Lately, I've caught myself thinking I'm madly in love with solitude. You sit here, no one yelling in your ear, no one "stressing" you with the eternal "Victor! The Motherland is in danger!"
You can leisurely sort through past or future events, reading intelligence reports, for example.
And no one sees how much my emotions differ from the reactions of the "true Thrawn." Although, the history I know certainly omits how the legendary Grand Admiral in a galaxy far, far away behaved when he was "off-camera."
But right now, I wanted to get thoroughly drunk. So badly that I could howl like a wolf.
Good thing no one but me can read the reports from the "Delta Source." Otherwise, questions would definitely arise — why am I, exactly, not doing anything?
Because in the mundane pile of routine, I missed a message that a battle group had been sent from Coruscant into Bothan Space. Six Mark II strike frigates and an Imperial-class Star Destroyer. A Mark II, by the way. Once named the Virulence.
The very ship that played a significant role in the New Republic's capture of Thyferra. And it was still under the command of former Imperial Captain Sair Yonka, who had gone over with his entire crew to serve the rebels. Considering there aren't that many routes from Coruscant to Bothawui, the capital planet of the Bothan sector, intercepting them would have been easy. And dealing with six strike frigates and capturing one Star Destroyer with an entire fleet would have been simple.
However, I made a mistake — I sent a considerable part of my fleet through Imperial Space. Although... even if I'd pounced on that battle group with my damaged ships, there was a chance to retake the Virulence. You don't even need to be Thrawn here — a simple advantage in gun count. Plus an interdictor cruiser...
In a word — an extremely frustrating missed opportunity. A Star Destroyer could have become part of the fleet quite easily and simply... Yes, my ships would have taken significant damage and taken even longer to repair on Tangrene, but we would have had another, dammit, Star Destroyer!
Oh, may a Sith brain me with something heavy, how could I have so fabulously screwed...
The comlink on the cabin table came to life, interrupting my self-flagellation.
Exhaling and inhaling deeply, I tried to get rid of the negativity. Well, what's done is done. Even if I scrambled the entire fleet right now to intercept, there's simply no chance. At best, we'd burn fuel and waste precious time.
And this will be a lesson for me for the future — I need to read intelligence reports on time, instead of hoping that after the commotion I caused in the Dufilvian sector, the future would continue to unfold according to the same old plot!
"Listening," I said as calmly as possible into the comlink.
"Our new master," Rukh's voice came from the speaker. "Mr. Ferrier is here to see you."
Oh, right. I ordered not to let the hijacker go without talking to me.
"Come in," I ordered, turning off the hologram of the galaxy and activating projections of art objects instead. Not that I understood anything about them, but from time to time I remembered that it would be good to live up to the image of the "true Thrawn."
The semi-darkness in the apartment was scattered for a few moments by a strip of artificial light that shone through the entrance door.
The hijacker, nervously sucking on his disgustingly smelly cigar, froze hesitantly a few meters in front of me, looking around at the collection with curiosity.
"Did you receive payment for the ship, Mr. Ferrier?" I inquired.
"Yes, Grand Admiral," the puffy-faced man grimaced as if all his teeth had suddenly started aching at once. "Not that I'm pleased with this million credits..."
Not that I like spending money — I already have a small supply (and after buying ships from Yazuo Vane, even smaller, significantly smaller!) — but I have to. Without acquiring starships, I won't achieve anything in expanding my own fleet.
And I am immensely pleased that the forces under my command are growing exponentially. Even though for now these are just light and escort ships, still — they are combat starships that might not have existed.
"Your grumbling interests me even less than your rudeness, Mr. Ferrier," I replied, realizing the hijacker had no intention of finishing his thought. "You are here because I have a business proposal for you."
"Beyond ship theft?" Sly's eyes gleamed with greedy fire. "Does that mean bigger profit?"
"Significantly more than what you get from stealing ships," I noted. "However, you shouldn't stop supplying Corellian starships to my fleet."
"For a while, I'd better lay low," the hijacker declared. "Idiots don't work at the Corellian Engineering Corporation shipyards. Three stolen starships in a short period — that's a clear indicator of a breach in the security systems."
"Your craft's problems don't interest me, Mr. Ferrier. As they say, 'A man should not complain about three things: his wife, his job, and his car — he chose them himself.' Yes, of course, there are always exceptions to this folk wisdom, but... well... That's not the point now. I need your services in a different direction."
"If it's within my power — any whim for your money," the hijacker smiled.
"Well, let's see how competent you are," I said — a small challenge to his professional pride. Let's see how he reacts to my next words and actions.
I removed the holograms of art objects and projected a different volumetric copy.
"Are you familiar with this piece of technology?" I inquired.
"Well..." Ferrier hesitated. "I've heard of them. Separatist buzz droids. Saboteurs that the Confederacy of Independent Systems used to damage or destroy Republic fighters and bombers."
"Well, at least you have a minimal amount of theoretical knowledge," I sighed. "I need a batch of these droids."
The hijacker looked at me with an utterly surprised expression.
"Uh... why? That's old junk..." he said somewhat uncertainly. But meeting my unyielding gaze, he wilted, looking down at his feet. "You can buy them on any black market and..."
He's suspiciously averting his eyes. Like a guilty puppy. If I remember anything from my university psychology course, such behavior can indicate fear of the interlocutor, uncertainty, a desire for "closedness." Of course, no specialist would conclude something like that based on such meager knowledge of psychology, and without the other "symptoms" that could either confirm or refute my point of view, I simply couldn't remember.
Well, let's start small and exploit Ferrier's weak character regarding those who hold a more authoritarian position relative to him.
"I need these droids," I said firmly. "At least two units. In fully working condition."
"But that's practically impossible," Sly sighed. "These models, like other variants of saboteur droids, are banned from production and sale." Oh really? I didn't know. "If I get caught with them — life sentence on Kessel guaranteed! The Empire in its time practically wiped out all the traders of Separatist 'toys,' so it would be easiest for you to contact..."
