Nine years, six months, and sixteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, six months, and sixteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
The moment the acting head of the New Republic finished speaking, Han Solo felt the shuttle's deck disappear from under his feet...
"What did you say?" he whispered, mentally thanking the ship's designer for the chair placed a meter from the holo-projector — the very chair the New Republic general collapsed into like a scythed blade of grass. "Leia... Chewbacca... Lando... they're gone?"
"We're sure they're fine," Mon Mothma said hastily, but Han had stopped listening. The blood was pounding in his temples so hard it drowned out every sound around him...
His wife and his two closest friends had gone on some harebrained journey he'd disliked from the start, and now they were missing... Not just missing, but most likely captured by the Imperials!?
"Most likely the Allegiance was heavily damaged in battle and is making its way to our base..." Mon Mothma continued. But her words offered no comfort. On the contrary, Han felt an inhuman fury begin to spread through him.
Lifting his head, he looked straight into the hologram's eyes:
"You can spin that story to your constituency all you want, Mothma," he said, barely containing his anger, "but I know a thing or two about ships... And I know where our bases are in that region of the galaxy. So does Lando. And General Cracken definitely does. Don't treat me like an idiot! If their comm systems had failed, Chewie or Leia would've contacted me through the Falcon's communication systems!"
Judging by the way the head of the Provisional Council just blinked, unsure what to say, she clearly hadn't expected Solo to react like this. Or she didn't know his wife had flown off in his ship.
"General," she said more calmly, "we believe they're fine..."
"And what's that belief based on, Mon?" Han clenched his fists. His teeth ground together so hard he could feel bits of enamel on his tongue. "Do you have a direct line to the Empire that told you everything's fine?! Or do you have some kind of proof?" He narrowed his eyes. "Something substantial to back up that confidence?"
"Han, listen, we believe..." the red-haired head of the Provisional Council stammered.
"Oh, you believe," Solo sneered. "That makes me feel so much better! So much better!"
"I understand how you feel..."
"Stop feeding me that vacuum!" he roared. "You've never been in my shoes and you'll never understand how I feel! I flew to that Hutt-forsaken planet to talk to your nerf in an auredium cage and found nothing but your agents' burnt-out villa and carefully laid traps at Grant's compound! His residence blew up the moment I landed my ship! Two! Do you hear me! Two days I spent sorting out what happened there! Two days I was reporting directly to you, and you were telling me Leia was in negotiations with Karrde! You were feeding me bantha poodoo for two days, keeping me busy investigating explosions and fires instead of letting me rush to the Milagro system and start my own investigation! Do you even realize how impossible it is to find her now!? Standard Imperial hyperdrives are class two! In forty-eight hours, any Imperial starship could've crossed a quarter of the galaxy! Leia, and my children with her, could be in Imperial custody right now! Do you have any idea what they'll do to her?!"
"As well as anyone," Mon Mothma said firmly.
"Sorry if I don't believe you!" Han snapped, jumping to his feet and pacing the compartment. "I don't doubt for a second that on your say-so, that inflated walking carpet pulled me out of leave and ordered me back to Naboo! You did it on purpose, to stop me from searching for my wife and friends!?"
"Han, listen! This isn't the time to..."
"Not the time?" Solo sneered. "Am I hearing that from you, Mon? Weren't you the one who told Leia it wasn't time for her to learn the Jedi arts? Weren't you the one who said before the Battle of Endor that Palpatine had made a mistake? When it turned out to be a trap we'd all have died in if not for Luke?! Wasn't it your sweet talk that nearly got us killed on that forest moon surrounded by man-eating bears?! Weren't you the one who doubted my words about some Imperial Grand Admiral working against us?! Yes, you! And now I'm supposed to take your word for it?"
"Han, all of Republic Intelligence is searching for them..."
"Intelligence?" Solo laughed bitterly. "The same one that hasn't been able to find the Imperial fleet for two months, whose commander bleeds us at every opportunity?! The same one that authorized the operation at Rugosa, where we lost an entire fleet and countless supporters, resulting in a significant number of smugglers flat-out refusing to work with us?! The same intelligence that claimed Karrde was clean and well-disposed, but in the end he first slips out of the Imperial trap at Rugosa, then sets up a meeting with Leia and General Cracken in the Milagro system where they disappear, while he — I'll bet my ship — is alive and well, holed up in his den again?! That intelligence?"
Mon Mothma pursed her lips, unable to find a reply to the justified accusation.
"Han, I'm asking you to listen to reason," her tone shifted from formal and businesslike to pleading, almost ingratiating. "This isn't the time to do things we'll all regret later..."
Something inside the Corellian snapped. Like a taut string that couldn't withstand the increased tension, he suddenly slumped, hunched over... His hand tore at his collar...
"That's where you're more right than ever, Mon," he said with a bitter smile on his lips, literally ripping off the choking tunic. "I think I will listen to reason..."
* * *
Pulling the blade from the pilot's throat, Captain Steben let the mercenary's body thud to the deck of the ship, which still retained its Mandalorian design.
Exhausted, the scout realized that if he didn't find something to lean on right now, he'd collapse. Flat on his face.
Setting the vibroblade aside, he lowered himself to the deck, barely paying attention to the Consortium mercenary's convulsing body. Blood spurted in pulses from the man's slit throat with a disgusting gurgle. His legs weakly scraped against the corvette's grated deck, his fingers clenching and unclenching as they scratched at the metal in helpless rage against the one who had turned the ship into a graveyard.
Steben sat for several minutes, head in his hands, trying to catch his breath. He barely registered the sounds of the dying man. Not the first, not the last. Not today, not in his whole life...
No matter how casually he treated death, his mind only started thinking clearly after the last enemy went still. Steben lifted his head from his knees and nudged the corvette pilot with his foot to check if he was really dead. A painful kick to the ear with a heavy boot would have left no one indifferent. But the pilot stayed where death had found him. Definitely dead.
Drawing air through his nostrils, Captain Steben grimaced.
Despite the life support system working, the atmosphere inside the ship was saturated with that characteristic metallic smell of blood. Well, no surprise...
The standard crew of a Crusader-class corvette is seventy sentients. That includes gunners, mechanics, technicians, targeting system operators, various specialists, and other personnel vital to the ship's effective operation.
