Nine years, six months, and the fifth day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fourth year, six months, and the fifth day after the Great Resynchronization.
What were those old domestic school problems like?
"Given," "Find," "Solution"?
That was roughly the same kind of framework my thoughts had been circling around the whole way from Ciutric IV to Tangrene. I had postponed the meeting with Moff Gethilles, who controlled the Antemeridian Sector, because I was afraid they'd set the same trap for me as in the D'Asta sector — another "noble" assignment…
And so, what did I fight for, as they say.
Well then, a brainstorming session. Once again.
Given: money from the prince-admiral. Cash. And seven hundred million at that. And even though Krennel had paid that sum for five promised ships, at one hundred forty million each, it didn't change the essence. A huge amount of money. Taking into account the funds I had saved from purchasing Rendili hyperdrives and the proceeds from selling trophies, that came to roughly a billion. Very, very good. That sum was enough to build several Imperial Star Destroyers — five, to be precise. Their construction cost had risen compared to the Imperial period. In general, I could place an order and increase my fleet at once… Only, judging by the speed at which the destroyer supposedly intended for my use by the Imperial Ruling Council was being completed at the Bilbringi shipyards, the construction speed of ships, despite the increased cost, had also increased. By about a couple of months. Of course, I could avoid wasting time sending orders to outside shipyards — after all, I had one right under my nose — but again, supply of spare parts was still a factor. In fact, if Reyes and his men started construction, they would need the modules from which the ships were assembled — they couldn't produce everything they needed on their own. Consequently, either build ships at other shipyards in Imperial Space, or, not bother my head with increasing quantity and focus on quality. Currently, I had eight Mark Ones and four Mark Twos at my disposal. They needed repairs. What was the point of building new ships if it would take a long time, while I could just get by with a quality repair of the ones I already had? And there were also other starships.
So, it was decided. The money would go towards maintaining the army, mercenaries, and fleet. Most likely, I would need to make new purchases of equipment and weaponry, as our reserves had a tendency to run out.
The one hundred forty million earned from selling two battered Mon Calamari star cruisers — one captured at Rugosa, the other taken as a prize during the New Republic ambush — I decided to keep as a personal emergency reserve. Only Tierce knew of its existence. For the rest, such generosity from the prince-admiral would remain a secret. It would be enough to mention the seven hundred million and the sale of four trophy ships to him. All that remained was to find five more star cruisers in good condition and hand them over to him. Then the contract would be fulfilled. Almost.
Now moving on to the "Find" category. And this precisely included finding the promised starships. Krennel understood perfectly well that, firstly, he had spent a large sum, but not his last. And he would get a definite result for it — five capital ships, plus a destroyed enemy. The latter part was precisely the problem. I wasn't going to destroy the population of Sluis Van and its shipyards. And if I didn't fulfill that condition, then Krennel and his girlfriend with the multi-colored eyes would manage to make my life difficult. I had no doubt that Isard was already calculating the possibilities of why I had so easily agreed to hand over to the prince-admiral ships I myself needed. I was sure she was perfectly well aware of the problems that holding New Republic POWs and possessing ships captured from them could cause Krennel. If the prince-admiral might not grasp the fact that I was thus shifting the "blame" for the attack on the New Republic onto him, then the former director of Imperial Intelligence was not so good-natured or indiscriminate in accepting gifts. Consequently, I had to expect countermeasures. The question was, what kind?
The whole way back to Tangrene, I had been analyzing the situation, putting it in order. Assessing Isard's possible reaction and her attempts to oppose me. And the fact that she would keep Krennel around until he played his part was beyond question.
So, moving on to the "Solution."
Sluis Van as a target was definitely off the table. I would need its infrastructure in the future. Besides, I wasn't going to change my rule — not to destroy civilian populations where it could be avoided without threat to myself.
There were several backup targets.
The first, and most obvious among them, was the Hast shipyards. There was some extremely outdated information about what was there and what could be counted on. Lieutenant Rederick and Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz should verify the information and gather whatever would definitely help in launching the strike.
If I remembered correctly, there was a pair of Imperial Star Destroyers and five to seven Mon Calamari star cruisers there. Five to seven… I had probably unconsciously mentioned that number to the prince-admiral, as I considered losing that many trophy ships more or less acceptable for myself. Whether the attack was carried out on Hast or Sluis Van. Although, honestly speaking, I had planned to sell the Mon Calamari ships from Hast to Baron D'Asta. I didn't like those starships anyway. The only interesting thing about them was their automation systems, thanks to which, with a hull length of twelve hundred to sixteen hundred meters (yes, Mon Calamari couldn't build two identical ships), the crew size was only… a little over five thousand people. Whereas on an Imperial-class ship of similar size, almost seven and a half times more crew was needed. Well, I had high hopes that the workers of Chief Engineer Reyes would be able to glean some interesting engineering solutions while repairing these ships, which, combined with the Rendili automation system on the Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers, would allow us to reduce the outrageously bloated crews on the fleet's main ships.
Just think… If we reduced the size of the watch crews by even half, we could extract eighteen and a half thousand people of roughly the same qualifications from the thirty-seven thousand crew members. And consequently, they could be transferred to other starships in the fleet. At least the Errant Venture, Liberty, and Insulting were currently without crews. And that was not even mentioning the heavy cruisers and so on down the list. There was a real opportunity to invest the money wisely and get a worthwhile result, without having to wait half a month to train a crew for a single Star Destroyer.
And, speaking of them… I should come up with other names for them. Returning or keeping the old ones… it felt somehow wrong. These ships were tainted by having been in enemy hands. During my active duty, the boatswain used to tell us stories about how ships of the Russian fleet that had shamefully surrendered or had their names tainted by participation in revolution, like the battleship Potemkin, were never again mentioned in the fleet under their old names, even if they returned under their home flag. In some cases, the head of state directly forbade assigning the names of ships that had shamefully surrendered to future fleet units in the future.
