The thermite charge burned through the lock mechanism, and the tightly pressed semicircular doors of the emergency airlock parted slightly.
But that was enough for the two stormtroopers of the Fourth Squad. They grabbed the doors with magnetic clamps and began manually forcing them apart.
Stormtrooper TNX-0297, his face hidden behind the standard white stormtrooper helmet with black visor lenses, watched as the path into the enemy Star Destroyer's depths opened. That was why he was the first to notice, through the narrow gap of the parting doors, a squad of enemy soldiers ready for battle. They had set up a barricade from a pair of cargo containers across the corridor. Behind this makeshift cover, five New Republic soldiers were positioned, armed with blaster carbines, protected by light armor hastily thrown on over standard fleet uniforms.
The crew members hoped to prevent a stormtrooper breakthrough in this direction. They intended to attack as soon as the doors opened wide enough for even one man to squeeze through.
Futile. The stormtroopers knew full well that the crew would receive an alert about unauthorized airlock use the moment they docked in their landing craft.
"To the threshold," commanded TNX-0297.
Two stormtroopers of the Fourth Squad, gripping their weapons more comfortably, approached the doors. The "Oppressors" glinted predatorily with matte black paint against their snow-white armor.
Actually, throughout the entire Stormtrooper Corps, only assault commandos and incinerator stormtroopers professionally favored this type of weapon, since they were better trained and prepared for such operations. But here was the oddity. In the newly formed 501st Legion, there were too few stormtrooper specialization options, not counting "acid-wash," scouts, and a few others.
A curious situation arose. The equipment was there, but no users. Sergeant TNX-0297 had submitted a corresponding request to command, and Major Tierce — the battalion commander whose unit included the Fourth Squad — had approved it. The rest was a matter of technique and gaining experience. Sergeant TNX-0297 and his eight men had no problems with either. Today, they had an excellent opportunity to demonstrate what they had learned and to vary the standard boarding tactics for large starships.
"Fire," Sergeant TNX-0297 ordered over the Fourth Squad's internal comm.
Shoving the nozzles of their units into the gap, thereby drawing the attention of the Red Gauntlet crew members lying in ambush, the stormtroopers squeezed their triggers in unison, just like in training.
The defenders of the docking bay, located on the same deck as the backup command post of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer, had time only to exchange glances full of pain and despair, knowing what was coming.
And into the Star Destroyer's corridor poured multi-meter streams of searing flame, burning out oxygen, organic matter, and paint from the walls, melting the metal of the cargo containers and the plastic of the blasters.
A couple of minutes later, stepping over the practically cremated bodies of the crew, the Fourth Squad began clearing the backup command deck.
* * *
"The main and cargo hangars of the Red Gauntlet are under control," Captain Pellaeon reported. "Major Tierce' battalion is clearing the bridge. Resistance is being suppressed on all decks. The use of flamethrowers…"
Gilad hesitated. A wave of doubt crossed his face.
"Any problems, Captain?" I inquired.
"The use of flamethrowers as a means of clearing ship corridors has fully justified itself," the Chimaera's commander said, his voice slightly more strained. "No, sir. No problems."
"Do you consider the use of 'Incinerators' excessive?" I clarified.
"We're not giving them even a chance to surrender," the Captain said, his conscience apparently stirring.
"Really?" This question seemed to become rhetorical. "Captain, you have a fine habit of reminding me of the circumstances of what is happening. A useful habit, and I like it. Wouldn't you like to use your own gift on yourself?"
"What do you mean?" Pellaeon's face darkened.
"Lieutenant Tschel," I addressed the approaching watch officer. "Since the Judicator emerged, how many times have we offered the enemy surrender?"
"Twice so far, Grand Admiral," the young man said. "The first time upon exiting hyperspace, the second — immediately before storming the ships, as soon as our boarding forces docked. I have a report from the medium cruiser commanders, Grand Admiral. They report that both escort carriers have capitulated and are under control. Organized resistance is happening aboard the Mon Calamari Star Cruiser. On the second cruiser, the crews of the Crusader and Death's Head are continuing to fight. Attempts to scuttle the ship have been prevented. Clearing of the crew quarters decks is underway."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. You may return to your duties," I said, still studying Pellaeon with a searching gaze. "So, what do you say, Captain? Two offers of surrender — that's not so few, is it?"
"I can understand why Solo ignored the surrender offer the first time," Pellaeon said with a sigh. "He had a large number of line ships and thought that would be the end of it. But after his fleet was practically crushed, surrounded, with boarding parties about to knock on his very own bridge… I don't know, sir, it's some kind of wrong decision. But burning them…"
"Are you suggesting we spend more time, lose more stormtroopers, just to reach a compromise with our conscience?" I clarified.
"No, of course not, sir," Pellaeon flared up. "It's just… It's not very humane or pragmatic — the ship takes even more damage. Critical components could fail, and repairs would drag on."
"No longer than necessary," I clarified. "Every Star Destroyer carries a stock of critically important parts, components, and assemblies. We have four identical destroyers in our inventory, plus the Interdictor. Your concerns are groundless, Captain."
"Yes, sir," he echoed.
Turning my chair toward the Chimaera's commander, who stood beside me like a pillar of salt, I looked at his pursed lips, his slightly hunched shoulders, his distant gaze:
"We don't have the same resources that the Galactic Empire had at its disposal, Captain," I explained patiently. "Time and circumstances are not on our side. And I have no desire to drill into every first general and private of the New Republic that I don't intend to repeat my demands several times. Just as we have come to terms with the reality around us, so will they have to. Otherwise, no one will ever take us seriously as an equal. And any agreements made with the New Republic or third parties will always be subject to great doubt. Remember the example of the alliance between the Imperial Remnants and the New Republic in the fight against Warlord Zsinj."
"The Empire and the Republic agreed to destroy him," Pellaeon said weakly. "And then the division of territories began."
"In which the Empire essentially picked up the scraps, because the New Republic actually took all the planets and systems they needed by force," I continued developing the thought. "And yet, victory over Zsinj and a fair division of his state could have postponed the confrontation between the states for years."
