Nine years, six months, and fourteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, six months, and fourteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
"And at that moment, I say to him: 'Where the hell was your head?'" Yazuo tried to convey the full range of emotions he had experienced in the past. The very distant past.
"And what did he say back?" asked a man leaning on his rust-eaten vibro-pike. Yazuo glanced at him mockingly. And thanked his own prudence for thinking to put on an oxygen mask when he descended to the surface of the planet Raxus Prime. Not only did this world look from space like a rusty piece of durasteel that had been pissed on by a rancor, digested by a sarlacc, defiled by a pack of mynocks, and at the end of those glorious adventures, also caught in a spill of acids of all kinds and chemical properties, but the smell here was...
Judging by the watery eyes of the ragamuffin, who proudly styled himself a customs inspector (but in reality was just one of the members of the local gangs controlling the surface of this garbage planet), he was clearly suffering from the fragrance of the local bouquet. But the ragamuffin tried not to let it show. Big mistake. If the local beauty makes you want to turn inside out, don't hold back, let the universal good triumph.
Then again, on the other hand... what if the local ambiance — specifically the eye-stinging stench and those suspicious puddles reigning all around — was formed precisely by such releases of internal indignation?
The planet Raxus Prime.
"And what did he do?" Yazuo repeated, lovingly stroking his vibroblade. "He didn't answer."
"Why?" the 'customs inspector' was surprised.
"He was dead, you see," Vane said with feigned surprise.
"When?" the local criminal was taken aback.
"Right after I asked him the question," the corsair captain frowned. "Did I miss the part of the story again where I chopped off my first captain's head before asking him where his head was?"
"Well, it looks like it," the native said, somehow gloomier.
"Looks like you're lying, kid," snorted a nearby Rodian scavenger. "You said you were going to tell the story of how you shot your captain. Now you're saying you beheaded him... Kind of suspicious."
"Suspicious is when you fly to a planet for spare parts and they ask you to tell them how you killed your commander," Yazuo sighed.
"Actually, you were the one who forced this story on us," the 'customs inspector' frowned. "I just asked you not to swing your vibroblade around."
"And that was only said after your pick hit that guy's head," the 'customs inspector' pointed at the Rodian. "And you started..."
"Guilty as charged," Vane sighed. "That's always how it is with me — you start talking, one thought latches onto another, like a Jedi clinging to life in front of Vader, and off you go..."
"So why did you fly here?" the man with the vibro-pike inquired. Why else? So you'd ask!
"Well, they say you have a lot of spare parts here for Separatist ships," he said, casting a glance full of hidden melancholy and a desire to immediately end his own life at the landscapes of the planet Raxus Prime.
Inspiring landscapes of Raxus Prime that provoke thoughts about the futility of existence.
Billions of tons of mangled metal, deformed ship parts, huge maws of makeshift smelters where the metal was delivered after being gutted on site. And all this good stuff was remelted into multi-ton blocks of metal... Which were then bought by more enterprising dealers connected to weapons manufacturers, starship builders, or even outright illegal organizations: everyone, like eating, wants a working ship.
"Much for some, and for others — get lost, kid," the suddenly baring 'customs inspector' said with poorly concealed menace, aiming his vibro-pike at him. His comrade, tensing up, pulled out a blaster and pointed it squarely at Yazuo's chest.
"Hey, hey," Vane raised his hands placatingly. "What's the matter?"
"There are a lot of you types," the 'customs inspector' grumbled. "First they fly in for who knows what, then they blow everything up here... We had one crazy guy — built a Jedi Temple to scale, one to one..."
"A Jedi, you mean?"
"Could be a rancor's belch for all I care," the interlocutor snarled. "Then another one showed up right after with a lightsaber and gave our gang a real thrashing. And he ruined a lot of good merchandise when an Imperial Star Destroyer dropped from orbit onto the planet's surface..."
"Guys," Vane shook his head disapprovingly, "am I the only one who sees a problem the size of a Wookiee's butt in your logic?"
"Well, speak up," said the Rodian.
"I don't have a lightsaber," for clarity, Yazuo opened his cloak and spun around, letting those present inspect him from all sides. "And I didn't come here to fight or ruin anyone's plans. I need spare parts — preferably more, better, and cheaper."
"And the money?" the 'customs inspector' said uncertainly. "We only work with a hundred percent upfront payment in cash."
"Yeah, and my wife has been faithful to me," Vane muttered, but they heard him.
"What'd you say?" the man standing closest didn't understand his words.
"I said it's hard to believe. First, I'll inspect everything you have," Yazuo declared. "What if you just take my money and screw me?"
The pair exchanged glances. They seemed to realize it was time to go on the offensive.
"What do you mean 'maybe'?" the 'customs inspector' was surprised. "Hand over everything you've got and you'll live. We're borrowing your ship for free and getting the hell off this planet..."
Yazuo glanced at his starship, on which he had arrived at Raxus Prime. Apparently, the locals were sick and tired of the local scenery, so they wanted to escape by any means. And capturing a lone ship, especially from someone who didn't seem particularly threatening, like Yazuo himself, was a very common practice. Especially in this wretched little world...
"Well, as you wish," Yazuo said, dodging the first swift lunge aimed at his right side. At the same time, he was agile enough to avoid the enemy's shot, taking cover behind some piece of rusty metal. A blaster bolt snapped against the makeshift barrier, then another...
Jumping out from behind cover, Yazuo made a precise shot, punching a hole in the Rodian enemy's throat, then easily deflected the man's pike thrust to the side, noting out of the corner of his eye how the already dead Rodian fell noisily into an acid puddle. His beggarly equipment, as if assembled from parts found in a junkyard, hissed, and his body began to melt, turning the surface of the pale green liquid into a foamy substance with a certainly unpleasant stench.
It took only a few seconds to disarm the opponent. The blade of Vane's vibroblade cut through the pike, causing the man to scream, jumping back a meter from the privateer and shaking his mutilated hand, missing several fingers.
"Oops," Vane smiled. "Clumsy of me."
A punch to the face disoriented the opponent, but at the same time restored his ability to think clearly. At least in terms of giving truthful answers:
"Where do I find spare parts?" Yazuo snarled in his face, poking his weapon under the opponent's chin for clarity of his intentions. One careless move, and the vibro-blade would activate, splitting the head into several pieces. Or he could just pull the trigger, and the blaster built into the vibroblade would make a neat hole in the man's chin all the way to his brain. If the native had one, of course.