So it would be the same here. An excellent tradition. And, to be honest, I hadn't studied the history of the Imperial fleet well enough yet to say definitively whether there was anything similar in departmental orders or not. I would need to find out discreetly.
But again, all that was business for a distant future. Right now, I was more interested in the present and the near future.
So, the primary targets became the Hast shipyards. There was a considerable number of starships there. An attack on this facility would simultaneously satisfy Baron D'Asta's thirst for revenge and, with a certain amount of luck, fulfill Krennel's wishes. What did he want? Total destruction of the enemy positions? And what did that imply? Correct — there should be no trace of New Republic objects left at the battle site. That coincided with my plans. All I needed was to take what I needed with me, staging everything like the catastrophe at Ord Pardron in the Dufilvian sector.
And immediately the question arose — how to do it. If it was more or less clear with the starships — that they would have to be boarded when they were capable of moving but not resisting, and for that we had a sufficient number of both capital ships and boarding craft — then the "Golans," repair workshops, and the ship graveyard… My inner "pack rat" told me that when retreating, one shouldn't leave even a useless tin can to the enemy, because "everything can be useful around the house." Alright, let's be honest with each other — that's what the deputy chief of logistics of the unit I served in used to say. Strangely enough, he wasn't a man of Slavic roots, but he was thrifty… Who knew that befriending him would lead me to a similar mania…
However, that was also a digression. I was starting to get distracted by unnecessary details. Control, self-control! First and foremost — control!
Thought committed — take everything that can be taken. The question was — how to do it? Not everything there could fly. And not everything that could fly was capable of jumping into hyperspace. So, what was the outcome?
Correct, we return to the initiative I tested with the "Golan" station. Reyes's subordinates should have already started working on such a task, as I had assigned it to them beforehand. But the plan to steal all the defensive and repair stations of the Hast shipyards was based on the idea that the strike on them would come later than on Sluis Van. By that time, Reyes should have come up with suitable ideas and calculations… I wasn't afraid to attack one of the main shipyards of the New Republic without the support of the heavy cruisers of all the Dark Forces. In his time, the original Thrawn had managed with far fewer ships. By the end of this month, I would have up to fifty starships in service. And that force was capable of breaking through any defense and seizing the disarmed ships of the New Republic. Enemy resistance in the Sluis Van system was minimal — only a few full-fledged capital ships were on patrol, plus escort forces were present. The rest of the time, the shipyards were either being loaded or unloaded… I just needed to pick the right moment.
And here was the problem. The Sluissi would still play their part in my plan. Harming them severely for Krennel's sake wasn't worth it. A small fish, considering his position.
I had to adjust the plans again.
So, how did the Golan-type stations of the first, second, and third models differ from each other? Primarily in size and armament. What they had in common was that they were all sturdy and assembled on site, as they were delivered in parts to their base location. I didn't have time to dismantle them. Consequently, it was time to teach them to fly. Just like the two Type One orbital repair docks that were at Hast. And in fact, if I compared them to the one on Tangrene, what were the differences between them? Externally, they were identical. But the Type One lacked a hyperdrive; they were also assembled on site. This created a problem: the issue of hull integrity during the transit. Would it fall apart during the jump? And only Mr. Reyes's engineers could answer that question. And I very much hoped the answer would be positive. I very, very much hoped for that — because then I would have three orbital repair docks at my disposal. And one of them, provided with suitable parts and production capability, was even capable of building ships.
And what was needed for that? Correct — suitable hyperdrives. Which we didn't have.
But there was the planet Xa Fel, where those very hyperdrives were manufactured for Kuat Drive Yards. And that was… wonderful. Why?
Because both Type One orbital repair docks, as well as their Type Two counterpart in orbit of Tangrene, were built by Kuat Drive Yards. That meant their technology was Kuat-made. And it wouldn't take much time to install the equipment. And most importantly, suitable hyperdrives for such types and sizes of stations might be found at Xa Fel. Not to mention that such second-class mechanisms were needed for the ships of the Katana Fleet.
A week ago, I had passed an order through Pellaeon for intelligence to insert our people onto the planet. I would need to check on the results. If the planet's defenses were too strong… I would have to take the risk anyway.
So, Sluis Van remained an unattainable target for me once again. And the longer I delayed, the greater the chance that by the time of the attack, there would be no interesting starships left there. According to reports from the "Delta Source," Advisor Fey'lya, who had seized the post of Supreme Commander of the New Republic's armed forces, had ordered the recall of capital ships — Star Destroyers, cruisers — from transport duties. He intended to use freighters, frigates, and corvettes for that instead… I wonder, was this particular Bothan definitely not our secret agent? Because everything he did was for the good of the Empire.
If he was returning capital ships to the armed forces, and then making them sit on bases, then… the combat escort of transport convoys would be significantly weakened… Not to mention that a single capital ship transporting a specific volume of cargo used less time and fuel than a hundred frigates with their small holds. Consequently, the Bothan was only widening the economic chasm that had opened beneath the feet of the New Republic…
Interesting.
So, in five minutes, we would be on Tangrene. I needed to gather and summarize data on Hast — Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz's report on his weekly trip to the shipyards should be coming in. In addition, there should be some data on Xa Fel. I would need some time to work out the operation for the latter planet — for the former, everything was ready, I just needed to make adjustments. Most likely, the prizes would soon enter service — besides the Errant Venture and our damaged Victory\-class ships. The Crusader was practically ready and armed, but the Steel Aurora would have to make intermediate jumps for another couple of days. The two Interdictor\-class ships were also finishing repairs — the structural framework and hull plating were being restored, and the turret artillery installation was being finished. Only the Sentinel and the Neutron Star were remaining in orbit of Linuri — things were complicated there. However, within a day, the Rendili cruiser would finish its engine repairs and be able to move to Tangrene, where it would join the planetary defense fleet, replacing the withdrawn assault frigates.