"So they aren't fighting each other even now," the Chimaera's commander noted.
"Of course not," I smiled. "The New Republic is frantically trying to revive its interstellar trade and attract more allied sectors to its side. And the Empire… They used me, you, and all the commanders, officers, and men originally assigned to my command as a weapon. When one side leaves negotiations humiliated, you can expect a rematch with one hundred percent probability."
The experience of two world wars from my past life and hundreds of subsequent local conflicts points exactly to this. Whatever the official pretexts for starting hostilities, the true reason is always deeper.
"I remember you've said this before, sir," Pellaeon nodded. "If one side considers the other weak, they won't agree to equal negotiations."
"As regrettable as it is to admit this fact, a lot of blood must be spilled on the altar of peace negotiations before each side realizes that an unstable peace is always better than a good fight."
"I understand, sir," Pellaeon sighed heavily. "Forgive my moment of reflection."
"Emotions are common to all sentient beings," I remarked philosophically. "To abandon them is the same as turning yourself into a war machine, a droid."
"Or a stormtrooper," Gilad said quietly.
"Or a stormtrooper," I agreed, turning my chair again to watch the events through the main viewport. "Captain, you would do me a great service if you checked on the status of our damaged Strike. Also, make a request to Tangrene. I want to know if the heavy cruisers promised by Grand Moff Kaine have been delivered to the base."
"It will be done, sir," Pellaeon assured me, striding toward the comms bay.
* * *
A blaster shot passed over his head. Any normal man would have been terrified when the next shot skimmed across his helmet, vaporizing the outer layer of armor.
But a stormtrooper is no ordinary man.
TNX-0297 remained indifferent to the near miss. Instead, he shifted the barrel of his E-11 slightly and, with two short bursts, turned the chest of a sergeant with Republic comms section patches into smoking pulp. The man crumpled to the deck with his torso torn open, his blaster pistol falling from the dead man's hand.
A young Zabrak technician who lunged for the weapon was hit in the thigh by the stormtrooper closest to the sergeant, sending him rolling across the deck, clutching the wound with his hands.
Immediately afterward, both stormtroopers ducked behind a tech console, using it as temporary cover. Dry, clicking impacts from blaster shots drummed against it. For now, the soldiers weren't in danger of being shot in the back, but that scenario could unfold in a few minutes, given the intensity of the fire. So they needed to move.
TNX-0297 gave an order over the squad's internal comm, and the stormtroopers in cover on the other side of the corridor opened suppressing fire. The hits on the tech panel stopped instantly. Instead, dying cries of pain rang out — the lethal accuracy of the stormtroopers had already proven itself dozens of times today.
TNX-0297 peered out from behind his cover, confirming that the enemy preferred not to engage five rapid-fire blaster rifles. Instead, a human hand, clutching a heavy blaster pistol, emerged from around the corridor bend and began firing blindly.
A typical smuggler's trick, where hitting the target is possible only by chance.
Along with his comrade, TNX-0297 slowly moved toward the intersection, keeping the space under control. The moment the hand with the blaster turned their way, the sergeant was already a couple of meters away.
Simultaneously with the dying roar and flash of the shots, he took a step forward, slamming the blaster-wielding hand against the bulkhead with the flat of his rifle. A strangled Corellian curse came from around the corner, but the blaster pistol ended up on the deck.
TNX-0297 grabbed the hand by the thumb, twisting it in a pain hold, while using his right hand to pass his E-11 to the soldier following him. As soon as his other arm was free, he took the arm to the breaking point and essentially dragged a man out into the corridor from the dead end. The man wore black trousers with characteristic stripes, a white shirt, and a dark vest. Despite the grimace of pain and attempt to resist, TNX-0297 identified his identity without error. As well as the reason the man hadn't risked open confrontation. The vest's tails concealed a characteristic blaster burn on the lower right side of his torso. And judging by the outward signs, the wound was painful but posed no immediate danger to life or health.
Holding the man in a pain lock and ignoring his wisecracks, TNX-0297 opened a comm channel to the battalion commander. He needed to report critically important information for the mission.
* * *
The burn dressing was uncomfortable when walking, so the stormtroopers were practically dragging him into the main hangar, supporting him under the arms.
Han barely managed to even touch the deck with his feet, but that was probably for the better.
Let the "dolls" get some work in, do a good deed. His knee was still aching, his right wrist was nearly broken, and on top of that, there was this blaster hit…
"Hey, easy there, pal," Han tossed at a stormtrooper whose rank insignia — barely visible against the snow-white armor — marked him as a sergeant, when the man unceremoniously whipped him around a corner so sharply that Solo's dragging feet nearly tore from his pelvic bones. "I'm not a load of firewood!"
The stormtrooper ignored him, continuing at a brisk pace toward the designated target.
Ah, and it had all started so well…
And it only made it worse that the situation felt like standing on the edge of a deep chasm, the ground treacherously crumbling underfoot, with a penetrating wind blowing at your back…
A gnawing feeling of having made a terrible mistake didn't improve his mood as they began passing corridors and compartments soot-darkened to impenetrable murk, where the stormtroopers had used flamethrowers. And judging by how efficiently the men in white armor worked, bagging charred remains into body bags, they had no other concerns. Which meant… The crew of the Red Gauntlet was either eliminated or had laid down their arms. And frankly, it was hard to tell which option was preferable. From Republic intelligence reports and his own experience, even the grave was better than Imperial captivity.
But to die, burned alive by a flamethrower…
The image made Han shudder.
Inhumane.
Finally, while he was lost in thought, the stormtroopers stopped.
Han surveyed the main hangar with a grim look. According to the Imperial-class shipbuilder's design, this spacious section was meant to receive large vessels, shuttles, dignitaries' yachts, and other large-format flying equipment that had no place in combat cells.
And the hangar was not, as Solo had feared, filled with the bodies of defenders, signs of battle, or Imperial soldiers' firing squads. There wasn't even an excessive number of stormtroopers vigilantly controlling ship movements — two Lambda-class shuttles had just left the landing pad, carrying the Imperials' wounded "dolls."
