — since, effectively, nothing in this sector besides Tangrene held any significant interest for the Empire. Fine, so be it.
But this shipyard... a true treasure. And I was as happy about it as a boy! Even though I understood that besides the positives, this situation also had plenty of negatives. But, one thing at a time.
Equipped with a Class 4 hyperdrive and the associated support systems, it could be moved to any part of the galaxy. Not as fast as, say, a Star Destroyer, but still! The shipyards at Sluis Van, Bilbringi, and even Kuat didn't have that capability — they were stationary, if that term could even be applied to three-dimensional space. Consequently, the yard could be "hidden" anywhere I needed it at any time.
The personnel count — just over four thousand qualified Imperial workers, who had already begun inspecting the Star Destroyers of my fleet. As security forces and for repelling attacks, two hundred stormtroopers were stationed on the yard. Too few to protect such an important asset, of course, but before this, an entire fleet had been based here, and no one asked unnecessary questions. Now the situation had changed, and I would have to see to the yard's security myself. If the Golan II-class orbital defense platform captured from the New Republic ever made it here, it would be an invaluable asset. So significant that its worth couldn't be overstated.
So, I had a personal base with shipyards under my command, where I could do exactly as I pleased.
Not to mention that the yard possessed one excellent invention — a crystalline gravity grid. With it, one could locate an object hidden by an invisibility generator. In the events I knew of, this was exactly why the rebels attacked the Bilbringi shipyards — they had similar equipment there too.
But there were negatives too. There always were.
The yard couldn't function properly without three main components: qualified personnel, a resource base, and spare parts.
The workers were there and weren't going anywhere — after all, they were comfortable and their work was paid. No one wanted to lose a cushy spot because higher-ups had thrown a tantrum. But questions would start popping up soon — if the Ubiqtorate had left, who would pay their salaries now? Unfortunately, no one in the Empire was going to break their back for "thank you" and a nice smile. And forcing anyone to do anything they didn't want to do would cost more than it was worth.
Obviously, I'd have to take the base's funding upon myself. Out of my own meager budget. The Imperial Ruling Council had already essentially "delighted" me with the news that, despite their best intentions, they couldn't allocate additional funds — they claimed they barely had enough themselves. They hinted at it quite transparently, suggesting that even the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer they'd promised me, which was being finished at the Bilbringi shipyards, might be needed elsewhere. They said I'd managed with the forces I already had, after all.
That meant I had just over fifty million Imperial credits left. That was bad.
But what was even worse was that Tangrene had no facility of its own for producing fighters and interceptors — completely different enterprises handled that. And that was bad. I would have to find "contacts" with a manufacturer to replenish my battered air fleet. Not to mention that two squadrons of TIE fighters based on the surface was a joke for Bantha to laugh at, not a defense.
Tangrene had no raw material base of its own — while they could produce armor, deck plating, and a number of other ship components in the foundries on the planet's surface, they needed raw materials for that. Ore. Which the Ubiqtorate had previously supplied in small quantities — for repair purposes. Where they bought it from, from whom — unclear. Without ore, there wouldn't even be minimal production. No production meant no repairs. No repairs meant delays in getting ships back into service.
A small stock of spare parts for several ships existed on the yard and in Tangrene's warehouses — but after the upcoming repairs, the stocks would be depleted. New spare parts would be needed — without them, you couldn't wage war. And racing off to Bilbringi, where all that was available, wasn't something I particularly wanted to do.
Well, part of the problem could be solved by sending a convoy of Star Galleons there, escorted by warships, to requisition the necessary components. But even then we wouldn't get much — the Empire's other fleets also needed repairs. Besides, no logistics officer liked depleting warehouse stocks — unless, of course, it filled their own pockets.
The bottom line — my fleet had gained a Star Destroyer, I had a mobile space shipyard that could not only repair but also build ships, but I had problems with funding, problems with resources, and problems with the Ubiqtorate.