"Stop playing games, Ferrier," I demanded. "You know perfectly well where to find working units, but for some reason you're trying to lead me by the nose. And I really don't like that. You haven't been thrown out the airlock yet for your disgusting behavior only because you supply us with first-class ships in good technical condition." Rukh, hearing the possibility of dealing with someone, placed his hand on his knife. "I offer you a choice — either you are honest with me, or your life, and the existence of your crew, ends today."
Sly, clearly panicked by the last words, darted his gaze around the apartment as if looking for support.
"I'm waiting," I had to remind him. "And I do not possess patience."
"The saboteur droid market has been under Booster Terrik for about half a year now," he finally said, looking at me ingratiatingly. "If you're talking about functional droids — then you'll have to deal with him personally. All the other traders in the galaxy, well, except maybe a few individuals, sell stale, non-operational goods."
"And what's the problem with obtaining the droids from Mr. Terrik for me?" I didn't see a problem yet.
"I am with him..." the hijacker hesitated, "in not the best of relations. He'll kill me as soon as he sees me in his line of sight."
"Honesty, Ferrier," I reminded. "You're already considered a scumbag and traitor even among 'your own.' The opinion of one smuggler decides nothing."
"Oh," Sly chuckled, "you have no idea what you're talking about. Terrik, if he wants, will ruin everyone's life. Because of my conflict with him, I can't work properly now — they don't trust me and try to ignore me at every turn. Even among smugglers and hijackers. Hutt professional solidarity! On one side, Booster has ruined all my prospects, on the other, Karrde and his gang are squeezing me! If I were in less constrained circumstances, I'd have already gone full throttle, made myself a hundred million or two, and be sipping cocktails on some beach!"
Interesting. And what, I wonder, did a simple hijacker manage to do to hook both of the bigwigs of the smuggling and information trade?
Actually, without embellishment or reverence, I inquired about the reason.
"A couple of years ago, when everyone thought Booster had died on Kessel during another 'run,' I worked with his daughter — Mirax," Sly said. "Back then she wasn't married to Horn from Rogue Squadron yet. On the contrary, she wanted to get away from him. I helped her, because I had old scores to settle with Horn — he crossed my path more than once when he worked for CorSec. And in the end, Terrik Sr. turned out to be extremely displeased that I was communicating with his daughter. He was even less angry about Horn than about me."
"You intended to gain his daughter's trust for your business," I realized. "To use her authority to improve your affairs. That's why Booster Terrik intends to settle scores with you. Although, I'm more inclined to think that you offered Miss Terrik something that made her father's pride flare up."
"Yeah, well," Sly scratched the back of his head, clearly unhappy about being caught lying. "You can't hide anything from you..."
"I don't need your flattery, Ferrier," I noted. "Only honesty. What is the reason Booster Terrik hates you?"
"After the Empire's defeat at Endor, chaos broke out," the hijacker muttered. "Several of my contracts fell through. I decided to improve my affairs by running contraband. I asked Karrde to help with orders. He gave them to me. But as it turned out, transporting goods for one group interfered with the interests of another — I had to give up the cargo to save my life. Karrde imposed a penalty on me. I covered it with several thefts, but I still had debts. In the Outer Rim, slaves are always in demand, so I bought a couple hundred. To place them profitably, I turned to Mirax Terrik. But that daughter of Booster's not only didn't help me find buyers for the goods, but also ratted me out completely to the planetary governments. I had to abandon the slaves and flee. I ended up even deeper in debt. There's a bounty on my head in several sectors, and until I pay off the debt, they'll keep hunting me. Good thing that those who hired me to transport the slaves are too stingy to hire anything more than semi-professional bounty hunters. But anyway, when Booster returned from Kessel a few years ago, rumors about my 'partnership' with his daughter obviously reached him. Terrik got furious. Some kind of white-handed fool! Trading in disintegrators, killer droids, saboteur droids, and other Separatist junk, smuggling full holds of a Star Destroyer — that's fine by him, but transporting slaves is something out of the ordinary!"
"What is your current debt?" I inquired. Not that I was really interested, but something in his story didn't add up. This man makes good money working for the Empire and could have paid off his debts long ago, but no, he claims he can't. I just have to figure out where exactly he's lying. Although, given his unsavory reputation, it's better to ask: "Where exactly did he tell the truth?"
"Twenty-seven million credits in Imperial currency," he said reluctantly. "That's taking into account the money I've already earned from your orders."
Right. Something tells me that either the batch of slaves was really huge, or Sly is deliberately distorting the facts in his favor. Because such a huge sum couldn't come from transporting even a small group of "contracted workers" as slaves are officially called in most regions of the galaxy.
And now it's worth thinking — is there much point in continuing business relations with this man? He clearly has a target painted on his back. And if the story about the slave transport is even partly true — it's no wonder he's an outcast in the eyes of the criminal community. Cooperating with him could have a detrimental effect on my own prestige. The Empire doesn't like criminals anyway, and slave traders even less so...
Still, I can extract something useful from his words...
"So I take it that Karrde is pressuring you out of the smuggling business out of solidarity with Mr. Terrik?" I clarified. Sly nodded silently. Even sniffled for effect.
As if I were some delicate young lady who would be swayed by such a tactic. But all the same, this whole situation... is quite curious.
"All right," I said after thinking for a couple of minutes. "There is a way to help you. Solving both your problems and mine at once."
"Yes?" Ferrier blinked. Well, my words had an effect on him. Now the main thing is to keep playing the part of a person who is really interested in his problems.
Because the plan forming in my head might not solve his problems. But some of mine — definitely. The main thing is to play this game well...
"Yes," I declared, looking him confidently in the eyes. "How hostile is Mrs. Terrik towards you?"
"She's been 'Mrs. Horn' for almost a year now," Ferrier said disdainfully. Noticing my impatient look, the hijacker wilted, his little eyes darting around as he thought feverishly. "So, well, if Booster sees me in her company, he'll definitely kill me. And Mirax herself... well, she's gone into legal transport, I think. I heard she works on her freighter for the New Republic... Well, she's a woman, not malicious, but certainly unforgiving... I personally didn't do much harm to her... So, what do you need her for?"
