Lieutenant Colonel Astarion leaned back from his workstation, cracking his aching neck.
He was exhausted—thoroughly exhausted.
His eyes were starting to water. Fatigue was taking its toll—after all, spending a night working with the entire (albeit incomplete) crew of a Star Destroyer and their passengers... Even considering that every available intelligence and counterintelligence officer had been brought in, even operatives resting on base at the time, even the relevant service personnel from the starships in orbit above Tangrene, recalled from their vessels... Senior officers, destroyer and cruiser commanders, Thrawn's most trusted mid-ranking officers, the Imperial Guard... Nearly twelve thousand people whose judgments and conclusions no one would question. Even with all that, detailed cross-interrogations of almost fourteen thousand people took the entire night. And following that, there were over fifty thousand more who had survived the attack on the Ubiqtorate ships. Who had been inside those very starships. And the last of those only finished near dawn. By then, everyone—both interrogators and the interrogated—was dead on their feet with exhaustion. It turns out that even clones of the best intelligence and ISB operatives have limits. Physical ones, at least.
But the work was essentially done.
Only one thing remained: the middle-aged man sitting across from him, his gaze slightly dull, his officer's uniform slightly rumpled. Astarion had to interrogate him and determine the officer's stance regarding recent events.
Slumped shoulders and posture, wrinkles etched around his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned downward. His gaze fixed straight ahead—on the tabletop.
The man was broken. He had suffered a great loss, and it was unlikely he wanted to talk to anyone right now. But it was necessary—if Astarion wanted to fulfill the Grand Admiral's orders by the time he returned.
"Your name, rank, position." The lieutenant colonel didn't even have the strength to add interrogative intonation to his voice.
The man sitting across from him didn't even stir.
"Your name, rank, position..."
"I'm not deaf, Lieutenant Colonel," the officer raised his eyes to him. "What's with all this game-playing? You know perfectly well who I am, my rank is visible right here." He tapped the command bar with his right index fingernail. "And my position doesn't mean anything anymore anyway."
"The questions are a formality," the chief counterintelligence officer explained. And a simple psychological trick—if a man in a situation like this starts answering his questions, it means he's on their side, ready to cooperate. "Unfortunately—they're necessary."
"Just like interrogating every single one of my people without exception?" Anger crept into the man's voice. "We came here to fight under Grand Admiral Thrawn's command! We went against Imperial Intelligence and the Ubiqtorate! We're practically war criminals for following our consciences! For making the right choice! And what do we get for it?! Interrogations?! Distrust?!"
"You have to understand us," Astarion said peaceably. "You yourselves discovered, among supposedly loyal crew members, deep-cover agents of Imperial Intelligence and the ISB. We can't afford to make mistakes in a situation like this."
"What situation?!" the commander of the 'Void Wanderer' finally exploded. "The Empire is falling apart before our eyes! Some 'desk-jockey little captain'—and may I add, a three-time toady of the Ubiqtorate's backup singers—talks back and openly disobeys the Supreme Commander! The Grand Admiral attacks Ubiqtorate ships! Imperial servicemen are dying!"
"They were dying back when Ubiqtorate fleet units attacked your destroyer," the lieutenant colonel remarked coldly. Captain Abyss, looking at him, crumpled like an air cushion with all the gas let out. "You noted it all correctly, Captain. The Empire is falling apart. Honor and loyalty to duty mean nothing anymore—only loyalty to specific individuals and their point of view. Grand Admiral Thrawn sees everything that's happening and has no intention of accepting it."
"Is he planning to fight all the Remnants?" Abyss grimaced. "To prove he's right and they're blind?"
"If necessary, then yes," Astarion said firmly. "And everyone under his command will follow him. Unconditionally. But Grand Admiral Thrawn's main goal is to take the best of our past and create a new, worthy future. Power to the worthy, not to religious fanatics. No arbitrary decisions made to satisfy someone's whim. There is duty, there is the Oath—and they will become the fundamental law that those who follow the Grand Admiral will abide by."
"They said Thrawn didn't meddle in politics," Abyss said bitterly. "And now you're telling me that I and the men who followed me betrayed the Empire to serve an officer who's breaking his own word?"
"You did exactly the same thing, Captain," Astarion reminded him. "You did the right thing. You followed someone you believe in, whose actions you don't doubt."
"And before my eyes, he destroyed the crews of three Star Destroyers," Abyss declared. "Lured them into a minefield and..."
"Do you think it would have been better to hand you and your men over to them?" Astarion asked.