In short, it all looked as though nothing had happened here and the destroyer's defenders had surrendered the hangar without a fight. Which alone made Han suspect something was wrong. Very wrong.
Because he knew for certain that three hundred Republic soldiers from the anti-boarding forces stationed on the Red Gauntlet had been sent to defend the main hangar. Those guys, of all people, definitely wouldn't surrender without a fight.
"I don't like this," he whispered, glancing around warily as the squad of stormtroopers who had brought him here lined up along the far wall of the hangar. An unpleasant hollow feeling gnawed at his stomach.
He'd seen this before — stormtroopers preparing for the arrival of someone high-ranking. No wonder everything was clean and tidy here. They'd probably thrown a whole brigade of technicians in here to polish and primp. Typical Empire — showmanship and currying favor with high brass.
It looked like someone important had decided to come aboard… Was it the "upstart Grand Admiral" himself?
And the next second, something seized up between his ribs.
With all the grace a ship that had been through so many scrapes could muster, a Corellian YT-1300 freighter with very familiar modifications appeared against the bluish film of the atmospheric shield.
He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut so hard the illusion would vanish. To shake his wild head until the picture before his eyes disappeared. But no. You can't hide from facts, no matter how your heart tears, no matter how much you want to break free from the stormtroopers' grip and run to the beloved ship on which Leia had gone to meet Talon Karrde, taking Chewbacca with her.
Deliberately slowly, as if allowing not-so-random spectators to admire it, the Millennium Falcon crept over the landing pad on its repulsors alone.
Han, gritting his teeth, listened to the even hum of his ship's systems. A bitter thought stabbed him — the Imperial techs had finally taken apart the controllers and replaced the flow stabilizers; otherwise, they'd never have achieved such smoothness. He wanted to howl like a Wookiee and fight like a Nagai, to deal with whoever had put their meddlesome hands on his ship. But Han understood that wasn't important now. That wasn't the main thing. Hell, he didn't even care about the ship…
If only, right now, as the ramp lowered, his Wookiee friend would stride briskly down it, followed by a figure so achingly familiar, the Alderaanian princess, bringing a wave of warmth to his chest… Let it be so! Let it happen! You can have the ship, Imperials! Give me back Leia and Chewie!
"And Lando," friendly feelings whispered from a corner of his mind, causing a pang of embarrassment.
Yes, of course, it would be good to see Calrissian, too… And Madine, the old rogue! Come on! Come on!
But the heart's hopes and impulses were not to come true.
Instead of those he wanted to see more than his own life coming down the ramp of his ship, the one Han Solo least expected to see here appeared…
A crimson-and-black uniform, a vibro-pike lying blade-forward on his right shoulder in marching style, an opaque crimson helmet with a black polarized visor… On the other side of the ramp, next to him, stood some gray-skinned freak. A slave, probably, or a servant. Although who would take such an ugly thing with a protruding lower jaw and hate-filled eyes? Only an idiot. Though it was believed that all Imperial idiots (like their geniuses) had already been killed by the New Republic. Hmm… Maybe one was left?
The shock of what he saw was staggering. But it receded when Han realized the absurdity of the scene. An Imperial Guard flying so casually on the same ship as a gray-skinned non-human? That couldn't be. Palpatine's black bones would grow flesh before that happened. The person who came up with this charade had a very stupid sense of humor and a very dim view of one particular Corellian's intelligence.
Nothing had changed, but then he was grabbed under the arms again and dragged straight onto the ship. Han still clung to the hope that it was all a fabrication, a fake, that the YT-1300 was another ship, not his.
But as he got closer, he could make out a dozen characteristic marks, dents, and gouges on the hull that were impossible to replicate. Unless, of course, you flew through asteroids while fleeing an Imperial Super Star Destroyer whose captain — the father of the woman you loved — had ordered the pursuing TIE squadrons to thoroughly test the durability of his careless son-in-law's little ship.
Han shuddered, thinking about how everything might have turned out back then after the escape from Hoth, if Darth Vader had known he was related not just to one single Luke Skywalker, but also to Leia — whose planet had been destroyed by a mad grand moff in the presence of the "best father in the galaxy."
After Endor, Han often asked himself — was his freezing in carbonite on Vader's orders a manifestation of that same Force that Luke and Vader himself spoke of? Maybe the Sith Lord had already received certain hints from the Force that it wasn't worth killing that nosy Corellian who kept making eyes at the orphaned princess... After all, what stopped Vader from simply finishing him off instead of using him as an experimental womp gerbil? Was a single test of the carbonite machine's successful operation enough for Darth Vader to be convinced of its safety for freezing an overly quick and stubborn young Jedi?...
Never before had Han felt such discomfort at being on board his own ship. No, the Imperials hadn't touched anything inside — at least, that was how it seemed at first glance. But the Imperial Guard who was dragging him through the corridors, clutching him by the scruff like a misbehaving pet, frankly put him on edge.
It seemed Solo was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice he'd been handed over.
"Keep your hands to yourself," Han snapped when the guard, in order to carry the Corellian over a small structural obstacle in the Falcon's corridor, literally scooped him up under the arms with one hand and carried him like a life-sized doll. And he wasn't even breathing hard. Was this guy even human?!
The guard, as well as the gray-skinned freak following along next to them, didn't even pay him any attention. He was simply shoved into the central room — the mess hall of his own ship. Han nearly toppled onto the deck, but managed to catch his balance, standing on one leg.
"I'll remember you," he told the guard, who walked past him as if nothing had happened, taking a wide arc around the couches set up in the compartment.
The gray-skinned alien moved to a dark corner of the compartment, where he simply and unceremoniously crouched, sliding an uninterested glance over the Republic general. The Corellian spun on his heel, limping on a leg throbbing with pain and wincing from the ache in his side, and cast a look at the holochess table.
"Welcome aboard the Millennium Falcon, General Solo," a pleasant male voice, rich with overtones, poured into his ears like... cocoa. As for its source...
Blue skin, a snow-white tunic, epaulets gleaming with aurodium, eyes burning with red fire...