"The latter isn't so important," I noted. "As I understand, the buzz droids are stored on Booster Terrik's Star Destroyer?"
"Well, where else?" Ferrier chuckled. "He's not Karrde, to just set up bases all over the galaxy. He's a greedy man and afraid of losing everything again."
"If my memory serves me, Mr. Terrik's ship is a partially disarmed Imperial-class Star Destroyer." It costs nothing to play the part of a poorly informed Imperial. But it will allow Ferrier to feel a bit superior.
"Yes, a Mark II," he said, flaunting his knowledge. "With the help of Karrde and his tame kid from Rogue Squadron, Wedge Antilles, he managed to snatch such a tasty morsel just when Ysanne Isard was killed on Thyferra..."
Having said this, the hijacker looked around fearfully, as if afraid that the "Iceheart," as the Director of Imperial Intelligence was called, would personally rise from the dead and strangle the foul-mouthed speaker.
"Since you are not on the best terms with Mr. Terrik," I said succinctly, "why not help ensure that his ship finds a more suitable owner? You could easily give us the coordinates of this ship's base, so we could capture it. I'm sure the commission from such a deal would be generous..."
Sly licked his lips greedily, looking even more repulsive. Apparently, he had thought about this more than once.
"It would be a good deal," he agreed bitterly. "But the problem is that Terrik is a paranoid. He's always afraid that someone will come after his Errant Venture. Getting hold of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, and a Mark II at that — there are plenty of takers. From what I've heard, Booster got quite a few gray hairs in his beard when he found out the Empire was looking for warships. So now he's even more careful about secrecy and allowing anyone on board. And considering that the weapons on that Mark II are insufficient, it wouldn't withstand a direct confrontation — plus Booster has let the Star Destroyer go to seed, from what I hear. But still, his ship is constantly on the move, and he communicates coordinates for meetings with sellers and buyers through trusted intermediaries, of which I am not one, as you well understand, Grand Admiral."
"I understand that perfectly," I agreed. "And yet, finding this ship is possible."
"It's easier to find the Sa Nalaor than the Errant Venture!" Sly snorted. "At least there's some information about that..."
"Sa Nalaor," I said the unfamiliar name. "What is that?"
"Uh..." the hijacker hesitated. "You mean you don't know that story?"
"Which story?" I clarified. To be honest, I was hearing it for the first time. "What is this 'Sa Nalaor'?"
"Oh," Ferrier said meaningfully. "I sank a lot of credits into finding that ship. A legend among treasure hunters! They say it's a Separatist Munificent-class frigate that disappeared shortly before the end of the Clone Wars. Rumor has it that there are treasures worth billions of credits on board, not to mention some super-advanced prosthetics technology. Oh, how much money and time people have spent to find that ship!" The hijacker closed his eyes dreamily. "I myself dumped a pile of credits into searching for it..." His face darkened. "Only to realize it was a Hutt rumor, with nothing to do with reality. That ship is a myth! As much a myth as finding the Errant Venture when Booster Terrik doesn't want it to be found!"
Weeeell, I think I understand what the hijacker is trying to say. I heard a story about a similar ship back in my world. With one difference — I know for certain that this ship exists in the reality of the galaxy far, far away. And in the near future, someone will definitely get to it. Unless, of course, someone has already gotten their "greedy paws" on its treasure. I'll need to think about this.
"We'll talk about legends another time," I said. "I've heard that Mr. Terrik is a very exemplary family man. From what I've heard about him, he fears losing his daughter much more than his business." Ferrier blinked a few times, thinking. Then his eyes began to widen...
"No," he said quietly and veeeery uncertainly. "Booster will tear my head off. He'll find me at the edge of the galaxy, come with his whole gang and personally rip me apart. Not to mention that he'll gather everyone he can to deal with anyone who hurts his little girl! To kill me!"
"I hope so, Mr. Ferrier," I allowed myself a smile that made Sly's eye start twitching. "And you should also consider the possibility that Booster Terrik will want to kill you."
* * *
As soon as the hatch was sealed, Eymand greeted him with a nod, downing a glass of amber liquid in one gulp. Corellian whiskey — the best drink in the world.
"So, how did it go?" the Zabrak asked lazily.
"The letter of marque is ours," Tyberos grinned, as if it could have been otherwise. "We're off for free hunting, old friend."
"Not that old," the Zabrak said without malice. Raising a comlink to his mouth, he commanded: "Get the ship up to orbit, you striped devils. We're going hunting."
"You knew my mother when she was a Padawan in the Jedi Order," the corsair reminded. "And almost thirty years have passed already."
"Oh, don't start," the former Jedi grimaced. "Better tell me what you talked about with the Imperials."
As they walked to the bridge of the departing freighter, Tyberos recounted to his old friend and first mate of his band everything he had discussed with the Imperial commander.
"Grand Admiral, eh?" The Zabrak picked at his teeth with a fingernail. "This smells like napalm..."
"I myself was almost dumbfounded by what happened," admitted Tyberos. "A blue-skinned guy, and a Grand Admiral at that... Where did the Empire get another 'Grand'?"
"After Endor, they're a dime a dozen," the Zabrak waved dismissively. "Every other Imperial puts on those white rags and tells everyone how great they are. The whole galaxy knows that the Empire only had twelve real Grand Admirals. The rest are just costumed clowns. You can make up anything — who's going to sort it all out?"
"You know, by that logic, you could come out of the shadows, say you're a surviving Jedi Master, and boss around that brat Skywalker," Tyberos snorted.
"I'd sooner stop drinking and slit that bastard descendant of Darth Vader's throat," a shadow passed over the Zabrak's face.
"Sorry, friend," Tyberos looked into the glazed, hatred-filled eyes of his mentor. "I keep forgetting how hard it is for you to talk about all this..."
"Hard?" he laughed bitterly. "Tyberos, I saw with my own eyes how the one the entire Jedi Order considered the Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker, slaughtered the emptied Temple. Younglings, Padawans, wounded — that butcher stopped for no one and nothing. I still can't forgive myself that on the day Order 66 was carried out, I ran instead of facing the fight..."