And all of them were now aboard this corvette — with its mouthful of a name. Though Steben, listed in the crew manifest as merely a fighter in the small — just five sentients — inspection and boarding party, had never even tried to pronounce the name.
And now he simply didn't have the strength for it.
He was too tired. How long had he been awake? A day? Two?
Glancing at his wrist chronometer, which had a small window showing the current day of the week, the captain gave a crooked smile.
Well, look at that. Five days gone.
Five days... No wonder he was exhausted.
It had all started when he received orders to infiltrate the Zann Consortium's fighters on the planet Hypori. Doing so wasn't exactly hard, but it wasn't easy either.
The idea of posing as an overseer for Noghri serving the Consortium had to be abandoned almost immediately — there were simply no Noghri on Hypori. At least none in the criminals' service. So he simply passed himself off as a mercenary looking for a better, more lucrative position.
The recruiter on the planet Rishi, where the Consortium had a hiring post for all sorts of scum, hadn't really bought the story, but Steben was hired as a fighter anyway. A simple soldier, whose life expectancy in combat was measured in hours — and that was only if he had any creative improvisation skills and a well-developed sense of danger. Not to mention self-preservation.
On Hypori, a merciless training regimen awaited him, designed to find the limits of his physical capabilities. He'd apparently made the right impression on his new employers, because he was promoted from "cannon fodder" to "quality fodder." That is, assigned to the heavily armed and well-trained (by Consortium standards, at least) boarding troops present on every one of the criminals' starships, regardless of size. It seemed Tyber Zann's Imperial past hadn't let go of him, since he tried to implement the same order on his ships that was standard in the Imperial Navy.
For a while, Steben stayed on board, keeping a low profile, blending into the crew, and gathering as much information as possible. And it flowed from the talkative mercenaries like a river.
From everything he heard, he could draw several conclusions.
First — the men he served with aboard this starship were by no means veterans of the organization, but "soldiers of fortune" just like him. They'd just signed their contracts earlier. That's why they knew a bit more.
Second — they had no idea what was happening in the organization, who was in charge, who gave orders, what their goals were, and so on. Everything the fighters knew, Steben already knew without them: the Consortium had once brought the galaxy's entire criminal underworld to its knees, after which the major galactic powers "united" in their desire to eliminate such a force. And they succeeded. All the Consortium fighters now had were a few planets: Hypori, Saleucami, and Shola. Yes, the news about Shola was a revelation to Steben, but that information wasn't worth the days he'd spent inside the organization.
Fighters weren't allowed on the planet's surface after recruitment; shore leave wasn't provided. Mercenaries could spend their free time aboard their ships or at stations while whatever starship went on supply runs to one criminal world or another.
No real leads. On Hypori, he couldn't locate the assembly line producing the droidekas, though from some mercenaries' accounts, he knew for certain they existed — because he'd seen them on the decks of Consortium starships.
The Noghri on the planet also confirmed information that the droid factory had existed and was functioning. But Steben had no way to verify it himself.
Still, he managed to gather some information — about the number and armament of enemy ships. Both in Hypori's orbit and on the other two worlds belonging to the bandits. However severe the blow that had brought down the Consortium's greatness, they still had a decent fleet: about three dozen capital ships and a hundred smaller vessels.
Then the order came to terminate the mission and break contact with the Noghri... He was stunned, but Steben obeyed.
However, slipping away from a Consortium ship wasn't so easy. Especially when it was en route from Hypori to Saleucami.
So Steben took action.
The way he'd been taught at the Intelligence Academy.
First, he disabled the primary and backup long-range transmitters, removing several small but critical parts, knowing for certain that no spares existed aboard the corvette. Then, before anyone noticed, he did the same to both hyperdrives.
Along the way, he reaped a bloody harvest, killing crew members one by one — anyone who might be able to organize repairs on the ship, now frozen mid-journey with its critical systems nonfunctional. The crew was frantically scrambling through compartments and decks searching for the saboteur. Steben was also searching. But he wisely didn't turn himself in during the investigation. He just methodically reduced the enemy's numbers — starting with his "colleagues" in the boarding party.
And now, after five sleepless days, he was finally finished. Leaving behind sixty-nine corpses, blood-soaked decks, and the oppressive aura of a dead ship of Mandalorian design.
"No," Steben shook his head. "Not Mandalorian anymore."
He hadn't managed to find out where the Zann Consortium built its ships, but he knew there were no shipyards on any of the three planets under their control. So it happened somewhere else.
And he desperately hoped that information was stored in this ship's computer core. Otherwise, what was the point of all this?
Steben, with pain in his side — punctured during one of the hand-to-hand fights — got to his feet. The bacta patch was holding for now, but he needed to get to the medbay.
Right after he finished on the bridge...
The fleet scout reached the navigation panel. He shoved aside the pilot he'd killed with a blade to the heart, positioning him next to the one he'd dispatched by slitting his throat. He sank heavily into the seat, feeling a trickle of blood run down his body — the patch had come loose. He needed a medical droid.
Keying in the well-known coordinates for Tangrene on the navigation panel, Steben activated the hyperdrive. Naturally, the ship didn't go anywhere.
The scout, pressing the patch against his wounded torso, limped toward the aft section. He needed to put the component back in place so the ship could make the jump. Whether the captain survived or not wasn't important now — the main thing was that this corvette would reach the Grand Admiral's base. And Fleet specialists would dig through its contents.
Oh, how it hurt.
A bloody mist rose before his eyes. Steben injected himself with another ampoule of adrenaline — he couldn't pass out, no matter what. The Consortium would definitely be looking for their ship. They had to have been searching for it for two or three days already, since the corvette hadn't arrived at base on time. It would take them a long time to trace the route, but they'd find the ship he'd worked so hard to acquire. It was just a matter of time...
The bloody haze before his eyes receded. By his estimate, he had no more than thirty minutes before he'd simply black out from blood loss. He needed to hurry...
It took him fifteen minutes to reach his hideout on the machine deck, where he retrieved the necessary parts. He made his way to the hyperdrive compartment. Looked at the dead unit, whose operation was being prevented by an active safety interlock.
He reached the mechanism, put it back in place, spitting blood onto the deck as he did. Made it to the shield room. Rebooted the automatic systems.
The Crusader-class corvette tore away from its position, vanishing into hyperspace so abruptly that Captain Steben cracked the back of his head against the deck.