Well, thanks to Krennel's money, I could solve the problem of the Hast shipyards and settle my "debts." Perhaps I could make a good profit from selling Republic goods and equipment — not to mention that besides the capital ships, there was a considerable number of smaller space vessels there… just like that, with a couple of strikes, I could increase the size and combat capability of my fleet several times over.
Yes, some ships weren't yet taking part in active operations, like the Sentinel, Imperious, and Nemesis — but that could easily be changed. In the last two cases, certainly.
I also had to remember that the return of the escort starships of the Katana Fleet and the Dark Warrior itself was scheduled for tomorrow… Well, I could say things weren't actually so bad…
Circumstances couldn't conquer me.
"Grand Admiral, sir," Captain Pellaeon's voice came through the comlink. An agitated voice. That almost never happened with him. Consequently, something very, very serious was happening. "An urgent dispatch from the 'Delta Source.'"
"Deciphered?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon replied. "Sending it to your terminal."
One of the central monitors blinked, and the document opened automatically.
Scanning through lines of gossip, rumors, and outright chatter, I ground my teeth when I saw one of the last recorded speeches.
"So that's how it is," I said. "So Talon Karrde is ready to hand over to the New Republic all the information he has about me… One and a half billion in cash… A high price. What exactly are you ready to hand over to them, 'Claw'? And how did you find an approach to Niles Ferrier? The hijacker has frankly disappointed. Still, at least he didn't sell me out for thirty pieces of silver.
Well, God (or the Force) knows, I wanted to solve problems much more peacefully.
"Connect me with Captains Tyberos and Vane," I said. I didn't want to be distracted from the operation against the Hast shipyards. Considering that solving the problem of traitors and "informants" could be delegated to others. "We'll need their services. Begin Operation 'Judas Hunt.'"
A slight tremor in the deck coincided with the end of my words.
"Grand Admiral," came Pellaeon's response. "You'd better come to the bridge. It seems someone has decided to sell us some Separatist antiques."
* * *
Mirax lifted her head, tearing her gaze away from contemplating the metal surface of the interrogation room table where she had been sitting for several hours. A small room, designed to instill a sense of hopelessness and the transience of existence in the prisoner. The only thing different here from other Imperial cells she knew about from her father's stories was the large mirror taking up a good part of the wall. Presumably, it was transparent from the opposite side, which meant only one thing: they could be watching her the entire time she was here.
Psychological breaking. I wonder, when will they bring in the interrogation droid and start the torture? It was already starting to get a bit boring and…
The lock clanked, and the heavy metal door of the interrogation room opened. An Imperial stormtrooper entered, assessing the situation inside the cell. Checking for an ambush… Why? As if they didn't have camera recordings and couldn't see that she had been sitting or sleeping at the table the whole time. What was the point of doing anything if she didn't even know where she was, having been brought to this "fine establishment" after being sedated in a cell aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer? Even escaping was pointless — usually such prisons, again based on her father's stories, were built by the Imperials almost everywhere. And it was unlikely that right outside her cell door there was a landing pad with a fully operational ship equipped with a hyperdrive for her escape.
Judging by what she had seen recently, particularly from the cabin on the destroyer in the Rugosa system, the Imperials had recently decided, for some reason, to get smarter and act more inventively. So she couldn't count on their usual carelessness.
The stormtrooper, having searched the small room, left. In his place, a middle-aged man entered. He was wearing the uniform of an Imperial Security Bureau officer. In his hands, a datapad and a small bag. Judging by the pips on his command bar, a lieutenant colonel. Her mood sank into the abyss.
Messing with the ISB was more trouble than it was worth. No principles, no human qualities. Ruthless maniacs.
And now, one of them had decided to "stop by" to see her. Still, this one wasn't bad-looking. Stern, judging by his facial features, but that primal brutality was usually attractive to women…
Silently sitting down in the chair across from her, the Imperial placed the datapad he'd brought with him on the edge of the table. Then, without any preamble, he set his bag on the table and unzipped it with a screech.
On the tabletop, arranged in a neat row, appeared a small polymer tray, a couple of sandwiches, two fruits, a large bottle of chilled berry drink, and paper cups. The bag vanished from the table, settling onto the floor.
Mirax glanced at the food, remembering that the last time she'd been fed was aboard the Star Destroyer. Nothing special, of course. But still... and quite some time had passed since then...
Her stomach traitorously growled. The woman looked at the traitor, the cuffs on her wrists clinking. Oh, right. She'd already forgotten they were chained to the tabletop. How quickly you get used to everything bad.
Meanwhile, the Imperial placed the sandwiches on the tray, along with one of the fruits, uncapped the bottle, and poured its contents into two cups. Still without a word, he slid the tray to her side of the table. He set a cup of drink beside it. He kept the second fruit for himself. Greedy.
"Eat, Mrs. Terrik-Horn," he said, his voice low, hoarse, interesting. "Local security sometimes forgets that there are sentient beings on this side of the interrogation room doors too."
"Much obliged," Mirax snorted. "But I won't eat this. I know this psychological trick."
"Which one?" The lieutenant colonel's face tensed, expressing extreme incomprehension.
"The one you people like to use," Mirax grinned. Oooh, who had tied her stomach in knots. "I accept handouts from you, and then you use it to establish psychological contact with me. Later you'll manipulate that to get what you want and... hey, what are you up to?!"
The woman jerked back in fright, pressing into the chair back until her spine ached, but the chain of the handcuffs looped through the bracket in the center of the table prevented her from moving further away from the suddenly standing Imperial. Meanwhile, as she tried to maximize her distance from this sentient, he used a magnetic key to unlock her cuffs. The chain clinked briefly, and the high-tech shackles went to the floor by the door.
The woman squealed when the Imperial grabbed her wrists. He examined the bruises from the too-tight cuffs critically.
"This is no good," he said. Returning to his bag, he pulled out some kind of aerosol can. He turned to Mirax and found, to his surprise, that she had fluttered away like a bird, ending up behind the back of her own chair, eyeing the can in his hands very suspiciously.
