For one to whom the Emperor himself had once entrusted a secret code granting access to the central computers of Imperial Navy ships, it was now extremely ambiguous in terms of personal ambition to be crawling into the port's information database room through a ventilation shaft. Devious, even. Especially considering the fact that the local administrator of this level had clearly neglected his duty to keep the premises entrusted to him clean. Because in the layer of dust Mara had been forced to collect on her suit, you could easily hide a couple of anti-personnel pressure mines. And if it weren't for the portable scanner detecting any electronics, she never could have moved so quickly. As it was, her hair was full of dust, her entire suit was covered in grime, and her face was webbed with cobwebs and loads of debris she still had to get through.
Perfect. Just a dream job. People would surely kill for it and stand in line with fierce competition for the position.
Still, that was what she'd counted on — using a path no one would ever take. Except for maintenance droids, of course. But the local administrator couldn't care less about the cleanliness of the ventilation, the droids couldn't either, and Mara certainly didn't.
But how badly she wanted to sneeze! Oh, Emperor's black bones, there was so much filth! Even the respirator couldn't handle the air purification!
Mara caught herself thinking she'd just used a curse that was common throughout the galaxy except in Imperial Space. And before, she couldn't even imagine casually invoking Palpatine in a curse... Even after his death.
Time flows, the galaxy changes. She was now free from Palpatine's mental command, and her life was her own. Still, she had to remember she was working for the Grand Admiral. Not simply serving him as a mindless puppet or messenger, but as a full participant in the campaign. And that openness was certainly appealing...
But she shouldn't forget that the Supreme Commander never fully showed his hand. At least not completely. And only did so when it suited his plans. A curious trait of Thrawn's had always been that he never outright lied. He omitted things, skipped over certain points, but never lied to your face. At least when he knew the truth.
All in all, Mara had no doubt about Thrawn's logic — Palpatine, even after death, continued to use them to achieve his goals. That was perfectly in character — manipulating sentients from the shadows.
Well, in that case, she'd have to work hard to help the Grand Admiral achieve his objectives. Because Palpatine, after his return, would definitely not rest in terms of punishing those who hadn't carried out his will or hadn't been loyal to the Empire. And ending up in his dungeons was something she really didn't want...
So it was time to stop brooding and keep crawling through this garbage. Slowly, without making noise in the ventilation, to reach...
Oh, there you are, the hatch. Right in front of her. Along with the mountain of dust that had accumulated during her journey.
Checking the scanner, which stubbornly insisted she was near the target, the girl quickly and silently cleared away the dust and debris to free a path to the rectangular ventilation panel. Sigh... She'd have to disguise her hair so it wouldn't be too obvious she'd traveled through a dusty space.
Reaching out to the Force, which she was only just beginning to control again, recalling the lessons she'd been taught in the past, the girl directed the intangible energy into the room ahead. As she'd expected, there was one person on duty. Bored, practically dozing. But what else could you expect from a sentient whose job was to maintain servers for shipyards under heavy protection?
Mara crawled closer to the ventilation grate. She pulled a monitor with an optical probe from a pouch on her belt. She slid the long end, tipped with a miniature holocamera, between the decorative bars of the grate. The camera image showed a typical picture for a system administrator's office — a worktable cluttered with computer components and food wrappers, topped with several all-in-one terminals displaying data from hundreds of sensors and computers throughout the Yaga Minor shipyard cargo terminal complex. And a huge number of powerful servers, arranged like cabinets, blinking with dozens of lights, around the perimeter of the entire room, which, for a moment, was no less than a hundred square meters.
Exactly what she needed — direct access to service information. And from what Mara knew from her past, every server stores a considerable amount of data. Details aside, the main point was that if the Imperials were still following the information security protocols established in the early years of the Galactic Empire, there was a good chance not only to dig through the shipyard data but to get much more. Much more.
The main principle of Imperial Intelligence — information is transmitted through multiple communication channels simultaneously. This is a precaution to ensure that a message sent by an operative to their handler isn't intercepted and altered for disinformation purposes. To prevent that, the same message is sent through multiple channels, guaranteeing that in one case or another, the original message reaches its recipient. It does add work for Imperial Intelligence analysts trying to establish the message's authenticity — when you have, say, five or six versions of the same message, you need to determine which one is genuine. It seems like it would create a huge pile of work for analysts, but it's actually much simpler.
Every Imperial Intelligence agent has their own "signature" style for composing documents. A particular sentence structure, a method of multi-layered information encoding, deliberate errors that could easily be chalked up to general illiteracy but are actually just intentional identification marks. There are many such methods — thousands, if not millions. Of course, many of them are known to Imperial Intelligence analysts. But some still haven't been compromised by New Republic intelligence. And therefore... with the right approach, she could get much more than simple data on cargo manifests. But only if the Imperials still connect data banks to secret communication channels that officially shouldn't be connected to them. But Imperial Intelligence, and specifically the Ubiqtorate, loved sticking its fingers where they didn't belong.
After watching the system administrator for a few minutes, the girl returned the surveillance device to its place, then took out a special tool. A small tube containing a canister of compressed air. Under very high pressure. All of it designed to fire needle-shaped projectiles filled with any number of contents. With the exception that the chemical contents inside the needle-darts all have the same reaction time — instantaneous. Or nearly so. It depends on the individual organism's characteristics. Still, this young man was lean enough that the sedative would work instantly. She could have used a nerve agent, of course, but what would be the point? This man wasn't an enemy. Not a Republican, not a traitor... he was an Imperial, a simple working man who earned maybe ten credits an hour for his labor. Not that the work was especially dirty.