Oh, how hard it was to get up... And how he didn't want to... He'd done his job... He'd acquired the ship and the data... They would reach Tangrene — Steben had deliberately plotted a course along the most remote hyperlanes. That reduced the chance of their prize being intercepted by other forces.
Well, that was it... he'd done what he could... He just needed to lie down, gather his strength, and get to the medical droid. Everything would be fine...
He just needed to lie down, rest, close his eyes... He hadn't slept in five days... He had the right to a quarter-hour of fitful sleep...
Captain Steben closed his eyes, not noticing the pool of blood-red color gathering beneath him...
He lost consciousness almost instantly, so he couldn't hear the metallic clanking of a droid's manipulators across the deck.
* * *
After the hologram of the young Jensaarai finished his report, I looked at Captain Pellaeon sitting beside me. Gilad took off his uniform cap and smoothed his hair. He sighed, looking at me.
"Sir, this is going to be a tough nut to crack," he finally declared. "Six Mon Calamari star cruisers..."
"Well, at least he didn't say it was impossible again," I said somewhat distantly, mentally thanking myself for preferring to use reconnaissance just before attacking enemy positions.
"So, Mister Fodeum Sabre De'Luz," the three-dimensional projection of the young man flinched as if I'd slapped him — "the enemy has increased the number of escort ships at the Hast shipyards."
"By exactly three star cruisers," the would-be Jensaarai confirmed. "And that's as of my last appearance in the system."
"Not a problem," I said as indifferently as possible.
In my mind, I was running through the information I had.
So, the enemy had brought six Mon Calamari-manufactured star cruisers to the Hast shipyards. Our old friends — the MC80s.
Against my seven Imperial-class ships — worthy opponents. But the enemy also had four Golan-class defense platforms — two of the first model, and one each of the second and third. Not to mention the numerous patrol fighters based on the surface.
I wasn't counting the two orbital repair docks of the first type — they posed no threat. Nor were the two Imperial I-class Star Destroyers, seven MC80 Mon Calamari star cruisers, five Nebulon-B escort frigates, or two dozen Corellian CR90 corvettes a factor. All these ships were currently fully repaired in terms of hull integrity and engine systems, but they weren't combat-ready. Their armament was minimal and wouldn't be delivered until the twentieth day of the month. There was also a certain number of transport ships. In fact, I was sure that the last freighters, delivering everything needed to fully arm the starships, were already en route and would arrive soon. Well, we'd take those too. The first question concerned the latest details: would the standard armament actually be provided?
The thing was, the hypothetical opponents for my fleet weren't everything. Literally two days away at Class 1 hyperdrive from the Hast shipyards was the planet Dac. The homeworld of races like the Mon Calamari and the Quarren. Both races were excellent engineers and shipbuilders, as confirmed by the Quarrens' participation in building starships for the Confederacy of Independent Systems during the Clone Wars, and the Mon Calamari... Need I say more? They were building practically the entire capital ship line for the enemy, and that meant something.
Also, Dac was the base of the New Republic's sector fleet. Not as powerful as, say, the Second Fleet, based on the planet Elom, but still — too strong for us. And it was at full strength — several dozen capital ships alone, not to mention the cruisers and other 'smaller' vessels. Messing with them would cost more than it was worth.
Therefore, the operation at Hast couldn't take long: a day, maybe a day and a half, no more. Anything we couldn't take with us, we'd have to destroy, or better yet, critically damage. So that the enemy couldn't just abandon those ships, but restoring them would take a very long time.
An additional 'bonus' from attacking the shipyards was the fact that there were currently twenty GR-75 medium transports in the yards, built by the Gallofree Yards shipbuilding company, which had gone bankrupt almost ten years ago. They were practically unloaded at the moment, having delivered the spare parts needed for the ship repairs to the yards. And by the twentieth day, there would be even more. And, most likely, they would arrive with escort ships.
Well, I had certain 'trump cards' for this operation. The 'Phoenix' a Acclamator II-class assault cruiser, packed to the brim with landing craft and boarding shuttles, which our stormtroopers were itching to use. Or the 'Dragon' a maximally upgraded Venator. Yes, I could have brought plasma drills and droidekas, but the time for their widespread use hadn't come yet — I wasn't ruling out the possibility that some of the enemy might manage to escape, despite having three ships with gravity well generators in my fleet. If that happened, the surprise I was saving for the Sluis Van shipyards might be spoiled. Still, in a limited way, we'd test our technology on Republic ships. Combat field trials...
"Continue the operation, Mister Fodeum Sabre De'Luz," I said, looking at the owner of the 'Dainty Lady'. He and his ship were currently loading provisions on Dac, preparing to make their final run to the Hast shipyards before the military completely took control of them. If Lieutenant Rederick's latest report was correct, we might be able to recruit some of the 'civilian' workers from both shipyards. Well, we'd decide that on-site. "Upon arrival in the Hast system, report the situation immediately — whether there are any changes or not. The fleet will arrive later." I had no intention of specifying exactly when that would be. "And we need to be informed of the latest news. Your girlfriend should stay on Dac..."
"Sir!?" the young man recoiled.
"Provide her with communication equipment," I said. "Captain Pellaeon, transfer enough funds to the captain's account for him to acquire a decent freighter that a single sentient can pilot."
Pellaeon looked at me in surprise.
"As you command, Grand Admiral," he said, understanding that extra questions weren't needed. Especially in front of witnesses.
"Your girlfriend," I addressed the Jensaarai again, "will have a legitimate reason to stay on Dac and continue gathering information. The convoy of armed transports is being formed there?"
"Yes," the man replied. "Ten medium freighters..."
"Convoy escort?"
"I-I don't know," the young man stammered. "I'm leaving before them, due to my duties for unloading and evacuating some personnel, and the escort forces aren't advertised."
"In that case, your girlfriend will find out," I decided. "As soon as she learns of it, she'll inform us and leave Dac. If she keeps her mouth shut, everything will be fine."
"And after that, me and Vex are free?" the guy asked hopefully.
"Yes," I replied. "Unless, of course, you have no desire to continue working together."
"No, thank you," said Fodeum Sabre De'Luz. "Just stop holding my mother hostage, and we'll say our goodbyes."