"Darth Vader would have killed you just like he killed dozens of other Jedi before you," Tyberos noted calmly. "And I wouldn't have a friend like you..."
"Yeah," Eymand chuckled darkly. "A Jedi researcher who doesn't particularly want to be a Jedi, because the only Jedi in the galaxy is the son of the Jedi who killed almost every Jedi I knew."
Jedi Knight Eymand.
"Isn't that too many 'Jedi's' in one sentence?" Tyberos grinned. He liked to tease the family friend sometimes. The only representative of the "Jedi spawn," as his mother called them, who after the fall of the Republic and the Order didn't try to start a coup or participate in political protests and unrest. He just settled in the Outer Rim, kept a low profile, and little by little tried to make ends meet as a mercenary. Actually, that's how their family met the former Jedi researcher. It wasn't that his mother disliked him, but there was never any outright enmity between them. Each minded their own business and didn't try to teach the other. After his parents' death, Eymand found him and told him everything about himself. Well, and the decision to thoroughly bleed the rebels — that was the result of mutual agreement.
"If you approached your training with the same responsibility as the sarcasm you speak with, you'd have become a full Jedi Knight long ago," Eymand snorted. "Instead of hanging around as an overaged youngling!"
"I don't need it," Tyberos said calmly. "You said it yourself — I'm not that strong in this Force of yours. So I prefer to be satisfied with what we have now: you plan the operations, I execute them."
"Uh-huh," the Zabrak thoughtfully scratched his chin. "I wonder what that Grand Admiral Thrawn meant when he said he could help you with training?"
"I don't give a damn," Tyberos waved a hand. "Probably some trinkets he was going to palm off as 'sacred relics of the Jedi Order' to secure loyalty."
"You think they intend to revive the Inquisitorius?" Eymand asked, nervously stroking the scar on his neck — a "gift" from an encounter with a Force-sensitive being in the service of the Galactic Empire.
"I don't know," admitted Tyberos. "I don't care — I don't want to be a puppet in anyone's hands. If I ever have enough patience to learn your Jedi master class lessons, I'll make progress on my own, not by getting knowledge from someone like the Empire."
"Given that we're fighting against the New Republic, whose leaders are the ones who gave and carried out the order that caused your parents' death, and that they keep on a short leash the only son of Anakin Skywalker—who himself was involved in this up to his eyebrows—known to the galaxy for more than two decades as Darth Vader, I don't think refusing the Empire's offer is a reasonable move," Eymand said. "I remember how much shit Skywalker the elder managed to stir up and what a butcher he was on the battlefield. I very much doubt the son hasn't followed in his father's footsteps. The New Republic can tell as much as they like about how merciful and highly moral their only Jedi Knight is. The same guy who destroyed millions of lives in the Battle of Yavin IV with a pair of torpedoes, and the dead don't haunt him at night. No, a nexu cub doesn't stray far from its mother—this little Skywalker is just like his daddy. He just hasn't snapped and fallen to the Dark Side yet. But when that happens—the galaxy will once again swim in blood. Believe me."
"Listen," Tyberos looked into his friend and mentor's eyes. "Maybe Luke Skywalker isn't Anakin Skywalker's son? Or is that what the Force tells you?"
"My brains tell me that," Eymand sighed wearily, shaking his head. "Same last name, both sensitive to the Force—that's direct heredity. Given that Darth Vader's mother died and he had no other relatives, there aren't many options."
"And who cares?" Tyberos grimaced. "We'll gain strength, earn some credits from the Imperials, pay Boba Fett—and let him finish off that Skywalker spawn. By then Thrawn will have given the New Republic a beating, so we'll avenge the death of my parents and the fall of the Jedi Order on the rebels and their pet Jedi."
"Well, since the Empire hired us, there shouldn't be money problems," Eymand noted. "But the Force tells me that not everything is so simple in our galactic swamp… Something's happening. Something's wrong. I sensed it when we arrived in the Tangrene system."
"Can you tell what it is?" Tyberos clarified.
"No," the Zabrak admitted. "It's some kind of distortion… For a few moments it appeared in the Force, and then kept disappearing again and again."
"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the Grand Admiral somehow managed to block the Force during our meeting?" Tyberos asked.
"Hutt knows," Eymand said. "I'm a researcher—I'd rather dig through artifacts and holocrons than all this… Alright, I'm going to my cabin to meditate. Maybe the Force will whisper something useful about our future existence."
"May your Force send us more prizes and a good fight," Tyberos asked, watching the retreating Zabrak.
"And Corellian whiskey!" the latter shouted back. "The booze on the ship is running out!"
"Are you kidding me?" Tyberos shouted. "We only bought a whole crate last week!"
"I've been meditating a lot!" the Zabrak's shout reached him as he disappeared around the corridor corner.
* * *
Moff of the Morshdine sector, Felix Ferrus, sat in his office, studying lists of plundered property obtained as a result of Grand Admiral Thrawn's raid on rebel bases in the Dufilvian sector.
Small arms and heavy weapons, thermal detonators, grenade launchers, ammunition kits, provisions, light vehicles like swoops and airspeeders, grav-cycles, a large—no, even huge—stock of medical supplies, computer equipment, droids...
And a lot of essentially useless junk, like construction blocks, light armor of enemy soldiers... It felt as if the Grand Admiral's stormtroopers had scraped together absolutely everything they could find or strip from enemy corpses. Yes, judging by the fact that the list of battle trophies also included items that had been damaged by stormtrooper fire during the battle.
Somehow... unusual. Like scavengers digging through their victims' belongings. Battle trophies are one thing, but armor from dead men...
After thinking for a moment, the Moff moved the items of "dead property" into the "subject to sale" column. On the black market, there are buyers for any oddities. If clone armor from the time of the Grand Army of the Republic is still in high demand (even battle-worn), not to mention the simpler and more modern plastoid armor of stormtroopers, then there will always be a buyer for these "treasures" as well.