Because I would never believe they had just "left" so simply.
"Why did you tell me all this, Coordinator Sergius?" I asked, glancing at Captain Pellaeon sitting beside me.
Gilad practically radiated distrust toward our guest. That was unsurprising — the "affection" the Imperial Army and Navy felt for the Imperial Security Bureau and Imperial Intelligence was so immense that nothing else could be expected.
But right now, I was far more interested in this man's motives. As well as those of the Imperial Intelligence operatives who had arrived with him on the shuttle. Sergius had said it plainly — he remained the Ubiqtorate's coordinator in the sector. No one had stripped him of that title. Then why had he come and dumped information on me about the Ubiqtorate defecting? Even the Imperial Ruling Council believed that the intelligence leadership had chosen to "cede" Tangrene to me as a fleet support base while maintaining their own "mobility" to prevent further attacks on their facilities. It sounded reasonable — especially to Council members preoccupied with their own behind-the-scenes maneuvering.
"I don't wish to be a disposable asset, Grand Admiral," the man replied simply, watching my reaction closely. "The Ubiqtorate has left Imperial Space, moving to the Pentastar Alignment. They essentially left us — the operatives and the coordinator — behind, abandoned. That's no way to treat those who've served the Empire faithfully."
"As if you'd act any differently if you were in their place," Pellaeon muttered.
"Perhaps I would," the man agreed. "And perhaps I wouldn't. They are where they are, and I am where I am. Consequently, they have betrayed me and my operatives. I have the desire to serve the Empire, but I have no desire to serve the Ubiqtorate's leadership. That is exactly why I contacted you directly. You submitted a request for Imperial agents to be assigned to you. The Ubiqtorate refused. I doubt your need for professional spies has simply evaporated."
"My needs aren't the issue," I remarked. "The question is your loyalty, Coordinator. The Ubiqtorate never leaves anything behind that could harm them. Yet they left you and a group of operatives. That's an unconventional move that raises more questions than it answers."
"I agree, it looks like an attempt to plant their people in your organization," Sergius stated bluntly, saying exactly what had been on my tongue. "Furthermore, I'll say this — the Ubiqtorate is demanding that I provide them with information about Imperial officers who have expressed a desire to serve under your command. Given that all transfer approval orders will pass through encryption and decryption systems, they could easily obtain such information themselves. From anywhere in the galaxy, from any Imperial Remnant."
"So you believe they gave you a 'dead-end' task just to maintain the appearance of your continued service?" I clarified.
"Exactly," the intelligence officer agreed. "'Do what you've been doing, but don't get underfoot.' The simplest method of 'softly' disposing of an unwanted agent."
"Perhaps," I nodded almost imperceptibly. "But to what extent can you and your operatives be trusted?"
"To the extent that the Ubiqtorate doesn't know about your inquiries to the Imperial Archives regarding the Separatist army and technology," Sergius said unexpectedly. "All your archive requests went through the relays in the Mordeil sector. Accordingly, I was relaying information to the Ubiqtorate. But when I realized my leadership intended to play their own game, I stopped. They know nothing about your interest in General Maximilian Veers's personnel file, nor about your requests regarding buzz droids and much else."
Well, these were far from pleasant surprises. I'd even say — completely unpleasant. Even Pellaeon was looking at me with interest. Another slip-up. Only Rukh couldn't care less about any of it.
"Let's assume that's true," I said, not even trying to explain myself. In this situation, any defensive words would sound absurd. A Grand Admiral with the authority of a Supreme Commander shouldn't have to explain the reasons for his actions. "The bottom line is, you're effectively offering to work for me. That could raise a number of questions. Including from the Imperial Ruling Council. Commanders don't assemble teams of spies."
"In times like these, everyone assembles suitable allies for themselves," Sergius noted. "Grand Moff Ardus Kaine is no exception. So why should you act any differently? Especially given your recent military successes. I won't hide it — practically everyone believes your victory deserves attention. Perhaps I'll surprise you by telling you that the Imperial Council is discussing the possibility of declaring you Emperor to unite the Imperial Remnants under a single command."