Of course we'd say goodbye. But after the operation was over, you'd be very surprised to learn that your mother wasn't a hostage at all, but was cooperating with us willingly. And very skillfully identifying enemy spies. Not to mention that my cooperation with the Jensaarai people would continue in the future. Right after Mara Jade completed her mission on Vjun. Captain Schneider had already complained about her, saying the lieutenant had made him drop out of hyperspace early and send out scout droids to study the system and its approaches. Not that the commander of the 'Nemesis' was pleased that I'd sided with the red-haired vixen.
Unfortunately, we couldn't rush things on Vjun. If there was any knowledge about the Force there, it would help tie the Jensaarai firmly to us. If not, we'd at least get everything useful and necessary from the place.
"You'll get what we agreed on, Mister Fodeum Sabre De'Luz," I said calmly. "That's all."
The hologram dissolved, and silence hung in my cabin.
The 'Chimaera' and the fleet, including the 'Colicoid Swarm' that had joined us, were currently in the Pakuuni system, near outpost NL-1. An area of peaceful space that was currently not in high demand. The flow of pirates and simple adventurers willing to serve my cause was gradually dwindling. The pirate fleet, unruly and ugly, was, one way or another, causing chaos along the New Republic's logistical routes. And recently they'd started to consolidate around Captain Tyberos, who would eventually turn into a pirate admiral. Of course, as long as he didn't overstep the bounds of what was permitted, like he did with the pirates on the planet Lok. Well, we'd return to that.
But now, I needed to address several matters.
"Inform the fleet that we're departing," I ordered.
"A jump to Munto Codru?" Pellaeon clarified.
"Exactly, Captain," I confirmed. "That system will be our springboard to the Hast shipyards. Notify our marines to be ready to move out."
The official route to the Hast shipyards went through the Mon Calamari sector — at least, that's the route the Imperials had used in their last attack. Using that route now would be suicide. The New Republic didn't just have a fleet in the sector, but also minesweeper cruisers. If we were caught, we'd undoubtedly be finished. And the operation would be compromised.
So, an alternative route was chosen — instead of the Mon Calamari sector, we'd jump from the Munto Codru system. This would save us one to two days of travel, and instead of arriving on the twentieth, we'd arrive on the eighteenth or nineteenth. Which coincided perfectly with the arrival time of our Jensaarai comrade.
And, if not for the local customs of the Munto Codru natives of abducting children, this planet could have been an excellent vacation spot. While in most of the galaxy kidnapping was considered a crime, here it was just a local custom and a traditional way of doing business and making money. Oh, what wondrous discoveries this galaxy held for me...
It was located exactly halfway between the Pakuuni and Dac systems. Most of the planet's landmass was covered in rocky mountains surrounded by vast forests. A significant area of the world's surface was also hidden beneath oceans. It had a simple but functional spaceport. The planet was famous for its beautiful castles, which was why it had made it onto astrogation charts in the first place.
Honestly, the tourist guides described the local architectural landmarks so vividly that a part of me wanted to go to the planet and admire the castles. They weren't built by the natives, but by representatives of a vanished civilization, which added even more charm and mystery to them.
During the Clone Wars, the planet was in Separatist space, although it avoided becoming a battlefield for space or ground forces.
The Empire and the New Republic had so far paid no attention to this remote system, effectively thrown to the edge of the galaxy. That was precisely why Munto Codru played a role in my plans. Not just as a passage to the Hast shipyards — I wouldn't have sent a unit of stormtroopers with landing craft and necessary equipment to the planet for that reason alone. Kidnapping other people's children and using them for personal gain was pretty despicable from a moral standpoint, but only from a human one. For the natives, it was perfectly normal. And if so, it would also serve as a fallback point for me. I hadn't included its coordinates in that chip I'd given Pellaeon in case of my death for nothing. The original Thrawn hid his secrets and his clone in the underground bunker beneath the Hand of Thrawn fortress on the planet Nirauan. I didn't know the way there yet, so Munto Codru would be an excellent alternative for storing my secrets.
In the depths of the ancient castles, which the locals mostly preferred to avoid, superstitiously believing them to be haunted by ghosts. Well, stormtroopers in snow-white armor looked just like that. And taking control of one of the abandoned castles... Well, that was a trivial matter.
I remembered this planet when I was thinking about Leia Organa Solo's children. There was an episode in the Expanded Universe where they were kidnapped on that world. Not by the locals, though, but by Imperials. But that was a completely different story.
The plan was as simple as all good things. Unfortunately, it couldn't be called ideal yet. I hoped it was only temporary, not permanent.
The marines would operate in two squads.
The first would secretly take control of one castle and set up a base there, where the backup plan would be created. Even without my direct involvement, if it happened that I died, this galaxy would still shudder. Properly.
The second squad, reinforced with heavy equipment, would capture an empty castle in the capital city, where the kidnapped children of the local chieftains would be brought. And they would stay there, protected and perfectly safe, until we returned from the Hast system. After which, I would meet with the locals and secure their loyalty. One way or another.
Well, now to the second part of our preparation for the invasion of the Hast shipyards. All according to the canon of diversionary operations from my homeworld — reconnaissance, followed by a diversion. And even if this trick had been used by me before, in one sector the actual operation and its cover hadn't been conducted. This should confuse my opponents.
"Contact the 'Striker'," I said, referring to the Strike-class medium cruiser based in the Pakuuni system.
"Sir?" Pellaeon's eyebrows shot up. Yes, yes, I could do it myself, even though the ship was in the same star system as us, drifting a couple of hundred kilometers away, near outpost NL-1.
"We need a diversionary maneuver, Captain," I explained. "No matter what forces the New Republic military has in the sector, we have no reason to engage them. So the 'Striker' will conduct a show of force on the planet known as New Alderaan."
"Wouldn't it be better to assign this task to the 'Dominator' and Captain Shohashi?" Pellaeon grumbled.
"If I wanted to destroy the remaining Alderaanians, so conveniently gathered on one planet, I would certainly have done it," my frankness made Pellaeon flinch. "The task facing the 'Striker' is precisely to attract the enemy's attention to New Alderaan. And consequently, to divert it from our active fleet."
It was simpler — I'd have to chew it down to molecules to make it clearer. Which I had no intention of doing. Let him think with his own head; an Imperial commander of his rank had one, not just for eating and wearing a uniform cap.
