Nine years, five months, and twelve days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, five months, and twelve days after the Great Resynchronization.
Visits to the grand admiral's quarters had become something of a mandatory item in Gilad's daily routine. And it must be said that this morning, he had something to please the commander with right from the start.
And while time for those living aboard starships is merely a relative quantity, and ships had to synchronize their time with the clocks of the planets in whose orbit they found themselves, Pellaeon preferred a dual-purpose chronometer. One time setting answered to standard Coruscant time. And the second — to local time. And the digits on the latter indicated it was six in the morning. And though Coruscant had long since ceased to belong to the Empire, and there was no point in continuing to track what time it was on that planet — since no one would ever call from there and there was no need to worry... Yet he kept doing it out of habit.
Just a convention. Just like the time of day, far too early for a report — but that had never bothered Thrawn.
Information is more important.
"Captain Pellaeon reporting to the grand admiral," he said into the intercom of the locked cabin door. The metal panel slid aside with a familiar hiss. Pellaeon took a step into the darkness of the short corridor...
"Early," a growling sound emerged from the gloom, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Rukh!" the captain barely restrained himself, refraining from adding harsher epithets to his address to the Noghri. "Stop doing that!"
In response, he heard only a faintly distinguishable hissing-growling chuckle. You think that's funny?! "It's high time you were sent to the lower decks to clean out the wastewater system for jokes like that!" Pellaeon thought. But, as always, he said nothing, stepping into the twilight — the customary lighting state of the grand admiral's quarters.
Why the Chiss preferred to remain in semi-darkness remained a mystery to the captain. As did why Thrawn had stopped contemplating the exhibits of his holographic museum. Pellaeon, generally, had no complaint — in his view, it was a pointless pastime. But Thrawn himself had said that through art, he understood his enemy better...
"Any news, Captain Pellaeon?" inquired the Chiss, whose eyes, like two coals, appeared in the darkness. The captain, already accustomed to such a sight, wasn't surprised.
"Yes, sir," he said in a satisfied tone. "The Chimaera has completed repairs and modernization. Mountings for transporting the Corellian corvette in the main hangar are installed, an additional shield generator has been fitted beneath the armor. During your absence, we tested its operation — systems are in order. We can now boost the deflector field directly during combat."
"What is the capacity of the new generator?" Thrawn inquired.
"The systems can provide up to thirty percent of our standard shields," the Chimaera's commander recalled the figures. "In principle, we can use this generator as a second shield line..."
Gilad fell silent because Thrawn was studying him with interest. Very searchingly, very meticulously, as if he were examining every single DNA strand in his flag captain one by one. That brazen scrutiny made him catch his breath. And even the sight of an ysalamiri peacefully clinging to the back of Thrawn's chair did nothing to ease the situation.
"Is there other information?" Thrawn finally broke the silence.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon exhaled in relief. "Repair work on the Stormhawk, Death's Head, and Martial is complete. Hull integrity and internal damage on the Commanding and Relentless have been restored. But they won't be operational until the convoy returns from Bilbringi. I did, of course, light a fire under the local authorities, telling them that spare parts, and especially turbolasers, were needed much faster. They agreed to send one Star Galleon with the necessary components, so in three to four days, those vessels will also leave the repair bays. The Nemesis is one day out from base. The Adjudicator and the cruisers from missions in the Sluis Van system are three days out. Lieutenant Colonel Astarion reports that the first batch of rhydonium is ready for delivery to Tangrene."
"Good," Thrawn said. "Send a medium cruiser and a patrol cruiser to the Abofar system to relieve the Steel Aurora as a guard ship. Lieutenant Colonel Astarion should also return to Tangrene. Inform the interested parties of this."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon made a note on his datapad. Given the volume of orders the grand admiral had been issuing since the escape from the Obroa-skai system, the Chimaera's commander no longer relied on his memory. Ah, how good it used to be... Two or three orders per day...
"Have the additional mountings for the corvettes been installed on all Star Destroyers?" the grand admiral's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. "We've finished distributing the corvettes among the ships. Three 'spare' ones are currently in orbit."
"They are by no means 'spare,' Captain," Thrawn countered. "We simply don't have suitable ships for them at the moment. But that won't last long."
Ah, if only the Interdictors had full-sized hangars, like their predecessors, the Imperial-class, then there'd be a place to 'park' those three unfortunate CR90s. But as it is... Wait a moment! 'Won't last long'?
Pellaeon was about to ask what the commander's last words meant, but he didn't let him get a word out.
"Any news from Captain Dorja?"
The captain of the Relentless, as unyielding as his ship's name, had just reported on his activities on Garos IV. Literally — two hours and thirty minutes ago. And Pellaeon would bet anything that Dorja knew perfectly well that the Chimaera's commander was asleep at that time. Without an executive officer, the flag captain doesn't have much time for rest... But no, this... man decided to personally report on what a great job he'd done! Obviously mocking him!
"Strikes were carried out against local rebel cells," he said. "More than forty people eliminated, another seven taken prisoner. A battalion of stormtroopers has been stationed on the planet, and explanatory work has been conducted with the local authorities. The hybidium deposit has been secured, and resource extraction operations have resumed at previous levels. The first shipment is scheduled for the end of this month."
"You are dissatisfied with something, Captain," Thrawn observed.
"Dorja contacted me via holocomm a little over two hours ago and spent a solid hour monotonously recounting the successes he'd achieved," Pellaeon stated. "I already sleep only three hours a day..."
"You are an Imperial officer, Captain," the grand admiral reminded him. "Stop complaining. Captain Dorja did an excellent job..."
Thrawn shifted his gaze to his computer monitor, searched for something for a few minutes, then said:
"As soon as we finish this briefing, send a medium cruiser and one Tartan to the Garos system to relieve Dorja," the grand admiral ordered. "Recall the Relentless to Tangrene with all the mined hybidium. Our prototype cloaking fields will be arriving shortly, and we need the active substance for them. Also, thank the captain on my behalf for a job well done..."
Pellaeon had to make a great effort not to wince. Is he doing this on purpose? Thrawn knew perfectly well what their relationship was like, so Gilad would sooner eat his uniform without sauce than kindly say something to Dorja without...