And the fact that there wasn't a single surveillance camera in the room only confirmed that the local administration didn't really believe this room's security would be breached. So the "worker" acted so... carelessly.
The girl aimed her dart launcher at her target and waited until the system administrator began to yawn and stretch, then fired. A thin needle pierced his grimy shirt and sank into his armpit.
"Damn it, you little—" the system administrator managed to say, thinking he'd been bitten by some kind of crawling-flying-biting creature from the mosquito family. But the young man didn't have time to figure out what happened — his eyelids and body relaxed. He fell asleep. And would sleep for about an hour and a half. But he'd wake up fresh and rested. Many would wish for that. Unlikely they'd get it.
The girl listened to the young man's snoring, then pried off a decorative panel, carefully setting it aside in another part of the ventilation shaft. After that, gripping the edges of the rectangular opening with her fingers, she pushed herself out, cursing softly as a cloud of dust and grime tumbled out right behind her. Which crashed down onto the desk, mixing with the computer "gear" and "leftover food."
Just perfect.
Mara shook her head and walked over to the entrance door. She carefully examined the decorative trim of the control panel, then opened it without causing any damage. Looking at the mechanism, the girl pulled a thin needle from the stiff cuff of her suit sleeve, then inserted it into the tangle of wires, shorting out the door's locking system. There. No one would be opening that panel without hacking now. And it was clearly made of armored material. They'd have to put in some work — there was no other entrance here. Not even an emergency exit.
Though the terminal management's fire safety violations didn't interest her.
The girl approached the main monoblock. With a grimace, she brushed pieces of food off the keyboard. What a slob.
A clump of dust fell from her head, landing straight in a mug of long-cold caf. Mara watched its trajectory and snorted, glancing at the system administrator. Right. Who was she to judge.
Still, she didn't have much time. Her meeting with Mister Zion was approaching, and inexorably at that. She needed to hurry.
It took the red-haired vixen only a couple of glances at the computer system to realize that the operating system and the programs used at the cargo terminal were standard. The Pentastar Alignment government hadn't invented anything new. Lazy. It was so simple.
The girl used the system administrator's account to gain access to the terminal's entire database. Many people thought the system administrator was the person who ensured data security on the servers. But they forgot that this same person was the key to direct access to the data on the servers. Because he took care of this system himself, knew all its strengths and weaknesses. And it was he who created the "crutches" holding up the entire system's security. And unlike ordinary employees and users of this system, he had no security restrictions whatsoever — because he himself set up that same security and data fragmentation system for the users.
So...
It took only a couple of seconds to find what she needed. So. A list of cargo ships arriving at or departing from Yaga Minor. Let's see...
Hmm... this was more serious than she'd expected. Karrde wasn't just making cargo runs here. He was practically a permanent carrier here.
Of course, after she'd left, Karrde had changed his ships' identification data. He was a pretty clever individual. And he understood perfectly well that if Mara had been an Imperial agent, he needed to conceal the data on the ships she'd become familiar with during her time working for him.
The trouble was that Karrde knew Imperial scanners didn't just record ships' identification data — they also recorded information on their engine signatures. All of that was accumulated in a database to make it easier for law enforcement to work with the information. And no matter how much Karrde might want to, he couldn't change or fake that kind of data. Not because he couldn't — of course he could. It was just that he didn't have enough resources to change his engines' signatures by completely replacing them across his entire fleet. But he was already doing it partially — Mara had identified ships with partially matching signatures. That meant Karrde was trying to hide his operations. Logical. She was just lucky enough to access the data before he finished retrofitting his ships.
So. The Talon's ships arrived at Yaga Minor once a week. And berths were always reserved for them — which was an extremely expensive service. Though the shipyard management, acting on orders from above, could handle that inconvenience.
Now let's look at the bills of lading.
Food shipments, equipment shipments, communications systems, computer hardware... Nothing obviously illegal on the surface, but Mara knew the cargo manifests were forged. They were only needed for the customs officers who... yes, that was right — the ships were exempt from customs inspection. They arrived and went straight to unloading. Which was carried out... mmm... in the military section of the shipyards. So the cargo was military cargo too. Whatever Karrde was bringing here, it was clearly needed for militarization. Given that the core of his fleet consisted of various models of Action-class transport starships, the volumes of cargo being moved were significant.
What conclusion could be drawn from that? Karrde had decent connections, at least with the shipyard leadership. But that was easy to verify — she needed to check who issued him his docking permits... Mmm... It wasn't the shipyard management — it was the military command. So these weren't contraband shipments — they were direct military transports camouflaged as civilian goods. Simple.
The cargo flow from Karrde's ships never stopped, meaning the shipments had been going on for a long time. Most likely, this was part of a logistics network that operated either under Karrde's former boss, the semi-mythical Jorj Car'das, or Karrde had organized it himself. How could she verify that?
Very simply.
The girl moved on to examining the server data. She found the server that was least loaded with information. What was stored here? Just routine work data. Nothing important. Copy the shipping data for the selected ships here. Yes, that might be a mistake if different starships had been used in the past, especially under Car'das. But there was a logical grain here — if Karrde's former boss had handled this in the past, what fault could the latter have for what happened before he raised the organization's flag? Exactly — none. Back then, he was a subordinate following orders. Now he gave the orders himself; the initiative was his. So the consequences were on him.