Located at the other end of the T-6 quadrant from Pakuuni, the planet New Alderaan was the central place of residence for Alderaanians from across the galaxy who had survived the destruction of their homeworld at the hands of Grand Moff Tarkin and the Death Star's superlaser.
It was founded, according to Imperial intelligence data that became the property of Imperial Space after the defeat of Warlord Zsinj, shortly before the Battle of Yavin IV, as a temporary base. Later, the settlement grew and became a home for refugees...
Seven years after that battle, Warlord Zsinj sent his forces there and essentially razed the settlement to the ground — that's how the planet's location, which wasn't widely known outside that world, was revealed. Interesting fact: after Zsinj's defeat, the Imperials didn't raid there. Obviously assuming that no one would be foolish enough to re-establish a settlement there...
There was no point commenting on subsequent events; the fact that a settlement had appeared there anyway was enough. And it was thriving, apparently, given that a criminal organization known as 'Black Sun' had set up a shell company there selling airspeeders. In reality, it was simple fraud that left the locals without money. And the promised vehicles never appeared...
The reason for attacking New Alderaan was simple — the planet was close to the Mon Calamari sector, and therefore, as soon as an Imperial ship appeared and started striking military targets like defensive installations, and TIE fighters began patrolling the skies, shooting up local defense forces, a Republic ship would inevitably show up to drive off, ideally destroy, the enemy. But that took time. So, it needed to be calculated with jeweler's precision.
"Sir," Pellaeon ran a hand over his face. "The Mon Calamari won't send their entire fleet from Dac to defend New Alderaan. The proportionality of the threat from a single medium cruiser..."
"On the contrary, Captain," I said. "You're not considering the factor that the sector fleet command is composed of Mon Calamari. And they are in incredibly friendly relations with both the Alderaanians and their princess, Leia Organa Solo. I've studied their race," and I wasn't even lying. I had paid less attention to the art of the Dac natives than to aspects of their psychology and reports on the actions of commanders from that race during military battles. However, even in the few pieces of Mon Calamari art, I'd found a lot that was interesting. Which raised a question for me: had the original Thrawn actually studied art, or were the creative works of various races for him merely results of their collective unconscious and thought patterns? Because, to my surprise, I was finding parallels between the characteristic actions of Mon Calamari in battle and in art. "Have you ever had the opportunity to watch the ballet 'Squid Lake', Captain?"
"No, sir," Pellaeon said.
"Don't deny yourself that pleasure," I advised. Truly, even apart from analysis, it was a genuinely captivating work of art. In my past life, I hadn't particularly liked going to theaters, citing being busy with work. But here, things had coincided so that culture and war intertwined... "A worthwhile work of art. Which sheds a lot of interesting light on the physiology and mindset of our opponent. Tell me, Captain, have you ever heard that young Mon Calamari, despite being amphibians, can drown underwater?"
"No, sir," the commander of the 'Chimaera' said restrainedly.
"Nevertheless, it's true," I continued. "Like many other races, the young populations of the Mon Calamari are unable to withstand such a harmful influence as panic. It is panic that kills young Mon Calamari in their natural habitat. 'Squid Lake' beautifully demonstrates this innate threat embedded in the unconscious of the entire race. The ballet uses spheres of water, inside which the Dac actors perform the entire action. I compared several holo-recordings, including the one shown at the end of the Clone Wars at the Opera on Coruscant. Interesting fact — it was this performance that was attended by then-Chancellor Palpatine and the galaxy-renowned Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. I believe you met the latter during the war, Captain?"
"Like many others, sir," Gilad muttered.
"So," I continued. "Regardless of the place and time of the performance, even with changes in the troupe actors and the director, the dimensions of the water spheres always remain the same. If we extrapolate them to the ratio of the actors' body sizes and their positions during the performance relative to the stage surface, none of them is ever higher than thirty meters. This fact stems from the depth at which Mon Calamari feel comfortable — around that mark. Throughout all their creative works that I've managed to study, a peculiarity of their psychology is apparent — they are phlegmatic, not prone to anger in the main. Their culture does not favor abrupt or swift transitions, which indicates the smoothness of their thinking and its inertia. This race emerged from the oceans, but at the same time, for them, despite millennia of evolution, the land continued to be something new, mysterious, and uncomfortable for a long time. They prefer a humid environment, and therefore primarily fight on ships of their own manufacture or modified for their biological characteristics. It's interesting, isn't it, that even in the aforementioned ballet, they use water as a medium for the performance, although they feel perfectly comfortable in a humid environment, which could easily be arranged for the performance."
"Sir, how will knowing their psychology help us win at Hast?"
"Patience, Captain," I advised. "You'll understand everything soon. The Mon Calamari are naturally curious, but also conservative by nature. Take their orbital shipyards, for example. On one hand, it's a demonstration of their aspiration for space exploration and concern for their planet's ecology — after all, assembling ships in orbit is far more environmentally friendly and productive due to the absence of the planet's gravity in the same magnitude as on the surface. And yet, the Mon Calamari did not place their slipways just anywhere in space, beyond Dac's orbit. Why do you think that is?"
"Makes things easier for logistics?" Gilad ventured.
"Incorrect," I replied. "The Mon Calamari descend not from predators, but from far more peaceful ancestors. Few of their kind are inclined toward aggression as a symbol of initiative. The vast majority will flee if faced with imminent death. Instincts are always harder to overcome for peaceful races than for descendants of predators. That's exactly why the Mon Calamari Shipyards are in geostationary orbit rather than in open space — to facilitate retreat in case of great danger."
"As I recall, the Mon Calamari, specifically Admiral Ackbar, are known for an almost legendary degree of determination and dedication to their cause," Pellaeon said.
"Correct, Captain," I said. "It's no coincidence that I'm confident you'll become an admiral yourself one day."
Pellaeon looked down, embarrassed.