From the door leading to his office, a sound signal came. Someone intended to enter.
The stormtrooper standing by the door panel silently unlocked it, then reported to the Moff:
"Chief Engineer Nick Reyes with a report, sir," he said.
"Let him in," the Moff waved, setting aside the documents. He could deal with this later—after talking to Reyes. Especially since Grand Admiral Thrawn was due to arrive any minute now; his aide had scheduled an audience regarding the security of Tangrene. Although the Moff suspected that the Supreme Commander had already learned about the reasons for the chief engineer of the shipyard's appearance in the Moff's office before the Moff himself.
"Come in," he and Reyes had known each other for quite some time—long before Felix's appointment as Moff in this sector. So, when alone, they could and did set aside various formalities like formal communication. "Want some caf?"
"Something stronger would be better," the chief engineer said grumpily, settling into the offered chair. His serious, even slightly arrogant face, "painted" by the red ocular of his cybernetic eye, looked at the Moff, who in turn shrugged with a smile. "Don't tell me you don't have anything again."
Chief Engineer of the Type II Orbital Repair Shipyard, Nick Reyes.
"The Grand Admiral will be here in fifteen minutes," Felix said. "I'd rather he not know I have Alderaanian drinks in my safe."
"Decided to hear the report on escort frigate upgrades yourself?" The only eyebrow, situated above his real, right eye, crept upward questioningly. The metal fingers of the prosthesis on the chief engineer's right hand clicked against each other with a nasty scraping sound.
"Do you think the Moff and the Supreme Commander of the Empire have no other reasons to meet besides discussing your durasteel rivets?" Felix chuckled.
"Well, of course," the chief engineer twisted his lips. "Typical of you military types. All you care about is fighting. But the fact that we have nothing to repair your brilliant strategic victories with—warehouses emptying before our eyes, almost no equipment or resources—that doesn't interest you. You just want more guns and more torpedo launchers!"
"Don't say that kind of thing in front of Thrawn," Ferrus frowned. "They say he made an ISB colonel do push-ups right on the bridge when the colonel said or asked something unflattering in front of the watch crew."
"Even with just one right arm," Nick grinned, showing his prosthetic. "You'll see, I haven't lost my shape, even though I graduated the Academy even before you."
"I readily believe it," Ferrus smirked. "Better tell me, what do you have there?"
"A detailed report on the progress of repair work on Star Destroyers," Nick handed the Moff his datapad. "If we concentrate strictly on them, we can bring them into service much faster. After that, we can take care of the frigates, corvettes, and other small craft."
"Hm," Felix scanned the report. "I see you've also worked on the escort vessels?"
"I used the design drawings from Kuat Drive Yards from the archives as a basis," Reyes explained. "Nothing complicated, really. But time and resources will be needed."
"We don't exactly have an abundance of either," the Moff said thoughtfully. "Good, at least there's something to work with. I hope the Grand Admiral will be satisfied. Especially considering the tight deadlines you've managed..."
They talked for several minutes about details, discussing various "critical" points, before the door panel swung open.
The first to slip inside was a gray, stocky creature that the Moff had already seen in the Supreme Commander's entourage. A bodyguard, who silently took a position in the office like a shadow, completely unconcerned about what the other occupants thought of his actions.
Next, Grand Admiral Thrawn entered the office. As always—in a snow-white uniform, with boots polished to a mirror shine, the blue-skinned humanoid exuded an impression of calm confidence.
Greeting those present, he sat down in the empty chair, ignoring Felix's offer to take the head of the table.
"This is your workplace, Moff Ferrus," he said calmly. "Let's not waste time. There isn't enough of it as it is."
"Nick Reyes," the governor of the Morshdine sector introduced his friend. "Chief engineer of the orbital shipyard."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Reyes," the Grand Admiral said just as simply. The engineer was slightly taken aback—hearing such communication between naval personnel and "technical staff," which all members of Imperial Fleet starship crews without exception considered shipyard workers to be, was at least... unusual. And where was the usual contempt, arrogance, and sense of superiority?!
Apparently, the rumors that Grand Admiral Thrawn was, to put it mildly, "not a typical Imperial," were true. Although the Moff himself believed that this statement primarily referred to the Grand Admiral's appearance and origins. Non-humans in the Empire were not simply "disliked"they were despised. And anyone who didn't do that at best ended their career in an "honorable" high-ranking position somewhere on the fringes of the Empire. In the Morshdine sector, for example.
"As am I, sir," the military engineer replied.
"Taking this opportunity, I'd like to inquire—how is the repair of my starships progressing?" the Grand Admiral asked. "I was informed that the ships would return to active duty within a period of one to four weeks. To put it mildly, that is far too long."
"I understand, sir," the chief engineer admitted. "However, we are primarily dependent on the quantity of spare parts and components available in our Tangrene warehouses, as well as on cargo shipments from Bilbringi."
"A convoy of five Star Galleons escorted by three Tartan-class patrol cruisers left for Bilbringi yesterday," the Moff interjected. "We expect their arrival within two weeks with a full set of spare parts for all available ships."
"And in that case, we'll need another week, two at most, for all the ships you brought to Tangrene to be repaired and modernized without exception," Reyes summarized.
"Am I correct in understanding that at present the warehouses have a stock of equipment and parts for repairing Star Destroyers?" Thrawn clarified.
"Yes, sir," the Moff confirmed.
"According to the warship repair protocol, we perform simultaneous repairs on all starships that need it," Reyes explained, knowing perfectly well that naval officers were not very strong in "technical literacy." "Therefore, spare parts are distributed among all ships."
"Unfortunately for us, we do not have the luxury of extending the repair timeline," Thrawn declared. "Focus on the Star Destroyers first."
"Understood, sir," the chief engineer immediately pulled a portable computer from his pocket. Opening it, he began typing a message. Then he paused mid-typing, put the device away, and looked intently at the Supreme Commander. "Sir, may I amend the previously issued orders immediately? Otherwise, by the end of this conversation, my men will have to dig out some of the spare parts from the innards of the escort frigates."