"I-in the warehouses!" the scavenger's voice had hysterical notes. Well, what did you expect? You can't attack someone who brought you money. It'll turn out extremely ugly later...
"And where are the warehouses?" Vane demonstrated his charming smile and negotiation skills.
"A-a-at another gang," the kid sniffled. "We don't have anything. There're only two of us left after the destroyer fell..."
"So you were feeding me crap," Vane stated, looking around suspiciously. Any kind of vermin could be hiding in this dump... But it seemed there was no one. Even felt a bit insulting. You fly in for a firefight, and there are just a couple of beggars trying to scam you outright...
"Y-yes," the kid confirmed with tears in his eyes. "W-we needed your ship. O-o-oh, my fingers!"
"Don't stick them where they don't belong, and they'd stay on," Yazuo said instructively. "That other gang — are they the same kind of scumbags as you?"
"N-o-o-o," the scavenger sobbed almost childishly. "They do business honestly, deal with big companies..."
"So they won't cheat me?" Vane chuckled.
"N-o-o-ah," the defeated opponent shook his head.
"You know," Vane smiled. "I think I'll believe you. For a change, of course."
"Th-thank you!" the scavenger rejoiced. "So... can I go?"
Yazuo bared his teeth.
"I believe" does not mean "I forgive," the young privateer smirked, driving his weapon into the head of the deceitful scavenger.
Shaking the corpse off his vibroblade, the man returned to his ship with a firm determination to find someone who would sell him the damned Separatist equipment. Because after the sixth... no, the seventh time — that small gang by the wreck of an Imperial Lambda-class shuttle counted too — so after the seventh attempt to deceive him for no reason, the young commander of the Black Pearl had stopped radiating the same enthusiasm about his acquisition that he had once possessed.
* * *
"It looks better than when she first arrived here," declared Captain Pellaeon, studying the massive bulk of a Golan II-type defense station. The imposing orbital defense station, gleaming with gray durasteel armor, its running lights blinking — Aren't there too many of them on the station? thought Gilad — captured during the attack on the Dufilvian sector of the New Republic, surpassed an Imperial Star Destroyer in size, making the Chimaera look like a little teenage girl beside it, a girl who could be bullied at any moment by the armed-to-the-teeth giant in armor with a powerful shield standing before her. A curious pair, indeed... The Grand Admiral's armed-to-the-teeth flagship and a battle station with a virtually impenetrable shield, inferior in weaponry to the ship orbiting Tangrene.
Now dozens of eyes were fixed on the battle station that had just entered service. Not to mention the transport shuttles delivering a full crew to the Golan — soldiers, technicians, pilots, a complete complement of gunners. Inside, technicians and a few engineers remained to monitor all systems. Once the tests were complete, all sentients except the station garrison would leave her decks and be reassigned to other facilities.
Fabrication of damaged hull components for ships, regular repairs, production and tuning of cloaking devices, equipping several ships with them, work on asteroids, conversion of plasma drills, purchase and placement of rhydonium, acquisition of new small craft for the fleet, training of pilots and "volunteers," repair and upgrade work on fleet ships, various projects like "Asteroid," "Sunburn," "Morrt," work with Separatist droids, procurement of new weapons and defense systems, a project to create a new type of bomber assigned to Captain Tomax Bren, and much more... All of this resulted in enormous, simply exorbitant sums for the fleet's budget. But the Grand Admiral didn't seem inclined to save. Every time the next expenses threatened to blow a hole in the budget, Thrawn found another way to secure additional funding. At the same time, the not-very-large technical staff on Tangrene, despite regular replenishment from specialists who had passed the counterintelligence sieve, clones, and the partial participation of specialists from ships under repair, were constantly overloaded with work.
This was especially true for the upcoming operation.
Sitting in his command chair, Grand Admiral Thrawn studied sensor readings from a datapad handed to him by Chief Engineer Reyes. The man with the optical implant stood nearby, ready to provide the necessary explanations to the Supreme Commander.
"Or else, receive deserved punishment immediately," thought the Chimaera's commander. However, the latter was unlikely. Rukh had left Tangrene orbit on a freighter, Major Grodin Tierce was on assignment, the Nemesis and Lieutenant Mara Jade had left the system on their next mission. If Reyes disappointed the Chiss, who would carry out the death sentence? Gilad had wisely left his blaster in the armory. Now that the insane clone Jedi was no longer aboard, it was somehow calmer. No need to be constantly wound up like a spring, expecting someone to try to fry you with their extraordinary abilities.
"It looks indistinguishable from factory production, Chief Engineer," Thrawn nodded with satisfaction, looking at the man standing beside him. "Are the projectors concealed?"
"Yes, sir," confirmed Reyes. "We incorporated them into the running light mounts so they wouldn't attract attention in the visible spectrum."
"Maybe they should have been made with a function to retract under armor when not in use?" suggested Pellaeon, earning a wary look from Reyes.
"That doesn't make sense," he replied with poorly concealed irritation. "Damage to even one cloaking field projector leads to detection of the entire object — the missing cloaking segment would allow enemy sensors to detect at least part of the station. So whether you hide the units or not, they'll still be useless under enemy fire while the cloaking screen is active. Even if we hide them under armor, it's enough to breach it in one spot, damage or destroy just one projector — activating the rest is pointless; the cloaking effect will be broken."
"Everything regarding the modernization of the orbital battle station is proceeding according to plan, Captain," said Thrawn, looking at the Chimaera's commander. "And in strict accordance with it. Chief Engineer Reyes" the owner of the eye implant tensed, obviously expecting a reprimand for his exchange with the commander of the flagship Imperial Star Destroyer — "according to the report from the station, all personnel are in their positions. You may proceed with the test as soon as you are ready."
"I am ready at any time, Grand Admiral," Reyes said proudly. "As you know, no type of signal passes through the cloaking field. What will be the response time?"
"This is the first test," Thrawn reminded. "I think five minutes will be enough. You will conduct the remaining verification procedures on your own during our raid."
"Yes, sir," Reyes reported, pulling out a comlink. "I'll relay the instructions to the senior engineer on the station."