It took Mara several minutes to copy the cargo data. After that, she moved the engine signature data onto the server — that would make hunting down Karrde's subordinates easier and would allow her to identify the planets they visited.
Well. She'd gotten what she came for. There was still plenty of time before the meeting. She could try to hack into the Imperial Intelligence archive, but she definitely didn't have enough time to steal their data. At least — not the full archive. And what use would a partial one be? Exactly — none. But then, she hadn't been planning to steal data from the archive.
It would be enough to do something else.
Using her skills and knowledge of the Empire's computer system secrets, the girl managed to find one of the information transmission channels to the Ubiqtorate without much trouble. Interesting. The identification address of the device receiving data from Yaga Minor was unchanged. That meant it was always the same hardware. Only the data transmission time varied. What did that mean? First and foremost, that different volumes of information were being moved. That was logical. But that wasn't the point. The transmission speed over Imperial Intelligence channels was always high. Here, it took much longer. And even though the volumes of data being transmitted to Intelligence didn't differ critically, the time — the time always differed. Sometimes the largest volumes were transmitted faster, while a smaller array of information took longer.
Why?
Simple. It was being received by a ship. A ship that approached the HoloNet relays according to its course, connected to the network, and pulled the information onto its own servers. The more relays the data array had to pass through, the longer the transmission time. Cleverly done. This hadn't existed in the past.
So the Ubiqtorate could still surprise.
Mara could have spent time trying to hack the Ubiqtorate equipment's security to find out the ship's name and course, but she had no doubt that the Imperial Intelligence command's servers were somehow protected against that. The simplest method was data fragmentation and the lack of a direct link between the information storage servers and the ship's central computer, which held the data banks.
But that didn't mean the system couldn't be calculated. It would be enough to compare the data transmission time with the communication channels' bandwidth, then overlay that information on the relay location map to determine the dates and times of the Ubiqtorate ship's location. After that, chart the algorithm of its visits to various relays, establish a pattern, and set up an ambush. The only thing simpler is taking candy from a baby.
At least, that's how it seemed. In practice, of course, it would be harder. And the fact that the computer security on that ship might have detected her intrusion couldn't be ruled out. Even though she'd disguised her action as a standard data exchange, the chance of failure remained. The Ubiqtorate and Imperial Intelligence didn't usually keep fools. It was also unlikely they'd taken such a step to swell their numbers and weaken their own security. That would be too stupid.
Mara spent another ten minutes infiltrating various systems and databases, gathering information on Yaga's defense system, its repair and production capabilities. This was trickier, but back in the day, she'd gotten along well with Karrde's computer specialist, Ghent, who was a real jack-of-all-trades and...
And he was also an extremely interesting person. Basically — a big child. And a rather brilliant one at that. If Karrde's organization was going to be dismantled, that boy needed to be recruited. He'd definitely be able to find a way into the Imperial Intelligence archives, locate the ship, and point Thrawn at it.
Was it dangerous to mess with the Ubiqtorate, and even more so, to lay hands on their holy of holies — information? Undoubtedly dangerous. But the game was worth the candle, because the Ubiqtorate stored many secrets. Every single one of which the Supreme Commander could use for his own purposes.
The girl spent another ten minutes covering her tracks and copying the necessary information onto the selected server. She found its location in the hard drive array, removed it, then, after wiping the dust and debris off the desk, removed the sedative dart from the system administrator's body. She treated the puncture wound with a bacta spray. The puncture on his skin and the slight bruise would fade in a few minutes — the concentrated healing agent would work as intended. This had been tested more than once.
The girl checked the room one more time for any traces. No fingerprints, no stray hairs. All clear. After that, she climbed back into the ventilation with ease, replaced the decorative panel, and continued her journey through the narrow metal shaft. Why did they build these things so that even a slender woman could barely squeeze through?
* * *
Six defense stations.
And four ground-based squadrons.
That's what the defenses of planet Xa Fel intended to meet me with.
And on the face of it, it was all rather unimpressive — breaking through a defense system like this would require a fair bit of effort. Which was clearly the intention; it couldn't be otherwise. The stations were too far apart from each other to form any kind of serious barrier for an invasion force.
Simply put, a pair of Golans were positioned over the planet's poles, while the Fire Stars were in orbit along the equator. Ideally, this should result in a protracted battle, since this defensive tactic assumed the stations would be able to bring any attacker under crossfire.
But the catch was precisely the word "assumed." The Fire Star-class defensive stations, while still fairly lively, were morally obsolete structures. Oddly enough, their numerous laser cannons simply couldn't fire as far as the Golan-class stations.
Yes, I was a bit surprised myself that weapons — laser and turbolaser — in this universe had a concept of "range." Given that turbolaser designs had been known for thousands of years and little fundamentally new had been invented for them, the fact remained.
Turbolaser firing range was measured in so-called "units" of measurement. And unfortunately, I had no way of converting the local range system into familiar kilometers or meters. For one simple reason — that information wasn't present in the data I was currently working with. But I suspected a "unit" was clearly not equal to one standard kilometer and even less than a light-second. The interpretation of this term was probably available somewhere in the Imperial Navy's training materials, but I simply didn't have time to find and understand it.
Orbital Defense Station "Fire Star."
However, this little problem was easily solved by changing the number systems on the computer where I was calculating the plan for the upcoming attack.