."..Given the difference in planetary rotation speeds, by the time our briefing concludes, it will be nighttime on Garos IV," Thrawn finished, his eyes flashing. "As you understand, you will be speaking with Captain Dorja personally. Use the holocommunicator..."
It took a couple of seconds to grasp the grand admiral's meaning. A predatory smile spread across Pellaeon's face.
"With great pleasure, sir!" he said, imagining the rage Dorja would be in when Gilad pulled the same trick on him...
"And after the Relentless rejoins the fleet — either you and Captain Dorja stop acting like bickering junior cadets holding grudges against each other, or you will bring me retirement reports on medical grounds for endorsement," Thrawn said slowly but distinctly, as if driving hot bushings into parts. Gilad felt his eyelid twitch involuntarily. What?!
"Sir, I don't understand..."
"Then we are in the same position, Captain," Thrawn declared. "I also cannot fathom how two Imperial officers, commanders of Star Destroyers, can so simply afford the time for petty enmity born out of nothing."
"There I completely agree," Gilad said mentally. "Dorja's belief that only he can do everything right is nonsense."
"And since such a situation occurs, there are only two possible answers — either both esteemed captains are not devoted enough to my cause, or they already no longer meet the requirements of their positions," the Chiss said. "Convey these words to Captain Dorja as well. By the time the Relentless returns to the fleet, I must hear from both of you that the enmity between you has ended in a mutual capitulation based on the recognition of each other's qualities and merits, or I will see your reports. We will not return to this issue, Captain. Has there been a report from the Crusader?"
"They are ready to begin the infiltration operation," Pellaeon said. "Coordinator Sergius has developed the appropriate 'legend' for penetrating the planet. They are only waiting for your command."
"Consider it given," Thrawn said. "Have any reports come in about the clones from Mount Tantiss?"
"Yes," — wouldn't it be simpler to read the reports yourself instead of running a Star Destroyer captain ragged an hour before crew reveille? "No biological or psychological deviations. They've all been loaded onto transports and are being delivered to us. Along with the freighters captured earlier, and the prototype cloaking devices that were being worked on at Bilbringi," Pellaeon reported.
"Excellent news, Captain, don't you think?" Thrawn intoned. Gilad only mumbled the customary "Yes, sir" vaguely. He had nothing against clones — in his time, he had fought alongside them. But those were very different fellows. "Send a request to Baron D'Asta for provisions — three times the amount relative to our current personnel count."
"Isn't that a bit much?" Gilad thought, nodding automatically in agreement and making the corresponding note on his datapad screen.
"Contact the Sentinel," Pellaeon was surprised to hear the name of the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer that had been sent to the Chasin system nine days ago for patrol. "Tell them to prepare to withdraw to base as soon as their relief arrives. As their replacement, send the medium cruiser Firebrand under Commodore Dobramu after its return and repair. Immediately send two Tartans and the Immobilizer-class Hunter we have on hand."
"Sir, wouldn't it be better to send the Limiter, which is available at the base?" Pellaeon suggested. What in the blazes does Moff Ferrus need an Immobilizer for? Who's he planning to catch around here? Escort frigates, Carracks , medium cruisers, and a full dozen Tartans ought to be enough. Why leave so many ships? It's obvious the moff doesn't control most of his sector anyway.
"The Sentinel," Thrawn repeated calmly, looking at his subordinate in a way that made Pellaeon feel rather uneasy. Not because the Chiss did anything particularly special, but because the captain remembered just how vigorously Lieutenant Colonel Astarion had been doing his exercises... Ah, to hell with all of this! Which one of them is the grand admiral?
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon noted.
"Send the Resolute," — hmm, another medium cruiser flying off somewhere, "to the Bestine system for patrol duty along with another Tartan. As soon as the Abrupt finishes repairs after the Bpfassh mission, send it, accompanied by another patrol cruiser, to the Carida system. But first, contact the Academy leadership and request their graduates — all they can provide."
"And if they refuse, sir?" Gilad inquired, knowing firsthand the arrogance and conceit of the military personnel there, who had mostly turned into bureaucrats. But his mind was already calculating — Thrawn was consolidating all his available Star Destroyers, including the Interdictors, into a single core. Looks like a new campaign is coming.
"In that case, send the Abrupt and its escort to ensure the security of the Makem Te system," Thrawn replied simply. "And inform the Imperial Ruling Council that Ambassador Furgan, the planet's governor, has gone rogue from the Empire."
"They won't do anything to him," Pellaeon noted.
"Perhaps," Thrawn said indifferently. "And perhaps not. Send inquiries to the shipyards of Ord Trasi, Bilbringi, Rendili, and Bestine IV. I want to know what repair capabilities they possess. At Bilbringi, additionally inquire about the readiness status of the Star Destroyer that was promised to us."
"Do we have so many ships that we need to burden anyone besides the Tangrene shipyard personnel with work?" Pellaeon wondered at the question about repair capabilities, but didn't object. As for the Star Destroyer under construction — that was the right question. An extra ship in the fleet wouldn't hurt. It certainly wouldn't. But why was Thrawn only betting on the docks controlled by the Imperial Ruling Council?
"There are also shipyards in the Pentastar Alignment," he reminded him. "And with Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel."
"I remember, Captain," Thrawn said in a completely indifferent tone. "But they are not of interest to us in the near future. Contact the latter and inquire how many TIE fighters, interceptors, and bombers they can offer us."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," Gilad assured him.
"Send a request to Orinda — whether they have any orbital defense stations available that we could borrow. If yes, we need them. If not, contact the manufacturers. I want to know the production time for three Golan II-class stations, the time for their delivery to Tangrene orbit, and their installation."
"Aha! Looks like the trip to the D'Astan sector paid off," Pellaeon thought with satisfaction. Orbital stations are good. And purchasing small craft — even better.
"Any messages from Niles Ferrier?" Thrawn asked.
"No, sir."
"What about the Delta Source?"
"Nothing."
"Reports from the Noghri on Hypori?"
"They are conducting terrain reconnaissance. The complex is in working condition. Battle droids have been spotted, along with mercenaries from the Zann Consortium and several ships in orbit. Reconnaissance teams report that the criminals are shipping out at least one batch of droids and droidekas per day. Destination — unknown."
