Nine years, six months, and twenty-two days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fourth year, six months, and twenty-two days after the Great Resynchronization.
While the Lambda-class shuttle, once belonging to Palpatine, escorted by two flights of TIE Interceptors painted red, was rapidly breaking through the atmosphere toward the surface of the planet Lianna, leaving the armored belly of the Chimaera behind, I sat in complete solitude by the square viewport of the ship, staring fixedly as the ship's engines carried me away from this wondrous new world.
Yet another space world that I had seen in the last seventy-five days since my arrival in this universe.
And, to be perfectly honest, it was only now that I asked myself: "Aren't I being too calm?" No, in my previous life, I hadn't been a jester smiling at the sun, a romantic walking in the rain, or a melancholic huddled in a corner of an apartment whining about the vicissitudes of fate.
I am a phlegmatic. It is extremely difficult to surprise or impress me. But only now, watching a new planet fading away behind the ship's stern, I noted dispassionately — I felt no emotion about it.
No admiration for the colossi of spaceships, no excitement at meeting characters come to life from the pages of books… Absolutely nothing. Just indifference. As if all of this — space, galactic intrigues, warfare aboard starships, each one like a small city from my former homeland, capable of generating enough energy to power mother Earth…
No emotion whatsoever. At first, I thought the reason was the need to behave with restraint and live up to Thrawn's image.
But now I understand more and more clearly that I hardly need to "play" him. I have simply become him. At least in my behavior.
The more deeply I immerse myself in the knowledge of this universe, the more meticulously I study the regulatory documents of the Galactic Empire, the easier it becomes to think in local terms. And what on Earth would have seemed to me the pinnacle of human thought, I now perceive as a given.
It seems that my psyche, for the purpose of "acclimatization," chose the necessary psychological defense for me and is successfully cultivating the acceptance of new life realities. There is simply no way back… Neither mentally, nor physically, nor in any other way.
Even though I still don't know the reason why my consciousness ended up in this universe, don't know if I'm here temporarily or "permanently," it doesn't hinder me from living at all. In fact, I haven't even thought about what would happen to me in a day, two, five, ten, a month, a year, a decade… Provided I survive, of course.
It seems my consciousness has finally implanted itself into the Grand Admiral's body. And now we are one. However, no miracle occurred, and the Chiss's knowledge didn't open up for me. My mind and memory remained my own. Only the body — his.
The fact that I was drawn to inexplicable lyricism was probably a "bellwether" heralding that my brain had decided to engage in self-examination. The favorite Slavic pastime in one's spare time — fraying one's nerves over what "could have happened if…"
Yeah. Not the most pleasant activity, actually. Better to return to current affairs and events.
The visit to Munto Codru hadn't taken much time — delegating negotiations with the local leaders to Pellaeon, I had visited the secret base. Well, it was impressive. A huge, empty medieval castle, which Imperial soldiers were diligently converting, in secret from the locals, into a surveillance post, through which we would know exactly about enemy movements from the Mon Calamari sector along the Perlemian Trade Route. Not to mention the intelligence component of the secret lair…
Refueling the ships using tankers saved us waiting time but still took a considerable amount — enough for Outpost NL-1 to be fitted with the necessary equipment for hyperspace travel and transferred to the Makem Te system. Which was now guarded, in addition to the outpost, by two medium cruisers — the Sharp and the Stately — accompanied by a Tartan-class patrol cruiser.
At present, the fleet, due to the need to travel at the slow speed of the orbital repair workshops and defense stations, was moving slower than the Chimaera and its escort of four CR90 corvettes. I had prudently not publicized the transport of one of them in the depths of the main hangar. That was a secret that simple allies didn't need to know.
Shield-world Makem Te continued to be sympathetic to my endeavors. The New Republic would have to sweat to take it by storm. Of course, if they ever got that idea. The locals, loyal to the Empire, after brief negotiations, proved quite interested in strengthening their own security. And therefore they were ready to provide any assistance they could — which, unfortunately, boiled down only to paying taxes on entrepreneurial and other activities conducted on the planet. Specifically, on the spice trade that local smugglers plied. But, unlike other planets with similar businesses, here the locals had set it up quite productively and legally formalized. This increased the monthly income of my nebulous political entity to fifteen million credits a month, considering that a third of that sum came from the worlds of the sector.
And… This reminded me that there were a number of systems, like Trogan, Kelada, Columex, which currently seemed to have the status of Imperial territories, but… things weren't clear. They didn't pay taxes, existed as isolated associations, often bordering the New Republic. They had expressed interest in joining the forces under Thrawn's command, but nothing had happened beyond official assurances of loyalty. And there was so much interesting stuff there… Especially since I could now provide their protection with my own fleet.
Consequently, following Warlord Zsinj's precepts, using Makem Te as an example, I could offer these associations protection in exchange for taxes. And if I could get a monthly profit from this kind of income to at least fifty million Imperial credits, then I could think about restoring stormtrooper pay. Or announcing a mobilization… Diluting the crews of, say, the heavy cruisers, not just with clones and volunteers, but also with conscripts. Yes, their level would be low, but regular drills, training, practice… When I took command of the fleet, even with Joruus C'baoth's Battle Meditation, we suffered heavy losses. But now… The Battle of the Hast shipyards surpasses the Ambush at Rugosa in every parameter, yet, despite facing professional soldiers on first-class ships, we suffered incomparably small losses. All capital ships could be returned to service in a short time — and if at least one of the orbital repair workshops reached Tangrene intact, the problem of commissioning starships would just be a matter of time. And crew members…
However, now that the Chimaera was hanging in orbit above Lianna, under the guns of several orbital defense stations (not to mention the ships patrolling the system and those so tempting orbital docks, bristling unfriendly with turbolasers), my attention was focused on something else entirely.
Lianna Santhe.
The woman who controlled all official production of TIE series technology. And, as it turned out, her power extended far beyond her home system.