So. Creating an "umbrella" from six stations covering each other with crossfire was not possible with full orbital coverage in the realities of planet Xa Fel. The difference primarily in the distances between the stations led to "blind spots" between the Golans and the Fire Stars. Not the largest, but that was only by space standards. In reality, they were quite extensive areas. And that was the first part of the plan.
For now, the ships, having emerged from hyperspace, were re-forming into combat formation, running final checks and preparations. In a few hours, I would have to confirm the attack plan.
And it was quite... interesting.
The first and foremost thing. What they taught in Imperial Academy space battle tactics courses — any ship emerging from hyperspace became a target for several tens of seconds — or minutes. Depending on the hyperdrive class — what the logical connection was there was still a mystery to me. But it seemed that the hyperdrive class somehow affected the amount of residual radiation that accumulated on ships' hulls during transit.
This "blinding" was dictated by the fact that ships completing a hyperspace jump emerged into realspace deprived of sensor data and with their shields deactivated — these were the features of faster-than-light travel in this universe. The military geniuses of the galaxy far, far away hadn't yet figured out how to circumvent this so ships wouldn't feel blind and defenseless upon exiting hyperspace. Well, except that this was probably why ship bridges were open spaces in the superstructures. Through the transparisteel viewports, the crews could immediately assess the situation and begin reacting.
I'd already used this feature during the Ambush at Rugos, when I'd pre-aimed the weapons at the enemy ships' hyperspace exit point and opened fire with everything I had. That way, the enemy's defenseless ships came under hurricane fire and immediately started taking damage.
But the problem with the current situation was that last time, I'd had the services of the mad Master C'baoth. He wasn't with me now. And until Imperial Intelligence implemented a disinformation program, that would continue.
Anyway. Getting back to tactical questions. Imperial military doctrine stated that when storming an enemy's defenses or attacking an enemy fleet, starships should exit hyperspace either outside the range of their weapons or in a zone of minimal fire, to reduce the damage sustained upon appearing in realspace.
To implement the first point, you needed to know and understand where your enemy was. The scouts had now headed back to Xa Fel to find additional information — who knew what had happened in the past day and a half. This was also necessary to assess the situation regarding possible enemy reinforcements lurking in nearby star systems. I didn't want a couple of enemy ships showing up on my head — and I really, really didn't want that.
There were several key points to the attack.
First — capturing the stations and claiming them for myself by moving them elsewhere was out of the question. If only because there were millions of sentients and observation systems on the planet. Someone would record the theft of the stations — and I had no intention of staging a total extermination of a planet that produced hyperdrives. Especially given that Xa Fel's surface armed forces consisted of only a couple of police battalions. The stormtroopers could handle them easily. But only after the orbital defenses were broken through.
So. The hyperspace jump had to begin and end at strictly calculated coordinates. That was the standard method of travel. The exceptions were when a large-mass object appeared on the course intersection, threatening the starship's integrity. Then the hyperdrive's automation would kick in and the ship would be ejected into realspace.
This was the principle behind interdictor cruisers and minesweeper cruisers — they created an artificial gravity field in the path of ships traveling through hyperspace. Science, no magic.
Two elements intertwined into one.
Gaps in the enemy's defenses and the presence of three starships equipped with mass shadow generators. With seven Imperials, one Victory, and one Acclamator. Not to mention the escorting corvettes and frigates.
A very, very interesting "picture" was taking shape. I'd even say — very interesting.
That left the issue of countering the enemy's small craft.
Each station could deploy anywhere from two to six squadrons of fighters or bombers, depending on the stations' internal modifications — there wasn't much information here, as the scouts hadn't managed to determine how much the owners had altered their stations' hangars. Plus four from the surface. Total — a minimum of sixteen, a maximum of twenty-eight.
That wasn't the smallest number of small craft — from one hundred ninety-two to four hundred eighty enemy machines. We had overwhelming superiority in both air power and small ships capable of dealing with them. But I had a suspicion that we'd be facing more heavily protected machines than the TIE series we used.
Well, people die. It was unpleasant, but there was no other way. But it only underscored the need to replace the air wing's machines. You could overwhelm with numbers, but the effect was minimal. Heavy losses in both personnel and equipment.
I needed to pay a visit to Lianna, to Lady Santhe, to negotiate the purchase of my own factory. Given the large amount of equipment Prince-Admiral was currently supplying me with, while exporting prisoners who were useless to me and had already been through the security service's dungeons, Moff Ferrus had time to train new pilots. The ones Baron D'Asta had brought with him. Most likely, by the time of the attack on the Hast shipyards, I would have to rotate the air wing pilots to make up for the losses in today's attack. Over the time remaining before the attack, I could train new pilots through training exercises.
As unfortunate as it was, there was no other way right now. Pilot attrition was high, especially among TIE fighters. Too high. But what else could be expected from young pilots? I'd specifically studied this issue — most of the pilots on my fleet's ships were yesterday's youths. Veterans were very, very few. But their DNA and knowledge were already in the cloning stage, so by the time of the attack on Hast, I would have a batch of experienced pilots to crew all available ships with veterans. Those who had not only survived all previous battles but also undergone training that would lock in the skills they'd gained from Spaarti cloning.
Still, all of that was a matter for neither today nor tomorrow.
But for tomorrow, I needed to plan not only the space operation, but also the ground one.
And that wasn't so smooth either, actually.
Ground-based air defense forces hadn't been canceled. Not that they were strong or weak — they were adequate. Capable of giving the invasion force a thrashing, especially the landing shuttles and vehicles.