"Permission granted, Chief Engineer," Thrawn replied, instantly losing interest in Reyes, who was now absorbed in working on his computer. "Moff, since we have a little time, I would like to inform you which starships you may use for the defense of Tangrene and the entire sector."
Felix nearly choked on a hiccup. What, just like that? He was getting starships? At least a couple of Star Destroyers!
"I am moving the base of my fleet to Tangrene," the Grand Admiral stunned him with the news. "Soon, all starships under my command will arrive here. At your disposal will be a Mark I strike frigate, a Carrack-class light cruiser, two Strike-class medium cruisers, one Immobilizer 418-class interdictor cruiser," Thrawn said. And the destroyers?! "One Tartan-class patrol cruiser each—for patrolling the sector systems under your authority. Nebulon-B escort frigates as well—at your disposal to guard our convoys. Also, most of my Star Galleons are yours. If necessary, I will take the ships I need from you for missions."
"Understood, sir," the Moff said slowly. "So you're taking the Crusader from me?"
At least one measly Victory I could have properly driven the enemy away from the system. But this fleet Thrawn was giving... Well... it's something.
"Already taken," he said in a level tone. "Don't worry, after some time, a Golan II-class orbital defense station will be delivered to Tangrene's orbit."
"Sir?" Felix blinked in confusion. "As far as I know, the Imperial Ruling Council is not thrilled about these stations being taken from the Bilbringi defense system or any other systems..."
"This station was captured by us in the Krondr system," Thrawn said calmly. "A hyperdrive, a nav computer, and sublight engines from an enemy ship have been installed on it. According to the station crew's calculations, they will arrive in a few weeks."
Reyes, hearing something interesting, looked at Thrawn with curiosity.
"Sir, allow me to clarify," he said. "Did you jury-rig an orbital defense station with a hyperdrive?"
"Yes," Thrawn looked at him. "Considering its battle damage, during the transition it will lose... not too many spare parts."
The Moff and the chief engineer exchanged glances. What?! An orbital station moving through hyperspace?! Yes, yes, yes... Kuat Drive Yards spends billions to find a suitable hyperdrive for their orbital repair stations and make them fly in hyperspace. And here—they just attached an engine from some ship?!
"Sir, if you don't mind, my men and I would like to inspect the station after its... landing," it seemed Reyes's eyelid began to twitch under the cybernetic prosthetic of his left eye.
"I don't mind," Thrawn replied. "What's more, I'll tell you. You will have to study the temporary structure we used, and repair the station so that it can continue to move through hyperspace."
"I'll do everything I can, sir," the engineer faltered. In fact, Thrawn was offering him to crack the secret of Kuat Drive Yards "on his knee," a secret they themselves had been cracking for hundreds of years. So, maybe he'd have to snuff out stars too?
Felix thought that Thrawn's order to establish privateering and a prize court, trading captured goods on the black market, was just the beginning compared to what was to come...
"Next, regarding you, Mr. Reyes," Thrawn continued. "A group of medium freighters is undergoing repairs at the Bilbringi shipyards. They will arrive here with working prototypes of cloaking devices." The chief engineer tensed, looking at the Grand Admiral with suspicion. And the Moff shared his feelings. A cloaking device is not a blaster you can pick up on any street corner. This is elite, top-secret technology! Without schematics and descriptions of its principles of operation... "The convoy sent to Bilbringi will deliver a team of technicians who worked with this technology, as well as the necessary equipment, along with them the spare parts and resources needed for the next part of my plan. You will receive the essential technical schematics and descriptions of the cloaking devices' operation a little later from the commander of my flagship, Captain Pellaeon."
Nick Reyes's second eye was about to start twitching now.
So, what would the Grand Admiral pull out of his "pocket" next—the one about whom nothing had been heard for a huge amount of time until last year? A couple of brand-new Super Star Destroyers? A Death Star? The Katana Fleet? The Sa Nalaor? A clone army? A fleet of lost Star Destroyers? Hutt's sake, what else to expect? The Emperor's resurrection?!
"I understand you, sir," the chief engineer said. "So, I take it the asteroids your ships unloaded near my shipyards are also part of some plan?"
"Absolutely," Thrawn agreed. "As soon as the necessary supply of a substance known as hybidium is delivered from Garos IV, begin installing cloaking systems on the asteroids."
"All of them?" Reyes was taken aback.
"Yes," the Grand Admiral replied simply.
"Sir, but there are a hundred and thirty-seven of them!" the chief engineer couldn't contain himself. "And each one is the size of a fighter!"
"Not all of them are that big," Thrawn noted. "A significant portion are smaller, about the size of a speeder. But that's not important right now."
"Grand Admiral, sir," Felix said cautiously. "If I correctly estimate the costs for a project like this, it would require one hundred fifty to two hundred million credits to implement!"
"Exactly so, Moff Ferrus," Thrawn remained calm. "The money is my concern. You just need to do your job."
"With all due respect, sir," the chief engineer shook his head, "I have just over four thousand engineers and technicians under my command. We cannot simultaneously repair ships and build cloaking fields on the asteroids..."
"I will provide you with technicians, don't worry about that," for the first time Thrawn showed something resembling emotion. "By the way, cloaking fields will also need to be installed on several freighters—their holds, in particular three Strike-class medium cruisers, a Golan II-class station, and also the orbital repair shipyard. If necessary, I will send you further instructions."
"Sir," Felix said. "The Imperial Ruling Council will simply flay me alive..."
"They don't need to know about this, Moff Ferrus," Thrawn noted. "I would even say—it's undesirable. In the near future, I will personally speak with them and assure them of the need to increase funding for our fleet's operations."
"Forgive me, sir," the Moff grimaced, "but you don't know these misers well enough. I've been asking them for an ion cannon for planetary defense for two years now—and all I get are excuses..."