And the arrogance with which her secretary, who was discussing a personal meeting, spoke to Pellaeon… Well, you could hardly blame them for feeling their strength relative to the Imperials. Who traditionally came to them with an outstretched hand and requests to spare some of those familiar technologies…
What I needed from this woman was my own orbital assembly yard. The Empire had purchased such yards for assembling TIE fighters. From what I remembered, only one such yard existed, destroyed by Galen Marek, aka Starkiller, in the first part of the game The Force Unleashed.
Negotiations between the company and my representative, Moff Ferrus, dragged on for a long time with mixed success. The company's managers made exorbitant demands — increasing product costs, huge deadlines for assembling a workshop in the star system we'd chosen, restrictions on production output, enormous commissions on every fighter, interceptor, or bomber produced, the presence of observers, and so on. Even for someone as inexperienced in corporate negotiations as me, it was perfectly clear — they were openly brushing us off. Far away, for a long time, and with a smile.
It would be possible to keep acquiring technology from the Ciutric Hegemony, especially considering that the Prince-Admiral wouldn't be feasting on his achievements for much longer. However, there's no guarantee that in the future, when the New Republic comes to establish its "order," this industry will remain intact. And given its importance to my plans, it's frankly disheartening — dismantling planetary-based production lines isn't so simple. But of course, it's possible.
Though, once Palpatine arrives, a big, pointed question will be asked: "Where did everything go?" Not by the Emperor himself, of course, but by his close associates. The lack of answers will speak for itself — "Thrawn hid something." But why? And where? These and similar questions and suggestions will spring up like mushrooms. The orbital workshop is a different matter. It, like defense stations, workshops, and shipyards, can be made mobile — not to mention camouflaged. And they can be moved as far as possible from areas where the forces of the Revived Emperor will operate. There's enough scrap metal to leave a plausible trail...
I glanced at the datapad screen. The image of a rapidly filling progress bar indicated that the deletion of encrypted messages I'd exchanged during the journey with Moff Ferrus and several other subordinates, including Moff Disra — whom I'd arranged to meet after returning to Tangrene — was almost complete. There wasn't much time left before I'd hear his proposal firsthand. But first, I needed to prepare for it properly. His meeting with Mara Jade had already demonstrated that this man was capable of anticipating obvious actions — like the presence of recording equipment. In my past, few people, even high-ranking counter-intelligence officers who constantly showed up for "conversations" with fleet analysts, didn't carry scramblers. As it turned out, in a galaxy far, far away, such equipment was also accountable, very expensive, and not publicly available. In other words, Moff Disra was carefully avoiding anyone or anything being able to record his words and use them as evidence later. This spoke to his caution and cunning. A dialogue with such an individual needed to be well-prepared. And first and foremost — to understand that no words would be used as evidence, either for me or against him. Eyewitness testimony — for example, standing behind a false wall and observing the negotiations — wasn't the optimal option either. So, I needed to think about how to achieve the desired result...
In previous months, I'd spent a lot of time "carving out" tasks without realizing that I simply didn't have enough subordinates at the moment. Therefore, all searches for the legendary "treasure ship" Sa'Nalaor and the super Star Destroyer Guardian, unfortunately, I wanted to undertake right now. But at best, personnel available for this would only become "available" after the cloning of the eighth batch of clones was complete — when a large number of scouts and counter-intelligence operatives would be available for such a massive search. And while I was confident about the first — that it was still out there somewhere, waiting for its time with a crew of nearly three hundred thousand qualified, trained Imperials, in need of repairs — the Sa'Nalaor... Over twenty-five years had passed since its disappearance. It was unknown whether it had even been found, or whether it truly carried vast wealth, or if it was just a legend, fiction... One way or another, my plan was entering its final stage. Just over three months remained until Palpatine's expected attack. And by then, I needed to "tie up" all loose ends and "make a graceful exit from the stage."
Looking down from above at Lianna's light-colored buildings — whose architectural style featured a minimum of sharp angles and a wealth of rounded transitions, columns, domes, and hemispheres — I couldn't help but note that this clear divergence from Imperial government architecture only presented the planet favorably. Light tones in defiance of Imperial grayness and angularity, spacious avenues, green spaces where Imperials would have placed narrow pedestrian bridges and sidewalks in favor of massive, uniform building structures... Yes, this world had its own appealing beauty.
And what struck me most was the absence of dozens or hundreds of industrial facilities within populated areas. No smokestacks amid urban development, no massive industrial buildings or hangars — the picture was radically different from what I'd seen in the Ciutric Hegemony. For the better, of course. No endless skyscraper clutter, ugly spires and multi-faceted truncated pyramids or ziggurats.
I didn't know if it had been just as beautiful and comfortable here in the past, before Valles Santhe — the woman I intended to meet — came to power. But my personal opinion was that it was the best and most beautiful industrial world I'd seen in a galaxy far, far away. Spacious, light, without a suffocating atmosphere...
I would have liked to visit the Kuat Drive Yards and see how things were on the planet of the same name, but I doubted that after the attack on Xa Fel, the local residents and company management would be happy to see me.
Views of the planet Lianna.
"Grand Admiral," came a voice from behind my head. Young and extremely uncertain. "I'm not sure I'll be comfortable fighting in this outfit and..."
"You won't have to fight, Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz," I replied, glancing at the Jensaarai standing behind me in his new, highly intriguing guise. "Provided, of course, you play your role correctly. So that no one questions what's happening."
"I feel... uneasy in all this," said the Jensaarai, shifting a massive black pike-topped staff from one hand to the other. "Heavy armor... Baggy, uncomfortable clothes. Jensaarai defender equipment is far more pragmatic and functional."
Sighing, I closed my eyes. Counted silently to twenty. Opened them, slowly and silently releasing air through barely parted lips.