Therefore, ground-based air defense targets needed to be suppressed. But done competently, minimizing the attacking forces.
So, what's the difference between anti-air and anti-space defense forces? The range, oddly enough. Anti-air forces can't fire at ships above a certain altitude in the atmosphere. They can't reach orbit, and therefore can't harm Star Destroyers. But they can be destroyed by orbital bombardment. Or by high-altitude bombers, like our TIE bombers.
But anti-space forces, on the other hand, are specifically designed as ground-to-space weaponry and can give large ships a serious beating, but they're extremely vulnerable to ground attacks and maneuvering targets.
So, the enemy doesn't have the latter, but they do have anti-air.
And they're advantageously positioned around production and storage complexes to protect this planet's main asset—the manufacture of hyperdrive engines.
Intelligence has identified a good dozen potential targets—warehouses with finished products. We don't need incomplete hyperdrive engines.
Those warehouses have landing pads for transporting the mechanisms—we can use them for landing troops.
So, as always, the operation is divided into several phases. One flows smoothly into the next. Given the lack of a cloned Jedi coordinating our actions, we have to work in a way that a drop in subordinates' effectiveness isn't a critical factor.
The commander of my unit in a past life called it the "idiot allowance"taking into account human carelessness, lack of training, supply issues, and other military trifles when planning an operation.
Same here. I have to anticipate possible deviations from the plan to minimize the chance of failure…
And I need to think about it a lot.
At least about the fact that everything is too perfect… almost too polished. Instead of quality orbital defenses—a farce with "blind spots." Instead of surface cover—only anti-air. Though a couple of ion cannons, like the ones the rebels used on Hoth, could easily solve the orbital threat and plug the holes in orbital defense. But for some reason, that hasn't been done. Why?
Because Kuat has no competent commanders? That's too simple an explanation. Sorry, but I don't buy it.
Almost since its founding, Kuat Drive Yards has had its own fleet. So numerous that during the Clone Wars, the Old Republic had to beg them for ships in times of need. And Kuat provided—and not the worst ones, at that. Many are still in service. During the preceding millennium of peace, when the Republic lost its position in global militarism and military art, only Kuat could afford to build enormous ships—like the eight-kilometer Mandator-class dreadnoughts—and maintain them in significant numbers. To protect their own interests, naturally. And it's naive to think their commanders haven't been exercising tactically all this time. I just don't believe that.
Very, very strange. If this is a trap, what's it designed for? The anti-air systems, scattered across the planet's surface as if deliberately in the projection of "blind spots," could be suppressed to land troops… Or not? More likely not, because the stations can probably change their orbital inclination and concentrate fire on the landing force—especially the Fire Stars with their nearly one hundred and fifty laser cannons. That's not to mention the large number of proton torpedo launchers. But unlike the cannons, which have a range of seventy-five, proton torpedoes have a range of only seven. That is, they're used as close-quarters weapons. Wait a minute. But on the Crusader, a Victory I-class Star Destroyer, the range of proton torpedoes is much higher—sixty units. So the Fire Stars have outdated launchers? That makes sense…
Stop. Lock that thought.
Outdated technology. And why did they stop using Fire Stars on a permanent basis, since in their time they were at the peak of popularity, like the Golans are now? But even so, what are those stations like in combat? How strong are their shields? How dangerous are their weapons?
I need to urgently search the archives for that information. I have a strong suspicion the Imperials didn't retire those stations for nothing.
* * *
I must admit, the chief engineer of the Yaga Minor shipyards had fitted out his office rather intriguingly, with a distinct, well-defined taste. Sometimes the atmosphere of a being's workplace and home can say more than studying a psychological dossier from Imperial Intelligence archives.
For example, this being clearly leans toward ships of narrow specialization—seen in his collection of corvette, frigate, and cruiser models. He obviously dislikes Star Destroyers and larger ships, which increasingly perform multi-role tasks—engaging in battle, delivering troops, scouting, patrolling, intercepting… Of course, it's debatable, but still.
"Lieutenant Jade," the man said, setting aside a datapad with a request from Thrawn for work at the Yaga Minor shipyards, and looked at her with his right eye. What is it with these shipbuilders—always either a cybernetic or missing left eye. Reyes had the same issue… "The order is undoubtedly interesting. But I want to know the details."
"Which details, and for what purpose?" Mara inquired. Good thing she'd managed to get to the Nemesis quickly, leave the hard drive in her cabin, and change from her jumpsuit into a fleet uniform. She'd even managed to shower and get the stale, grimy smell off her face, hair, and body.
"Let's see," the man said with a crooked smile. "You're offering me an order for some 'work on asteroids of various sizes.' No explanations. What are my people supposed to do with them?"
"Is that important?" Mara tried to play the dumb girl made adjutant only because of her weak mind and pretty face. It came easily—because that's exactly how men on the Imperial fleet treated women.
"Of course," Ryan Zion snorted. "There are restrictions regarding safety clearance, radiation, chemical, or other contamination."
The shipbuilder Ryan Zion.
"And you can't handle that?" Mara blinked.
"We?" Irritation crept into Mr. Zion's voice. "No, we could build a new 'Death Star'—if the client had the money."
"Tell me another one," Mara thought wryly. "Yaga Minor never had that capability. And it doesn't now."
"Oh, we have the money," she said, beaming.