"Let's continue," I said. "It's no accident the Mon Calamari are considered stubborn. Once their people have settled on a course of action, it's not easy to sway them from that decision. This is reflected in their idealism, which turns into an obsession with causes that seemed hopeless from the very start. Their courage and self-sacrifice manifest when the need arises. And so, let's apply everything said to the situation with the Alderaanians. An allied world unjustly destroyed — Alderaan. Refugees attacked by the enemy. One of their own who achieved a high position in society and was falsely accused of treason. Add to that the Mon Calamari's idealistic drive to do everything strictly by the rules and their intolerance for those who break the law — we know this from countless examples across the galaxy, where Mon Calamari dislike smugglers and have an entirely negative attitude toward pirates. In this case, an Imperial ship's attack on a 'defenseless planet' will be regarded by the enemy as an act of piracy or crime. Under these conditions, the idealistic Mon Calamari, famous for waging war 'against evil,' will inevitably throw at least a pair of star cruisers from their arsenal against our medium cruiser. Given that we have an informant on Dac, we'll know reliably when and in what strength the convoy with supplies departs. By calculating the time at which it would be easier for the Mon Calamari to recall several starships from the convoy and send them against the Firebrand than to continue exposing New Alderaan to danger while waiting for a task force or a rendezvous from Dac itself, we achieve a weakening of the enemy's escort. Considering the time difference between our attack and the departure of the weapons convoy, we won't have to fight both the shipyard guard and their reinforcements simultaneously."
"Once they learn about the attack on the Hast shipyards, they might send reinforcements," Pellaeon noted.
"That's precisely why, until the operation is complete, our Jensaarai's partner will remain on station — the lady known as 'Vex,'" I explained. "The supply caravan will depart at the latest today or tomorrow. They'll need two to three days to reach Hast. We, thanks to jumping via a different route, need less. Consequently, both the attack on the shipyards and the attack on New Alderaan can be thwarted solely by the convoy's forces — which we will split."
"Sir, but the patrols in the sector..."
"Pose no threat to us," I explained. "Thanks to the efforts of Councilor Fey'lya, the main forces are always kept at bases to prevent us from striking them and defeating them piecemeal. As soon as reports of the attacks come in, the Mon Calamari will spend several hours just coordinating their actions with headquarters on Coruscant. However, I'm confident that the vaunted organizational and analytical abilities of the Mon Calamari will give us a head start of two to three hours, at most. But by that time, the escort and the caravan will already be underway. The laws of physics don't allow them to catch up and arrive simultaneously. Therefore, our fleet arrives at the Hast shipyards at least a day before the escort's arrival."
"The ships in the yards might not be ready for flight," Pellaeon observed.
"That's precisely why our objective is capture, not destruction, of the transports with components," I reminded him. "In one day, the yard workers can put a ship and de-powered stations in order after a serious battle. Preparing everything necessary for departure won't take our specialists long. Our techs, with support from local workers, will certainly be able to install spare parts on nearly assembled starships. Besides, the ship repair protocol is universal — interior work first, then exterior. I'm sure we'll get ships with unrepaired hull breaches. We'll manage that inconvenience somehow."
Captain Pellaeon sat in complete silence for several minutes, then said, "Am I correct in understanding that you didn't order the concentration of most of our landing forces aboard the Colicoid Swarm and the Phoenix without reason?"
"Exactly so, Captain," I said. "The former has an impressive air wing, albeit of outdated droid starfighters. The droids from its landing wing will serve us well for attacking screening ships and clearing vessels at the repair berths. And the Phoenix simply has spacious hangars, allowing a large number of landing craft to be placed inside. And that, in turn, determines the fact that the capture of the ships under repair will proceed relatively quickly."
"And the Dragon?" Pellaeon inquired. "It can't withstand a line battle..."
"It doesn't need to," I noted. "Our upgraded Venator's task is to eliminate the threat from the orbital defense stations. If it handles that quickly enough, then the six Mon Calamari star cruisers from the screening force will become ours faster than Admiral Ackbar gets exonerated."
"I'd like to believe that, Grand Admiral," Pellaeon said. "If we win, a hunt of unprecedented scale will begin for us overnight..."
"Not 'if,' but 'when,'" I corrected. "And yes, Captain, you are entirely correct. No one will ever forgive us such audacity. Fortunately for our enemies, the role of the victim has already been assigned. And rest assured — it's not us."
Judging by the skepticism flickering in the Chimaera's commander's eyes, he wasn't convinced.
Well, history will judge us, dear Captain.
* * *
"Good morning, Princess Organa-Solo," greeted a smooth, well-trained voice from a man in Imperial uniform, the moment the girl opened her eyes.
Leia, barely realizing who was in front of her, let out a quiet shriek and recoiled, pressing her back against the bulkhead of the cabin she occupied aboard the Allegiance.
"Don't touch me!" she said, her voice slightly trembling. "I won't tell you anything anyway!"
"I'm sure that's true," the Imperial officer sitting across from her, dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Security Bureau, said in a bored tone. "Allow me to introduce myself. Lieutenant Colonel Astarion, counterintelligence."
"You already know my name," Leia forced a wry smile. "If your visit is an act of friendliness, then I would ask you to leave me alone, as I need to..."
"At the very least — take your vitamins," the lieutenant colonel said, ignoring the stunned look on the Alderaanian princess's face as he handed her a small plastic container with several dozen smaller compartments inside. And inside each — pills, capsules...
"Planning to poison me?" she squinted.
"Planning to take care of you and your current pregnancy," Astarion sighed. "You're deficient in several elements, trace minerals, certain hormones are out of balance... All in all, the medical droid prescribed you a course of medication." The man set the container aside. "Whether to take them and care for your children is up to you. If necessary, any analyzer will be provided so you can be sure no one is trying to drug you with narcotics, neuroleptics, 'truth serum,' and so on down the list."
"And are you trying to?" the princess asked in a tone dripping with sarcasm.
"You're the ones painting us as an Empire of evil," her interlocutor noted. "You'd know better."
"One might think the Empire never destroyed worlds, never exterminated peoples..."
"Princess," the Imperial said as calmly as possible. "There's no familiar audience here. You can stop the populism. You and I both know the 'sins' of each of our sides. If we keep flinging rancor dung at each other, nothing constructive will come of it."
"So you want to recruit me?!" Leia flared up. Before the Imperial could answer, she quickly added, "Know this: you will not break my spirit! I have fought the Empire and will continue to do so! I will not betray the New Republic!"
"What?" the Imperial was taken aback. Then, realizing what she was talking about, he burst out laughing...
"Is my patriotism some kind of joke to you?" she frowned.