"Play your role, Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz, and everything will be fine," I reminded him. "And it's incredibly simple: stand behind me and stay silent. Listen to your Force, try to identify sources of threat — you should know how to do that far better than I do. Anyone who tries to interfere, simply push aside with the Force. No fatalities, of course. But our arrival on Lianna should be remembered for a long time."
"I'll try," came a disgruntled mutter from beneath the black helmet with a red visor.
"Don't try, Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz," I said, imitating a certain famous little green Grand Master from this galaxy. Who, despite everything, deserves respectful remembrance. "Do. Or do not. There is no try."
The shuttle touched down on the landing pad. At the tail of the Lambda, nine stormtroopers of the Fourth Squad of the 501st Legion, under the command of Sergeant TNX-0297, scurried into position. The escort unit, bearing all the required identification insignia above their pristine white armor.
We were certainly being watched. And as soon as we stepped onto the landing pad, the performance would begin.
And if my appearance, accompanied by an Imperial Guard and a squad of the 501st Legion, had an effect on Prince-Admiral Decak Krennel, then Lady Valles Santhe, whose influence in the galaxy was incomparably greater than the ruler of the Ciutric Hegemony, should surely understand that Grand Admiral Thrawn, Supreme Commander of Imperial Space, hadn't come to meet her without reason — accompanied by Emperor Palpatine's Jedi hunter.
* * *
"Come in, Captain," Antonias heard as soon as he crossed the threshold of the office belonging to the master of the residence on Tangrene.
"Captain Stormaer reporting as ordered, Moff Ferrus," the commander of the Sentinel reported by the book, snapping to attention in the prescribed stance.
The governor of the Morshdine Sector looked at him with curiosity and interest, then snorted. Well, yes — how could he understand that discipline was the only thing keeping Imperials from scattering in such turbulent times? Discipline and faith in their own victory under Grand Admiral Thrawn's leadership. But planetary and sector governors couldn't grasp that — most of them got their positions through political intrigue and bribes. Those who had actually served in the military and understood how important it was to maintain the principles of unity of command and subordination, preventing moral decay even in the Empire's moments of weakness — they were few and far between.
Commander of the ISD Interdictor-class Sentinel, Captain Antonias Stormaer.
"Have a seat, Captain," the Moff said, his expression growing serious as he gestured to a chair opposite his desk, which was cluttered with data chips and documents printed on flimsiplast. Just that sight was enough for Antonias to understand — Moff Ferrus lacked discipline. "I'm glad your Sentinel finally made it to Tangrene."
Stormaer remained silent. What was there to say to that? That they were also glad to finally be free of the grueling work of restoring the ship? That during the layover at Linuri, he and his subordinates hadn't slept a wink to finish repairs on time and leave the base? That even during the short transits with a damaged reactor compartment, the already depleted crew — thinned during the Ambush at Rugos — couldn't rest, constantly at battle stations, waiting for their efforts to be in vain and the ship to simply fall apart in hyperspace, adding the Sentinel to the list of vessels that vanished without a trace after jumping?
"Information from the shipyards about the timeframe for bringing your vessel back into service has come in," Moff Ferrus continued, frantically searching for something on his cluttered desk. "Where is it... I was just reading this sheet five minutes ago!?"
Antonias silently watched the man's search. When he finally found the document he was looking for, in the commander of the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer's estimation, about ten minutes had passed.
"So," Moff Ferrus leaned back in his chair, studying what was written. "On the Sentinel, it's essentially necessary to rebuild the reactor compartment and energy output control systems from scratch. This is a lengthy process, Captain. According to our shipyard specialists, they can only begin repairs in about three weeks — once the yards are free from the current backlog of ship repairs and upgrades, and after Grand Admiral's vessels arrive for urgent repairs following the attack on the Hast shipyards. Already in line are the Steel Aurora, a Neutron Star-class cruiser, and one section is occupied working on one of the captured Star Destroyers... All in all, you must understand that the Grand Admiral will not allow a combat-ready crew to remain idle for long."
Antonias continued to remain silent.
"Currently, at the fitting-out dock of the shipyard, there is an Imperial-class Star Destroyer," Moff Ferrus went on. "A Mark I. Trophy of Captain Eric Shohashi from the attack on the rebels in the Milagro system. The workers are just finishing installing the turret artillery and replacing the damaged hull plating. Engines and internal systems have already been replaced, standard hangar equipment restored..."
Captain Stormaer remained silent. He hadn't yet heard any proposals that required any reaction from him.
"The Supreme Commander has issued the relevant order," Moff Ferrus continued. "You are to take command of this vessel. Your crew members from the Sentinel will also be transferred under your command. Additionally, you and the crew are commended for the skillfully conducted boarding of an Acclamator II-class assault cruiser as part of the assault units, as well as for the rescue of your assigned vessel and the completion of your assigned tasks. It seems," the Moff smiled amiably, "that you, like our Supreme Commander, have quite a taste for trophies. Of course," he corrected himself, "if the report that you personally led the boarding party from your own ship is to be believed." Antonias didn't reply. What was the point? The report was pure truth. As was the Moff's conclusion. "Contact the treasury — cash bonuses for participation in this operation are due to everyone involved. The list, as I recall, you sent from Linuri..."
This was... unexpected. If a transfer with a promotion was a routine and ordinary matter for an Imperial military officer, a cash bonus was something else entirely. The Empire had never practiced anything like that. Unfamiliar. To perform one's duty and yet... receive a bonus...
Well, that was management's business. There was a more important question.
"The manning roster doesn't match," Antonias replied. Calmly and without any emotion. Nothing irreparable or outside regulations — just the reassignment of personnel. Standard rotation, nothing more. Just on a larger scale.
"Excuse me?" The Moff's eyebrows shot up.
"Despite the identical size and crew complement, the manning rosters of the Imperial-class and Interdictor-class Star Destroyer crews don't match," Stormaer explained. Every serviceman knew that. Even a civilian with any logic would understand! "On the Sentinel, like any similar Star Destroyer of this class, there's a smaller air wing, fewer weapons, and consequently, my crew lacks sufficient pilots and gunners. Also, the Sentinel's crew includes operators and technicians for gravity well projectors — the Imperial-class doesn't have those installations."