"Please do," Thrawn said calmly, following the engineer with his eyes as he stepped aside. "Is the fleet in combat-ready condition, Captain?"
"Yes, sir," he replied. "Repair work was carried out simultaneously with unloading. Supplies and fuel are loaded, boarding parties and lost small craft, as well as other ship types, have been replenished. Ship commanders have reported readiness. We are ready to depart."
"Have no reports of malfunctions come from the Phoenix and the Dragon?" the Supreme Commander asked another question.
"No, sir," answered Gilad. The trophies from the ambush at Rugosa had finally received new names. Thrawn had issued them literally that morning, so the fleet was still confused by the renamings. But they should get used to them during the flight. "Still, sir, I think it's risky to drag a literally jury-rigged Venator into the thick of battle."
"Its systems have been tested and are in full order," the Chiss noted.
"But no main gun firing tests have been conducted," Pellaeon objected.
"For that purpose, aboard that same Venator there are several old freighters whose restoration was deemed impractical," the commander noted. "And one more thing, Captain. That ship, at the sight of which you can barely refrain from unsanctioned language, is called the Dragon. Don't forget."
"Yes, I'd like to understand why that name was given to the ship," thought Pellaeon. Still, considering WHAT it was armed with... Oh, almighty and all-knowing Regulations! This wasn't a starship, it was... a gizka's joke... Not a ship, but a huge flying reactor. Not only had they put every system inside the Dragon in order, updating some, replacing others, restored its standard armament, stuffed fourteen squadrons of TIE Interceptors inside, but they'd also turned half the hangar and interior spaces into a nest for a solar ionization reactor. Now the Venator-class Star Destroyer, if you looked at it in profile, seemed pregnant with a bantha... Shameful. So shameful... Honestly, if this contraption doesn't work, the crew of that ancient tub will be laughed at by the rest of the fleet. Oh, I hope it doesn't explode during operation.
Not to mention that to equip this ship, they had to practically disarm the base on Linuri...
"Let's wait for the tests to finish," said Thrawn. "After that, we jump to the reconnaissance point."
Pellaeon sighed discreetly.
"Something troubling you, Captain?" The Grand Admiral wasn't asking; he was stating a fact.
"The Imperious is two days away, sir," Gilad reminded. "It could join the mission..."
"Captain Shohashi and his crew are busy evacuating our forward base on Linuri," said Thrawn. "With the captured Star Destroyer, they will extract everything of value and significance to us from there. After that, he has a number of additional tasks. Which, like this one, are classified."
"Truly, the only thing of value there has already been evacuated by your orders," thought Pellaeon. "And the Sentinel has left, and the Neutron Star is limping to Tangrene... Everyone will be here in a day or two. Why not wait for the other ships?"
"We have sufficient forces, Captain," Thrawn said, as if reading his thoughts. "The Chimaera, Overlord, Stormhawk, Death's Head, Inexorable, Relentless, Bellicose, Crusader, Dragon, Phoenix, Black Asp, both Interdictors... Seven Imperial-class Star Destroyers, one Victory I-class, one Venator-class with extensive modifications, one Acclamator II-class assault cruiser full of special boarding craft, three ships with gravity projectors. Not to mention all the CR90 Corellian corvettes and one DP20 that are coming with us on the mission. I won't even mention the transport convoy of Star Galleons."
"You could have at least summoned the Unshakable from Wayland... or left the Nemesis! But no, now we have a pretty little lieutenant gallivanting around the galaxy on an Imperial Star Destroyer. I'd bet my right arm there's something between that beast and Thrawn! Actually, no one's against it, but why give your paramour an entire ISD for her work?! Give her Lando Calrissian's Lady Luck (that trophy from the Overlord's attack on Nkllon hasn't been sold — too conspicuous a ship). Or if that's not enough, the Crusader at worst. Or a medium cruiser. Even a Tartan-class! That's more than enough for her... But no, we'll send a whole capital ship running around for favors."
The Chimaera's commander preferred not to think about the fact that he had done roughly the same thing for the woman he loved in the past.
"And leave the Mount Tantiss facility unguarded? No, Captain, we won't risk that. We have enough enemies to strike from behind."
"Is that why you decided to evacuate Linuri?" Pellaeon clarified.
"The base has lost its operational value," said Thrawn. "Captain Shohashi will leave scout droids in the system to continue monitoring the situation... Speaking of which, are the missions on Honoghr complete?"
"All joint missions involving Noghri squads have been terminated," Pellaeon said. "Data has been left on the planet, droids as well, except for scouts, of course. Agents are returning to Tangrene. But there are also some problems. Himron and his squads have gone silent."
"They are carrying out infiltration and extraction," Thrawn nodded.
"Captain Steben isn't responding," Pellaeon added.
"Did he receive the order to withdraw?" the Grand Admiral inquired.
"And confirmed receipt," said Gilad.
"Monitor the situation," the commander ordered, showing no sign of concern. "What news from New Cov?"
"Skywalker has landed on the planet. He's clumsily trying to understand the situation with the lynching of the local governor," Pellaeon reported. "Our people have already set the trap, but..."
"But?" Thrawn turned his head and stared intently at his flagship's commander.
"Sir, with all due respect to regulations and discipline, this Jedi is an idiot," Pellaeon sighed, bracing for disciplinary action. But he simply didn't have the strength to read angry reports from the Imperial agent group on New Cov anymore. They had been sitting there for so long, preparing everything for a nice 'rescue'... If only Himron would return from his mission soon. In his absence, the duty of working with the Imperial agents to issue orders and receive mission reports fell to the Chimaera's commander.
"Any longer, and our agents will come to him themselves and ask him to liberate Irenez."
"So what's stopping us?" Thrawn calmly inquired.
"Er... Sir?" Pellaeon was taken aback. "This is a covert operation..."
"Then we must also hint to our confused Jedi just as covertly," said the Grand Admiral. "So that he doesn't suspect a trap."
"I could have figured that out myself," Pellaeon mentally snapped at himself.
"As soon as the groups return to Tangrene, they get one day of rest, after which they begin new assignments," said Thrawn.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon responded. "And what do you intend to do with C'baoth?"
Thrawn seemed surprised by his question.
"He is where he should be. Doing what he should be doing at the moment."