"I am Grand Admiral Thrawn, Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces of the Galactic Empire," said... he, in a clear, commanding officer's voice. Probably "he." He looked human. But the seasoned former smuggler had never met anyone like him. Hmm... He looks human, but with blue skin and red eyes... Some clever twist of Duros genetics? "Pleased to meet you in person, General Solo."
Han started to say something, but choked on his own question.
"Rukh," said... using the same authoritative yet velvety voice... lo... said... anyway, it came from the lips of... WHO THE HELL IS THIS GUY?! "Bring some refreshments."
The former smuggler didn't even register what was happening before the gray-skinned freak vanished from his corner. And now he was standing next to... Thrawn, setting an ornate tray with drinks on the game table. And then, in the blink of an eye, the freak was back in the corner, with an expression as if nothing had happened.
"Please, General Solo, have a seat," the unknown man with the fiery gaze indicated a couch near him. Well, near... the opposite end. And behind the back of the soft furniture loomed the bulk of his "escort."
"Thanks, I'll stand," Han said, thrown off balance.
"Your pride is harming your well-being, General," why did the "Imperial's" voice radiate a kind of pleasure? As if he had met an old friend or a role model from his youth? "Guard, assist the General..."
"Oh, no, no," Han grimaced, limping toward the couch. After a couple of steps, his knee was crying out in such pain that he would have been glad to sit next to the devil himself. Hmm... And maybe that's exactly what he was doing?
"After our conversation, you will receive all necessary medical care," this... Thrawn said to him, very politely ordering. "I apologize for the circumstances of our meeting, but you shouldn't have flown into Noghri territory. Especially after conducting reconnaissance here and returning with a large military fleet. I don't like it when someone or something threatens my allies. I hope that's clear?"
"Clear," Han agreed through gritted teeth. Was he mocking him?! He had splattered a dozen military ships across the orbit and now decided to apologize?! "Um... Grand Admiral, maybe you can just tell me where the hidden camera is, and we'll call it even?"
The flickering red eyes focused on Solo. For some reason, a chill ran down his spine. His teeth chattered treacherously, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead.
"Explain yourself," the... Grand Admiral demanded in a calm tone.
"Since when does the Empire hire aliens and appoint them to the highest command positions?" and after all, whose ship was this anyway?
Solo leaned back, looking at the serene "Imperial" with an air of ownership.
"Since the moment it became beneficial to the Emperor," not a single muscle twitched on Han's face. Something about the way his interlocutor referred to the old wrinkled maniac didn't sit right with him. Or was it just phantom pains of the past? After all, how many dozens of sectors still lived and didn't believe that Palpatine had been destroyed nearly six years ago? "However, I note, this conversation isn't about me, but about you, General."
"Is that so?" Han squinted. Fine, he'd leave all thoughts about the tyrant for later. But he needed to gather more information. "You've named yourself such a high military rank, but I know quite differently. Only humans were admitted to high positions in the Imperial Armed Forces, and even more so — Grand Admiral posts. Even women were grudgingly taken into the fleet and army — only if they represented something genius. But I've never heard of a single alien of such rank. And the New Republic destroyed all twelve Grand Admirals."
"Come now, Captain Solo," Thrawn smiled at him unexpectedly. His smile looked somehow sinister. "Surely you don't think that the good old propaganda speeches and tales spread by the Alliance to Restore the Republic actually reflect the real picture of what goes on in the Imperial court? Allow me to disappoint you. Every one of your points is incorrect."
"Is that so?" Solo grinned. "Are you saying that you're direct proof that the Emperor could so easily elevate a being not belonging to the human race?"
"Emperor Palpatine himself decided who was human and who wasn't," there was not a hint of emotion in Thrawn's voice. But a certain aura of authority surrounded him. Authority, detachment, perceptiveness. "Allow me to dispel your concerns. You're looking at me, a representative of a non-human race in the traditional sense, and you think the Emperor could not bestow such a great title on someone not of the same biological species. I'm sorry to disappoint you — you are wrong."
"And how so?" what was this, a friendly get-together?!
"Are you familiar with the name Danetta Pitta?" Thrawn inquired.
"What Corellian doesn't know the name 'Defender of Corellia'?" Han grimaced. "As far as I remember, he was one of the first Grand Admirals who seized a small piece of the galaxy for himself — the Corellian sector, which he intended to rule. Though he died in a battle with his colleague."
"Yes, ambition didn't bring either him or Josef Grunger to a good end," Thrawn nodded almost imperceptibly. "Are you aware that Pitta conquered a large number of worlds in the Outer Rim for the Empire?"
"And he subjected its population to destruction if they didn't belong to the human race," Han said with disgust. "Though he had mercy on some. Selling them into slavery."
"A remarkable hatred for representatives of other races, isn't it?" Thrawn asked for Han's opinion. "It makes one wonder why a person would display such extreme zeal, compared to which the cruelty and racism of COMPNOR seem like child's play?"
"I'm sure you have an answer to your own question," it seemed Han had figured him out. Thrawn wanted to spin him some tall tales to gain his trust. If only he knew what all these "moves" were for.
"I wouldn't argue with your opinion if I didn't possess information that refutes your judgments," Thrawn stated. "So, returning to Pitta. He was not human. Among his ancestors were representatives of races such as Bornek and Etti. My colleague completely destroyed all information about his ancestors and his origin."
That didn't really sound like the truth. But it could always be verified by checking the Imperial Palace archives, couldn't it? Though... was it worth all that extra effort to figure out when you were being led by the nose and when someone was feeding you Gamorrean lies?
"My current rank was awarded to me, as well as to the other twelve beings who held it, by Palpatine himself," Thrawn continued. "The position of Supreme Commander was given to me by the Imperial Ruling Council, so there's no need to worry about the legitimacy of my words and the proposals that will be voiced."
"Well, yes, that's a load off my mind," Han's initial oppressive feeling lifted. "Maybe you'll be so kind as to tell me where the people who were on this ship are?"
A small test. Let's see if you hold up and name names...