"This is bacta spray," the Imperial said. "For wounds. Needs to be treated before problems start..."
"This is the first time I've seen bruises like these from wearing cuffs for a couple of hours," Terrik-Horn said without changing her position, examining her wrists.
"A couple of hours?" The Imperial tensed. "Mrs. Terrik-Horn, you've been in this cell for over a day."
The woman raised an eyebrow in a questioning arch. Was he taking her for an idiot?
"Not the best joke," she muttered. "I'm sure you can do better."
"This isn't a joke," the Imperial said. He demonstratively placed the can of bacta on the table closer to her. "A day ago I was doing my routine work and didn't even know you were in the facility. But as soon as I came across your file, I decided to visit, to get acquainted in person, so to speak."
Oh, stomach, why are you growling so loudly? Even this Imperial's face cracked a smile. A "sympathetic" one... though she'd bet anything there was nothing sincere in it. He was, as she suspected, trying to win her trust. The Imperials had strange torture methods these days.
Meanwhile, the "security officer," as if losing interest in her, reached out and grabbed the fruit left on his side of the table. He bit into the ripe fruit with undisguised pleasure... Juice ran down his strong chin, but the man quite deftly wiped the moisture from his face with a paper napkin. Now, where had he gotten that from?
The young woman watched for a few more seconds as the Imperial unhurriedly sank his teeth into the ripe fruit. She wanted to turn away and not watch this at all... Her gaze shifted to the side and fell on the tray of food. What bait...
Her stomach treacherously growled. And her throat had gone dry somehow...
Mirax, mentally scolding herself, reached out and grabbed the cup of juice. She'd just take a sip to wet her throat. Nothing more... Oh, how delicious! One more sip...
"If needed, they'll bring more," she heard the Imperial's voice as if through a fog. The woman looked up at him, sensing a strange taste in her mouth... ham. Cheese. Greens.
Looking at the tabletop, the woman saw that only the fruit remained on the tray. And a ti-i-ny piece of sandwich in her hand. So small, defenseless, appetizing...
"Thanth," she said, finishing the food. And stopped herself. Had that phrase actually come from her lips?! She'd thanked an Imperial?!
"That's clearly not enough to satisfy your hunger," said the Imperial, watching her pour the last of the juice from the bottle. "I'll order more brought..."
"No need." The woman felt her stomach becoming more agreeable. At least it wasn't complaining out loud anymore. "So, what do you want from me?"
"Why do you think I want anything from you?" the Imperial asked in surprise.
"Not you," oh, you subcutaneous traitor! Still hungry?! "Your commander. The blue-skinned one, with black hair, red eyes, in a white uniform with gold epaulets... Remember him?"
"Ah, the Grand Admiral," the Imperial smirked. "Yes, you're decidedly as sharp as your father."
"And now you're going to tell me how nobly you treated my dad?" Mirax Terrik asked, as indifferently as possible. At the same time, she tried to make sure the Imperial didn't notice she'd relaxed and returned to her chair. Dad was probably alive. The Imperial wouldn't be so benevolent in trying to get cooperation from her if they'd gotten rid of Booster. They most likely wanted to pull off the same initiative the blue-face had proposed — for her to work for the Imperials. And they were holding her father as a hostage — since they couldn't get to Corran... Oh, Corran... I hope at least you're okay and your reckless Corellian head isn't becoming a source of all trouble.
"And why would I do that?" the lieutenant colonel asked.
"To assure me of what noble Imperials you are," the woman snorted. "You wouldn't keep me here if you didn't want something. So I take it there aren't many options. Most likely you want to use me for moving antiquities again, right?"
"What makes you say that?" the lieutenant colonel inquired.
"Because that's the only Imperial initiative ever proposed to me that your Grand Admiral might still consider feasible," the woman said. "I readily believe my father would fight to the death for his ship against anyone. But he's always exactly as reasonable as the situation allows. I'm sure nothing's happened to him, that he's alive and well, sitting somewhere in a similar place..."
"Lieutenant Horn is immensely lucky to have such a sharp wife," the lieutenant colonel smiled. "Yes, that's right. I've been tasked with reaching an agreement with you on mutually beneficial cooperation. You sell the provided valuables at the highest possible prices, receive a certain percentage of the deal. We, of course, take everything else."
"I'm sure it's an incredibly interesting offer, and you even think in your own head it's somewhat mutually beneficial," the woman smiled, trying to ignore her stomach's demands. "But I'm not going to work for people who killed my copilot, my droid, seized my ship, captured my father, probably took his ship from him after killing most of his crew..."
"You can always find a new pilot, droids are sold, your ship we blew up, but we can provide another one or monetary compensation instead," the lieutenant colonel continued matter-of-factly. "Yes, the Star Destroyer won't return to your father, but that's a topic for a completely different conversation. You're quite wrong to think we can't offer you anything else."
"And the torture threats — will they start soon?" Mirax asked in a bored tone. "Things are getting monotonous otherwise..."
"Oh, believe me," the lieutenant colonel smiled in a way that made the woman's heart stop for a moment. He reached for the datapad and started looking for something on its screen. "There's something that will interest you immensely. You love your husband, don't you?"
Mirax didn't answer. Of course she loved him. Sometimes she felt the urge to hit him with something heavy, but she loved him. Although it all began with a great and one-sided hatred for Corran Horn, pilot of Rogue Squadron. Her future husband's father had put Mirax's father away on Kessel for a few years, which laid the foundation for a very solid hatred of the elder Horn's offspring on the part of Booster's daughter. And the one-eyed pirate himself clearly disapproved of his daughter's chosen one...
"So, Mrs. Mirax Terrik-Horn," the lieutenant colonel's tone now held not a single drop of goodwill. The Imperial's focused eyes burned into her now; he looked more like an emotionless droid than a human. So alien he seemed at this moment. "Either you use your authority and connections to arrange the sale of the provided antiquities, or the fate of your father and husband, who are in our hands, will not please you."