"No, no, no," he said, still chuckling. "It's just... Forgive me, it's not ethical to say this, but during your speech, you had such a focused and inspired look on your face that I almost considered tearing the ISB chevron off my shoulder and rallying under your banners..."
"Really?" Leia brightened.
"No, of course not," the man said, still laughing. "Honestly, I don't know how you do it — maybe back then," he traced a circle with his index finger toward her belly, "your pretty face and figure worked, or something else — but your impassioned speeches frankly don't work on me. Well, that's your business. I came to ask..."
"What about my friends?!" the princess interrupted him. She had to seize the initiative in the conversation. She needed to use the fact that she was facing a military man, accustomed to answering questions...
"Are you serious right now?!" the lieutenant colonel frowned. "Did they not teach you basic communication with sentient beings on Alderaan?"
"With sentient beings, not Imperials," Leia sniffed. The Imperial rolled his eyes...
"Are you seriously trying to irritate me right now?" he asked.
"I want to know what happened and what's happening now to my friends," the princess demanded.
"My lady, you are an Imperial prisoner, a prisoner of war — you are not entitled to ask questions," the Imperial shook his head.
"Allow me a moment on international and military law, Lieutenant Colonel," Leia beamed. "The Empire never declared war on the Alliance to Restore the Republic. And it hasn't declared it on the New Republic either, so I am not considered a prisoner of war..."
"Then I am entirely within my rights to eject you through an airlock into vacuum," the lieutenant colonel said with a smile. "After all, in that case, the provisions for combating pirates and criminals come into play — which is exactly what the Empire considers you to be. Is that what you're implying with your virtuoso knowledge of military jurisprudence?"
Leia faltered. The conversation had gone somewhere she hadn't intended...
"So what about my friends?" she asked quietly. "I'm asking you to answer."
"They did teach you manners in the Royal House of Alderaan after all," Lieutenant Colonel Astarion snorted. "General Cracken, as you know, shot himself. Stupid bravado — no one here is going to cut anyone to pieces for a scrap of information; we have enough informants in your government..."
"What are you talking about?" Leia gasped, but the Imperial acted as if he hadn't heard.
"General Lando Calrissian is undergoing treatment in a bacta tank. I think in a couple of hours he'll be completely healthy, and you can meet and talk in person..."
"There are your agents in our government?" Leia asked a little louder. But the Imperial ignored her again.
"The Wookiee named Chewbacca..." The counterintelligence officer removed his uniform cap, looking at her with sad eyes. Leia's heart clenched. The twins, making themselves known for the first time, stirred. "He gave us quite a lot of trouble. Destroyed a squad of stormtroopers with his bare hands before we could neutralize him."
"Is he dead?!" Leia felt detached... Had the most loyal friend of their family simply died like that...?
"If the stunners hadn't worked on him, then yes, he would definitely be dead," the lieutenant colonel smirked. "Right now, for everyone's safety, he's in chains and in his quarters. You'll see him later..."
"Karrde and his people?" the Alderaanian princess asked another question.
"And what interest do they hold for you?" the counterintelligence officer asked, genuinely surprised. So naturally, so authentically, that Leia had no doubt about his sincerity. Her rudimentary Force abilities were silent too, not warning her that the girl was being deceived.
"You attacked them and undoubtedly killed them," she said, pursing her lips. "I just want to know..."
"Whether someone can inform the New Republic about what happened to you in the Milagro system?" Lieutenant Colonel Astarion chuckled. The girl gave a barely perceptible nod. "No, Princess. Karrde and his subordinates played their role in the ambush and are no longer needed. As of now..."
Leia felt everything inside her tighten.
Talon "Claw" Karrde had lured them into a trap?! General Cracken had been right about his role in all of this?! No, it couldn't be... How?!
"What will happen to us?" she asked in a hollow voice.
"You'll be our guests for a while," the lieutenant colonel shrugged. "Anticipating your questions, I'll say right away — no one is going to torture or interrogate you."
"Since when does the Empire pass up a chance to get information from high-ranking representatives of the New Republic?" she asked. And an unpleasant suspicion crept into her mind, based on the lieutenant colonel's words.
"Since the moment information started flowing into our hands on its own," he smiled. "Forgive me, Princess, but you and your rulers are clearly deluded in thinking you're done with us. The Grand Admiral graciously provides you with a front-row seat so you can enjoy the splendid spectacle of the collapse of everything you've built..."
They had spies at the very top of the New Republic. They simply had no need to torture them, as Grand Moff Tarkin and Darth Vader had on board the first Death Star. They were getting information almost straight from the source...
That was how they managed to strike the New Republic and remain unpunished! Someone with high-level clearance was passing them all of the New Republic's military and political secrets! That was why the Imperials were always one step ahead! That was why they were aware of every move she and her comrades made against them! Spies in the highest circles of the New Republic! They and the information broker Karrde, whom she had trusted so blindly, did all the work!
Oh, why, why hadn't she trusted Han's suspicion!? Why had she believed Karrde could be on their side!?
But... even the fact that the information broker was a traitor didn't change the fact that someone in the highest circles of the New Republic was feeding the Imperials information! But who?! Who had such extensive access to military and political secrets that...
Leia felt something snap inside her.
No, it couldn't be Mon Mothma. The head of the Provisional Government disliked the Empire and had been at the very origins of the Alliance, like her father and the long-disappeared General Garm Bel Iblis... They couldn't...
"But Councilor Fey'lya could," a voice whispered inside her. "Bothans always walk over heads in pursuit of another piece of power."
And the puzzle clicked into place... The councilor who, thanks to Admiral Ackbar's military failures, had managed to seize the position of Supreme Commander of the New Republic, thereby gaining control of all of the state's military secrets. He was a member of the Provisional Government and knew every step the former rebels took, aimed at stabilizing the economy, improving domestic policy, and countering the Empire. He had tried to push for the inclusion of the corrupt, Empire-collaborating planet New Cov into the New Republic. Yes, Leia's and General Cracken's opposition had tied his hands and feet, but now...
Oh, the Force... Fey'lya had found out about their mission and 'sold' them to the Imperials to eliminate his political opponents! Not only had the enemies of the New Republic gotten their hands on her, Chewie, Lando, and a freshly repaired Imperial Star Destroyer, but also a huge amount of funds... Most of which General Cracken had taken from the New Republic intelligence budget. And now his illegal agents were left without funding... The Empire didn't even need to fight Republican spies anymore!