"I'm sorry, but at the moment I don't have information about what your wife and the Wookiee Chewbacca are doing," Thrawn replied emotionlessly. "At the time when the ship came into my possession, there had been no one on board for some time, according to my technicians. Two or three days."
"Is that so," Han noted that the Imperial used extremely evasive phrases... Maybe he meant that he didn't know exactly what they were doing at that specific moment in their cells? If he had captured the destroyer on which Lando had delivered them to the meeting point, then of course the ship was empty. Anyway, this blue-faced guy was clearly a slippery type. "And how did it happen that you came to hold such a high rank? Of course, if that's not classified information."
"Depends on what you consider a secret," Thrawn remarked philosophically. "As I already said, the decision to award me my current rank was made by the Emperor himself after the completion of a special mission for him."
We know all about those "special" missions.
"The New Republic has information about all twelve Grand Admirals we destroyed," Han said. "And your name isn't among them."
"Without a doubt," Thrawn confirmed. "At that time I was far from the capital for political and strategic reasons. The inhabitants of the Imperial Palace have short memories and a bilious temper toward those they dislike. And as for the completeness of your information... Don't be disingenuous, General Solo. You know perfectly well that most of my colleagues met their deaths not at the hands of the Alliance or the New Republic. The already mentioned Pitta and Grunger fell victim to their own excessive ambitions and guaranteed mutual destruction. Ishin-il-Raz committed suicide by flying a Star Destroyer into a star. Martio Batch was destroyed by his own flagship's crew. Demetrius Zaarin died by Imperial hands on a special mission for Emperor Palpatine — wait, was that a hint just now? Rufaan Tigellinus fell victim to court intrigues and the chaos of power after the Battle of Endor. Along with Palpatine on board the second Death Star, Nial Declann perished. Afsheen Makati died in the Corporate Sector a year after, together with Miltin Takel, he managed to avoid death on board the same battle station. The latter, like Tigellinus, died by Imperial hands. Martio Batch's death was undoubtedly your doing, since he was destroyed in battle over the Kashyyyk system by Admiral Ackbar. Osvald Teshik was captured after the Battle of Endor and executed by representatives of the Rebel Alliance. And you know the fate of Octavian Grant — he defected to your side and remained in the shadows for a long time. At the present moment, he has left his comfortable prison, and over the last few weeks has served as a military expert for the well-known advisor Borsk Fey'lya. So, be so kind as to spare me the hypocritical and empty boasting based on claiming credit for achievements to which neither the Rebel Alliance nor the New Republic as such have any relation whatsoever."
Han swallowed the lump in his throat. Grant was working for a Bothan?!
"Do you have proof of Fey'lya's cooperation with Grant, or is this empty talk?" he rasped.
"General Solo, perhaps the familiar atmosphere of the Millennium Falcon is a little dizzying, but I dare to remind you that there are no agreements or diplomatic accords between the Empire and the New Republic regarding the exchange of intelligence information," Thrawn shook his head. "So you'll have to make a choice: believe my words or treat them skeptically. I'm not insisting on anything, merely stating facts to refute your unsubstantiated accusations."
"So you want to convince me... By the way, what do you want to convince me of?"
"I didn't set such a goal for our meeting, General Solo," the alien remarked, evidently tired of having to reiterate what he had just recited. But that was the point — to make him say something extra when repeating what he'd already said. "You are alive only because I want to send a message to Coruscant."
"Is that so?" Solo grinned. "Why not take your brave fleet and fly there... By the way, did I hear correctly? To Coruscant? Not to the 'Imperial Center'?"
"I'm sure your hearing is fine," Thrawn expressed his opinion. "Yes, you heard correctly. I have no desire to play word games, as I don't suffer from a painful and wounded ego. I prefer facts, and the facts are that the New Republic holds the ancient capital. Call the planet whatever you like, it doesn't concern me, the meaning won't change. Thank you for the invitation, but I must postpone my visit."
"What invitation?" Han didn't understand.
"Didn't you just a couple of seconds ago invite me and my fleet to arrive in the Coruscant system?" the Grand Admiral raised his eyebrow meaningfully.
"Uh..." Han hesitated. "Yes, you could, if it's not too much trouble, drop me off at the capital..."
"I'm sure that in two and a half days, Republic ships will come to pick you up from here," Thrawn said. Han sensed a whiff of failure somewhere. And possibly a trap. "I have other strategic objectives."
"I wonder what they are?" the Republic general blurted out faster than he realized what he was saying.
"I'm trying to keep this galaxy from drowning in blood," the Imperial replied, strangely enough. "That is why I ended up serving in the Imperial Fleet."
"The nobility of Imperial officers," Han sneered. "Were you feeling that same nobility when you gave the order to burn my crew members with flamethrowers?"
"I hold no hatred towards you personally, nor towards the New Republic, General," Thrawn replied. "I have a job — to protect the worlds of the Empire and its allies as Supreme Commander, and that is what I am doing."
That didn't sound very sincere.
"So Honoghr belongs to the systems under Imperial control?" Han threw out a bait to keep the dialogue going.
"Until recently," Thrawn confirmed.
"Does that mean, in that case, that you have come onto foreign territory, Grand Admiral?" Han asked triumphantly. "Since Honoghr no longer obeys you."
"Your conclusions are not without foundation, General Solo," Thrawn replied in the same, almost bored tone. "However, you violated the borders of the Honoghr system. The Noghri asked for my help, and I gave it to them, preventing military action against that people."
"We didn't start a war," Han shifted uncomfortably. "I came here for reconnaissance..."
"At the head of a fleet of star cruisers?" Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "General, I'm beginning to think you've absorbed too many of the double standards of Coruscant politicians. Because I don't suspect that a former graduate of the Imperial Military Academy could confuse the terms 'reconnaissance' and 'military invasion.' In my time of study, the appearance of military vessels in a neutral star system, refusing to leave upon the first demand of local authorities, landing armed troops with heavy equipment support, was precisely called an invasion. If I am wrong, please present a refutation of my arguments."
"Actually, you opened fire first and blocked my ships," Han shifted.
"Will you use that to justify yourself to the Noghri matriarchs for the destruction of their sons, who died on the patrol ships you destroyed?" Thrawn inquired.