"And there are the threats," Mirax hissed through her teeth. "I recognize the good old Empire."
"On the contrary," the lieutenant colonel remarked. "I initially offered you the most optimal option: help us and you won't be disappointed. You decided to test your luck. Well, we have an option for that too. Your father is currently in this same complex. We have certain plans for him..."
"What kind?" Mirax tensed.
"Certain ones," the Imperial smirked. "As for your husband... he's not to be envied. You do remember the Jedi Master C'baoth, whom you met aboard the Grand Admiral's flagship?"
Now it was getting a little scary. Just a tiny bit. By the way, was it obvious from the outside that her hands were shaking?
"So," the Imperial continued. "Our cooperation with that sentient has been terminated. But he's too dangerous to leave unsupervised. And not long ago, we discovered an interesting detail..."
The lieutenant colonel turned the datapad screen toward her face. On it was a conversation between two familiar sentients. More precisely — part of a conversation. And camera footage showing the explosion of Corran's X-wing...
"As you can see, Master C'baoth prepared for a meeting with your husband," the "security officer" continued. "You do know about the Jedi past of Corran Horn's real family?"
"Yes," Mirax said hoarsely, unable to tear her gaze from the image of her husband.
"And Master C'baoth decided he must recreate the Jedi Order," the Imperial continued. "And your husband will become his first student. He'll learn 'many useful skills' from him, adopt C'baoth's viewpoint about a 'strong hand' ruling over everyone not sensitive to the Force."
"Save him," Mirax said, notes of demand in her voice. "And I'll sell everything you need for you. Even without a commission."
"No, Mrs. Terrik-Horn," the Imperial countered. "First you'll do what we need, and only then will you be given a meeting with your family members. Potentially, this means the faster you complete the task, the sooner your father and husband will be free. I'm not demanding an answer right now," the Imperial stood up, sweeping the brought items into his bag. Except for the can of bacta. "Think it over; we're not limited by any time frame. But I advise you to hurry — Master C'baoth can't stand wasting time. And if you drag your feet on the mission set before you, your husband will turn into a fanatic just like him. Because of you."
"Because of you," Mirax hissed.
"You're wrong," the lieutenant colonel shook his head. "Your husband ended up there voluntarily, on his own initiative."
"For what reason?" the woman tensed. Corran's motivation, which made him just up and leave Rogue Squadron like that, would have to be so compelling it was hard to imagine. He loved his work, and even the thought that he could desert... was sacrilegious.
Of course, her husband had undoubtedly learned of her disappearance — even if relations between him and Booster remained strained even after the wedding, her father couldn't have failed to inform his son-in-law of his daughter's disappearance. Consequently, Corran definitely knew what was happening. Could he have deserted the New Republic armed forces to search for her on his own?
No, Horn was without a doubt hot-headed, but not that much. He'd probably taken leave, or Wedge had covered for him somehow. But why would Corran need that crazy Jedi?
Mirax went cold. Back then, on the bridge of the Grand Admiral's flagship, the old man had said he'd summoned her husband. That must be how they found each other. And the Imperials were definitely connected to this somehow. It was logical — first the madman helped them, then they got footage of his meeting with Corran...
"I'm a brave man," the Imperial smirked. "But that old man has completely lost his mind. Sorry, but I personally wouldn't dare inquire about what's happening. At least, not until you help us."
Well, now everything fell into place.
"You're wasting your time, Lieutenant Colonel," she smiled. "Your scheme is simple as can be. First you lured me into a trap to draw out my father and his ship. Then you sent my husband to that crazy old man to make a deal with me — I sell your trinkets, and you supposedly save him. No, Imperials, you definitely think everyone around you is an idiot if you believed something like that would work on me. My husband is the smartest person I've ever met. So, whatever your gray-haired 'Jedi' preaches to him, Corran won't buy it and will escape the trap set for him. And then he'll come for me. And he'll bring the New Republic with him. And then you'll be in for it..."
"Is that so?" The Imperial smiled. "He'll come for you, but where to, Mrs. Terrik-Horn? You don't even know where you are."
"Believe me, that won't be a problem for him," Mirax tried to make her words sound confident. But in reality, she didn't have that kind of optimism. She just hoped the Imperials had left plenty of traces behind, as always...
"I readily believe," the lieutenant colonel smirked, rising from the table. "The only question is whether he'll arrive before your oxygen runs out or not."
"So you're going to cut off my ventilation too?" the woman snorted.
"Me?" The Imperial looked at her with a puzzled expression. "No, sorry, I certainly won't do anything, I have plenty of work. You see, you're in an experimental prison for especially valuable prisoners. In space. Inside an asteroid. Artificial gravity and life support systems are powered by a generator. As are the other systems. And for a number of reasons, we need to test some systems, so you'll help us with that. Whether you want to or not."
The lieutenant colonel ran his fingers over a keypad, and what she had previously thought was a one-way mirror turned into a rectangular viewport. Beyond it was only the blackness of space, broken by the distant lights of stars. And in the immediate vicinity, literally a couple of hundred meters away, she saw another asteroid. And beyond it — another one. And another... Each had rooms lit from within by artificial light. Where behind the transparisteel were... sentients.
"Dad!" The woman rushed to the viewport, spotting a strong, bearded man with a prosthetic eye and numerous signs of beating on his body. "Hutt-spawn bastards! Let him go, I'll do whatever you want."
"Eventually, yes, Mrs. Terrik-Horn," the lieutenant colonel said. "I don't know why the Grand Admiral decided to give you a second chance, but as it appears, you're too emotional and proud to step over yourself and do what would allow you, your father, and your husband to go free. I think you no longer hold any value for us as an antiquities specialist. But first, you must understand — disobedience is punishable by death. A long, agonizing death. And your death will serve as an example for the cooperation of all of them," he walked up to Mirax, patted her on the head, and pointed at each of the two dozen large asteroids, literally studded with viewports and various antennas resembling shield projectors on starfighters.