I wouldn't say I was particularly surprised — this aspect of the Ruling Council's backroom activities had been known for a while. They needed someone to solve their problems — especially since they'd already proven their military incompetence. Consequently, the decision wasn't all that desperate. One could even say — pragmatic. And if I didn't remember — albeit without names, but clearly — that some members of the Imperial Ruling Council would, within about a year, end up siding with the Revived Emperor Palpatine, I might even have actively tried to find common ground with them.
Right now, though... seeking allies and like-minded individuals among the councilors was a waste of time. Besides, it could inadvertently reveal my true plans. And then trouble would be unavoidable. I wasn't squirming like an eel searching for every valuable thing I could snatch and carry off, so that not even the smallest part would fall to Palpatine, or the New Republic, for nothing. No, all of this would serve my purposes. Now or later — but only I would take these "treasures."
"No, you wouldn't surprise me," I said calmly. Pellaeon's eyes widened. And I could understand him. When your commander, even if cold-blooded and pragmatic to the bone, is offered the rulership of an interstellar state, and he remains as calm as if he'd been informed that the Star Destroyer's engine nozzles had finished cleaning — you'd involuntarily look at him distrustfully. Was he in his right mind? "It's a logical decision. As I understand it, my candidacy isn't the only one for the throne?"
"There are quite a few candidates," Sergius said. "But you and Grand Moff Kaine are first in line."
"I understand," I said. "Well then, let's move on to more important matters... Captain, are you all right?"
Pellaeon, clearing his throat, nodded, as if to say, don't mind me, as if someone having more important things to do than leading a fragmented Empire was perfectly normal. Well, it happens, doesn't it?
"Are you ready to serve me?" I asked the Imperial agent directly. He, squinting almost imperceptibly, fully understood the subtext of the question. It was quite possible that serving the Empire and serving a Grand Admiral weren't entirely synonymous concepts. And this required a proper choice, having thought it all through, weighed the pros and cons...
"Yes," it seemed my eye twitched. Just like that? A hasty decision or... Yes, most likely "or." The intelligence officer had certainly prepared for something like this before his conversation with me. So the question hadn't caught him off guard. "I and the agents under my command are ready to carry out your will, Grand Admiral."
"A wise choice," I acknowledged. "Your resolve will be duly appreciated. However, we have a great deal of work ahead. The first thing I want to hear from you is information about the Moff of the Morshdine sector and about the identity of the Star Destroyer commander who remained in orbit over Tangrene after the Ubiqtorate's flight. Their personal characteristics, degree of loyalty, reliability, and competence. I'm confident it won't be difficult for you to dig through your memory and recall the old reports you used to write to your superiors..."
* * *
"Well then," I said, summing up the meeting. "You and your men have four hours to prepare for the mission."
"What is our objective?" Bravo-Two inquired in a dry, professional tone.
"Find me a man," I said. "You'll receive his surname a little later — just before you're deployed. The information we have about him is quite fragmentary. A former smuggler, once commanded a ship in the gang of a man known as Jorj Car'das. According to my information, he's currently very interested in gambling. And has a strong fondness for floating gaming establishments."
"Need him alive or dead?" Sergius clarified.
"Alive, exclusively," I said. "Consider this assignment a test of your professional competence."
"Mission understood, Grand Admiral," the Ubiqtorate coordinator replied with a serious expression. "Are there any time constraints on the operation?"
"He must be before my eyes no later than two weeks from now," I clarified on that point as well.
"It will be done," the Imperial intelligence officer declared. "May I go?"
"Go," I said indifferently. Watching the intelligence officer leave the room, I looked at Pellaeon.
"As I understand it, Captain," I said after Sergius had left the compartment, "you have questions?"
"Yes, sir," the Chimaera's commander nodded affirmatively. "Are you sure this 'Ubiqtorate man' can be trusted?"