"That's because you're not a Grand Admiral," Thrawn noted calmly. Looking intently at Felix, who had started to open his mouth, he added:
"I'm sorry, Moff, but I cannot allocate a planetary ion cannon to you either—it is needed for... other purposes," Felix did not miss how Thrawn delicately avoided the reason he didn't want to share the captured V-150 Planet Defender ion cannon. Well, fine.
"After some time, my ships will deliver mining equipment, a stock of metals, and also volatile fuel—rhydonium—to the shipyards," the Grand Admiral continued, looking directly into the chief engineer's eyes. "Refined ore will be useful to you, Mr. Reyes, and your subordinates, for timely ship repairs..."
"So, why mining equipment? What, will we have to dig in the ground looking for resources too?" Moff Ferrus thought wearily. It seemed he had overestimated the Grand Admiral in his mind. Apparently, he was trying to build a self-sufficient fleet base within a single sector... Not that the Moff was against it, but... That requires billions! If you start from scratch, then...
."..With all due respect, sir, but rhydonium is a very unstable fuel source," the chief engineer noted. "Our engines will have to be upgraded, and radically, so that they can operate on this type of fuel without major problems."
"I am already familiar with the analyses of rhydonium's properties," Thrawn noted. "No, you won't have to upgrade the ships' engines. All you need is to make the plasma drills, so-called 'diggers,' work on this fuel. One, perhaps two acceleration bursts for faster travel to the target."
"What the hell is going on?!" Felix almost asked, realizing he was losing the thread of the conversation. He understood absolutely nothing. Rhydonium, "diggers.".. Had Thrawn decided to replace fighters with kamikaze plasma drills?!
"Grand Admiral," he said. "Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel has agreed to provide us with fighters, interceptors, and bombers to replenish losses. However..." the Moff hesitated. "The price..."
"Who would doubt that the Ciutric Hegemony decided to profit from its allies," Thrawn unexpectedly chuckled. "And what price is Mr. Prince-Admiral asking for the ships we need?"
"Seventy thousand credits for one TIE fighter, ninety thousand for a TIE interceptor, and one hundred ten thousand for a TIE bomber," the Moff said a little more quietly, knowing that by the laws and traditions of Imperial military logic, higher-ranking officers, when in a bad mood, would grind into the dust those who brought them bad news. And in this case, there was a direct cause-and-effect relationship between "bad news" and "bad mood." And no one would judge the Grand Admiral...
"Is that so," Thrawn said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "The price is certainly inflated compared to what it was in the Empire before."
"Most of the factories producing TIE-series small craft have either been destroyed or captured by the enemy," the chief engineer noted. "Given that creating these ships requires specialized production lines and a huge amount of diverse resources—from twin ion engines and solar panels to transparisteel for viewports—such a small price increase can be considered justified."
"But not under conditions where we are the only ones conducting military operations against our common enemy," Thrawn noted. "While our allies merely sit behind the backs of my crews, that is more than insulting."
"I understand, Grand Admiral," the chief engineer said, spreading his hands. "But unfortunately, there's little that can be done against the existing system. The Ciutric Hegemony is the only Imperial state, aside from the Pentastar Alignment, that has the capability for a full production cycle of TIE-series craft—both atmospheric and ground-based. Even in Imperial Space, there aren't such large facilities—production is too slow. As far as I know, on Ord Trasi and Bilbringi, they barely manage to produce all three types of Small craft we need—but at an extremely slow pace."
"This situation must be corrected," declared Thrawn, practically pinning the chief engineer with his gaze. "We cannot spend exorbitant sums on purchasing ships that can be destroyed en masse in battles with the enemy. Your shipyard is capable of building starships. Surely creating a production line for us to manufacture fighters, bombers, and interceptors can't be that difficult?"
"Without knowledge of the technological process, it's impossible," noted Nick Reyes. "Of course, we could apply a reverse engineering process to fill in the missing knowledge, but..."
"It takes money and time?" Thrawn clarified.
"And a few expendable samples of fighters, interceptors, and bombers," the chief engineer nodded. "I have full confidence in my workers' competence, but it needs to be understood that we specialize not in building ships from scratch, but only in assembling them from modules supplied by manufacturers. We can repair, based on our existing knowledge and technical schemas, and we can upgrade—within reason. But creating an industrial line... That's enormous costs and a huge amount of time. It could take months or more just to study the process... But even then, I can't guarantee results."
"Moff Ferrus," Thrawn addressed the governor of the Morshdine sector. "What was the size of the air wing stationed on Tangrene under the Ubiqtorate?"
"Fourteen squadrons, sir," the man answered without hesitation. "Now there are two."
"And we also have losses among all types of Small craft on our Star Destroyers," Thrawn continued. "Plus, some of our captured starships should also be capable of carrying an air wing—the escort frigates, for example. Or the Corellian corvettes and the gunship... Yes, substantial funds will be needed to address our current problems with Small craft."
"Then we have a problem," the chief engineer declared. "Either we use reverse engineering and create our own semi-artisanal production facilities, or we purchase at least the assemblies and put them together on-site."
"Well, why is that?" Thrawn countered. "There's always a third option for how events unfold."
But the Grand Admiral had no intention of clarifying what he meant. Not at all.
"Mr. Reyes," he addressed the chief engineer again. "Of course, the deadline hasn't passed yet, but how is the work progressing on modernizing the captured escort frigates?"
"Well," Reyes took his datapad from the Moff's hands and handed it to the Grand Admiral. "Given our heavy material and repair limitations, I would suggest using the modernization variants that Sienar Shipyards developed for the Nebulon-Bs a year before the Battle of Endor."
Thrawn looked with interest at the images in the files.
Imperial Mk-I variant of the EF76 Nebulon-B escort frigate
"In the first variant, by reducing the hangar volume, cutting the number of transport shuttles to two units, and also reducing the air wing to one squadron, the escort frigate's arsenal is doubled," the chief engineer explained. "Essentially, it becomes a light cruiser. The entire hull is plated with cruiser-grade armor, increasing its survivability in line combat. By partially altering the internal spaces and reducing cargo capacity, speed remains the same. This variant is designated Mk-I."
"So it becomes primarily an artillery ship with minimal air cover?" the Grand Admiral clarified.