Unable to hold back her tears, Mirax, seeing that her father had also noticed her, burst into sobs. Booster slammed his fist against the viewport several times, tried to tell her something, but she couldn't understand: she physically couldn't hear his speech, and couldn't make out what he was saying by lip-reading.
"He's telling you to hold on, Miss Terrik-Horn," said the lieutenant colonel. "He promises he'll get out and punish everyone. Don't believe him. Those are the words of a desperate man. I talked to him half an hour before meeting you. I offered him a chance to give up all his pirate and smuggler comrades, especially the locations of Talon Karrde's bases, his caches, stashes, and stockpiles of goods, especially — buzz droids. Which he supposedly sold, but we have entirely different information. I promised to release you in exchange for that information, but he refused. An excellent father; I wouldn't wish one like that on myself," the Imperial said. "He doesn't know yet, but the corridor leading from the docking bay to his cell has been depressurized. Even if he breaks down the door, he'll die. And the fuel in his reactor is also running out. A cheap model, essentially just a test stand. But you can save him — just provide us with valuable information, and we'll top up the fuel in his reactor tank. The more valuable the information, the faster your father will get what he wants. But I advise you to hurry — there's no more than a day's worth of fuel, and we'll show our gratitude only after we receive confirmation of the necessary information."
Tears silently streamed down Mirax's face. Fool, what a fool she was for behaving like this. She could have resolved everything without threatening her father's life... But maybe it wasn't too late yet?
"I'll sell the antiquities for you," she said, sobbing. "I'll find the best clients, with big money."
"I believe I made it clear that we're no longer interested in that?" the lieutenant colonel inquired. "Valuable information, Mrs. Terrik-Horn."
"Rishi," she said without hesitation. "The Talon has a base on Rishi. That's where he stores military equipment — army and navy. Some Imperial stuff, I think."
"Splendid," said the Imperial. "You've bought your father a little more life. I'd say another day. After we confirm your information, of course. If it's truthful."
"Tatooine," Mirax said quickly, realizing that Rishi was far from anywhere in the galaxy. "Huff Darklighter."
"And who is that?" the Imperial asked.
"A relative of one of Rogue Squadron's pilots," the woman said. "He's a business partner of my father's. If Dad was in a rush to the Rugosa system, he dropped the goods off with him. They have old scores, from the Bacta War days. Darklighter's business isn't the best, so he definitely couldn't have moved anything he got from Dad."
"Splendid," the lieutenant colonel said with a smile. "We'll verify this information faster. Pray to the gods, if you believe in them, that everything works out as needed."
Without saying goodbye, the Imperial left the cell, leaving the woman to play a staring contest with her own father.
* * *
Looking at the two sentients sitting before me, I tried to refrain from profanity.
"So, let's clarify the situation, gentlemen captains," I said, looking at each in turn. "You, Captain Vane, own a Separatist Providence-class carrier-destroyer. Clear Voice," the privateer, without removing the pleased smile from his face, nodded in agreement. "And you," I looked at the second sentient, "Captain Irv, own the same one. Colicoid Swarm."
"That's correct, Grand Admiral," said the first pirate commander, Yazuo Vane. The very one Vane was supposedly supposed to have killed. How interesting. Though, given the privateer's skills, it's not surprising this happened — he knows how to deceive.
"And both of these ships are twins of General Grievous's flagship, the Invisible Hand?" I asked a new question.
"Precisely," confirmed Captain Irv. "It was done intentionally to confuse the Republicans and misinform them about the movements of the commander-in-chief of the Confederacy of Independent Systems."
Tactics of intimidation and deception in action. "All warfare is based on deception." I believe those words belong to the Chinese sage Sun Tzu.
"How many more Separatist ships do you have?" I inquired, looking at Irv.
"Only this one," he replied calmly. "I sold the rest to the Rebel Alliance. Yazuo received the second-to-last starship I had at my disposal from me."
"Are you willing to sell them?" I asked. Chief Engineer Reyes, sitting nearby, nearly choked on air from indignation.
"No," Vane said firmly.
"I'm afraid I agree with my friend," said Irv. "Colicoid Swarm will remain my ship. And only mine. I'm willing to work for you as a privateer, for good compensation. But nothing more."
"Sir, if I may point out, the combat value of these starships in the current situation isn't very high," Reyes put in his two decicreds. "After so many years, it's amazing they even fly at all..."
But they are carrier-destroyers. With a class one point five hyperdrive, which is slightly better than the standard ones installed on Imperial Star Destroyers and other ships of our fleet.
"We already have spaceships in our assets—echoes of the Clone Wars," I remarked. "And the Providences, unlike the Venator and Acclamator, can launch their entire fighter wing at once. Yes, their guns are outdated, but they're armed with concussion missiles. Fact is, by including a ship like that in our formation, we can deliver a solid air group to the battlefield. Not to mention that after modernization, the ship's shields and its armament can be upgraded. Yes, it'll cost a lot, we definitely need a proper budget estimate, but isn't it worth it?" I turned to the captains. "Do you have missiles for Vulture-class droid starfighters with buzz droids inside aboard your ships?"
Right away, the third episode of the movie saga comes to mind, where the droid starfighters launched such missiles at Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi's fighters and the tiny droids managed to inflict some damage. Since we don't yet have access to Booster Terrik's buzz droids, maybe there's a chance to get them another way.
Captain Vane shrugged.
"We do," Captain Irvin answered calmly.
"Then I propose a deal," Reyes said, covering his eyes with his hand so I wouldn't see him rolling them. Easy there, Chief Engineer. Separatist technology is unjustly forgotten. It can be put to perfectly good use within my armed forces. "I need two squadrons of Vultures and two squadrons of Hyena-class bombers. Along with all the buzz droids and their delivery systems you have."
"That'll run into a pretty penny," Captain Irvin remarked. A greedy glint flickered in his eyes. Well, that's clear enough. A typical mercenary. No ideology.