"Don't worry," Moff Ferrus smiled. "Approximately twenty thousand fleet specialists will be arriving on Tangrene shortly."
"Reservists?" Antonias clarified.
"No, the office's owner turned to his computer, examining something on it. Hmm... you have the necessary security clearance, so I can share this data. A non-disclosure agreement was obtained from you... Ah, two years ago. In short," after the computer produced a standard non-disclosure form for classified information, Antonias automatically signed it. A formality, but necessary. However, he didn't miss the change in the document's wording. Instead of "classified data of the Galactic Empire," it read "classified data of military and other forces under the control of Grand Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo (Thrawn)." It turned out the Supreme Commander's familiar name wasn't his full one. Though, that was irrelevant. Bureaucratic details, not something for military personnel to worry about.
"Conscripts?" the former commander of the Sentinel decided to clarify anyway.
"In a way," the governor of the Morshdine Sector replied evasively. "Clones of current fleet servicemen. All necessary knowledge has been uploaded into their minds, but for them to meet their qualifications, it's necessary... to train them. As you can see, we have no support from the Imperial Remnants beyond the initial. They provide us with neither equipment nor manpower. The Grand Admiral solves problems in the most optimal ways. The use of clones is one of them."
Clones?! That was news. Cloning technology in the service of the Empire hadn't been heard of since the Kaminoan uprising — the clone suppliers from the time of the Old Republic. After that, the Galactic Empire switched to a conscription-based system for its armed forces. So the rumor that the Imperial Remnants, despite Grand Admiral Thrawn's victories, had no intention of helping him resolve the final question with the New Republic — was true? Now it was clear why captured ships were still sitting idle. And for what purposes the Grand Admiral was acquiring vessels from pirates and hijackers — the Imperial Ruling Council was simply refusing to help him, even with volunteers. And there were rumors that the Grand Admiral's fleet was supposed to receive a Star Destroyer currently being finished at the Bilbringi shipyards!? Would Orinda refuse that as well? Hutt-spawned cowards! They were simply afraid that the Grand Admiral would achieve more, become popular with the troops, and oust those politicos on Orinda, uniting the Imperial Remnants under himself.
For the first time in a long while, the Captain felt disgust towards politicians stirring within him. And yet he had sworn an oath to them! No, not specifically to the Imperial Ruling Council, but to the Emperor... What a disgrace! All Imperials should rally around the Grand Admiral and restore Imperial order to the galaxy! Instead, they just clung to their positions and feared losing their power...
Those were right who said that the Imperial Remnants weren't the preservation of the Empire. They were the concentration of everything that needed to be fought against.
"Exercises," Captain Stormaer supplied the military term, calming himself. Emotions wouldn't help the situation. A cool head and a clear view of things would.
The Moff nodded affirmatively in response to his remark.
"There won't be a problem with that," Antonias assured. "Am I free, in accordance with regulations, to organize exercises and training drills for my crew members?"
"Yes, of course," the Moff sighed. "Currently, your ship hasn't been included by the Grand Admiral in the general schedule, and there are no orders for it. I understand this will continue until the Supreme Commander returns to Tangrene and determines the future strategic direction for the fleet's vessels. Consider this time for crew preparation, Captain."
What else could it be? Not only was he being given a vessel that had been in rebel hands, requiring at minimum a check of all systems, completeness, and combat readiness, but the crew wasn't even complete with all necessary specialists. Sending such a vessel straight into battle meant condemning it to major problems upon encountering the first opponent of comparable threat.
Stormaer hadn't earned the respect of his crew for nothing — he understood the risks he sent them into, assessed the prospects of various actions. The crew had always carried out their assigned tasks precisely, which meant achieving results directly.
"Understood, sir," he replied in the same calm voice. An assignment to the bridge of an Imperial-class, even a Mark I, was a sort of promotion. A small one, but still. "Permission to ask a question?"
"Hmm..." The Moff tore himself away from contemplating the papers he'd buried himself in a moment ago. He seemed to think the Captain was about to leave the office. Not quite. "Go ahead, Stormaer. If I can give you an answer, you'll get it."
"And if you know the answer yourself," Antonias added mentally.
"The clones, sir," he stated the subject of his question without preamble. "Can they be trusted?"
"What's this question for?" Moff Ferrus was surprised. "The clones have been fighting in our fleet for weeks now — both in ground units and as part of starship crews. Not a single case of betrayal or opportunism has been detected among them."
"I'm used to trusting my crew members, sir," Stormaer explained. "And they trust me. If they were reservists or conscripts, the question wouldn't arise. But clones... I haven't encountered them before. I don't know what to expect from them."
"You could have consulted with the commanders of other ships," the governor of the Morshdine Sector grumbled. Then, realizing he'd said something foolish — the very existence of clones and their combat deployment within the Supreme Commander's armed forces was a military secret of the highest classification. Stormaer himself had no idea until now that clones were being integrated into Thrawn's forces. He sincerely believed the fleet was being replenished through conscripts, volunteers, and specialists sent by the Imperial Remnants. He, like others, thought the rulers of the Imperial Remnants were too cautious to openly side with Thrawn, so they supported him secretly...
But it turned out...
"Sir," Antonias said, interrupting the Moff again — and judging by his expression, he clearly wasn't happy about it. "As I've come to understand, the Grand Admiral has stated that ships of the Imperial fleet captured by the enemy, recovered and serving under his command, will no longer bear their old names."
"Yes, that's right," Moff Ferrus said with barely concealed irritation.
"If that's the case, then the previous name of the Imperial-class Mark I Star Destroyer assigned to my command isn't the original one?" Antonias continued his logical thread.