"Interesting," was all Thrawn said. "I need a detailed report on the enemy forces in the Hypori system. I was expecting a droideka assembly line, not the second coming of the Confederate Army."
"I'll have all reports delivered to you immediately," the Chimaera's commander declared. "Sir, may I ask a question?"
Thrawn gave an almost imperceptible silent nod.
"Wouldn't it be more prudent to request TIE-class equipment directly from the Santhe family on Lianna, rather than from the Ciutric Hegemony?" Pellaeon blurted out the question that had been bothering him for a long time. Yes, there were certain pitfalls there, related to the independence of the Santhe family fiefdom and the official unwillingness — even outright hostility — towards Sienar's heirs from Imperial Space, but... Couldn't they at least try? If Thrawn needed all the TIE fighters Krennel could provide, then something big must be brewing, something the grand admiral hadn't yet deigned to inform him about. However, since the Chiss had found an approach to Baron D'Asta, perhaps it would work here too?
"A good idea, Captain," Thrawn said, which was the last thing the Chimaera's commander expected to hear.
"I... um..." Gilad hesitated. What?! Thrawn, the most renowned of the grand admirals, who so easily crushed the rebels in the Dufilvian sector and plans his operations three or four steps ahead — DIDN'T THINK OF THAT OPTION?! What has he been doing all this time?!
"No need to be flustered, Captain," Thrawn said. "The suggestion is indeed correct and timely."
"Oh, really?" Gilad thought skeptically. "Yeah, sure, we know all about answers like that. They'll shoot it down the moment I'm out of sight. A subordinate shouldn't be telling his superior what to do..."
"We will certainly test the viability of your theory when the opportunity arises, Captain," Thrawn stunned him with his answer. "What, really?!" Gilad caught himself thinking, feeling his eyebrows rise in surprise at the Chiss's reaction. "I do not reject useful ideas solely on the grounds that they are not my own," the Chiss said, as if reading his thoughts. It became awkward. Was Thrawn's race perhaps telepathic? You never know...
The grand admiral fell silent, thinking something over. Then he raised his eyes to Pellaeon again:
"Arrange for my shuttle to be ready for departure in two hours. That is all, Captain. You may go."
Saluting by regulation, Gilad turned on his heels. And immediately nearly jumped aside, seeing a twisted yellow alien face in front of him. Only his Imperial conditioning and peripheral vision, which had caught the appearance of other holographic projections of artworks, helped him keep his composure.
Calmly walking through Thrawn's "holographic museum," the captain stepped out of the grand admiral's quarters. Letting out a heavy breath, he smirked crookedly.
Well, now it was clear why the Chiss had decided to 'harness' his flag captain so early in the morning — to admire his precious artworks for longer.
Yeah, not much changes in this galaxy. Still, maybe that's for the best.
* * *
On that day, Garm Bel Iblis realized that his quiet, peaceful world had developed a crack. So large that into this crack were beginning to be pushed all those bright, kind, and pure moments of his recent years that remained. Even the considerably cooled joy from the battle at Tangrene, where his small fleet had completely shattered the Imperial base and tweaked the nose of the Ubiqtorate, no longer warmed him.
The last great victory... After which he sat tight on his base, the Peregrine's Nest, and kept a low profile, preferring to switch from combat operations to diplomatic duels.
And now, it was as if Palpatine himself was laughing at him from the grave.
"Is this certain?" he asked hoarsely.
"Yes, sir," said Irenez, trying not to look at the darkening face of the commander, darkened by poorly concealed rage. "Sena and her people died aboard the Coral Vanda. The second cover group, before the New Republic ships arrived, scoured the cruise liner's wreck site from end to end, following the beacon signals. The bodies were partially deformed by pressure and marine life, but they identified Sena and both operatives from the first group."
"How did they die?" Bel Iblis asked hoarsely. "Drowned?"
"No, sir," Irenez spoke calmly, in clear, clipped phrases. But Garm knew that the same anger swirling around his own aging heart was churning inside her. The weight of losing battle comrades is a constant in the war they wage. But getting used to it meant saying goodbye to one's humanity and turning into a droid. Made of bone and flesh. "They were shot."
"Hoffner?" the former Corellian senator frowned.
"Possibly," Irenez said uncertainly. "The second group didn't have time to search the entire ship — only a tiny part. But no one found Hoffner's body. Perhaps he was in another part of the ship at the time, however..."
"What was Sena doing in his cabin then?" Bel Iblis asked. "Why were there dead security operatives nearby? What were the soldiers from the first cover group doing there? No!" He slammed his fist on the table. "They were killed during the deal!"
"I doubt Hoffner could have taken down Sena and six men," Irenez shook her head. "According to data received from our Bothan ally, some of those killed near Hoffner's cabin died from mechanical trauma to the body, not just from blaster shots."
"So there was a struggle," Garm noted. His nostrils flared as he drew in air. The rage briefly subsided, and that quality which had helped the former senator survive all these years came into play.
The ability to piece together facts.
"Sit down," he ordered, waving his hand, after which his aide sank into a chair. "Let's start figuring this out. Have our people's bodies been brought in?"
"Yes, we retrieved them before the New Republic ships arrived," the woman reported.
"See to it that they are buried with dignity," Bel Iblis ordered. He himself pulled sheets of flimsiplast towards him, picked up a marker, and removed its cap.
Irenez smiled almost imperceptibly — the Corellian did not indulge in prolonged mourning. After all, they were his battle comrades, almost family. Almost...
But that didn't mean Bel Iblis wouldn't avenge their deaths and try to get to the bottom of it all.
"Let's take stock based on what we know," he said. There was no longer any grief of loss in his voice. Now a warlord sat before her — the one for whom both she and the late Sera, and tens of thousands of other beings, had gone against the Empire. "After the defeat of Zsinj by the coalition of the Empire and the New Republic, after the redistribution of captured territories, a relative lull set in. About two months ago, the Empire suddenly conducted a raid into the Saarn system. One Star Destroyer — we assume it was the Stormhawk, if the engine signatures weren't masked. The Empire destroyed a New Republic base."
"And in response — no reaction at all," Irenez noted.