"Wouldn't it be simpler to drop a bomb on their palace and stop worrying about it?" Pellaeon suggested.
"Unfortunately, unlike Master C'baoth, Corran Horn is still needed alive," Thrawn answered laconically.
"But didn't the clone Jedi call himself Master?" Pellaeon frowned. Very strange maneuvers were happening around this family... The only reasonable explanation for why Corran Horn was still alive was the extraction of new information from his wife. Which literally poured out of her as soon as the prison asteroids were uncloaked and she was allowed to see her father. And shown footage involving her husband... Probably the psychological profile compiled on the lady indicated that she would only cooperate if both men dear to her heart were kept alive.
"Has Captain Irv reached his ship's base of operations?"
"Yes, sir. The message came ten minutes ago. He will be at the reconnaissance point at the designated time."
"Have fresh reports from Sluis Van come in?"
"Hmm..." Pellaeon searched for the file on his datapad, which he hadn't been separated from lately. "Currently, there are seventy-four starships undergoing loading and unloading there, mostly escort-class or light cruisers. Agent Bravo-2 reports that theft of weapons from Imperial-design ships is rampant at the station, presumably for resale on the black market. There is no reliable information on this — the agent does not have a sufficient level of loyalty within the gang."
"I see," said Thrawn, narrowing his eyes. "Contact Captain Hoffner — we need to know the assortment of these goods and the possibility of acquiring them. Are the frequencies he gave us still silent?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon replied. "It seems Garm Bel Iblis is in no hurry to contact an unreliable seller."
"Which only increases the urgency of the operation on New Cov," the Grand Admiral narrowed his eyes. "Has Commander Dobramu's squad returned to the Chasin system?"
"Yes, sir," said the Chimaera's commander. Anticipating the obvious question, he added: "Captain Tyberos has gone on further freelance hunting."
"And didn't even mention payment?" The Grand Admiral stared unwaveringly through the viewport at the looming station. Oh, Pellaeon didn't like this behavior from the commander... As if he had already decided something, but wasn't going to share his thoughts. And then, as with this Dragon and the Sunburn project, it would turn out...
Pellaeon shuddered: "Yes, sir."
Thrawn tore himself away from contemplating the station hanging outside: "Something troubling you, Captain?"
And again — a statement of fact.
"I don't like the trend of decreasing numbers of capital ships among the disarmed transports," Pellaeon said.
"That's not up to us," the admiral said dryly. "Especially since we already have a large number of Star Destroyer-type ships, for which we'll need to form crews for a long time to come."
"Unless Mister Zion's modernization project pans out," Gilad noted.
"Even so, it will take time to implement," said Thrawn. "Not to mention the costs of purchasing additional weapons."
"The Imperious will deliver substantial funds," Pellaeon reminded.
"But even they have a way of running out," the Grand Admiral countered.
"Yes, sir, but..."
"Do you have another question, Captain?"
Pellaeon gathered all his courage: "With all due respect, Grand Admiral, I don't think our forces are sufficient to achieve success at Sluis Van. Currently there are more than two dozen Mon Calamari star cruisers there, not to mention light forces and defense stations..."
Thrawn's gaze instantly turned warningly threatening: "We are sufficiently armed, Captain," he said. "Sluis Van will be attacked when we are ready. The Sluissi have no drive for operational efficiency. They perform their work thoroughly, but slowly. The presence of humans and other races in the shipyards and unloading sections does not speed things up — the Sluissi still control everything."
"If that's the case, then why is the theft of Imperial weaponry thriving?" Pellaeon couldn't help but ask. "Turbolasers, lasers, ion cannons, missile launchers... According to Borsk Fey'lya's order, all Imperial starships were armed and sent to convoy and escort transport caravans. Logically, starship commanders should have reported that they were short of weapons."
"Unless bound by command orders — then certainly not," agreed Thrawn. "Or perhaps their reports are not passing 'upward' at some level, blocked by New Republic military bureaucracy. What conclusion can be drawn from that, Captain?"
"I don't know, sir. Honestly, I don't know."
"The escort composed of Imperial ships is not equipped with standard armament," Thrawn's eyes lit up. "For now, this is a hypothesis, but after the mission at the Hast shipyards, we will definitely check it."
"Yes, sir." Gilad decided he'd had enough argument with command for today. He quickly glanced at the datapad screen. "Sir. There is a report from Lieutenant Colonel Astarion. The Jensaarai woman who is currently working with ISB personnel and identifying threats is reminding you once again that you promised to deliver her to her home planet."
"Upon returning to base after completing the current mission, we will settle this matter," said Thrawn. "Immediately after we conduct one more inspection."
Chief Engineer Reyes approached them.
"They are ready, sir," he said, lowering his gaze. "My apologies for the long wait — there were malfunctions in the flow regulation system."
"Is the system functioning optimally now?" Thrawn inquired.
"Yes, sir," nodded the owner of the fiery eye implant...
"In that case — begin the demonstration," Thrawn ordered.
Pellaeon didn't miss the fact that Reyes squeezed his eyes shut before re-engaging his comlink. Apparently he wasn't so confident in his work. It was one thing to use just one or two cloaking screens to hide small asteroids or ships. But quite another for a behemoth like a Golan II-type orbital defense battle station.
"Begin the test," said Reyes. "Timers are started, time interval — five minutes. Signals on all frequencies at five-second intervals. Using all communication means. Activate cloaking field."
The enormous space station on the other side of the main viewport on the Chimaera's bridge...
...vanished.
As if it had never existed ten kilometers from the Star Destroyer.
"Begin continuous scanning," Pellaeon ordered, mindful of the Chimaera's role in this test.
Thrawn leaned forward, literally devouring with his eyes the region of space where the station had been. Only now there was just the solid blackness of space, dotted with myriad stars. And the edge of Tangrene's glowing disk protruding from the left.
A minute of tense silence passed. Every member of the bridge watch literally feared to breathe, lest they break the illusion...