"Captain," the Moff set aside his documents, his entire demeanor showing that he had better things to do. And in truth, he would have been happy to get back to his bureaucratic tedium, but due to the absence of any base officers senior in rank to Stormaer, Ferrus, as the Grand Admiral's deputy, was obliged to personally oversee the reassignment process. Such was the regulation. "Yes, your new ship has undergone a renaming procedure. Your transponder has been wiped and reprogrammed. The shipyard workers have removed all mentions of the old names on the ship's hull. What else do you need?"
"The name," the Star Destroyer commander replied laconically. "I want to know what my new ship is called."
"Aaaaah," Moff Ferrus drawled. "So you want to use Amendment Twenty-Forty-Three-Slash-Seven if the need arises? 'The right to name a ship in the event of the entire crew and commander's relocation shall pass to the latter'?"
"If I don't like the new name, then yes," Antonias replied without a trace of embarrassment.
"Well, of course, who would doubt it," the moff snorted, rustling through his papers once more. "Now... where did I file it... Aha!" he exclaimed happily, pulling the needed document from the stack. "Found it. The Grand Admiral has ordered this Star Destroyer to be named Abyssal Fury. A strange name, certainly, but such is the decision of the Supreme Commander. And yes," Ferrus caught himself. "You won't be able to use that amendment — we're leaving part of your crew on the Sentinel — the operators of the gravity well generators. So, purely formally..."
"I have no intention of using the amendment, sir," Antonias said, rising from his chair and placing his uniform cap on his head. "The name suits me just fine. And my crew even more so."
"In that case, we're done, Captain," the moff said, already burying himself back in his documents.
Captain Stormaer left the office of the Morshdine Sector Governor in complete silence.
In complete silence, and in complete certainty that Grand Admiral Thrawn had given this name to the former commander of the Sentinel's ship for a reason.
At the Imperial Naval Academy, the future Captain Stormaer had earned the nickname "Abyss" for his insatiable appetite for collecting trophies on the battlefield. Over the years, he had brought this drive under control, forcing it into the rigid mold of discipline, but the temptation during the Ambush at Rugosa had been far too great...
If he had correctly interpreted the Grand Admiral's hint, then the Abyssal Fury and its crew had a great many future raiding operations ahead of them, tasked with recovering property of the Galactic Empire seized by the New Republic.
The stormtrooper walking toward him turned his head slightly to get a look at the captain's expression...
And involuntarily recoiled, pressing his blaster rifle to his chest in panic.
From that day on, the soldier began seeing the "Abyss"'s predatory smile, one that reeked of vengeance and a thirst for justice, in his nightmares. And he started sleeping poorly — literally every night — after that encounter...
* * *
"Well, that was a most impressive entrance, Supreme Commander Thrawn," Valles Santhe remarked, a hint of laughter on her lips as she felt the folds of her gown tighten across her sharp cheekbones. She wasn't a beauty by fashion magazine standards, but she was well aware that she cared little for the opinion of the crowd.
Valles Santhe.
"Thank you," the blue-skinned Imperial said reservedly. "I prefer to set rhetoric aside and proceed directly to discussing the reason for my presence here."
"A military drone," Valles thought with disappointment. People from the lower strata of human society — and even more so, non-humans — could not grasp the finer points of diplomatic and commercial negotiations. They simply lacked the capacity. It was not in them.
Valles Santhe did not count herself among the xenophobe party. She was merely stating a fact. Among humans, at best one in a thousand high-ranking military officers and businessmen understood the invisible rules of aristocratic etiquette. And among representatives of other races, there were even fewer. This blue-skinned humanoid with crimson eyes was one of them.
The smile faded from her face. Slowly, so as not to display disdain toward her interlocutor. Let him be just one of countless foolish Imperial warlords. Even if he had climbed this high. Still, there was no point in flattering herself — this "Grand Admiral" was simply a self-proclaimed usurper of that title. Nothing more. Perhaps some secret advisor to the late Emperor, who had used his position to impress the rulers of the Imperial Remnants and gain command of some troops.
Or, given who stood behind him, he might actually hold influence over Imperial society. There were some rumors about a high-ranking alien in the Imperial Armed Forces. It didn't take a sage to understand that reaching such heights without the patronage of the late Emperor himself was simply impossible. If he had such companions and servants, then he truly possessed power. More precisely — had possessed it. In the past. Now he was just like all other Imperials — a beggar. And at that, the other Imperials had chosen to be rid of him, gifting him a small fleet and a contingent of armed forces. Otherwise, if he had support from even one of the major Imperial Remnants, this alien wouldn't have come to her "cap in hand."
"Well then," she said calmly. "By all means. You will not get an orbital assembly yard."
"Is that so?" Grand Admiral Thrawn said in the same emotionless voice. "May I ask why?"
"Quite simple," Valles assumed a cold politeness. If this alien were familiar with her negotiation style, he would understand that he had already been given a clear signal — no one would be doing business with him. "I do not trade in means of production. Only in products. If you need to acquire equipment, you may place an order and receive the necessary quantities within the timeframe stipulated in the contracts. On the standard terms."
"A most curious point of view, Lady Santhe," the alien's voice was indeed beautiful. Low, velvety, commanding. Such a voice gave orders, commanded. Such a voice dictated ultimatums, not conducted negotiations. "Especially in the context that I have not yet stated my wishes."
Valles smiled. Honestly, these military types were so "interesting." They couldn't see beyond their own noses.
"There is no need to insult my intelligence, Grand Admiral," she said. "I follow the news — it's good for business. Several Imperial Star Destroyers chasing the Alderaanian princess Leia Organa Solo and the painting Killik Twilight last year. A series of attacks on New Republic outposts and bases. The operation in the Dufilvian Sector and the complete destruction of the sector fleet. Operations in the Sluis sector. Raiding operations against convoys across the galaxy. The attack on Pantolomin. The disappearance of a combined New Republic and smuggler force in the Rugosa system... Shall I continue?"