"No," Iblis countered. "Fey'lya says that Mon Mothma did react — she ordered the base on Saarn struck from the active list. The planet no longer holds any interest for the New Republic."
"I wouldn't trust Fey'lya," Irenez said cautiously. "That slippery Bothan..."
"No one takes anyone at their word," the Corellian declared. "I know that subject well enough to understand a fairly simple idea: he smiles at us because he needs us. Otherwise, the Bothan would have long since torn out our throats, branding us an illegal armed formation."
"And there's nothing suspicious about the fact that a significant portion — half our fleet — was bought with his money?" the assistant asked.
"Take my word — Borsk Fey'lya wouldn't be helping us so openly if he couldn't wash his hands of any possible attacks on his precious hide," Bel Iblis noted. "What was next?"
During the conversation, he had drawn several circles on the paper, symbolizing the events.
"An Imperial raid into the Draukize system," Irenez reminded him. "The exact same thing as on Saarn. A Destroyer arrived, destroyed an outpost, no survivors. Data obtained from random witnesses."
"Given the Empire's position, these two raids will count as victories," Bel Iblis declared. "After that, we know that the Empire launched a raid into the Obroa-skai system. What they wanted there — we don't fully understand. But they obtained a copy of the information database from the locals."
"Searching the archives is pointless — who knows what might have caught the Imperials' interest," Irenez said, just to be safe.
"Yes, isolating what they needed there is practically impossible, given the volume of information they made off with," the man agreed. "But there's something important about the Imperials' behavior on Obroa-skai."
"They retreated without engaging."
"Exactly," Bel Iblis agreed. "The bases on Saarn and Draukize weren't backwaters — they had guns and starfighters. But the Imperials crushed them. Here — they fled right from under the noses of four falling-apart escort frigates and their fighter escort."
"I wouldn't say the New Republic ships were literally falling apart," Irenez objected. "Yes, they weren't the freshest vessels, but who are we to talk?"
"But the Imperials could have easily engaged," Iblis noted. "Sure, they wouldn't have destroyed the New Republic force, but they could have inflicted significant damage. Yet they chose to retreat. Why?"
"Were they scared?" Irenez suggested.
"But then they ventured into a system far from their own borders, at a time when negotiations were underway for Obroa-skai to join the New Republic?" Bel Iblis asked with a note of irony. "No, they rushed in because they desperately wanted to get their hands on something. Something that might have slipped away from them after the papers were signed."
"And they got that 'something valuable'," Irenez continued, developing Bel Iblis's thought. "And they decided not to risk it, so they fled."
"That's my thinking too," the Corellian agreed. "After that, some time later, we learn that the Empire, practically right under our noses, launches attacks in the Dufilvian sector. Simultaneous, coordinated, hitting all systems at once..."
"All the systems they knew about," Irenez corrected. "If they had known about the planet where we placed the 'Peregrine's Nest,' they would have paid us a visit too."
"Undoubtedly," Bel Iblis agreed. "Therefore, we can rule out the possibility that the raid on the Obroa-skai system was meant to find information about secret systems in the Dufilvian sector. From that, we can conclude — the Imperials didn't come for us. Otherwise, they wouldn't have left here until they'd saturated the system with spy droids. So they don't know the location of the 'Peregrine's Nest.' At least for now."
"Do you think that information exists somewhere?" Irenez clarified.
"I wouldn't rule it out," Bel Iblis admitted. "The Empire seized the right moment — when the local sector flotilla was weakened. They sent significant forces here — at least four Star Destroyers in the Krondr system alone. We don't know how many were involved in destroying the base on Ord Pardron."
"They could have been the same ships," Irenez noted. "After all, they destroyed the bases using asteroids."
"Possibly," Bel Iblis said. "Or perhaps they want us to believe that. Why would they drop an orbital defense station onto Krondr's medical base?"
"It was in their way to reach the planet," the assistant suggested.
"Four Star Destroyers... against one station?" Bel Iblis clarified. "No, they would have destroyed it in an hour, if not sooner. Besides, they dropped it onto the base — as if they weren't planning to land. So what then?"
"Strikes, just like on Saarn and Draukize," the woman suggested. "Destroying New Republic assets."
"But they didn't subjugate the sector," Bel Iblis noted. "That's illogical. If this were a war of territorial expansion, the Dufilvian sector could have become part of the Empire. By establishing a base here, the Imperials could have subjugated two or three more neighboring sectors in short order, creating an entire enclave on the New Republic's southern borders. But they didn't. Instead, they simply left. Killed the fleet and left."
"Irrational," Irenez concluded.
"On the contrary," Bel Iblis said, stroking his mustache. "Saarn and Draukize — a test of the New Republic's combat readiness. The raid on Obroa-skai gave the Imperials something. What exactly — we don't know. Then they lie low for a while, and after that — they smash the New Republic in an entire sector. And then — they just leave, leaving behind the ruins of two bases and scrap metal where a fleet used to be. And again — a lull. No, Irenez. I think that from their visit to Obroa-skai, the Imperials gained some advantage. They found or created something that allowed them to launch a coordinated strike against the New Republic in the Dufilvian sector. They destroyed the fleet, demolished the bases, and left. Or — they're trying to make us think that their goal was terror tactics. But the obvious result — sector subjugation — wasn't achieved. So the Imperials' goals are non-obvious."
"Are we going to guess what they are this time?"
"We're going to think," Bel Iblis corrected her. "Obviously, whoever is commanding the Imperials is thinking several steps ahead. The raids on Saarn and Draukize were not simultaneous. In the Dufilvian sector — they were coordinated and perfectly timed. Clearly, my idea about them acquiring some superweapon to destroy the New Republic fleet in an entire sector is correct. Perhaps the Imperials didn't care about this specific sector — they chose it because it was far from major bases and had weak defenses. No, Irenez, I'm certain that the Imperials tested their weapon in the Dufilvian sector. Judging by the fact that they went quiet for a while and now are active again — there will be another strike soon. Possibly — even more powerful than we can imagine."
"I'm not disputing your point of view, Commander, but are you sure about this?"
"Unfortunately, even with such scarce information, I can't guess exactly what the Imperials have in store for us. But I have no doubt that the attack on Coral Vanda, the attack on Nkllon, and the triple raid into the Sluis sector are all part of one plan."