General Cracken, who had killed himself, had essentially cut off his organization — its illegal part — from Coruscant. He alone had known how to contact the most important spies behind enemy lines. And now he was dead. And the funding for the informants had stopped. That meant the flow of Imperial secrets, already a thin trickle of information, would cease entirely... The Imperials had gained a ship, Fey'lya's political enemies, a vast sum of money with which they could build another Executor...
It wasn't hard to guess what would happen next. Fey'lya would push into the New Republic planets connected to the Empire. New Cov, Rendili, Brentaal IV — which had been discussed at the last Provisional Government meeting before her departure... A supplier of biomolecular mass and two former Imperial shipyard planets... Where the Republic would inevitably place new orders for starship construction or repair... Or perhaps...
Leia went cold.
More than half of the Republic Fleet's starships were currently disarmed... The sluggish Sluissi couldn't indefinitely serve as the transport gateway for the refitted starships... Borsk Fey'lya would move them to Rendili and Brentaal IV, turning them into another transport hub... Not now, not today, not tomorrow, but he would push through the Provisional Council to accept these planets and systems into the New Republic... Disarmed Republican ships would arrive there... The Empire essentially didn't need to do anything else! They would get their hands on several hundred of their enemies' ships overnight! Data on fleet strength! They would crack the ships' computers and get all the information they needed! Ship basing locations! Training centers! Outposts! Ammunition and equipment depots! Weapons and ammunition suppliers!
Fey'lya had given them everything they needed to destroy the New Republic from within...
Leia let out a quiet moan. This was the end. Everything they had fought for would be destroyed. The New Republic, founded on the principles of confederation, would fall apart on its own as soon as its member worlds and sectors realized they had been betrayed and Coruscant couldn't protect even itself, let alone them.
"Why I came, actually," the lieutenant colonel's voice sounded muffled, as if through a layer of cotton. "You have arrived at a place where you will remain for as long as the Grand Admiral deems necessary. Your quarters, as well as your friends' quarters, are ready. Unfortunately, the commander didn't find time to meet you personally, but I assure you, it will happen. However, I can't say exactly when. Business, you understand..."
A Grand Admiral... Han had been right again. A Grand Admiral was at the head of the Empire. They really had either failed to finish someone off, or had missed someone... It was over for them.
"And what is your commander so busy with that he couldn't meet a princess and a general in person?" she asked with pain and tears in her eyes, looking at the counterintelligence officer.
"The same as always," he shrugged with a modest smile. "Proving to the New Republic what it means for a bunch of rebels and criminals to fight against a career Imperial military officer, unblinkered by the ideas of humanocentrism and contempt for the enemy. Or, more simply put — destroying your faith in your own strength."
Leia began to cry. In the current situation, it was the only thing she could allow herself.
* * *
"Processing has begun, Grand Admiral," Lieutenant Colonel Astarion reported in a calm tone.
"Who was chosen as the target?" I asked.
"Princess Organa-Solo," the counterintelligence officer replied. "Her pregnancy, hormonal surges, and other accompanying changes in thinking and information perception are fertile ground for planting seeds of doubt about the highest circles of the New Republic's government. Already, realizing the helplessness of her position, she is beginning to look for 'those to blame' for her situation. The uncertainty of what happened, combined with Fey'lya's political ambitions, makes him, by my calculations, the most suitable candidate for the 'traitor in the highest echelons.' While she is pregnant, she is easily suggestible to various threats and innuendos. We will exploit that."
"Just don't overdo it with the processing," I said. "She's pregnant, but not devoid of intelligence. Besides, she won't be in this state forever. Continue using half-hints and ambiguity. The princess will draw the conclusions we need on her own."
"In my opinion, it would be more correct to isolate her from the other high-ranking prisoners," Astarion admitted.
"In the case of repressive interrogation methods — yes, solitude would break her psyche. But I need her to stay sane. Continue processing the princess, demonstrating a reasonable attitude toward her and our opponents. Plant in her the seeds of doubt about the viability of continuing the armed conflict. It won't work immediately, but we will reinforce the idea that we are fighting exclusively against the military and criminals, and civilians hold no interest for us."
"And what about the other prisoners?" the ISB lieutenant colonel inquired. "Karrde, Calrissian, the Wookiee?"
"Keep the last two away from the information terminals and don't let them see the sky, especially at night," I said. "They must not see the pattern of the stars until the necessary map in the observatory is ready."
"Our pilots have already started modeling the starry sky of Ciutric IV," Astarion said. "When the next caravan from the Prince-Admiral arrives, I'll go to the planet to personally oversee all changes and ensure the replica matches the original. However... sir, forgive me, but I don't understand why we keep deceiving her. According to your own words, you intend to meet and talk with her..."
"Of course," I smiled. "Right after the New Republic learns that there are prisoners of war in the Ciutric Hegemony, including Leia Organa Solo, who will be tortured on the orders of Prince-Admiral Krennel."
"The New Republic won't let that slide," the hologram of the lieutenant colonel shook her head.
"Of course not," I smiled. "After they suspect Krennel's involvement in the attack on Hast, General Lando Calrissian and the Wookiee Chewbacca will heroically escape captivity and tell them about the prison on Ciutric IV. The New Republic fleet will come to visit Krennel to restore justice."
"And we'll be there to end the conflict," Astarion said, understanding dawning. That counter-intelligence devil catches on fast.
"Exactly, Lieutenant Colonel," I said. "We'll solve two problems at once. And, with the princess you've manipulated, we'll not only get certain privileges in prisoner exchanges with Coruscant, but also plant our own person in the New Republic government, to keep one cunning Bothan from solidifying his position at the top."
"There's a lot that could go wrong in this operation," Astarion said.
"That's why there's always a backup plan," I said. "And a backup for the backup..."
"What are your orders regarding Niles Ferrier and Talon Karrde?" the counter-intelligence officer inquired.
"Squeeze everything we need out of them," I said. "Get rid of the smuggler—he knows too much. And the 'Claw'... he'll still play his part in the backup plan to undermine the New Republic's population's faith in their government. Don't spare him, but keep him alive until we stage his escape. But first, I'm going to deliver a blow to the gut of the New Republic military personnel at the Hast shipyards."