"If only I knew who these Noghri were," Han grumbled.
"Noghri," Thrawn extended his hand, encased in a snow-white glove, towards the dark corner... where the gray-skinned freak was sitting. Han, meeting his gaze, quickly turned back to Thrawn. "Oh, trouble," as Zolotnik says. "I'm sure that when you flew here last time in your freighter, you made sure that there are no active Imperial military installations here. Therefore, a series of questions arise, which I hope you will answer."
Han nodded silently, unbuttoning his shirt collar. It was getting a bit warm.
"Who gave you the coordinates of this star system?" Thrawn inquired.
"He called himself Sedriss," Han said reluctantly. "One of yours."
"A familiar name," Thrawn's words seemed to become a couple of degrees colder. "When and where did this happen?"
"A couple of weeks ago on Nar Shaddaa," after all, it couldn't get any worse. "I was looking for information about my wife and friends. The informant who said he had leads didn't show up. Instead, this Sedriss arrived. He offered to help me find my wife if I returned to military service and struck at Honoghr..."
Han shuddered as he heard a metallic screech behind him. Turning around, he saw the gray-skinned freak literally crushing one of the metal ventilation ducts with his bare hand. Not that the pipe was made of thin material, but Han himself couldn't bend it that way. Chewbacca — that was another matter.
"Easy, Rukh," Thrawn said in a commanding tone.
"You said he was Noghri," Han noted, turning away from the alien warily. "Or is it Rukh?"
"Rukh is the name of this particular representative of the Noghri people," Thrawn explained. "What exactly did Sedriss promise you?"
"That I would find Leia after I destroyed the Imperial installations on Honoghr," Han recalled his conversation with that unpleasant character.
"So you came here to attack the planet and its installations?" Thrawn clarified.
"I came to find out what was going on," Han snapped angrily. "Last time I noticed the remains of an Imperial military base on the planet and an operational turbolaser. In orbit — patrol ships of Imperial design, and also hanging there, and still hanging, a transport ship that was once assigned to our armed forces at the Hast shipyards, which were destroyed by the Empire. What more proof do you need of this planet's connection to the Empire?"
"So you understood that you were flying into Imperial Space, General," Thrawn said calmly. Han went cold. So who caught whom red-handed, hm, Corellian? "We'll leave that point aside for now. You had no doubt that one transport, patrol ships, and the remains of a base on the planet were proof of Honoghr's connection to the Empire. I fully admit that some details might escape my judgment, but how does all of the above constitute proof of a connection between Honoghr and the possible whereabouts of your wife?"
"That's exactly what I wanted to find out," Han said. "You're also a military commander, Grand Admiral. I took a fleet to find out what's going on here. To get information if necessary. No one was planning to pull a 'Base Delta Zero' on your Noghri here."
"Perhaps," Thrawn said evasively. "But you also made no attempt to make contact and discuss the matters that interested you."
"It just didn't work out," Han winced.
"No," Thrawn replied unexpectedly firmly. "You didn't even try, General. You brought your squadron here to 'blow up a little,'" Han coughed. Because that's exactly what he had said to Wedge back then, in the Imperial Palace! "Where and when were you supposed to meet Sedriss?"
"It wasn't even discussed," Han declared. "At the time of the conversation, I was... a bit out of it. I got the impression that Leia was here, on this planet... So I wouldn't have bombarded it."
"You could have asked a simple question, General Solo," Thrawn said. "And the Noghri would have answered you. I assure you, on Honoghr there is not, never has been, and never will be either Princess Leia Organa Solo or her brother, the Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker. That is an unthinkable fact."
"Why not?" Han inquired.
"Rukh," Thrawn addressed the gray-skinned one. "Explain."
"Your wife's father, Han of the Solo clan, kept the Noghri in slavery for nearly thirty years, treacherously deceiving us," the gray-skinned one said irritably as Han looked at him. He spoke with a sort of growling, mewing accent. But the former smuggler would have bet his head that neither this guy nor possibly his entire people were harmless. A pang ached somewhere in his heart... "We do not hold grudges against children for their father's actions, but they are not welcome on Honoghr."
"Yeah, my father-in-law was something else..." Han bit his tongue just in time. Looking at Thrawn, he asked, "Grand Admiral, may I know what will happen to my subordinates?"
"As I already said, you will go to Coruscant, and your subordinates will go into captivity," Thrawn explained.
"You're keeping the ships for yourselves, I assume?" Han asked hopefully. What the hell, they were talking now, so why not give it a shot...
"Spoils go to the victor," Thrawn stated.
"Who the hell is this Sedriss?" Han blurted out.
"The Executor of a Dominator who has gathered Imperial-leaning Revanites around himself in the Deep Core," Thrawn replied as if it were obvious.
"Harrsk? Teradoc?" Han tried his luck.
Thrawn simply shook his head.
"Revealing his name to you at this moment would accomplish nothing except that your words on Coruscant would not be believed," he explained. "You would have no proof to offer. And you would not be able to properly process what is being said to you."
"Imagine that I want to take your word for it," Han said, squinting.
"By all means," Thrawn shrugged, almost human-like. "In the Deep Core, on the planet Byss, Emperor Palpatine has either already been resurrected or is planning to do so."
Han felt his palms go clammy and his face go slack. He wanted to scream at the alien, "No! You're lying!" But for some inexplicable reason, Han believed him. Believed him to the point of trembling knees. And yet with all his heart, he wished Thrawn was just leading him on.
"Tell me this is a prank," Han pleaded.
"If you ask so nicely, I can say it's a joke," Thrawn said in the same tone, devoid of even a hint of humorous subtext in his words. "But that won't change the fact. As I said, you are unable to accept the inevitable. For you, it all ended there, in orbit around Endor, when Darth Vader threw the Emperor down the shaft. But that's not how it was. He has been resurrected. And he is angry. And he will come for his enemies, unleashing the full force of his fury upon them."
"Why are you telling me this?" Han rasped.
"You asked, and I satisfied your curiosity," Thrawn replied.