"The manufacturer envisioned such starships operating as part of a formation," noted the Moff. "So through overall potential, the aviation deficiency would be compensated by increased armament, as well as the air wings of other ships in the formation. Oh yes, I almost forgot. There is an optional capability to install up to four launchers for proton torpedoes or assault missiles in the forward hemisphere. In any case, despite the small magazine—only three munitions per launcher—this could prove to be a very, very unpleasant surprise for the enemy."
"Now tell me about the Mk-II variant," the Grand Admiral requested.
Imperial Mk-II variant of the EF76 Nebulon-B escort frigate
"Now this is the opposite concept," Nick noted. "The armament remains the same—twelve turbolasers, twelve laser cannons, tractor beams. But at the same time, by repurposing the cargo bay, installing external hardpoints, and removing all vehicles from the hangar except for the air wing and a pair of cargo shuttles, this ship can be fitted with additional armor and can carry not twenty-four fighters or interceptors, but forty-eight! Three squadrons are housed in the main hangar, four additional craft in the forward cargo hold, and another eight on external hardpoints between the aft and forward sections. Speed and maneuverability are also preserved. But unlike its predecessor, the Mk-II has no capacity for transporting passengers or troops—it is a pure escort ship, for which boarding actions are risky."
"In other words, either a ersatz cruiser or an ersatz carrier," Thrawn summarized.
"Unfortunately, that's correct, sir," the chief engineer stated. "That's precisely why the ship wasn't very popular in the line fleet—sending it even in its original form as an escort... was daunting. But the rebels turned them into something resembling line ships that fight decently against our starships."
"Very well," Thrawn declared. "We have two escort frigates. Build one of each variant, and we'll test them in battle. Choosing just one is pointless. These ships need to protect convoys and more important targets, but we don't have enough fighters to build the second modification. And the first is more suited for line combat or raiding. But line ships we have... in sufficient quantity, generally. How much will the modernization work cost?"
"Given that we have stocks of armor and weapons, but while we can produce the former ourselves, the latter will have to be purchased or deliveries awaited..." the chief engineer began calculating mentally.
"Let's consider the option of purchasing the necessary equipment and weaponry," Thrawn suggested.
"In that case, the sum comes to half a million per ship for the conversion," Reyes stated. "That's the price for materials. You understand—the workers get paid wages, so their labor is a separate expense item."
"Very well, the funds will be allocated to you," the Grand Admiral declared. "If necessary, to save money, you can break down the rebel assault frigate for spare parts—but on the condition that it must retain the ability to move and jump into hyperspace."
Glancing at the Moff, to whom this ship had already been promised, the Grand Admiral added:
"If that happens, I will transfer another Strike-class medium cruiser under your command."
"Yes, sir," Ferrus relaxed.
"Mr. Reyes," the Grand Admiral addressed the chief engineer again. "I would like you to calculate the changes needed in the hangar structures of our Star Destroyers. Or else the modernization of the starships themselves."
"And what needs to be done?" Nick asked with interest.
"Given the low protection of our ships against enemy Small craft, I ask you to consider three concepts. First—installing additional moorings in the hangar to transport, during flight, a ship comparable in size to a Corellian DP20 gunship or a CR90 corvette."
Sensing that Thrawn had paused for a response, the chief engineer reported:
"Sir, Imperial I-class Star Destroyers have a rather mediocre but sufficient coverage of laser cannons. The 'twos' are another matter; their only hope is the air wing... Hmm... Considering the hangar size, length, and dimensions of the proposed ships' hulls... Sir, a few standard manipulator-holders for external docking will be sufficient to take any of the ships you proposed inside."
"Second option—expanding the hangar by using internal spaces to house additional squadrons," came Thrawn's proposal.
Here, Nick was not so quick to answer.
After a few seconds of deliberation, he said:
"Sir, I'm not ready to answer right this second—I need to evaluate the entire ship's technical schematic before making any radical decision."
"Third option," Thrawn stated. "Increasing the number of point-defense laser cannons, or installing them—specifically on the 'twos.' I would also like to see a variant with the return of three medium triple turbolasers in a superfiring arrangement, as on the 'ones.' When in battle, having to divert heavy artillery to drive off medium ships like frigates or corvettes is not good."
"And it would also allow the actual 'two' to be visually disguised as a 'one,'" the chief engineer narrowed his one real eye. "Considering the difference in the number of heavy turbolasers between these ship types... Yes, that would most likely prove a fatal surprise for any enemy line ship."
"And lastly," Thrawn indicated he was wrapping up the conversation, "look into the possibility of placing shield generator boosters and projector units under the armor. The way the rebels did on their MC30c frigate."
"Sir," the chief engineer grimaced, as if he had a toothache but was trying his best to hold it in. "The MC30c is a relic that the rebels have mostly already scrapped for metal. Its generator boosters won't provide greater power for our shields."
"But they can help them recharge even under enemy fire," noted the Grand Admiral. "Take my word for it, Chief Engineer—we've fought these ships. For all their shortcomings, if they had thicker ship armor and more guns, not all of those starships would have made it back to their bases."
A tense silence fell.
"Yes, sir," Reyes replied with crisp, regulation clarity. "My men and I will do everything to improve our ships."
"So be it," Thrawn said in the same calm tone. "Well, you have a lot of work ahead. Get to solving the tasks I've set for you. I won't distract you. Rukh!"
The gray-skinned bodyguard, whose presence had long been forgotten, deftly crossed the distance from his spot to the door, falling in beside the Grand Admiral's figure.
When the door closed behind him, the Moff and the chief engineer, who had been seeing off the thirteenth Grand Admiral of the Empire, standing at attention as required, finally allowed themselves to relax.
"You know," Nick Reyes said thoughtfully, looking at the Moff, "I think we'll soon be recalling the time when the Ubiqtorate ruled Tangrene with great fondness..."
"I'm sure of it," Felix agreed with a smirk. Unable to resist, the Moff quipped:
"'Ubiqtorate, come back, we miss you!'"