"If it weren't for the attack on the Dufilvian sector, we wouldn't have sent Senu to meet Hoffner to buy more dreadnoughts from the Katana Fleet," Irenez lamented. "Maybe they were killed because of that..."
"I'm sure of it," Bel Iblis said bitterly. "Probably the Imperials decided to step on our tail to avenge the attack on Tangrene. They might have been watching Hoffner or Senu. Our people didn't surrender without a fight, but Hoffner... He could have been taken prisoner."
"And then he'll tell them everything," Irenez paled. Garm nodded.
"I don't believe Hoffner when he says he only has ten heavy cruisers," Bel Iblis said. "It's more likely that he was selling ships that were in working order. And the entire fleet is out there, lost among the stars..."
"Commander, if the Empire gets its hands on the Katana Fleet..." Irenez whispered, imagining what would happen if nearly two hundred old but still sturdy starships appeared across the galaxy.
"Nothing irreparable on a global scale," the Corellian declared. "Every ship needs to be repaired, crewed and trained. That will take the Empire years..."
"Unless they already have nearly half a million trained sailors," the assistant objected.
"If they did, we wouldn't have raided Tangrene so easily," Bel Iblis stated. "And the Empire wouldn't be sitting quieter than water, lower than grass. No. They may get their hands on the Katana Fleet, but they won't be able to use it fully — definitely not before the end of this year, and most likely not before the end of next year. Remember how long it took us to train our people to handle them? A year. So we have time — to track down those ships, wherever they're based. And attack them — either destroy or capture them."
"I wish I had your optimism, Commander," Irenez declared.
"After the Empire almost covered the Peregrine's Nest — it's no longer optimism, it's luck," Bel Iblis smiled bitterly. "With their new superweapon..."
"But eyewitnesses say they were just ordinary ships," Irenez protested. "No Super Star Destroyers, no Death Stars..."
"Coordination," Bel Iblis clarified. "The Empire gained the ability to coordinate their attacks in multiple places across multiple systems with pinpoint accuracy. Because under normal circumstances, such a trick is impossible."
Irenez was silent for a few minutes, thinking over what had been said.
"According to Fey'lya's reports, the attacks on New Republic bases in the Sluis sector were not as coordinated as those in the Dufilvian sector," the assistant said.
"There could be various reasons for that," Bel Iblis noted. "Maybe they're covering their tracks, trying to disguise the destruction of the bases on Krondr and Ord Pardron as a random coincidence. Or maybe their superweapon has a limited range — which would argue in favor of them having a Jedi rather than a mechanical device."
"Unsettling and dangerous," Irenez said. "Until now, the Empire only demonstrated superweapons in the form of 'big gun' or 'big ship'. But now... thinking beings. Have you ever heard of anyone doing something like this?"
"To be honest — never," Bel Iblis said without lying. "There were rumors before and during the Clone Wars that some Jedi could somehow influence their allies, but many things are attributed to the Order — not just what was true, but also outright fabrications, like them eating children, being excessively wealthy, starting the Clone Wars themselves, and so on. I don't know anyone who could have witnessed something like that. Probably a fabrication, but we'll keep it as one working hypothesis. Although, the very combination — the Empire and Jedi — is not just jarring, it's hardly plausible as reality."
"Especially since the only living Jedi in the galaxy is on the side of the New Republic," Irenez agreed. "So it's unlikely that this coordination is provided by some renegade Jedi."
"The only one known," Bel Iblis corrected her. "No matter how much Palpatine claimed he destroyed all members of the Order, I saw one capable young man and his teacher — a celebrated Jedi General — two years before the Battle of Yavin IV. And take my word — if I hadn't seen what that kid could do, I wouldn't have believed such a thing was possible."
"But Luke Skywalker joined the Alliance shortly before the destruction of the Death Star..."
"I'm not talking about him," the Corellian declared. "Galen Marek and Rahm Kota. Warriors I would have liked to have on my side... The latter — a Jedi General. The former — the son of a Jedi, raised by Darth Vader and then betrayed by him. At least, that's how his story was presented by his comrades."
"You never mentioned them," Irenez noted. "Maybe we should ask them for help? If the Empire has a Jedi..."
"I don't know where they are," Bel Iblis admitted. "Marek, according to rumors, captured Darth Vader a year before the Battle of Yavin... Rahm Kota was there too — they had their own resistance cell..."
"Judging by the fact that Darth Vader lived another five years after those events, all the way to Endor, Galen Marek and Rahm Kota couldn't hold him," Irenez noted.
"They couldn't," Bel Iblis agreed, his voice suddenly subdued.
"Commander?" Irenez worried. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Garm said just as quietly. "I was just thinking... Galen Marek demonstrated abilities that exceeded the most powerful Jedi I had ever known. And now the Imperials have someone or something that can coordinate their actions on an unimaginable level. Possibly a Jedi, maybe a surviving Jedi Hunter — according to rumors, they once belonged to the Order too. But what if it's..."
"Galen Marek?" Irenez clarified. The Corellian nodded silently. "Even so, we could always leak information that he's on the side of the Empire to Luke Skywalker or one of his friends. For example, General Solo. He's a Corellian..."
"We met Captain Solo once," Garm said. "True, he was much younger and probably doesn't remember... But as a last resort — it would work."
"Fey'lya could also work as a last resort," Irenez noted.
"I highly doubt it," Bel Iblis declared. "The Bothans, if they learned of Galen's whereabouts, wouldn't just try to stop him — they'd most likely try to recruit him."
"To have a counterbalance to the faction of Princess Leia Organa-Solo and Luke Skywalker?" Irenez clarified.
"No," the Corellian declared. "More likely to destroy it. Fey'lya can tell any story he wants, but his game is clear — he intends to climb as high as possible in the New Republic's hierarchy. Possibly — even into the chair of head of state. And since it's currently formally occupied by Mon Mothma, who has a large circle of supporters, the Bothans will either drain her power and influence, triumphantly presenting our Resistance group to the New Republic to ride our reputation as high as possible. Or they'll simply eliminate her."