"Then I need to know exactly what technical task my workers are supposed to carry out," the chief shipbuilder said with emphasis. "Asteroids are a very specific thing. Again, we don't know the type of rock they're made of. Can you provide us with that data?"
"Well… yes, probably," Mara looked away in embarrassment. Don't stare at me like that. I'm a dumb girl, I'm a dumb girl, I'm a dumb girl… The main thing is not to believe the act myself.
"And didn't Grand Admiral Thrawn think that to discuss such matters, he should first send the subordinate who actually has the information?" Zion remarked snidely. His eyes held contempt and moral superiority. Yes, he matched his psychological profile perfectly. An insufferable type.
"But I am competent!" Mara feigned offense, pouted, and started twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
"Fine," the Imperial's smile looked more like a grimace. "How many asteroids are we supposed to process for you?"
"Uh… how many can you?"
"Any number. The only question is money and the time needed to do the work…"
"Well… a couple, probably…"
"What size are they?" The man's single eye twitched nervously.
"Well… a couple dozen meters, probably…"
The shipbuilder fell silent. Oh, at this point his head must be exploding with a fountain of terms being misused by Mara, and his professional pride is kicking in. A very eloquent silence.
"Lieutenant," he said with poorly concealed irritation. "Do you know exactly what work we're supposed to do on these two asteroids?"
"Well… build something there…"
Oh, his eye is already bloodshot.
"What exactly?"
"Something…"
"And by what deadline?"
"A short one…"
"More specifically?"
"Specifically short…"
The shipbuilder fell silent, closing his one eye. Clearly trying to calm down.
"And how are we supposed to know what exactly we're supposed to build on those damned chunks of space rock and by when?" the man asked, barely containing his rage. It was obvious he was furious. So furious he was barely holding back.
This, in fact, was the basis of the tactic to recruit this being—make him angry enough to snap at a potential client. The shipyard management hates losing orders—especially military ones. From the information she'd managed to gather about this man during her transit to Yaga Minor, he wasn't very well-liked here. Precisely because he was too picky when evaluating potential clients' orders. And this amusing situation occurred both with clients outside the Pentastar Alignment and within it. Sometimes the most valuable source of information is public or corporate chats—not that the info is easy to access, but… Seriously, does anyone think that Thrawn's Hand, once on the hunt, can be stopped?
Still, it's an extremely risky operation. If he actually loses his job because of a botched order, he might not appreciate the subsequent offer—to work for Thrawn. He's quite a narcissistic man. It's easy to predict such beings—when there are few of them, or enough time to assess their psychological profile and develop a suitable strategy. Unfortunately, she hadn't had time for that preparation. She'd had to work on the fly. And mistakes in such haste are always inevitable.
Honestly, she wouldn't bet even a couple of credits that recruiting this being this way would succeed. But at least depriving the Pentastar Alignment of such a skilled shipbuilder was worth it. Not to mention drawing as much attention as possible to the asteroids.
Of course, she knew the purpose of the work on the asteroids, and why it had to be done at the shipyards where Karrde could get information. Or at least frequented often enough to detect, count, and draw conclusions. But she wasn't going to reveal that. At least not to Mr. Zion until he worked for them. And if he refused entirely, he didn't need to know at all. In any case, Project Asteroid, which she was supposed to organize here, was nothing more than a very elaborate trap.
"Well…" It was extremely difficult to feign thought while keeping the expression of someone untouched by individual development in all things logical. "Probably when the asteroids are delivered to you. Along with the mechanisms to be mounted on them."
"Is that so?" Irritation crept into Zion's voice. "Now let me tell you the problem. First, I need to know the exact dimensions of the asteroids to reserve the necessary orbital space and workers. I need to know the time frame for the same reason—to calculate the man-hours. I also need to understand the hazard level of the objects, to know if special precautions are needed for my staff. The simplest example: maybe you'll drag in asteroids containing baradium. And we'd detonate during assembly. That would not only kill my workers but also cause irreparable damage to the shipyards. And Yaga Minor, by the way, is one of the most important shipyards of the Pentastar Alignment…!"
"What do you mean 'maybe'?" Mara nearly blurted out. "That's exactly the plan. That's the whole point."
"I still haven't seen any payment information. No advance, no guarantee of payment! So I suspect you get paid regularly, but for some reason you think my people and I would want to work for the amount you're planning to offer. No, Lieutenant Jade, that's not how business is done. You provide us with the technical specifications, and we'll draw up an estimate and decide how much you owe us…
Mara felt through the Force someone else entering the office. A sentient. Human. Male.
"…and lately you've been shoving crappy projects at us and demanding…" Mr. Zion continued. He wasn't at all bothered by the fact that an Imperial had suddenly appeared next to Mara. Judging by the rank insignia—a moff. With a painfully familiar face, somewhat reminiscent of a Tatooine womp rat…
"Enough, Ryan," the newcomer said lazily, almost contemptuously. "You've been testing our patience long enough. I've heard about what you've been getting away with, and it's time to put an end to your unrestrained behavior."
"Disra," Mr. Zion all but spat the name.
"For you—'Moff Disra,'" the newcomer noted. He gave Mara a very favorable, almost patronizing look, then looked back at the shipbuilder. "I am authorized to tell you to pack your things and get out of here. The details of your order, Lieutenant," he looked at Mara again, who was trying her hardest to appear surprised. In truth, she'd long been used to Imperials squabbling in front of outsiders. Nothing new.