This was the first time Reyes's technicians had demonstrated the cloaking field's operation to fleet representatives. Until now, only the yard workers themselves and crew members of ships in orbit had enjoyed such sights. And even then, only during those rare moments when a full scan was conducted in the star system to detect hidden scout ships. Thanks to the crystalline lattice in the shipyards, this was possible... Actually, that's how the local technicians and counterintelligence officers 'found' the hidden prison asteroids. On which they conducted experiments on the duration of cloaking field operation. Unfortunately, despite having schematics, blueprints, and an understanding of the principle of operation, the technology was still largely imperfect. And random equipment failures kept happening on their own. Thrawn demanded flawless operation of the cloaking systems from the engineers for many days and months. So far, at best a tenth of all assembled units managed this. None of the engineers could figure out why equipment built to the same specifications behaved this way. So they had to run parallel tests. And not stop work on other projects.
"No signals, sir," Pellaeon relayed the report from the officer in charge of sensor systems. "We also detect nothing ahead of us."
Thrawn turned his head toward the tactical display, studied it for several agonizing minutes, and finally, with a smile of slight triumph, swiveled his chair to face the Chimaera's commander and the chief engineer:
"Excellent work, Mr. Reyes," he said.
"As I said, the system works," he said with obvious relief. "We'll continue the tests to determine the maximum operating duration of the station's cloaking field."
"And also use the freed-up personnel to continue the camouflage work on the orbital repair yard," the Chiss ordered. The engineer nodded in agreement.
Thrawn turned his face to Pellaeon.
"The tests are complete, Captain. Inform the fleet that all work will be finished within thirty minutes, after which we'll form up in 'Beta' formation and proceed to the reconnaissance point."
"Yes, sir," said Pellaeon, relaxing his muscles. "Is the Hast operation officially beginning?"
The smile on the Grand Admiral's face remained the same — barely noticeable and slightly crooked. But if one ignored it, the Chiss's face was stern. And in his probing eyes, ice seemed to have frozen. If that even aligned with a Chiss's appearance…
"Correct, Captain," said Thrawn, and a grim satisfaction sounded in his voice. "Soon the New Republic will have one less repair-and-construction base and an entire fleet."
* * *
The planet Rathalay was located in the eponymous star system of the Mid Rim. The Taldot star sector, in whose depths gravity held this planet, occupied several quadrants on the tactical map, its boundaries stretching within several of them. But the target planet, known for its beautiful private beaches and Rathalay fire gems, was located directly in Quadrant R-9.
And here lay the objective of Major Grodin Tierce. And of the several stormtrooper squads he had brought with him on the mission.
Grand Admiral Octavian Grant, the only one of all thirteen commanders ever to receive such a high rank from Palpatine himself, who had defected to the New Republic. And who had placed at the disposal of his new masters a vast amount of secret information, including the locations of secret bases and depots of the Galactic Imperial fleet. This had allowed the enemy to acquire valuable assets and inflict extremely sensitive blows on the Imperial Remnants.
A traitor who deserved his fate. And he would be called to imperial justice.
Major Grodin Tierce and his subordinates had observed for quite some time everything happening at the villa that the New Republic authorities had chosen for the former Grand Admiral as his residence. They had learned everything necessary for the mission to succeed — including the departure of Republic agent Jan Ors, who monitored compliance with the terms of the traitor Octavian Grant's stay on the planet. The Imperial Guardsman did not interfere — what had happened only reduced the problems in carrying out the operation.
What worried Tierce much more was the fortress of the Luminii pirates in orbit. A very large group, armed with plenty of Imperial equipment, albeit largely outdated, but still combat-capable and dangerous to enemies. Not to mention the interdictor cruiser Immobilizer 418 at the pirates' disposal. A very valuable ship and relatively rare even in the best years of the Galactic Empire. For Thrawn, capturing this vessel and transferring it to the ownership of his loyal forces would be a wonderful boon.
Unfortunately, the Imperial Guardsman did not have sufficient forces to capture such a ship. He had been sent on the mission against the traitor, and two squads of stormtroopers as the main strike force — that was all he had at his disposal at the moment. Eighteen men, trained soldiers and killers by nature, not counting himself. That was far too few to storm a base of heavily armed pirates. But it was quite enough for gathering information.
And Grodin had accomplished the task he had set for himself. Everything the stormtroopers could do without risk of detection, they had done. The information that could be useful to the Grand Admiral had been gathered. And it would be delivered.
And now, another task needed to be carried out.
"De-energize the perimeter," he said into the comlink. The order spread through the tactical comm channel to every single fighter without exception. And those of them who had the corresponding task began its execution.
The traitor's villa was located on the shore of a beautiful beach. A lovely structure, resting on stilts, rising above the surf line. More than a dozen living rooms, panoramic transparisteel walls, its own landing pad, idle most of the time…
And surveillance systems positioned on the landward borders of the property. Which were now being bypassed… And the only detection and early warning system would no longer be a problem. However, one should not forget about the dozen guards hired by the traitor himself. Typical mercenaries, too lazy to do their job the way it should be done. They just stood on the terrace surrounding the villa, watching with undisguised laziness as nothing happened around them. They only changed their habits when Octavian Grant himself came into their field of view.
Astounding carelessness? Yes, if you know that this dark-skinned, lean man was a former Imperial Grand Admiral, not a middling businessman who had invested his entire fortune in buying this villa and was enjoying retirement. The latter was precisely the cover for the Grand Admiral's true identity. And as Grodin and his men had already verified, the locals did not even suspect who they were vacationing next to.
Well, so much the better. Since the New Republic was betting that the traitor's main protection was the secrecy of his identity and location, they had miscalculated badly. Grodin did not know exactly where Thrawn had obtained reliable information about the traitor's location, but that didn't matter now. Soon all this would be put to an end.
"Perimeter secure," a voice came over the earpiece.
The major had no doubt about the truth of those words. A stormtrooper cannot disobey an order — if he has been properly conditioned. It had taken him a considerable amount of time to understand how strong the conditioning was in the Stormtrooper Corps, let alone the Imperial Guard.
Between the forest thicket, in the shade of whose palms he was hiding with the main squad, and the villa lay a visible stretch of beach — two hundred meters of open space. One could, of course, try to attack from the sea, but firstly, there were booms there to keep swimmers among the vacationers from encountering marine wildlife, and secondly — a laser control system installed by the New Republic around the residence. And that definitely could not be bypassed. The only suitable place was an attack from the air, because the jungle was also packed with clever electronics.