"If your intention was to impress me with your knowledge, you need not have overexerted yourself," the blue-skinned humanoid said in a calm tone. "I also follow the operational situation."
"Then I shall continue," Lady Santhe said. "The Ubiqtorate fleet has withdrawn from the Tangrene system, and there has been no news from the Morshdine Sector since. Except that volunteer recruitments for service in the fleet of an unknown Grand Admiral are occurring throughout Imperial Space. Despite the New Republic's reports that they were all wiped out..."
The alien watched her in silence. As if assessing exactly what she knew. And the hulking figure in black armor and clothing looming behind him...
"So, Grand Admiral Thrawn," Valles said. "You are not the first, and I am certain you will not be the last, Imperial warlord to fly to me with requests, threats, and proposals. And the essence is always the same — you all need TIE-series equipment, which you are accustomed to fighting with. As it happens, the companies under my command produce it. And everyone needs it. And you, judging by the scale of the military campaign you are — let me note — conducting entirely on your own, without anyone's support, need this equipment in enormous quantities. Fighters, interceptors, bombers... They are quite easily damaged and destroyed. We are well aware of this," she smiled. The Imperial didn't even stir. "Orbital assembly yards are a means of producing such equipment. If it makes it clearer for you — they are my weapons. And my war is the supply contracts for this equipment. Fast and high-quality. Your Imperial lackeys have already been violating a number of patents for quite some time, producing equipment without a license. To put it in simpler terms for you — I am incurring losses from this unlicensed production. Therefore, this mistake will not be permitted again."
"During the period of the Galactic Empire's dominion over the galaxy, TIE-series equipment was produced at thousands of factories across the galaxy," Thrawn noted. "Surely you do not mean to say that you suffered losses from that as well?"
"The misguided policies of my predecessors at the helm of the corporate conglomerate is precisely what led to the current situation," Valles said in a bored tone. "If Raith Sienar profited from the mass production of this equipment for the galactic state, subcontracting to every garage workshop on any planet that could assemble a fighter from spare parts — then the current policy is entirely different."
"I understand you perfectly," Thrawn declared, glancing at the screen of his datapad, on which he was rapidly typing something. Probably already reporting his capitulation and the failure of the negotiations. Usually, Imperials do that after they've left her office... "However, my proposal differs..."
"The fact that you come here in the company of a being dressed in an Imperial Guard costume — and one that is completely different from the official uniform, at that — does not place your need for equipment above others'. Quite the opposite. Since you need this equipment so badly, I will put you at the bottom of the list. For attempting to pressure me. This game works well, Grand Admiral, when you are playing against a weak opponent. I will tell you the same thing I told those who have tried in the past to do what you are doing now: you will not intimidate me. Nor will you take this place by storm. If anyone comes to Lianna with the intention of seizing my companies — I will use all my influence, all my resources here, on this planet, and in the nearby sectors of the Tion Cluster, to destroy the invaders. And take my word for it — should you bring a fleet here, there will be ten ships of a similar class for every one of yours. Both from my fleet and from the fleet of the Imperial Remnants, who will arrive the moment I announce that I am raising the price of my products. I trust I have made myself sufficiently clear and concise?"
"Without a doubt, Lady Santhe," the Imperial said. The timbre of his voice did not change a single note. No anger, no irritation, no vexation was audible — not the slightest sign of that palette of emotions felt by those Imperial warlords who had sat in this very spot in the past. And not a single muscle twitched on this creature's face. That at least commanded respect. But this woman was not accustomed to changing her mind. Give in to an emotional impulse once, and like little children, your clients will tell their friends and business partners that House Santhe has shown weakness. And then they really will come for her. Not the Imperials — they are deathly afraid of losing their sole supplier of equipment that goes beyond the range offered by the Ciutric Hegemony and the Pentastar Alignment. The New Republic will come, which has long been licking its chops over both Lianna and the technologies of the companies under House Santhe's control. And how badly they want to get their hands on the neighboring Tion Cluster, with its hundreds of hyperspace routes and economically and industrially developed worlds... Valles had fended off representatives of the new government of Coruscant time and time again. And they had left in silence. Gritting their teeth. Preferring to continue trading and making purchases rather than acting tough and trying to break the stalemate with military force. Yes, the New Republic also had in its arsenal examples of technologies developed by Raith Sienar. They even managed to repair them, occasionally produce them... But that had always led only to disasters. So the Provisional Government continued to trade with Lianna and House Santhe as well. And the volumes of the contracts were impressive. All the Imperial Remnants could do was whimper quietly if the New Republic ever unleashed all that power on them. "I think perfectly constructively, and there is nothing wrong with my hearing."
"In that case," Valles said peaceably, "be sure to leave your order on my secretary's desk. We will review your application and notify you of our decision — whether we will build equipment for you or not. As you can imagine, the Imperial Remnants have been rather tight on funds lately. And considering that you do not even belong to any of them, and do not enjoy their support, I doubt you are even solvent enough for large orders. And building small batches for us... is not very profitable."
"I'm afraid you haven't quite understood me correctly, Lady Santhe," the Grand Admiral said calmly, looking her frankly in the eyes. And, as if not seeing her, he looked through her. Valles felt this meeting was starting to displease her. Still, what could this alien do, accompanied by his Imperial Guard dressed up as Darth Vader, given the fact that a squad of heavily armed fighters was positioned just behind the thin wall of her office, ready to destroy any target in an instant? "You have made a number of mistakes by using your standard negotiation tactics on me — the ones you use with clients who displease you. However, it seems you have forgotten not just the rules of politeness, descending into outright arrogance and contempt, but also the fundamental law of business: 'The customer is always right.' However, I fully concede the possibility that this very thesis is, in principle, unfamiliar to you. It was conceived in a different time, by a different culture, by different beings. But it is sharper than ever."
"Decided to flaunt your intellect?" she asked coldly.