"What are you talking about?" Zion grimaced. "I run the military section of the shipyards and…"
"You don't run anything anymore," Disra walked over to one of the model ships on a stand near the wall. He deftly broke the polymer model apart and pulled out a portable holo-camera. "You should at least pay attention that your favorite toys have a tendency to change. Anyway, this recording is more than enough to finally get rid of you. Easily and simply."
"It seems you forget, Disra, that you're no longer a Grand Moff, but just an animal on Kaine's leash," Zion said arrogantly, leaning back in his chair. "It's not up to you to decide personnel matters…"
"And I'm not the one who decided them," Moff Disra snorted. Mara remembered him now. A snake who should have been killed much sooner. "This is Kaine's decision. So pack up and get out. This," he displayed the holo-camera, "will serve as suitable evidence of your overinflated ego. Your services are no longer needed."
"Fine by me," the shipbuilder snorted, rising from his seat. "In any case, your pathetic little projects that you begged me to build here are just smoke and mirrors. Self-deception. And to hell with you. You can't give me what I want anyway… Good riddance," the man, without even trying to take anything with him, silently left his workstation.
"Oh… what happened?" Mara blinked, maintaining her cover.
"The firing of a negligent employee," Moff Disra snorted. He looked at the holo-camera in his hands, then pried open the panel with a fingernail and removed the memory card. "Well, since that little performance is over, let's talk plainly, Lieutenant Jade."
Mara tensed internally, calculating whether she could take this man in hand-to-hand combat. Yes, without a doubt.
The man walked around the desk and sat down in the vacated chair. He placed a well-recognizable device on the table—a scrambler that prevented various recording devices from capturing the conversation.
"So, you want to have work done at our shipyards," he stated, not asked, confirming Mara's suspicion that the office was bugged. The purpose of the Nemesis's visit hadn't been announced, only the fact of it. The documents with the rough assignment had only been seen by the now-departed Mr. Zion.
"Well, yes…" Mara feigned some uncertainty, which a woman not lacking intelligence should feel.
"Good. I'll personally see to it that everything is done as needed," Disra said. "But let's talk about something else."
"About what?" Mara stammered, but knew the interesting part was about to start. Disra hadn't used the word "performance" for nothing.
"Ryan Zion," the moff said. "You came here for him. You'll get him. I'll facilitate that in exchange for a meeting with your commander.
"Is that so?" Mara thought.
"I don't understand…"
"Listen and don't interrupt, Lieutenant," Disra grinned. "If you don't have the information, that doesn't mean the one who sent you doesn't. And the situation is very simple. On Tangrene, where Grand Admiral Thrawn is based, you have a shipyard. Not the best, but you won't get better anytime soon, nor qualified personnel. I convinced Mr. Zion to play out this dismissal scene—Grand Moff Kaine was planning to get rid of him anyway. Just like he's planning to get rid of your commander."
"Grand Admiral?" Mara blinked. Okay. It seemed she didn't even have to feign excessive surprise or play the fool. She was too deep in the role.
"Exactly, my girl,"oh, I'd rather have an unwashed Hutt as a friend than feel his favor! After being a dancer for Jabba, she was afraid of nothing. "Luckily for you, I'm ready to help you prevent that. In fact, for that help, I need very little from you."
"And what's that?" the girl blinked. Moff Disra's face twisted into a grin. He really did look like a womp rat. She hoped he didn't realize she'd shuddered from disgust for him, not fear.
"Let's just say," he said, "your Grand Admiral could use an ally in the Pentastar Alignment. Shipyards, technology, materials, personnel. As I understand it, you have problems with that. And I have information that could help your Grand Admiral get out of an extremely difficult situation."
"And what situation would that be?" Mara wanted with every fiber of her being to stop pretending, but knew the whole cover would collapse. And this pathetic little man would know more than he should.
"All in good time, Lieutenant Jade," Disra smiled disgustingly. "I know your Grand Admiral is desperately seeking political allies. That draws unwanted attention to him. Let's just say—I'm not opposed to helping him. As proof of my good intentions, I even discussed your offer to Mr. Zion on your behalf. And I'll tell you this—he agrees to cooperate with you. And quite fruitfully, take my word for it, he has a lot to offer. But it's not appreciated here. So consider that I've helped you in advance and strengthened the Grand Admiral's position. Of course, if you follow his advice. But that's a different conversation that interests me less."
"And what does interest you?" Mara asked.
"A move from the second tier to the first," Moff Disra said. Oh, really. She'd forgotten what a viper pit this Empire was with its sly, conniving officers. "It's in your interest—you'll have powerful support. Unquestioning support. Including in conquering the other Imperial Remnants and their subsequent division between the two of us, as the most intelligent and worthy Imperial officers. I assure you, the Grand Admiral won't be disappointed with my offer."
"I'll pass the message, of course," Mara said. "But you mentioned Thrawn is facing some problems…"
"Ah, no, my girl," Disra wagged his finger. "First, you'll go to your Supreme Commander,"Mara noted the logical emphasis in the phrase—"and bring me his preliminary agreement. Then you'll get the information you need. I advise you to hurry—time is precious these days."
Thrawn's Hand almost ground her teeth. The moff was playing a dirty and clearly well-planned multi-layered game. And he definitely intended to eliminate Kaine and take his place. Only to then divide the remaining Imperial Remnants… and undoubtedly absorb the best ones. Because looking at the map, the Ord Trasi and Bilbringi shipyards are much closer to the Pentastar Alignment than to Tangrene… It was clear. He intended to use Thrawn while staying out of the spotlight himself.