Actually, that was why Grodin had ordered the attack over land. The constantly empty landing pad was nothing more than an obvious decoy. Even the Republic agent monitoring Octavian Grant arrived on a speeder along the beach. Living in the adjacent residence, she could monitor practically everything that happened on the traitor's villa grounds. But she was not there now. She had left, and another agent had arrived in her place. Young and clearly inexperienced. Well, he would not have a chance to grow hardened — he would be eliminated by the second group.
In the very near future.
"We begin," ordered Grodin, upon hearing confirmation that the neighboring villa, where the now-dead Republic agent was located, had caught fire. As expected, the guards poured out to watch the spectacle unfolding before them.
During his service as an Imperial Guardsman, he had carried out a considerable number of very different missions. Including ones similar to this.
For him and his men, making a short forced march was not difficult. At the same time, he noted with dissatisfaction that he had outrun the stormtroopers by a good thirty meters. There it was — the difference between the training of an Imperial Guardsman and a simple stormtrooper. Even if he was a scout from the 501st Legion.
Reaching the stilts rising above the beach and sea surface, the squad and Tierce easily climbed up the cylindrical guides to the villa's foundation. They had studied it thoroughly over the past period — both by observing the structure and by obtaining plans of similar residences. Those were publicly available on the HoloNet site of the construction company that built such dwellings. Astonishing carelessness.
Besides several stairways leading from the beach to the villa's terrace, one could also reach the main level through a network of service hatches. Which, in fact, the operatives used.
Slipping into the service floor, where all the villa's utilities were concentrated, Grodin listened. No, not the slightest sign of alarm. As soon as nine fighters were beside him, he gave the corresponding commands with gestures.
The operation was moving into its proper phase. They had to hurry — according to the latest updated data, General Han Solo was within a day's travel of this world, intending to obtain additional information from the traitor. Interesting…
Oddly enough, on such missions of clandestine infiltration and elimination of undesirables, the greatest popularity among Imperial Intelligence and its agents was enjoyed by slugthrowers. Firearms could always be fitted with flash and sound suppressors, while on the most modern blaster rifles for covert kills, like the "Night Sting," the sound of the shot was always audible.
Therefore Grodin, armed with two pistols with suppressors already screwed onto the barrels, moved through the corridors. The stormtroopers, dispersing across the entire base area, did not possess the skills for proper covert elimination, so they too were armed with slugthrower rifles, albeit also with the necessary equipment to suppress revealing factors.
"Landing pad cleared," one of the stormtroopers reported over the comm channel. "Three targets eliminated."
That left only seven.
And the maid. The only maid, about whose behavior and appearance there had been big questions two days ago.
Right then, that very person jumped out from the kitchen onto his path — a middle-aged woman with the mannerisms of a stalking cat. She was no maid. Now it was no longer a guess — it was an axiom.
A brief struggle ensued. The woman in the maid's uniform turned out to be quite agile, and the blades hidden under her clothing managed to scrape across Grodin's cuirass several times. But to compete with an Imperial Guardsman in hand-to-hand combat… No, that was not even a joke.
Twisting her arm, he pressed the woman to the floor while simultaneously covering her mouth with his hand. He held her in such a way that she could neither twist free nor strike him. After struggling in his grip, the lady finally understood that too.
"Where is Grant?" he asked quietly, to confirm his assumptions. The woman did not answer. He broke her finger. She screamed, but the fabric of his gloves, pressed tightly against her mouth, did not let the sound through. "Answer truthfully, it's in your interest. Should I repeat the question?"
The woman shook her head negatively. Instead, she indicated with her eyes a locked door at the far end of the corridor. There, where the traitor's study was located, according to the plan and observations. The only part of the transparent, aquarium-like house that had normal opaque walls. And soundproofing.
Grodin did not bother to answer. He simply snapped her neck.
Carefully laying the corpse on the floor, he listened to the reports from his fighters. The neighboring villa was already burning properly, and the guards… They would not be telling anything anymore.
Approaching the door, he carefully examined the lock. Simple, electronic. No alarm. The traitor felt far too comfortable.
It took Grodin a minute to bypass the electronics. A quiet, barely audible click of the lock informed him of success. Opening the door silently, he looked inside.
A small room. A desk. A shelf with data crystals. The traitor, sitting in a chair sideways to the entrance. He was relaxed and focused at the same time. A working holographic projector, above which glowed a volumetric image of a very distinctive and widely known character…
"It's not my problem, Councilor, that the trap on Xa Fel didn't work," Octavian Grant said in a calm tone. "I offered you my personal involvement in what's happening. You refused. The consequences are on your conscience."
"It's not yet time," Borsk Fey'lya snorted. "You are a valuable asset, Grand Admiral. Once everything is implemented, you will take your proper place in the New Republic's armed forces."
"You still haven't identified the Grand Admiral who is acting against you," noted Octavian Grant.
"That's not so important compared to my plans," said the councilor.
"You're wrong," declared the traitor. "Each of my colleagues had their own favored tactics."
"And they are all dead," noted Fey'lya.
"According to your words," countered the traitor. "I see something quite different."
"And you are ready to provide a name?" the Bothan leaned forward.
"And are you ready to grant me the position of Supreme Commander of the New Republic?" the traitor smiled.
Grand Admiral Octavian Grant.
"Be careful, Grand Admiral," the Bothan said, lowering his voice. "You are trying to fight on my turf."
"I'm not trying, I'm doing," the traitor stated calmly. "The effectiveness of the strategies I've developed for you is near zero — as is the diligence of your commanders, appointed for political reasons. I predicted that Cracken and Leia Organa Solo's party would conduct a campaign to extract information about the Imperial task force. You dismissed it as empty nonsense. And now you claim that both the information broker and all the negotiators have disappeared. What is that, if not your shortsightedness?"
"And using Imperial cannons from under-armed former Imperial ships to restore the Lusankya — is that far-sighted?" Fey'lya shot back.