"With Galen Marek's help?" the assistant inquired. Garm nodded affirmatively. "Sir, even if the Bothans get their own Jedi. Mon Mothma has Skywalker..."
"I'm afraid that if Galen Marek is alive and not on the same side as Skywalker, the latter doesn't stand a chance," the Corellian said. "You see, Luke Skywalker is a good kid... He destroyed the Death Star, he killed Palpatine and Darth Vader... But he never dropped an Imperial Star Destroyer from orbit onto a planet's surface with his bare hands..."
* * *
It's annoying to admit this, but even a Chiss's analytical brain isn't immune to mistakes. Then again, is it right to blame the computer when it was the user who made the error in calculations and planning? Most likely not.
Hutt, how could I have miscalculated on such a trivial thing!
The Santhe Family! Owners of the production facilities of the company founded by the Sienar family! I should have run to them first to order the small craft I needed! Instead of going to some Krennel!
Alright, calm down.
Let's analyze.
The TIE series of vehicles was created by a citizen named Raith Sienar. He rose high during the New Order, and until the Emperor's death at the Battle of Endor, he knew no grief, selling small craft to the Empire at an excellent price-quality ratio. Given that the Empire never had a problem with the number of recruits, the option of ordering expensive fighters and other 'small fry' was immediately ruled out. They needed cheap but practical machines. And the Imperial military never cared about personnel losses — training new ones was always easier. And cheaper.
I once again turned to the Imperial Archives available on Tangrene. After the Ubiqtorate's flight, the most accessible and practically non-secret information remained there.
For example, indicating that Raith Sienar was killed three years after the Battle of Yavin. A year before Palpatine's own death. The file I studied stated that the killers were never found. However, there were investigative leads pointing to someone... from within the Sienar company itself.
Yeah, a right snake pit there, obviously.
After Sienar's death, leaving no heirs, control of the company passed to the Santhe family, who were co-owners of the enterprise. Currently, a lady named Valles Santhe is in charge. A woman, I must say, not very attractive in appearance (again, if the holosnaps are to be believed), but power-hungry. After the Emperor's death, she declared the independence of her planet, Lianna, from the Empire's authority. She also did not join the New Republic. Attempts to get their hands on Lianna's industry, diplomatically or otherwise, bore no fruit. After a series of grand scandals, Lady Santhe decided it would be better to trade with both warring sides.
This fact enraged the notoriously impatient Imperial Ruling Council, but there is no record of further coercion of Lianna to return to the Empire. Obviously, the Imperials suffered failures. That's why such a wide scale of TIE production is not observed. They're happy with whatever they have left.
And if so, there's a high probability that the Santhe family has more and better equipment than Krennel. No, I don't deny that the Prince-Admiral could satisfy my requests for the needed vehicles, but... not now.
And what I need is quite the opposite.
I've already familiarized myself with the data sent to me on Lando Calrissian's 'Nomad' project and the scout mission on it. I'm not too well-versed in mining resources that way. But Mr. Rederick's report pointing out that the walking enterprise is based on a Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser — even a blind man could see that. As well as the conversion of some compartments into hangars...
Therefore, with the right resources and capabilities, the ships of the Katana Fleet can be equipped with an air wing. Unlikely a large one — a squadron, maybe two. Although, probably just one — the ship's size is concerning, a bit small.
But even so, simple math howls at the numbers. Let's round up to two hundred dreadnoughts. Suppose each one carries just one squadron of TIE fighters. In each such unit — twelve machines. Multiply these numbers. Two thousand four hundred machines. Multiply that number by the price the Prince-Admiral set for one fighter — seventy thousand credits... One hundred sixty-eight million. And that's without spare parts, consumables, maintenance...
A third of my available funds just for buying fighters in the Ciutric Hegemony. Considering that there will inevitably be losses during battles — that sum will increase by an... indefinite amount. And there are also Tangrene's planetary squadrons, the air wing on the orbital station that will soon arrive at the planet's orbit, escort frigates that also have places to park fighters, Star Destroyers and cruisers that also need replenishment of vehicles...
Is five hundred million credits a lot? No, it's not much. Except that only two hundred million can be safely spent on equipping my existing ships and a small reserve. And I still need to spend money on repairing and upgrading the dreadnoughts, buying spare parts, supplying them with fuel and tibanna for ship artillery... And there are also projects with a cloaking device...
Well, a visit to Lianna is definitely necessary — if we manage to acquire machines at their factory price of sixty-five thousand, then supplying the dreadnoughts with air wings will require one hundred fifty-six million credits. Twelve less than originally planned. And for that difference, I could get a small fleet of light ships, CR90s for example.
But first, I need to find out exactly what stock of vehicles and production limits exist in the Ciutric Hegemony. Because, if memory serves, in the known chronology of this universe, after Thrawn's defeat, trouble also began for Krennel. Serious trouble, to the point where the Prince-Admiral died, his fleet was destroyed, and the worlds of the Hegemony joined the New Republic. Which, on false pretenses, orchestrated this very 'after-action review.' Swooping in to claim everything that remained untouched after the hostilities ended. Hmm... an interesting turn of events, certainly. I should add this situation to the list. And turn it over from all possible angles.
So, the further plan of action is set. As soon as the fleet returns to combat readiness, we begin the active phase of the operation. However, even at present, I have at my disposal a significant number of combat-ready ships suitable for the task at hand.
"Chimaera," "Stormhawk," "Death's Head," and "Bellicose." Four more would either come out of repairs or return to base in the near future. The Bellicose would need repairs and an upgrade after being "roasted" over Nkllon. Two Interdictor-class Star Destroyers, with a third on the way. One Strike-class medium cruiser. Three "extra" CR90 Corellian corvettes, but five more ships of the same type, waiting for their Star Destroyers, could be requisitioned for the operation's needs. Even a DP20 frigate. Two Tartan-class patrol cruisers. A battle group powerful enough to give a comparable opponent a thorough thrashing. And considering C'baoth was on board and his direct interest in the matter... there were chances for something more.