Cunning and low. Exactly what you'd expect from a snake like Disra.
"I'll report everything to the Grand Admiral," Mara smiled. Clearly understanding she'd have to disturb the Chiss on the eve of the battle for Xa Fel. "I'm sure we'll reach an agreement."
"The main thing is it's beneficial for both sides," Moff Disra reminded.
"Of course," Mara nodded like a bobblehead.
Thrawn would definitely find it agreeable. And so would his allies and subordinates. But as for you, you dirty traitor… It's highly unlikely the Grand Admiral's decision will please you, let alone help extend your worthless life.
* * *
"Grand Admiral, sir," Captain Pellaeon snapped to attention upon seeing the Supreme Commander enter the bridge of the Chimaera. "The fleet is assembled, no malfunctions, we are at yellow alert."
"Have the scouts returned?" Thrawn asked, settling into his chair. The ysalamiri, now a constant companion of the commander, lounged as usual on his pristine white trousers.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon handed the Chiss a datapad with the scout group reports.
"Unchanged," Thrawn said a few minutes later, skimming the lines. "No ships in neighboring systems, no reinforcement of their own defenses…"
"They're not expecting an attack," Pellaeon grinned.
"Perhaps," Thrawn looked at him. "Have you ever encountered such incompetence in the Kuat fleet?"
"Sir?" Gilad asked.
"The enemy's entire appearance indicates he is incompetent in matters of establishing planetary defenses," the Chiss said. "Six stations, and not a single one covers another with its fire. The enemy is, in effect, inviting anyone aware of these 'shortcomings' to exploit them and bring ships in. Intriguing, is it not?"
"Our starfighters' engagement range is sufficient," Pellaeon said. "We can fire at them and hit our targets, while they cannot always do the same."
"Is that so?" Thrawn inquired. "Captain, how long would it take a single Imperial Star Destroyer to destroy a Fire Star-class station, using only its turbolasers?"
"Um..." Gilad hesitated. How was he supposed to know that? "My apologies, I am not in possession of that information."
"Two and a half hours," Thrawn said. "That is why they were phased out of service, first from the Republic fleet and then from the Imperial Navy. There is no fault of yours, Captain. Ignorance is only a vice when one lacks the desire to combat it. Such tests were conducted in the early years of the Empire. Not live tests, but a mathematical model. The data is available in the archives. In fact, the test conditions are exactly the same as those being offered to us now. Note the size of the zone free from bombardment," Thrawn inserted an information chip into the slot on his command chair. A hologram of Xa Fel appeared, marked with various colored lines.
"We are, in effect, being invited to enter these zones free of the enemy's turbolaser fire, in order to begin an artillery duel with the defense stations," Thrawn said. "Do you see the points on the surface?"
"Yes, sir, those are concentrations of anti-air defense systems," Pellaeon said. Looking closer, he frowned and declared:
"They are positioned on the surface directly beneath the zones on the orbit that are free from the enemy's turbolaser fire," he realized.
"And at the same time, this zone allows not only for a duel with the stations, but also for launching shuttles for a ground assault, does it not?" Thrawn inquired. "One could conduct an orbital bombardment to suppress the anti-air defenses, and then, fearing nothing, land the assault force."
"Yes, that's textbook orbital assault tactics," Pellaeon said. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Sir, are you suggesting that among the anti-air defenses, there might also be planetary defense cannons?"
"I am not ruling out that possibility," Thrawn said. "But it is doubtful from the standpoint that our reconnaissance has not detected it. Something else is intriguing. The two and a half hours needed to destroy even a single Fire Star-class station. Our reconnaissance did search the nearby space, did it not?"
"Yes, sir... We did not go further for security reasons."
"And rightly so," Thrawn said. "In two hours, a ship with a class-two or even class-one hyperdrive can cover a distance twice the size of a single star system. Do you see the implication?"
"Kuat reinforcements are beyond the range we searched," Pellaeon said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "The moment we start exchanging fire with the Fire Stars, they will be here in two hours."
"Exactly," Thrawn said. "A very ingenious trap. Lure us in with apparent gaps in the defense. Force us to hold a precisely defined zone. Meanwhile, until at least one station is suppressed, landing troops on the surface would be doomed to heavy losses. In effect, we must first destroy at least one station in order to choose a less densely defended area for the invasion corridor."
"And while we're destroying the orbital stations, reinforcements will arrive and squeeze us between the stations and themselves," Pellaeon finished the thought. "Sir, they want to put us in a classic 'box'."
"I agree, it is very ingenious of whoever commands the Kuat forces to so filigree mask a simple, textbook tactical maneuver," a slight smile played on Thrawn's lips. His hand reached toward the commander of the Chimaera. Gilad saw an information chip pinched between the Chiss's thumb and forefinger.
"Transmit the orders to the fleet," the Grand Admiral commanded.
"Sir?" Pellaeon's eyes widened. "You intend to attack?"
"Is something bothering you, Captain?" the Grand Admiral inquired, staring at his subordinate with a look full of surprise and incomprehension. As if any other reaction were possible.
"Sir..." Gilad felt his voice beginning to fail him. No, he trusted Thrawn's tactical genius, but... charging straight into a trap, with the very real possibility of being swatted like an annoying insect... "It's a trap."
"Of course it is, Captain," Thrawn nodded in agreement. "And we are going to fall for it..."