"No more than repairing your ships so they don't fall apart at the first battle," I countered. "Captain Vane, as I recall, you mentioned losing a third of your artillery in a fight against just six Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers?"
"Forty-five percent," Vane said, grimacing. "And the air wing took heavy losses..."
"You don't have one at all," Captain Irvin snorted. "Grand Admiral, I agree to sell you the necessary goods in exchange for repairs and modernization of my ship."
"In that case, a letter of marque will be prepared for you," I smiled. "Do you have any other information that might be useful to me?"
"If I remember anything, I'll be sure to let you know," Captain Irvin said dryly.
"Good," I said. "Now, a bit of analysis of what's happened. Your ships need crews. Full sentient crews. Otherwise, your vessels aren't as effective as they could be. I'm in a position to provide you with those ships. We have a large number of volunteers for whom we currently lack combat-ready vessels."
"In exchange for what?" Captain Irvin inquired.
"You'll give me all the infantry droids, walkers, military vehicles, and so on aboard your ships," I said.
"Excuse me, but who'll maintain the starships when the privateering contracts are terminated?" Captain Irvin asked.
"I'm confident that by that point we'll be able to return an equivalent number of droids to you," I assured him. "But I strongly advise you to consider close cooperation with our forces as auxiliary ships in our fleet. In that case, you won't have to spend part of your prize money to repair and rearm your ships after battles. Possessing capital warships already elevates you above mere privateers. In fact, your ships could become the cores of new battle groups operating directly under your command. You'll receive orders from me and pass them on to your subordinates."
Why not use Captain Tyberos's idea if it's really that good?
"I'm satisfied with my current contract," Vane grimaced. "I don't want to command a fleet—I have enough with this ship."
"The privateer status suits me better too," Captain Irvin said. "No offense, Grand Admiral, but I've fought under different flags before. Discipline isn't my strongest virtue. I'll be perfectly fine acting on your intelligence. I'll pay for my ship's repairs out of my own prize share."
Money. This sentient is interested in enrichment. A very mundane goal for this type of person. Well, I have a way to maintain his loyalty. The main thing is that he's transferring the necessary equipment to our disposal. Which will significantly strengthen us. And their decisions open up very interesting prospects.
"Well yeah, I wouldn't mind that either," Vane licked his lips. "Looting the Republicans, especially the 'fat' convoys... Yeah, that's a fitting job for me. Only... I have a problem with my air wing."
"We have some Headhunters and Z-95 Headhunters," I recalled. "If you agree to have our people aboard your ship, we'll transfer those fighters to you, along with pilots, of course."
"Great idea," Yazuo Vane's eyes lit up.
"Grand Admiral," Captain Irvin addressed me calmly. "I'd still like to keep a droid crew aboard my ship. If I need living crew members, I'll hire them myself. No offense, but I don't trust any regime. Not yet, at least. I'm sure that'll change after a few battles, but still..."
"Your right, Captain," I nodded almost imperceptibly. "So you won't sell us the walkers, tanks, and other vehicles either?"
"No, take those," he waved his hand. "I don't plan to fight ground battles. Can we count them towards payment for preventive maintenance? I'd like your specialists to inspect my ship before the first mission. Or pay for my first repair with them..."
I see. He doesn't want to spend the money from Vane. Saving it for a rainy day.
"Fine," I said. "Your wish is understood. Transfer all the Separatist equipment you consider unnecessary aboard your ship to Moff Ferrus; he'll assess it and give his decision. I'm confident the first major repair will be free for you. Ships of your type require a lot of money to maintain, and chasing freighters with them isn't the most pleasant occupation. Mr. Reyes," the chief engineer looked at me with a sigh. "Do we have the ability to put Captain Vane's ship into a drydock?"
"Yes, sir," the specialist said, accepting the inevitable. "One of the destroyers is just vacating a bay and being moved to the fitting-out wall for completion and arming."
"Move Mr. Vane's ship there," I ordered. "Begin its repairs. Study the systems and prepare a report on what and to what extent we can modernize. Captain Irvin," I addressed the second privateer. "How long will you need to bring your vessel to Tangrene?"
"Twelve standard days," he said. I'm more than sure his answer doesn't match reality. He's just misleading us to avoid revealing his ship's base location.
"Good," I said. "Contact us as soon as you reach your vessel and are ready for the mission. Mr. Reyes, how quickly can we commission Captain Vane's ship?"
"At least a day is needed to assess damage and pull up the files on Separatist ships," the chief engineer stated flatly. "The armor is all covered in soot—it'll take another few days just to clean it... I'll compile my report as soon as possible."
"I have a better idea," I looked at Yazuo Vane. "What if your ship changes its paint scheme and name?"
"Uh... why?" the privateer asked.
"External appearance and transponder data are the first things an enemy uses to identify a starship," Captain Irvin explained calmly. "It's very difficult to disable the IFF system on Separatist ships. It's easier to change its data, just like they did with these vessels during the Clone Wars."
"As a result, the enemy will get the impression that the Clear Voice is operating somewhere else," I continued. "If possible, the emission signatures of your engines will also be altered. That's possible, Mr. Reyes?"
The chief engineer, after thinking a couple of seconds, cautiously nodded in agreement.
"But it's not a quick job; precise tuning and engine parts are needed," he said. "And ideally—just engines from the same type of starship."
Stalemate...
"On Raxus Prime, for example, there's a scrapyard of ships from the Clone Wars," Captain Irvin said calmly. "A couple of engines from a Providence could probably be found there. Probably. They probably haven't all been scrapped yet."
"In that case, Captain Vane," I said. "Get a 'clean' ship from Moff Ferrus and head out for engines and other spare parts for your ships. Report everything you find in suitable condition to Moff Ferrus. He and Chief Engineer Reyes will make the final decision. By the time you return, your ship will already be completely repainted black and will have a new name. Say, instead of Clear Voice, it will be called... Black Pearl."
"Hm..." the young privateer thought. Then he shrugged. "Why not. The name has a ring to it."