"I am merely stating facts," the Grand Admiral said in a calm tone, handing the being in black robes standing behind him his datapad. The latter, extending a hand forward, silently took the device. His dull black helmet with a red visor tilted forward slightly, as if the eyes behind those pieces of transparisteel were reading something on the screen. That appeared to be the case — because the fingers of the being in black robes began typing something on the datapad. Apparently a reply to a message. The Imperials had really gotten bold. Such disrespect! "You have made several errors. The first is that you mistook the being standing behind me for an Imperial Guard. In broad terms, that is correct; however, the Imperial Shadow Guard — whose attire you are confusing with the red robes of the aforementioned guard of Emperor Palpatine — is merely a unit within that said division. A very specialized one, I would say," before Valles could express her surprise, the Grand Admiral simply raised his hand, palm up, as if expecting something to fall into it, and... The head of House Santhe frowned. The datapad smoothly flew through the air from the hands of the being in black robes, over the Grand Admiral's shoulder, and landed on his palm.
"What is this cheap trick?!" Valles asked angrily. "Do you expect me to believe you have a pocket Darth Vader?"
"You are free to believe whatever you wish," the Grand Admiral said softly. "I have already stated the facts to you. The Imperial Shadow Guard is a specialized unit trained to eliminate Jedi and other Force-sensitive beings. They also possess a number of superior abilities. For example," the Grand Admiral moved his hand to the side and precisely jabbed a finger at the false partition — "the presence of a squad of soldiers behind this screen is no secret to my companion. But the fact that you could not distinguish the uniforms of the elite representatives of the Imperial Guard and the Shadow Guard only indicates that you are not knowledgeable in the very matters you are trying to discuss. I will not waste your time with lengthy explanations. Instead, I suggest you ponder the question — whom do fighters like the one you see behind my back serve, and why are these elite soldiers not seen in the entourage of other prominent figures of the Imperial Remnants."
"But there are Imperial Guards," Valles Santhe reminded him.
"There are," Thrawn agreed. "As do I. They are guarding my shuttle. I believe your people noticed the red paint scheme on the TIE Interceptors escorting my shuttle. Believe me, that paint color was chosen for anything but ostentation. However, we are not discussing that now. The second point stems from what I have already stated. You are being dismissive of your guest," the Grand Admiral said. "I have been polite to you. And I did not interrupt you, observing the rules of decency and respect for the weaker sex and a potential business partner. You likely believed this step to be a sign of weakness on my part. But no, it is merely a peculiarity of my cultural upbringing. Nothing more."
Imperial Shadow Guard
First, Santhe wanted to call security and throw these insolent creatures off Lianna, but she suddenly realized that her initial judgments about this being had certain... flaws. And Lady Santhe did not like unpolished details in a mechanism. Strangely enough, the alien had managed to intrigue her. She wanted to hear him out, and then throw him out on his ear. House Santhe knew how to learn from its mistakes.
"Your third mistake is that you believe every Imperial comes here to beg and plead," Thrawn continued. "I understand your resentment over lost profits from the unlicensed production of TIE-series equipment in the galaxy. But again — those are purely your commercial problems. I, on the other hand, arrived here on a ship filled with money, solely to purchase an orbital assembly yard. And you did not even listen to my proposal. Unwisely. I value the labor and property of others. Primarily — Imperial property. Especially when it belongs to someone else. You listed the Empire's recent successes. But, it is obvious that you still do not follow the news. Not long ago, the Empire launched a second attack on the New Republic shipyards in the Hast system," Valles raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And reclaimed its own property. A very curious fact, but according to my information, the attack was led by an Imperial Star Destroyer named Reckoning," Lady Santhe narrowed her eyes with interest. She would no doubt verify this information. "You may soon learn that the Ciutric Hegemony, which has already been mentioned as your competitor, has acquired a substantial contingent of line ships. Trophy ships, primarily. I think, after seeing the operations the Imperials have carried out and the destruction they leave in their wake, as well as the trophies they obtain afterward, you will reconsider the idea that I came here to reminisce about the glory days of the Galactic Empire in order to obtain the equipment I need. And certainly not to wage war or cause you any kind of damage, but to protect myself and my few allies. Because what is happening in the galaxy, and what is coming, primarily concerns me and my allies," Valles was about to ask a clarifying question, but decided not to give the being sitting before her the pleasure of witnessing her ignorance. Corporate intelligence would find out everything on her orders. "Calculations show that producing a single TIE fighter costs you only fifty thousand Imperial credits. However, demand for this equipment is steadily falling. Year after year. In fact, no matter how hard you try to show me otherwise, all the major Imperial Remnants prefer to purchase equipment from the Ciutric Hegemony. What falls to you are orders for expensive, low-volume TIE-series models. And also orders from the New Republic," Lady Santhe snorted indignantly. "Yes," for the first time in their entire meeting, the Imperial allowed himself a smile. "As much as you may wish not to publicize it, this fact cannot be hidden. However, in your place, I would be cautious in trusting the New Republic. A few minutes ago, you informed me that the New Republic had eliminated all the Grand Admirals of the Galactic Empire. I dare to assure you that this is not the case. Perhaps you might be interested in a minor incident on the planet Rathalay. I hear several wealthy villas were destroyed there. And one of them was run by a man whose appearance is painfully reminiscent of Grand Admiral Octavian Grant. A man who, with every fiber of his being, hates aliens like me. But another fact is curious. This traitor, for a long time after Palpatine's death, hid in the Pentastar Alignment, and then came out of the shadows and... disappeared. And the New Republic has launched a series of lightning strikes against secret supply depots and bases of the Galactic Empire. And all this is set against the backdrop of ongoing military actions in the galaxy, orchestrated by a certain Grand Admiral. One who is causing damage to the New Republic on a scale most have never seen..."
"What are you getting at?" Valles Santhe inquired.