"We'll find out," I stated, checking the chronometer. "I have my first meeting in an hour, and the second in two hours."
"With the Moff and Captain I-Gor," Pellaeon said. "Sir, to be honest, I can't understand why you wanted to hear that intelligence officer's opinion on these people's characters. Can the word of a Ubiqtorate man be trusted at all?"
"Not for a single moment," I declared. "However, it's worth giving him a chance. Coordinator Sergius has expressed a desire to serve our cause. Until there are objective reasons to consider him a liar, we won't level accusations or dispose of this kind of help. On the contrary — we'll give him a chance to prove his loyalty. For example — by testing his assessment of another sentient during the upcoming meetings."
Pellaeon, having heard my answer, winced, clearly annoyed at his own hasty remark, and nodded understandingly. It seemed he couldn't overcome his prejudice regarding Imperial Intelligence, and thus assumed I had taken someone at their word.
"Have you received information on how quickly the yard will repair our ships' damage?" I inquired.
"All ships will be out of the docks within two to four weeks, sir," the Star Destroyer commander reported. "The Chimaera will be combat-ready in three days, the Death's Head and the Imperious within another day after that, the remaining vessels will leave the repair workshops within a week. Repairs will cost roughly half a million credits for all ships, but that will deplete practically all of Tangrene's stockpiles. After the next engagement, we won't have spare parts nearby for quick repairs."
"Arrange for a convoy of Star Galleons to be sent to the Bilbringi shipyards," I ordered. "We need spare parts, we need fighters, interceptors, bombers — any resources that will allow our fleet to perform repairs in one place — here. Once the orbital defense platform arrives, along with the ships that Misters Ferrier and Vane will deliver to us, we won't have problems organizing either patrols or further offensives."
"Sir, perhaps we should also transfer the captured freighters from Bilbringi?" he asked. "Along with the cloaking field experiments..."
"That won't be necessary, Captain," I declared. "We won't put all our advantages in one place," I nearly uttered that painfully familiar phrase about eggs and baskets. "Besides, the yard workers will have plenty to do here without getting distracted by side projects. Have the cargo holds of the Death's Head and the Imperious been emptied of their asteroid loads?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said. "Standard procedure requires unloading ammunition, military equipment, and ground forces from the ship, along with all but the watch crew, during repairs."
"I know standard procedures, Captain," they'd give me a headache soon enough. "But what I'm far more interested in is how precisely the yard workers are following them. During the time they were under the Ubiqtorate's control, there could have been drastic changes in human psychology regarding the execution of orders. Arrange for our technical teams to remain on the ships and, in addition to their primary work — assisting with damage repair — also monitor the workers' actions. The rebels love to destroy or capture our ships while they're undergoing repairs."
"Sir, isn't that a bit excessive?" Pellaeon asked. "Crews have never repaired their own ships at the yards. It contradicts the traditions and established procedures of the Navy..."
"It seems you don't understand, Captain," I sighed. "Traditions and regulations are useful when they aren't harmful. Waiting two to four weeks for the fleet's ships to become operational is definitely not part of my plans. We have other strategic objectives. Therefore, the crews will participate in the restoration work."
"I understand you, sir." From Pellaeon's expression, it was clear he didn't really approve of my decision, but he wouldn't object either.
"Very well," I said, glancing at the chronometer. "I won't keep you any longer, Captain."
To Pellaeon's credit, he wasn't stupid at all and understood perfectly that the conversation with the Moff and the commander of our brand-new Victory-class would proceed without him.
Watching the commander of the Chimaera leave the compartment, I glanced at the chronometer again. There wasn't much time left before the meeting with the Moff, but enough to sum up the day's events.
And to mentally prepare the "crutches" for my upcoming conversations.
The longer I live in the skin of a Grand Admiral, the more new and interesting things I learn.
Life certainly hadn't prepared me for this.
* * *
On the whole, my meeting with the Moff left me with only positive impressions.