Would that be enough to accomplish a short-term objective, or was I being overly cautious, and would Booster Terrik's "response" not be as significant as assumed? An interesting question. Without a doubt, I could reinforce my fleet with the privateers on hand, since no witnesses were meant to be left alive. Officially, neither Booster Terrik nor his colleague Talon Karrde considered themselves part of the New Republic. Consequently, there would be no problem determining their fate. On the other hand... an interesting option would be to remove Karrde from the "big game" not by killing him, but by, say, discrediting him. And spreading the news of his failure far and wide... If I banked on the speed of the operation...
But on what territory would the operation take place?
Stop. Fix that thought.
Was I being too optimistic about the future? Already planning how to spend the Katana Fleet, as if Captain Hoffner had already transmitted its coordinates. Already anticipating Booster Terrik's possible reaction, even though there was no word from Ferrier. Maybe Sly wasn't impressed by the idea of getting payback on Terrik and Karrde for all their "good deeds," and just ran off?
Well, that was very simple to check — with one personal call on the holographic communicator.
But first, I should place a call to Mount Tantiss.
I had a request-order for them. A very delicate one. One on which more than just someone's life depended.
Someone's death depended on it.
* * *
The holoprojector on the Millennium Falcon flickered, and the figures on the projector table momentarily glitched. Leia looked at her husband.
Han looked away. Sitting next to him, the commander of Rogue Squadron, Wedge Antilles, diplomatically pretended the whole thing had nothing to do with him.
The Alderaanian princess sighed, gave the device a light smack on the side. Nothing happened.
"A little harder," Han advised, continuing to study the ceiling of his own ship's main hold.
"Or — you could just fix it," Organa-Solo noted to her husband.
"Well, there's that too," he said diplomatically. Chewbacca, standing in the passage leading from the cockpit to the main hold, growled softly. The Wookiee walked over to the malfunctioning communication device and slammed his fist against the other side with all his might. Wedge let out an involuntary yelp. Han winced like he had a toothache. Leia smiled at the hologram of Mon Mothma that appeared above the projector.
"Thanks, Chewie," Han grumbled. The Wookiee growled something back. Han didn't reply. The former smuggler's companion waved his hand, like, what can you expect, and headed for the cockpit to prepare the Millennium Falcon for flight.
"One day he'll break your ship," Wedge said quietly.
Commander of Rogue Squadron, Commander Wedge Antilles.
"Never," his fellow Corellian objected, grinning as he watched Wedge blow at his bangs to keep them from falling into his eyes. "You should get a haircut, you know..."
"Later," the pilot waved dismissively. "Let's deal with the assignment here first, get back to Coruscant, and then, maybe, I'll crawl out of my X-wing cockpit..."
"Do you even believe what you're saying?" Solo asked, looking at Antilles.
"I'm just calming everyone down," he replied simply. "Rumors are already going around that I sleep in the pilot's seat."
"They're not just rumors," Solo noted. "When we were chasing Zsinj, I saw you in that state a couple of times..."
"Ah," Wedge drawled softly. "So that's who told... Well, thanks!"
"What's wrong with that?" Han asked innocently. "You love your X-wing. Like Luke. You've reworked every screw, every wire in it..."
"I know a retired general who does the same thing with his freighter," the commander shot back, flashing a white-toothed grin. "And you have a wife and kids, you know..."
"Kid," Han said tiredly, "one of these days, I'm going to wash your mouth out."
"That would be an act of high treason," Wedge said, puffing himself up. "I am, after all, the commander of an elite squadron — you can't just wash my mouth out."
"Even if I'm a former general and it's for educational purposes?" Solo clarified.
"Han, you're only eight years older than me," Wedge sighed. "And you act like a mother hen."
"Did you eat today?" Han played along.
"I even cleaned my blaster," Antilles assured him. They were silent for a moment, not really listening to what Leia and Mon Mothma were talking about. "Han..."
"What?" Solo continued staring at the ceiling. He winced subtly, knowing what was coming.
"Come back," Antilles said, looking at him pleadingly.
"I'm not going anywhere," Han said, knowing such excuses wouldn't work on his fellow Corellian. Wedge could talk his way out of anything himself — it wasn't for nothing that he'd gotten away with refusing promotions so many times. There was even a superstition — if you ran into Admiral Ackbar looking steamed, it meant Antilles had turned down a promotion to general again. And the Mon Calamari would be fu-u-urious...
"You know what I mean," Wedge sighed, still fighting with his unruly bangs. "Put your general's insignia back on."
"No," Solo answered firmly. "They press on my chest. I can't breathe properly. I always feel like Fey'lya is standing behind me, breathing down my neck... So cautiously, so insolently, just waiting for me to slip so he can devour me whole. And after me, Leia."
"Fey'lya's busy right now," Antilles shared a secret. "Whispering in Mon Mothma's ear and trying to get under Ackbar's skin. A little more and he'll push him over the edge. And we'll have so few people left capable of fighting the Empire that..."
"Cut the engine, kid," Han said suspiciously, eyeing his fellow Corellian.
"Han, I'm thirty years old..." the commander of Rogue Squadron tried to protest.
"And still got no sense," Solo said.
"I'm a fighter pilot," Antilles reminded him. "I don't need it."
"In that case, you'd be flying an A-wing," Solo countered. "Not an X-wing."
"Fair point," Wedge sighed. "Can't argue with that."
The pilots of RZ-1 A-wing interceptors, known among pilots simply as "A-wings," had a reputation as bold guys who loved dizzying speeds but weren't particularly sharp. Sure, they themselves denied these nasty insinuations, but X-wing pilots knew...
"Did Ackbar ask you to start up the 'return' record again?" Solo clarified, though he already knew the answer.
"No, Fey'lya did," Wedge smiled almost boyishly. "Says things like, General Solo did such a good job, got rid of Zsinj so cleverly... Though it took two attempts and Skywalker as backup..."
The talkative squadron commander went silent like a sputtering engine when he met Han Solo's look that promised nothing good.
"Yeah, Ackbar," Wedge said, hanging his head and jutting out his lower lip like a boy. Solo just shook his head. This young man had more enemy kills to his name than some entire flight units put together. And for his "Rogues," he was a father-commander who knew everything and could do anything, relations between the pilots were the friendliest. But surrounded by his closest friends, the young Corellian never stopped fooling around. "He wants to organize a task force to find and strike the Imperials who did all this here..."