"It's simple," Thrawn declared. "Everyone wants to protect themselves. And that is precisely why I am here. I needed equipment to produce small starfighters. And I was prepared to purchase it, compensating all your costs — given the decline in demand and considering the fact that you give part of your production to certain Imperial warlords to keep them off your borders. One to one and a half billion credits for an orbital assembly yard, whose actual value is five hundred million — is a very worthwhile offer, don't you think?.."
Santhe felt herself becoming amused. The alien had dumped a torrent of information on her, most of which she could easily verify. That meant, at the very least, he wasn't lying to her, though that didn't rule out the possibility that he might simply be omitting many details. And it was no coincidence that he had made a number of hints she was supposed to "arrive at" herself, filling in the obvious gaps.
"Do you want me to sell you an orbital assembly yard so you can defend yourself against the strengthening Ciutric Hegemony?" she smirked. "Or do you think I'll believe that the New Republic is deliberately pulling starships out of its fleet to use them against someone?"
"Not against 'someone,'" the Grand Admiral corrected. "Against you. I have only recently returned to this known part of the galaxy. And I must admit, I am not pleased with what is happening here. Unlike other Imperials, my goals do not involve continuing to fight to the last soldier. What I desire can be achieved by other means."
"And what means might those be?" Valles inquired.
"You truly believe I would share such valuable information?" the Grand Admiral smirked. "No, Lady Santhe. I'm afraid we're in different weight classes. I came here to buy a production line and propose an alliance against those who trouble both you and me. Fighting while knowing you're not alone is always more beneficial and easier than possessing immense resources and production capacity without a line fleet to back them up. After all, no matter how brave you act, Lady Santhe, your military strength is exclusively your companies' capabilities. You have no particularly strong allies — only those you can call upon for help. However, from a military standpoint, I must note — before ships from remote parts of Imperial Space arrive to rescue you, Lianna will be burning brighter than a supernova." The woman let out a barely audible snort. "But I see you intend to handle everything perfectly well on your own. I won't insist. I won't persuade, beg, or plead either. You're not inclined toward constructive dialogue, and that's unfortunate. I don't make a habit of cooperating with those who try to use me. And especially — those who lack information yet still strive to demonstrate superiority. Consider what I've told you as no more than a friendly gesture. A display of goodwill toward a long-time supplier of excellent military equipment. Well, perhaps I was mistaken, and in truth, camaraderie and mutual assistance in this galaxy no longer mean anything."
"Or perhaps you're simply upset by the refusal and are making up implausible nonsense on the fly, hoping I'll throw myself at your feet for help and beg you to protect me in exchange for handing over the most valuable production lines?" Lady Santhe smiled. "My dear Grand Admiral. Just because you've strapped on all those baubles doesn't mean you're as magnificent as those who wear them by right. Not so long ago, the Empire of the renegade warlord Zsinj was destroyed. He, too, liked to wear white. But he forgot that Palpatine granted it not to those it suited, but to those who stood above others — who were smarter, more calculating, and more cunning. I've been in my business for many years, Grand Admiral Thrawn," she said. "I've heard plenty of stories. Yours is the most delusional of all I've ever heard."
"In that case, I truly have nothing more to do here," Thrawn said with a smile on his lips, rising from the table. "I'm certain you won't take advantage of my final remark, but I still harbor a faint hope that when things become very dire, we'll be able to save your company and its workers together."
"What nonsense are you about to spew this time?" Valles asked, no longer hiding her contempt.
"Just two observations," the blue-skinned humanoid said. "When you communicate with your customers from the New Republic, ask them why the Star Destroyers Emancipator and Liberator ended up at the Hast shipyards during the previous attack. And if they tell you that the strike on those yards several years ago did not interrupt an operation to attack some Imperials in order to make others seem guilty, thereby starting a localized war — then they will be lying."
"I was wrong when I said you couldn't come up with a worse, more delusional story than the last," Valles said.
"You are free to think as you wish, Lady Santhe," Grand Admiral Thrawn smiled. "But I still advise you to consider for what purpose the New Republic — a state that positions itself as a bastion of peace, tranquility, and a rejection of the symbols of the Galactic Empire's tyranny — is currently repairing and arming a Lusankya-class Super Star Destroyer... Which so intriguingly vanished from the galaxy's sight immediately after the end of the Bacta War."
And here, it got to Valles. It got to her badly.
"For what a coincidence," Thrawn continued, holding her gaze without blinking, "that Lianna's defenses can withstand an attack from a small, well-armed fleet. But neither the Golan platforms nor planetary shields can protect against the Executor's twin... And if you add a few missing ships to its escort..."
Thrawn didn't finish. Because he surely understood — while his previous tales might have sounded like a madman's ravings, the information about the Lusankya... You couldn't ignore that. Especially in light of the New Republic's recent orders... And all the more so because she had the means to verify this data...
"You can be quite eloquent, Grand Admiral," she said, putting on a practiced smile. "I think there may be some of your concerns that actually have a real basis. I need some time to evaluate the information, to verify it... I'll contact you if necessary."
"Not 'if,' Lady Santhe," Thrawn said. "When."
Valles kept looking him straight in the eye. No, a sentient couldn't lie this skillfully. On the contrary, he could simply mix lies and truth for his own purposes, but for some reason, the woman began to doubt that at least the information about the Lusankya could be a lie. But verifying it would be extremely easy. If the New Republic, like any other reasonable state, had been methodically repairing it all this time, that said nothing about any threat of deploying a Super Star Destroyer. But if they truly had started working faster now...
"If you're right regarding the threats to my companies and Lianna, you'll get a significant discount on our products, Grand Admiral," she said. The hint was clear enough — and if it turns out you're a liar, your remaining lifespan won't be very long. "Your help in eliminating the threat will be duly appreciated."
"And again — wrong, Lady Santhe," Thrawn shook his head almost imperceptibly. "After everything I've heard from you today, when I arrive at Lianna next time, I'll take everything I wish from here. And you will willingly give it to me — so that your world doesn't fall under the weight of your enemies' advance."
Then again, this filthy alien might simply be deceiving her...