A middle-aged man, clearly not in favor with high command, since he governed an utterly non-industrialized sector. It was even strange that the sector had once been under Zsinj's control. That fellow never sought to keep parasites around.
However, the content of the conversation clarified a lot.
First, the Moff sitting before me wasn't the same Moff who had overseen the planet's development, but his successor. Consequently, this individual hadn't orchestrated the genocide of the local population. Not that I was catastrophically opposed to genocides—but it's a last resort. Excessive, I'd even say.
Second, I hadn't been mistaken that Zsinj had subjugated this sector for a reason. It once included the planet Vandyne—a rich and industrially developed world. Which the Ciutric Hegemony had taken over. And, of course, had no intention of giving back. The Imperial Ruling Council hadn't dared to redistribute power because the Hegemony's ruler, Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel, was a fairly constructive and far-sighted ally.
An orbital repair yard of the second type had also been left to Tangrene's new government by Zsinj. Along with warehouses full of all sorts of goods. Which were no longer there. A fleet of more than a dozen and a half Star Destroyers of various types was also the warlord's legacy. As were the garrisons on the planet…
Overall, it became clear why the Ubiqtorate had decided to set up here. Not only had they gotten a fortress-planet after Zsinj's defeat, but also a fleet, a shipyard, and a considerable number of soldiers. When the scouts left Tangrene, they left behind only what they couldn't take with them. And indeed, the orbital shipyard wasn't in great shape either—its hyperdrive was some special model, not a standard shipboard one. And it was damaged. Repairing or buying a new one would cost a huge number of credits.
The Ubiqtorate fleet replenished its rare losses by providing aid in resources and equipment from the Ciutric Hegemony. That made sense—none of the Imperial Remnants were in a hurry to cross the all-powerful Imperial Intelligence. They all had enough common sense not to poke a red-hot poker at a sleeping bear. Well, what's done is done.
But despite everything, the Moff declared his loyalty and readiness to help in any way he could. Imperial Space didn't provide him with money or forces for defense; without the Ubiqtorate, Tangrene's actual value was nearly zero. So he perceived the arrival of my fleet almost as the Second Coming of the Emperor.
His behavior and the qualities revealed during the conversation completely matched what Coordinator Sergius had told me.
Decisive, brave, moderately ambitious. Doesn't like to fawn over superiors, straightforward. Thoroughly disillusioned with the Empire's current state. And places great hopes on restoring the old order.
This man has connections in some worlds of the sector, so he can provide relatively small food supplies. He has no black market contacts, but he's well aware that on the planet Camden in his sector, there's practically the only civilian spaceport in the entire sector, called Snake's Eye. Smugglers and other unpleasant entities frequently hang around there. The Ubiqtorate considered it beneath their dignity to interfere there to establish order, especially since the planet provides the sector with some, albeit meager, tax revenue. They didn't intend to meddle in black market affairs, apparently satisfied with a certain percentage of illegal deals. Once or twice, Star Destroyers from Tangrene were sent to Camden to restore order, but in reality, it boiled down to eliminating one side's rivals on the black market. The sector's annual tax revenue was just over five million credits.
There's an expression: "Hug and cry." At that moment, I understood just how bad things were.
Even the joy of finally acquiring a long-awaited rear base and repair facility had faded. There were so many problems here that it would take an enormous amount of time to establish order. The Moff had practically nothing to pressure crime with, which could get angry and exact serious revenge. Until recently, they'd been afraid to touch the planet itself, but now that the Ubiqtorate had left—one careless move, and all the scum from nearby sectors would gather and cause serious trouble.
It was unpleasant, but it could have been worse.
So, I had more headaches. A lot more.
Fighting the criminal underworld wasn't in my interests right now—I simply didn't have the resources. Besides, the examples of Mr. Ferrier and Mr. Vane clearly showed that negotiation was possible. And in such a way that, in all likelihood, the criminals, or at least some of them, would want to exchange their services for a good reward.