No kidding. The main thing is that the crew doesn't turn into living dead.
"I won't detain you any longer, gentlemen," I said. Both privateers stood up, exchanged perfunctory farewells, and left the room.
"You have the floor, Chief Engineer." You didn't need to be a Jedi to see that Reyes was extremely unhappy about having to deal with Clone Wars-era ships again. And on top of that, modernize them. The latter irritated him even more than the former.
"Sir, with all due respect, these ships aren't worth our time," the Imperial said, his ocular implant gleaming. "Providences are good in battle against an obviously weaker opponent. Current battleships would wipe them out in a one-on-one fight."
"Which is precisely why they'll be used primarily as carriers for our strike groups," I said. "We're losing to the enemy in air quality. So we'll have to increase its quantity on the battlefield."
"With Vultures and Hyenas?" Reyes grimaced. "No, I understand your desire to get buzz droids and their delivery systems—Project Morrt. But droid starfighters with variable geometry... That's the past. Any rookie pilot can take them down now. Not to mention their blaster cannons are noticeably weaker. And I won't even talk about Separatist ship weapons! Their power is lower, accuracy is incomparable... These ships are more of a burden to us than support."
"It's not as bad as you think, Chief Engineer," I said. "We're taking heavy losses among our pilots because of the inferior quality of our machines. Using Separatist droid small craft as a base, you'll develop our own version of droid starfighters and droid bombers based on TIE fighters and TIE bombers. They can be used as 'filler,' while our pilots use more advanced TIE technology variants. As soon as I get the necessary technology. Don't forget, we're limited in replenishing our losses. At a certain point, using droids will allow us to focus on improving pilot skill, and consequently increase their survivability, which will raise enemy losses."
"The Empire didn't use droids that extensively," Reyes noted. "And those that were used... weren't cheap compared to Separatist machines. Yes, I apologize; most likely, if we take the Vulture and Hyena AI as a base, we can develop suitable prototypes. Sir, but the issue of controlling droid small craft... Honestly, I wasn't a fan of this technology before, and after you showed me that secret code that can bypass our defensive systems, the safety of controlling them from the mothership remains questionable. Just like with the plasma drills—taking control of these droids would be disastrous for us."
"That's precisely why, while Captain Vane is looking for spare parts for his carrier, you'll study the control systems the Separatists used," I said. "Along with any other technology from that ship. The security of our own systems is a priority when developing automation and remote control systems. I hope you understand that, working with the Dark Force's heavy cruisers."
"I was just about to discuss that with you, Grand Admiral," the chief engineer said. "Is it really so important for the fleet to use the Slave Circuit system, which allows controlling the entire fleet from the flagship, the Katana?"
"You want to remove that equipment?" I clarified.
"Yes, sir," he confirmed. "Its use could be dangerous for our ships—even if there's a full crew aboard. It won't affect the operation of any systems. The crew size will remain the same."
"Then remove it," I said. "How is Project Sunburn progressing?"
"The reactor we extracted from the depths of Mount Tantiss can probably be installed aboard a destroyer," Reyes said. "The hangar deck will be reworked to accommodate the main gun extracted from the base on Linuri. After reconfiguring the interior spaces, the air wing will consist of fourteen squadrons—we plan to replace almost all free space with additional generators to bring the rate of fire to at least one shot every five minutes. The more energy we have, the more often we can fire and the higher the projectile velocity."
"According to the report I received," I had managed to speak with Mr. ex-Jensaarai before meeting the privateers, "in three weeks, all ships at the Hast shipyards will be in a transportable state. Sunburn must undergo trials in this very battle. Is that feasible?"
"If you provide me with additional specialists, yes," Reyes said. "But I wouldn't recommend using it directly in combat. We can literally assemble the entire system in thirteen or fourteen days. Testing is necessary..."
"Focus on commissioning the maximum possible number of starships," I said. "I'll need everything your shipyard can produce. Including the Acclamator—for the battle on Xa Fel and to transport the hyperdrive cargo. That same ship will be used as a transport in the operation on Hast."
"In that case, allow me to suspend work on the Errant Venture," Reyes said. "I'll transfer all available reserves to repair the Offensive and the Freedom, as well as the Clone War trophies."
"Do you have calculations for moving the orbital defense stations and repair yards?" I asked.
"Yes, sir," the chief engineer said. "Honestly, they're not encouraging, sir. The structures of the first type of repair yards don't have the same strength of construction kit as the second type we have. We can prepare sets of equipment similar to what we have at our shipyard, but we need hyperdrives of the same type as mine. However, I must warn you: there's a seventy percent probability that the outer bays of both orbital yards from the Hast system will lose their integrity when transitioning into hyperspace. Destruction of fitting-out walls, radiation contamination, hull integrity breach—that's the likely scenario. The central sections might make it, but... In short, at least half the yard's hull will certainly reach the target. With resources and money, we could restore them, maybe even convert them to the second type, if ordered and given enough time."
"Good." In reality, everything is very bad. I have no desire or means to spend time and resources restoring the orbital yards that I wanted to get whole. But I can't leave them in place or just destroy them either. My conscience won't allow it. The main thing is not to show that what I heard affected me. Reputation, damn it. "Can we repeat our experiment with moving the Golans through hyperspace?"
"Yes, sir," Reyes said. "Due to their armored hull, they have stronger plating and sections. But again, we'll need a Kuat hyperdrive class four—it's most suited for orbital structures like a station. Still, it's not out of the question that decompression could occur if the structural strength limits are exceeded during the jump."
Now that's very good. The main thing is that on Xa Fel we have the necessary hyperdrives in the required quantity.
All in all, a rather interesting picture is forming...
"Sir," Reyes said. "Why do we need B-1 droids? As infantry, they're not even worth a volunteer recruit..."
"Of course," I agreed, smiling inwardly. "But you don't feel sorry for sending them aboard the orbital yards or Golans. Or on boarding actions. Though for the latter, I have more suitable 'candidates'."