"It's logical," the traitor continued in the same condescending tone. Grodin, who had intended to attack immediately, decided to wait. Very interesting events were unfolding. "You need a trump card — an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer is suitable for that purpose. In convoys, the reduction in combat capability of one or two ships is not so noticeable, given the presence of other, fully armed line-class ships. I've already sent you an analytical memo regarding the actions of my presumed colleague — he builds his tactics on striking a previously weaker enemy with superior forces. That only indicates that he does not have qualified personnel, as evidenced by the large number of fighters and interceptors destroyed at Rugos, not to mention the use of TIE bombers in line combat. He also does not have a large fleet, meaning he is an independent commander, deprived of support from the Imperial Remnants. Consequently, he will not engage large convoys — he values too much what he already has. But he is building up his forces — that's why he uses boarding tactics. He has repair capabilities — otherwise after each battle his fleet would stay out of sight for a considerable time. The strike on Xa Fel indicates that he either intends to sell the hyperdrives on the black market, which is fairly easy to verify, or intends to install them on his own ships. I advise monitoring Imperial shipyards — somewhere, his ships will surface. If not, it means he has shipyards directly at his base. Find his base and crush his rear areas — and he will have to come out of the shadows."
"And in your opinion, we're just sitting around doing nothing?" the Bothan asked haughtily. "I've already initiated dozens of decoy convoys to make him take the bait in pursuit of Imperial warships — but not a single one worked."
"I've already spoken about that too, Councilor," the former Grand Admiral said wearily. "Someone is passing him all the necessary information. That's why he avoids traps. Strengthen security measures, or you will continue to be in the position of the one playing catch-up."
"I told Mon Mothma that the Lusankya would be ready in three months," the Bothan said meaningfully.
"We both know that's not true," the traitor smiled. "Arming her, let's say, you can manage. But the crew still needs to be trained. You keep her location secret and take too long to ensure that only those loyal to you in one way or another serve on that ship. That is bad policy. Your position in the armed forces at the moment is unstable. As long as Admiral Ackbar is not convicted, his subordinates will look to him. And you can't remove him now — there's no evidence. I advised you not to rush with such initiatives — the enemy is only gaining strength. The defeat at Xa Fel and the disappearance of a Star Destroyer carrying enormous funds — all this could have been a weight on his legs, but now it hangs on yours."
"Don't point out temporary difficulties to me, Grand Admiral," the Bothan snorted. Even on the hologram, his fur could be seen bristling. "I will deal with Ackbar on my own. I have cards to play against him. Better focus on developing a strategy to counter your colleague…"
"Very well," said Octavian. "But first you will provide me with information on how and where all the Grand Admirals appointed by Palpatine were eliminated. I will verify this information, after which I will give my recommendations. At the moment, I can only state that whoever the commander of the Imperial task force is, he is not using any of the tactics known to me from the other Grand Admirals. For now, I am inclined to think this is a self-proclaimed commander who has gathered supporters. He has little brains and tactical initiative, which is why he does not capture territory, understanding that it would have to be defended. A direct confrontation with you is disadvantageous and dangerous for him, so he strikes where you are weakest. And he sets ambushes — with the help of an information source on Coruscant."
"The information on the Grand Admirals is classified," stated Borsk Fey'lya. "The Chairwoman of the Provisional Council has blocked access to it. I cannot provide it to you — I don't even know how many of them we killed ourselves and how many died in infighting. We've already discussed this."
"Then remove her, Borsk," advised Octavian Grant. "If I am right, and one of the Grand Admirals actually faked his death and survived, then it is only a matter of time before you are defeated. Believe me, among us there was only one idiot — and I know for certain that Ishin Il-Raz, along with his ship, dove into a star, distraught over Palpatine's death. The rest are extraordinary individuals in tactics and strategy. Just imagine for a moment that one of my colleagues escaped and is now operating under a different guise. And I am wrong, and everything happening is part of a grand plan that will lead to the defeat of the New Republic. Then, take my word for it, our arrangement that I develop military plans for you will not work. You will be crushed."
"It is in your own interest, Grand Admiral, to act effectively," Borsk Fey'lya said with a threatening tone. "If the Imperials win, I don't need to tell you what they will do to a traitor like you. Rumors that you are playing on the Imperial side, as the only surviving Grand Admiral, are already circulating in the highest circles of the New Republic, and only thanks to me are they not gaining traction."
"If I wanted to defect to the Empire, I would have done it long ago," the traitor chuckled. "But I don't do it because I know that on Orinda or in any other worlds of the Empire, I would only meet death at the hands of my former comrades. The same awaits you, if the tactical plans I develop are executed by idiots. Focus on the repair of the Lusankya. Present it as your flagship — then the Imperial commander will be cautious about acting so brazenly. His blows are nothing more than bites and do not harm you now. But they have a tendency to increase. If his strategy is to inflict small harm on you, but in large quantities, then he is on the right path. One day quantity will turn into quality. The Sluissi, according to you, are already dissatisfied with what's happening. Your manipulations with weapons from the depots will soon irritate them further, and they will appeal directly to Mon Mothma. Then expect the most unfavorable consequences."
"Don't lecture me on the ABCs of political games, Grand Admiral," the Bothan said with undisguised threat. Grodin only smiled. So not everything was going well for this councilor, as he thought. Without Grant, all his pathetic attempts to stop Thrawn were nothing more than a ridiculous confrontation between a child and an adult. Which meant… this conversation was very informative. And the task set before him would have to be adjusted. "Focus on your own business and don't interfere with mine."
"Then you focus on yours, Fey'lya," Octavian Grant said with similar intonation. "I have no intention of wasting time sitting in my villa waiting for your colossus on fragile legs to be toppled. I have a vested interest in the crisis being successfully resolved. Stop holding me back — or I will change allies. General Solo will be with me in a day. In that time, you either obtain information for me about my colleagues, or I wash my hands of this. I will not stay on a knowingly losing side. It will be easier for me to speak with Mon Mothma herself and take your place to solve the Imperial problem than to continue acting from the shadows."
"She has already rejected your offer to come out of retirement," Fey'lya smirked. "Accept it, Grand Admiral — you are not needed by anyone except me."
"I need you just as much as you need me, Councilor, don't forget that," advised Octavian Grant, leaning forward. "Twenty-four hours. Exactly twenty-four hours. After that, our agreements will no longer be valid. And even your maid-agent will not stop me. I warned you — give me the information, or I will join Solo and Mon Mothma."
With those words, the traitor turned off the communications device. Judging by how the lights on the device went out, the former Grand Admiral had completely powered it down.