"Thank you for your report, Moff," I concluded our conversation. "I understand your problems. Everything within my power, I will do. But only with your full cooperation in my own endeavors."
"Yes, yes, Grand Admiral, of course," the Moff assured me, still not believing that I hadn't dropped everything and fled to Bilbringi, where such problems didn't exist.
"Ships will be arriving here shortly," I continued. "I'll assign some of them to patrol the sector after my fleet's repairs and crew training are complete."
"Thank you," relief sounded in the Moff's voice.
"Also, I'm informing you that various individuals with not the most positive pasts will be appearing in the system," I added. The Moff tensed noticeably. "They receive specific assignments, which means they work for me. I'll need your help in establishing order with resources and reserves. Tangrene must be protected from all forms of attack."
"A large amount of equipment and personnel will be required to restore garrison strength," he noted.
"We'll solve that problem," I assured him, realizing that Spaarti cloning cylinders would soon have to work hard. The first batch of clone technicians was almost ready. And apparently, they would join the crews of new ships. I'd have to wait until the middle of this month for another batch. It was a shame clones were so few and not produced at the snap of a finger. "Contact Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel on my behalf and ask if he agrees to provide us with logistical and technical support. As I recall, there's an orbital shipyard on Ciutric IV, and the Hegemony independently supplies itself with all kinds of products from the Imperial military-industrial complex. I also want you to find out how well other systems can supply us with food. Considering the expansion of my fleet, the number of personnel is also increasing. And consequently, so is the need for food."
"I understand, sir," the Moff declared. "However, I must note that this will require additional financial infusions. A significant portion of the sector's income goes to paying wages for shipyard workers and ground technical personnel on production lines. It's good that we don't have to pay stormtroopers for any expenses—otherwise I'd definitely go bankrupt."
Now that was a good idea. The Stormtrooper Corps serves the Empire not for money—but for an idea. They, like the clones of the Grand Army of the Republic, are provided with everything necessary for service. But there is no monetary allowance in principle. I should consider the idea of giving out, even if small, wages—it could encourage soldiers throughout Imperial Space to join me. Not just stormtroopers, but maybe ordinary beings as well.
However, as the Moff rightly noted, that requires funds. Preferably a lot. Money can motivate anyone. And that money has to come from somewhere.
"Well, Moff," I summed up. "You are entrusted with logistical support for the forces under my command. I'm confident that a man of your talents can handle such a task brilliantly."
"As you command, Grand Admiral," the Moff straightened up.
"I will transfer our transport ships under your command," I continued. "I ask you to contact your fellow Moffs to study the question: 'How can they help us?' In the current situation, we're not proud—we'll accept whatever is offered."
"I understand this better than anyone," the Moff smiled grimly.
"And that's good," I concluded. "In that case, get to work. My starships must return to active service soon. And one last thing, Moff."
"I'm listening, Grand Admiral," said the man, who had risen from the table, sitting back down so as not to show disrespect to me.
"The Nebulon-B escort frigates we captured from the enemy," I said. "To the best of your ability and opportunity, try to turn them into much more combat-capable vessels for the Imperial Fleet. I have no great desire to see anything even remotely resembling rebel ships next to my starships."
"I understand you, sir," the Moff said after a moment's thought. "I think by the time the Chimaera returns to service, the shipyard's chief engineer will have prepared suitable options."
"I'm glad to hear your desire for further cooperation," I said. "I won't keep you any longer; you're free."
With a salute, the man left the compartment.
Sitting there, I looked at Rukh's calm expression as he pretended to be a piece of furniture by the bulkhead.
Noghri, Noghri, Noghri… what am I to do with you? How do I hide these people from the Skywalker family so I'm not afraid to use you…
Or… how do I change the existing reason for which the Noghri serve me, so that I no longer fear that the Empire's best assassins might switch sides?
Think, Grand Admiral Thrawn, think.
And remember!