With an enormous force of will, Han forced his trademark smirk onto his face. Only now it no longer radiated its usual optimism. But what Corellian wouldn't at least try to be an optimist?
"So that's how it is?" he said hoarsely. "You figure I'll fly to Coruscant, dump all this on Mon Mothma, and the New Republic will fall before the Empire in fear?"
"Oh, you misunderstand me, General Solo," Thrawn assured him. "I never intended to threaten you. All I needed from you was to find out who organized the attack on the Honoghr system. I have the information I need, so soon you'll be able to head home."
"Then maybe you'd explain this to me?" Han asked tensely. "Sedriss is clearly an Imperial. You're the Supreme Commander. Palpatine is your Emperor. If he really is alive, then what's this infighting between you?"
"Not all Imperials are what your propaganda makes them out to be, General Solo," the Grand Admiral explained. "I, for example, have no desire to destroy your state or its defenders. I have no quarrel with you, as long as you don't try to harm what remains of the Empire or my plans."
"I've already figured out you're a master of words, Grand Admiral," Han said, glaring at him angrily. "About three months ago, a buddy of mine told me a Grand Admiral had taken the helm of the Empire. And then we started getting chased from one end of the galaxy to the other. There were all kinds of theories. But I get the feeling you had something to do with it, didn't you?"
"Could the supreme commander of one state be involved in problems with the military infrastructure of an enemy state?" Thrawn asked rhetorically.
"Then this whole thing is some kind of crazy dream," Han snapped. "You attack us, and then immediately start these weird negotiations. What are you trying to achieve, Thrawn?"
"An end to the bloodshed," the Grand Admiral replied.
"Hard to achieve that by destroying our military bases," Han snorted. "The Empire is coming to an end. I'm sure you know that. You'll hold out for another year, two, five, ten — but we simply have more ships, soldiers, and industry. You'll be crushed, Grand Admiral."
"The future will judge us, General," Thrawn said. "Nevertheless, I strongly urge you to privately inform Mon Mothma about the threat of the Revived Emperor. And also — to deliver a warning."
"Wait, I'm not following," Han interrupted, completely thrown off. "You think I'm going to work as your courier?"
Thrawn favored him with the condescending smile of a genius long accustomed to others not keeping up with his train of thought.
"You see, General," he said, deliberately slowly, "I decided that you, an enemy commander who lost his fleet in a battle that never should have happened, would be convincing enough before the Provisional Government to outline the full threat I can pose to the New Republic if you don't stop your raids on our supply lines, and also if you don't dissuade Mr. Fey'lya from his revanchist idea of attacking the Sluissi Hegemony. And I would also very much prefer not to have to tear apart your young and fragile state to find the location of the Lusankya-class Super Star Destroyer that Fey'lya is secretly arming and refitting using fraudulent requisitions during the weapons mount phase, following your little scheme of using military vessels as plugs for logistical gaps. I'd rather spend that time on other tasks and not be waiting for a stab in the back from a state of victorious democracy. Should I continue?"
"No," Han said sullenly. "Maybe you'd share some information about who your informant in the Imperial Palace is? I'm sure if you pulled your man out, Mon Mothma would be more cooperative."
"I'm sorry, General Solo," Thrawn stated. "That won't happen. I can say with great confidence that if you recount our conversation on Coruscant, first, you'll lose your general's rank. Second, you'll be ridiculed, and not a single member of the Provisional Government who holds full authority will do anything to verify the accuracy of my information. Unfortunately for you, Mon Mothma intended to use the attack on Honoghr to boost her own political standing. But your fleet is destroyed, its personnel — what's left of them — are prisoners. All you have is my word that Palpatine's Executor is using you against me. I'll venture to guess that voicing these arguments would tank Mon Mothma's approval rating and plunge the New Republic into the chaos of Bothan political infighting. But if you stay quiet and draw your own conclusions, there's a good chance that by the time his campaign begins, the New Republic will at least be able to prepare."
"Grand Admiral," Han said patiently. "You do realize how... improbable your words about Palpatine sound, don't you? One of his personal guards is standing right behind you. You received your rank from his hands. Even if I believed Palpatine was alive, why would he send his Executor to act against you?"
"Because I have no desire to be a bargaining chip in his quest to drown the galaxy in blood," Thrawn replied. "And I have no desire to be his personal executioner, either. The guardsman you mentioned has personally witnessed Palpatine's fleet and resources in the Deep Core. And believe me, there are thousands of ships and millions of elite soldiers there. When it begins, no one will be able to sit it out. Mass slaughter is not part of my plans for this period of my life, nor is participation in it. However, if I must, I will fight — for myself, for my people, and for the image of the Imperial war machine that we embody."
"You almost sound like you're saying the Empire was never absolute evil..."
"And it never was," Thrawn stated. "Like any state, it has both positive and negative aspects. My people and I prefer to use only the positive ones. But if we are attacked and our home in the New Territories is threatened, we will respond. The thrashing I gave you here, at Honoghr, will seem like a walk in the park to you."
The charred skeletons of his own crew members flashed before Han's eyes.
"Thrashing, huh?" he said through gritted teeth. "You butchered people, Thrawn."
"And I will repeat it as many times as necessary for you and your politicians, your military, to understand — you don't touch what's mine," Thrawn explained to him as if to a child. "For attacks on my worlds, I will exterminate you and any other opponents without mercy and without a break for lunch."
Han thought that maybe this blue-skinned guy did know how to joke. He just didn't try to make it funny.
"Maybe then you could give me a map with your sectors and systems marked on it?" Thrawn inquired.
"You already have that map," Thrawn stated. "Everything the Empire currently controls, its Remnants, as well as those worlds and systems that wish to join us — all of that is under my protection."
"That's a very vague statement," Han shook his head. "You know no one is going to just let you keep oppressing sentient beings."
"You're talking about something you don't even understand, General," Thrawn stated. "The Empire in the past oppressed worlds, races, committed genocides and other unsavory public displays of destructive behavior. The forces under my control have learned the necessary lessons. The races living within the Imperial Remnants chose their path voluntarily. I assure you, within the Empire you won't find anyone who wants to leave it of their own free will."