"Filthy non-human," the traitor cursed, massaging his neck. "No brains, no talent, and still trying to argue. Not the time for games, there's a war on…"
Tierce, no longer hiding, stepped into the study.
"Fully agree with you, Grand Admiral," he said, knocking the traitor unconscious with a blow from his pistol grip.
"Two of you, to me," he ordered his fighters. "The rest — search the house, collect all the traitor's personal belongings, all data storage devices. Prepare for evacuation. Mine the villa using method forty-two."
"Understood, Commander," came the squad leader's reply in the earpiece.
Pulling the binders from his belt pouch, the Imperial Guardsman began to secure his trophy. What he'd heard was something Thrawn would definitely want to know.
* * *
"Are you certain, General?" I asked, looking at Freja Covell's hologram.
The commandant of Mount Tantiss nodded affirmatively.
"We've cross-checked his matrix several times. If there are any hidden orders or erased memories, we'll never find them now," he replied. "Grodin Tierce is clean. His memory shows no trace of betrayal or orders from any outside source."
So paranoia is just paranoia? Am I trying to outsmart myself? Maybe. But the golden rule of this affliction that haunts every deep-cover agent states: "Even if you're paranoid, it doesn't mean nobody's watching you."
"Is the fresh batch of clones ready?" I asked.
"Yes, sir," he replied. "Elite pilots and other specialists — twenty thousand personnel. Medical examinations are complete, and they're being prepared for transport to Tangrene."
So, the sixth batch of clones is ready. In the eighty-nine days since cloning operations began, up until recent events, only sixteen thousand cloning cylinders had been operational. The rest were considered damaged and decommissioned. But Colonel Selid had done the impossible — he'd restored every damaged cylinder. And oddly enough, they performed just as well as the undamaged ones. Quality Imperial maintenance, not like those Mon Calamari...
Now I can reliably receive twenty thousand clones every fourteen days using Spaarti technology. Despite everything, I'm still frankly wary of using the GeNod program. Even with the General's assurances that the stormtrooper template — Major Tierce — is completely loyal to me and my cause, not some planted agent. I need a geneticist to work through that program, to sort out all the details. Well, since my agents are currently recalled, I'll task Molo Himron with finding a suitable freelance geneticist after I return from Hast.
"Is the seventh batch of clones already five days into incubation?" I asked. That's how the process works — clones are created, sent for training to reinforce the data they've been infused with, and the cloning center's autoclaves are already loaded with the next batch.
"Yes, sir," he said. "The first batch of clones intended for crew complement. Twenty thousand sentients."
Which means that by the twenty-fourth day of the current month, I'll have more than half the personnel needed to crew a single Star Destroyer. I currently have three empty Imperial II-class ships on Tangrene, plus another Imperial I-class en route to base. Not to mention prizes like the Katana Fleet... And each Star Destroyer needs a full legion of stormtroopers on board — by standard complement per vessel... Yes, I wanted to move on to cloning scouts and counter-intelligence operatives, but unfortunately, I'll have to wait until the eighth batch, when nearly three thousand out of twenty thousand clones will be suitable operatives and agents. Otherwise, we simply can't handle vetting our "volunteers."
The crew complement for Imperial I-class and Imperial II-class Star Destroyers is fixed: thirty-seven thousand eighty-five personnel. The first requires just two hundred twenty-five crew for the primary gunners, while the Chimaera's sister ships need three hundred thirty. The latter has a minimum crew of only five thousand, while the former needs six hundred more.
Moff Ferrus scraped together the maximum possible number of volunteers for the Triumphal Arch project, plus "requisitioned" experienced officers from other Tangrene Defense Fleet ships. But this can't continue indefinitely. Simple math tells me that with three months of continuous cloning, I'll only be able to fully crew two ships and sixty percent of a third. Given the number of starships I have... This is going to take a long time. A very, very long time. So long that I definitely won't manage on my own.
But taking risks by shortening the clone production cycle is definitely not worth it. Frankly, that's a terrible idea.
I'll have to mix crews — clones and volunteers. Maybe even partially reassign sailors and officers from other ships...
"What about my special assignment, General?" I asked.
"Proceeding normally, sir," he replied. "Same as the thorough search of the vaults and labyrinth. If what you're looking for is here, we'll find it."
"I have no doubt," I said. "If you get additional information, report immediately."
"Yes, sir." The hologram dissolved, leaving me in the semidarkness of my own quarters.
So, right now, the Katana Fleet alone needs more than three hundred sixty thousand crew members. Another hundred fifty thousand or so are needed immediately to crew the Star Destroyers and other ships already under my command. And I'm expecting even more prizes...
I urgently need a million fleet specialists. A lot?
Better to have it and not need it... Especially since the previous six clone generations have either been assigned to captured ships, posted as technical specialists at shipyards and factories, or are undergoing training to crew our rapidly growing small craft fleet... One way or another, from the entire Katana Fleet, I'll only be able to crew about three dozen heavy cruisers in the near future — the ones that will finish repairs by the end of this month, with their crew training complete. The remaining ships will have to make do with skeleton crews while more clones are produced or volunteers are recruited in large numbers.
But where am I supposed to find them? No Imperial Remnant will actively help me in this. I don't trust Krennel or Baron D'Asta an inch. Carida is no help either — they've already shown their displeasure by silently ignoring my cooperation proposal... I can't start a draft — I'd have to reveal my identity, and dragging out personnel replenishment through the system Moff Ferrus designed takes too long...
I urgently need a practically pro-Imperial planet, teeming with sentients eager to join my fleet... A planet I need to save from an imminent threat very soon, so that the grateful survivors will follow me to the end and not care about other Imperials looking at them sideways...
Hm... Hm... Hm... I miscalculated here, pushing the plan against Krennel to "later." I'll have to speed things up a bit right after Hast. But that guarantees I'll lose more ships needed for the Ciutric campaign. Consequently, there will be heavy casualties. And with the Lusankya looming on the horizon...
Otherwise, I risk having a fleet with no one to command it.
That's simply unreasonable and frankly stupid.
But how to speed things up without leading to...
Oh, for... Why did I stop looking through my very first notes? This solves the lion's share of the problems. Though it adds new ones.
Well, I still have a full standard week to think everything through and weigh the odds. And I should adjust the orders for the Imperial agents...