"Wasn't the hunt for Zsinj enough?" Han sighed. "We got ourselves into a pretty deep mess back then, thinking we'd destroyed both him and his Super Star Destroyer. If not for Luke and that whole Hapan affair, Zsinj would have gathered strength on Dathomir and handed us our heads."
"But he didn't," Wedge noted.
"Because we had Luke with us," Solo grimaced.
"Ackbar was saying something about how, if you came back to service, Rogue Squadron would be transferred under your command," Antilles said, pretending to try picking dirt from under his fingernails.
"Tempting, but no, kid," Han declared. "You can become a general yourself and successfully lead the search task force."
"No-no-no," Wedge's face took on a frightened expression. As if he'd seen Darth Vader. Straight in his favorite TIE. And chasing Wedge himself, who was trying to flee from the Sith Lord while sitting in a canoe and paddling against the current with a broken oar. "I'm a fighter pilot to the bone! I'm contraindicated from commanding from the bridge of a ship that can hold more than one sentient being."
"Well, well, well," Han squinted. "Ackbar told you he'd promote you, even though you're against it?"
Wedge, realizing his simple scheme had been exposed, drooped his head and nodded.
"And you decided that if you talked me into it, he'd leave you alone?" the former smuggler continued to deduce.
"Weeeell," Antilles drawled. He blew air, pushing his bangs from his eyes. Looked at his dirty fingernails. Scratched his nose. Looked at his fingernails again.
"Wedge, I am definitely going to wash your mouth out!" Han threatened.
"I have a choice — either accept the promotion and lead the search task force, or come to an agreement with you, for instance, or Lando, to take the heat for me," his fellow Corellian surrendered. "Ackbar promised that if you or Calrissian agreed, he'd lay off the annoying promotion demands for a couple of years."
"Wedge, may your cargo hold be full of vacuum instead of spice next time you meet a buyer," Han sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly. No, he wasn't angry at his old friend for trying to preserve his right to fly his beloved fighters with such a not-so-cunning plan. The kid was acting out of desperation, perfectly aware that Solo was his only option. He'd still have to fly to get to Calrissian, and what he'd say to the offer...
"Kid," Solo said sadly. "Under other circumstances, I might have agreed, but... My wife is pregnant, I've got Chewie, the Falcon... Like a fellow smuggler friend of mine said, I've gone soft, started a family, become respectable. Try your luck with Lando, he gets altruistic urges sometimes..."
"I'm afraid Lando isn't an option either," the princess's voice rang out. Han could tell from her tone that she was clearly not in high spirits, unlike at the beginning of their conversation. She'd managed to reassure the local authorities that no one would bother them anymore and...
"What happened?" Han asked. Wedge, instantly dropping his moping, straightened up as if he'd swallowed a rod.
"It's all very bad," Leia declared. "Han... we have to fly to the Sluis sector."
Wedge forced a pleased smile, but his eyes showed he wasn't happy at all. Because it meant flying halfway across the galaxy again. And there could be only one reason.
"The Empire struck again," Solo stated. His wife, stroking her belly, nodded.
"The Sluis sector?" Wedge clarified. "Besides Sluis Van, there are at least three or four of our bases there..."
"The base commander on Sluis Van took no measures to attack the invading forces," Leia explained. "He was afraid they were pulling the same trick on him as they did here, in the Dufilvian sector. As a result, he kept all six Mon Calamari star cruisers and three dozen smaller starships grounded at the base. Meanwhile, the Imperials destroyed our base on Innton II, using proton torpedoes to turn it and over two thousand people on the subterranean levels into a fused lump of rock. In the Bpfassh system, they couldn't land proper strikes, but..."
"But?" Wedge pressed.
"The Orto system," Leia said. "The Imperials destroyed the covering force from the local garrison, landed on the planet, requisitioned every ship they could get airborne, and destroyed the rest."
"I don't get it," Wedge admitted. "Why?"
"Orto was mining fuel and minerals for the Sluis Van shipyards," the princess explained. "The Imperials attacked with a Strike-class medium cruiser, and a little later, a Star Destroyer and two more cruisers gathered in that system. Together, they captured over a dozen captured Imperial supply vessels, with tanks and holds full of fuel and mined minerals. After that, they blew up the fuel refinery. And the ships they couldn't take with them. And... that's all we know. Well, except that the heavy metal mines, along with the plasma drilling rigs operating there, are now radioactive. Maybe even destroyed — no one can get close enough to assess the damage. It's possible everything is mined, since the Imperials spent almost more time there than they did looting the warehouses and tankers..."
"Oh, Hutt-spawn!" Han nearly howled. "The whole place is contaminated with radiation now!"
"The Ortolans, thank the Force, left the affected zone, but they're furious that no one protected them," Leia sighed. "We're flying to Sluis Van to repeat our mission here. Wedge and the Rogues are escorting us. General Cracken left Coruscant to investigate the commander's actions — Fey'lya demanded it. And the military is offended, too. There are rumors of betrayal. The Bothan lobby is practically snarling at Ackbar — it was he who gave such vague instructions to the sector commanders, behind whom the fleet commander in Sluis hid. Han, Wedge, it's some kind of madness..."
"And we have to be right at the center of it?" Han asked. Leia nodded. Solo got up from his seat. "Going to prep the Falcon for departure."
And he silently headed towards the cockpit.
"I'll give the boys the order," Wedge said, activating his comlink on the common frequency for the pilots of his squadron.
"Sunshine," Solo said, as if remembering something, turning back. "You said Lando wouldn't agree to return to his duties. Why?"
"Because the Star Destroyer that led the looting of Orto first visited Nkllon," Leia explained. "And looted it. And damaged it. And the fleet commander and base commander on Sluis Van refused to provide ships to get Lando's operation into orbit for repairs. Despite the fact that Calrissian, like the Ortolans, is a major supplier of metals and ore for the Sluis Van shipyards. The local command considered these attacks diversionary maneuvers to hit Sluis Van..."
"So, if we hurry, we should be in time to rescue Calrissian," Han said. "The Falcon can't haul a factory, of course, but if I come out of retirement for a day and requisition some ships..."
"Han," Leia said wearily. "There's nowhere left to hurry. The Nomad burned up in the rays of the local star over a day and a half ago."