"Hard to believe, Grand Admiral," Han admitted.
"Then why hasn't Coruscant received a single request for help or for joining the New Republic to this day?" Thrawn inquired.
Han hesitated...
"I'm not a politician..."
"That's exactly why I'm having this conversation with you, General," Thrawn said sternly. "If I wanted to talk to Mon Mothma and Fey'lya, I would have already done it — by capturing Coruscant." Solo looked up at the Grand Admiral, hoping to tell if he was joking. Apparently not; Thrawn didn't know how to joke. And after this massacre, he didn't exactly feel like testing his words in practice either. "But I have no interest in empty chatter and beating around the bush. You asked me why you couldn't find anything in Emperor Palpatine's records regarding a thirteenth Grand Admiral, even though the statute on high command positions gives a strict number — exactly one dozen who have the right to bear that title. Based on our conversation, I'm sure you're capable of properly assessing my answer. Of course, if you want to hear it."
Honestly, if Thrawn hadn't lied once this entire time... By the Hutt, questions didn't even come to mind when he spoke. Maybe let him keep talking?
"I do," Han said. After all, when else would he get the luck to extract so much information from a high-ranking Imperial? Though the decicred value of this information without actual proof was questionable.
"There are two versions of what happened," by now he should be used to the fact that this guy never said anything directly. "Proponents of the first believe I was exiled to the Unknown Regions as punishment for involvement in political intrigues. Palpatine sentenced me to charting maps where no sentient being had set foot. And no one believed I would ever return from there — so they preferred to forget about me and pretend Palpatine had never paid attention to one particular alien. But then, it seemed, the Emperor had fallen, his rivals were destroyed, and it was possible to return, to conquer the galaxy..." one would think even at this point some long-buried anger, pain, would surface, but no. Thrawn read it like a script and it didn't affect him at all. "Proponents of the second version, however, claim that nothing happens in the Imperial Palace without the Emperor's knowledge. Which means he was perfectly aware that practically the entire court wanted the death of one specific alien he favored. So the alien and the Emperor devised a plan to eliminate the potential threat. An artificial political affront was created, an artificial exile. And in reality, the alien was sent to the Unknown Regions to subjugate them to the Empire's power." now that wasn't just a knot in the stomach. At these words, an abyss opened up. "And the alien succeeded in his task. But in doing so, he encountered threats of indescribable scale, which led him to decide to return to known space and shed light on the fate awaiting the galaxy if it didn't stop its petty squabbles."
Solo hesitated, looking at the Imperial Guard figure.
"What's the catch?" he asked.
"No catch," Thrawn assured him. "Which of these versions is correct, you'll have to decide for yourself. And the consequences of your choice are entirely your responsibility. Maybe your Jedi friend said that one's choice determines the future for everyone?"
"Never heard him say anything like that," Han admitted.
"It's never too late to broaden your horizons, is it?" Thrawn inquired. "Your troopers, led by Lieutenant Page, for example, learned today what happens to those who destroy Noghri crops."
"Are there any survivors left on the planet?" Solo asked reluctantly. Recalling how much the Grand Admiral liked to play with words, he clarified: "From the troopers?"
"Of course," Thrawn confirmed. "Those who survived the combined actions of the Noghri and the 501st Legion have been taken prisoner."
"I thought that legion was disbanded," Han grimaced. He didn't have the fondest memories of encounters with those guys.
"Military bureaucracy can be so deceptive sometimes, Captain," Thrawn shook his head. Suddenly, his comlink buzzed.
"Excuse me, General," he replied, rising from the table and heading for the exit. The Imperial Guard followed at his heels. "Duty calls. If you wish, you may remain on board until we find suitable transport for you. I'll return to the Chimaera by shuttle. Rukh," the Noghri stood up — "see to it that General Solo is accommodated comfortably. Then return the ship to the hangar."
"Actually, I thought you were letting me go on the Falcon," Han said.
Thrawn gave him a long, appraising look.
"General Solo, as I said, I don't give away what's mine, and this ship is my prize."
"Right, right..." Han said absently. Then it dawned on him. "Did you say Chimaera?"
"Your hearing is still perfectly fine, General," Thrawn said, stopping and meeting the Corellian's gaze. "Chimaera is the name of my flagship."
"I have a sneaking suspicion that name sounds familiar," Han furrowed his brow. "And not just from your recent visit to Agamar... Grand Admiral, have we met before?"
"Not in person, General," Thrawn replied. "I was in the Poln system when the Dominator of the Unknown Regions, Nuso Esva, was trying to pit the Empire and the Rebel Alliance against each other."
"I'll bet you were the one who resolved that situation," Han said.
"Yes, I was," Thrawn replied simply. As if it were nothing, just preventing a mass slaughter.
"You're damn good at manipulating your enemies," Han recalled the details of how some Imperial commander had talked Nuso Esva into revealing his plans for the Unknown Regions. Half the Empire had been buzzing with rumors and gossip about that at the time. Then the Battle of Endor happened and it all sort of faded away.
"It's just a useful skill," Thrawn informed him.
"And what about this Nuso Esva?" Solo asked.
"He's dead," Thrawn said. "His allies killed him when they learned of his true intentions."
"Did you have a hand in that?" Han had already figured out that this particular Imperial didn't lie. He played with words, but he didn't lie.
"Yes, I did," Thrawn repeated himself.
"Did you ever have any failures during your service to the Empire?" Han grimaced. If everything that had happened to the New Republic was his doing, it was no wonder if he really did manage to restore the Empire to its former borders. With talents like that.
"Yes, there was one," Thrawn said. "If the Emperor had heeded my advice on the approach to securing a certain ground base covering a space construction project that had begun, the Rebel Alliance would have ceased to exist."
A chill ran down Han's spine.
"Where was that?" Solo asked, barely audible. And he was terrified of the answer.
"On the forest moon of Endor," Thrawn replied just as simply.
While Han sat in disarray, Thrawn left the mess hall.
And the Corellian really hoped this strange Grand Admiral wasn't off to destroy the New Republic.
At least not entirely.