The man dropped his gaze. He was broken and exhausted.
"I should have let them have me," he said. "I'm the one responsible for everything. If I had just obeyed the order and not rebelled..."
Astarion stopped listening, opening the relevant reports from his subordinates on his personal datapad. They were already organized into file directories. Turning the device so the screen faced away from himself, he handed it to Abyss.
"What's this?" the man tensed.
"Testimonies from eighty-nine thousand seven hundred and one crew members of the destroyers 'Eradicator,' 'Black Star,' and 'Arbiter'—the ones you claim Thrawn destroyed," the counterintelligence officer said.
"I don't care about the Ubiqtorate's ravings," Abyss snarled.
"Is that so," Astarion nodded. He took the device back and opened a file at random, the first one he saw. "Then I'll read you something."
"I already told you, I don't—"
But the counterintelligence officer ignored the objections.
"Midshipman Talett, commander of the seventh turbolaser battery, Imperial Star Destroyer Eradicator," he read the interrogated man's data. "Twenty-three years old. Recipient of a school mathematics award. Enrolled in the artillery course. One month later, filed a discharge request. The request was denied. Within twenty-four hours, an ISB officer came to him and threatened execution for draft evasion. The midshipman returned to the course."
Abyss frowned.
"Ensign Artan," Astarion selected another file at random. "Tractor beam operator. One month of service aboard the Star Destroyer Black Star. He was standing watch on the bridge when the previous destroyer commander refused to follow an Ubiqtorate officer's order to destroy a settlement on a remote planet that had refused to hand over its grain reserves to Orinda as tribute. The reason — a famine that had broken out in the village itself, and the complete disregard by officials for the village elder's appeals."
The captain's gaze hardened.
"Senior Sailor Stone, gunner, Star Destroyer Adjudicator. He enlisted because his family was threatened with execution by Ubiqtorate stormtroopers. One month into his service, he learned they had been executed for voicing outrage over tax increases."
The commander of the Void Wanderer's cheek twitched.
"Cabin Boy Jeffers. Responsible for the mouse droids on the third battery deck, Star Destroyer Black Star. Ubiqtorate stormtroopers executed the artillery crew on the deck after they expressed bewilderment at how the Eradicator's commander communicated with the Supreme Commander."
"Cadet Small, Star Destroyer Black Star. He witnessed sixteen officers executed by stormtroopers on the order of an Ubiqtorate officer for insubordination — refusing to fire on your ship."
"What is this?" Abyss forced out.
"A dismantling of your certainty that only Ubiqtorate loyalists were aboard those three Star Destroyers," Astarion explained. "Only a small portion of their crews were ideologically committed to what was happening in the fleet. The majority of the crew, excluding the stormtroopers and a number of officers, are regular fleet personnel who dislike the Ubiqtorate, the ISB, Intelligence, and all those who crawl under their skin and give orders without any experience or understanding of the matter. They are no different from you, except that they did not choose their fate — to serve on ships that the Ubiqtorate selected for itself based on high crew performance or otherwise. In Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet, there is a Victory I-class Star Destroyer that previously served in the Ubiqtorate fleet here, at Tangrene. Imperial Intelligence leadership abandoned them when they learned of their sympathy for the Grand Admiral's actions and character. Since then, their methods of destroying the loyalty of those who are faithful to or sympathetic toward the Grand Admiral have only intensified. The question is no longer whether Thrawn is trying to split the Empire or seize power in the Remnants. He is saving what can still be saved and allowing the best that the Empire had to survive. The Ubiqtorate and the governments of the Remnants do not see where they are driving the Empire. And the direction they have chosen now is one — toward destruction. Toward internecine strife that only a strong leader can end. Not a hysteric, not a psychopath invested with power, not an intriguer or conspirator who destroys any sign of dissent. The New Order is a thing of the past. For over twenty years, that ideology poisoned minds and turned the galaxy into a battlefield of ideology. Grand Admiral Thrawn intends to stop these senseless massacres. And those who follow him support him. The Empire will fall — it will be crushed either by military or ideological means. What remains will be pitiful scraps, incapable of standing against any serious threat. Thrawn understands this. The governments of the Imperial Remnants do not. And they do not like what is happening. That is why the Void Wanderer and your crew were not sent, as previously ordered, to rendezvous with us. No one in the Imperial Remnants wants the current situation to change. Everyone is content with the piece of power they have acquired. And what will happen to the Empire, to ordinary Imperials — most of them could not care less."
"Except Thrawn?" Abyss asked.
"Correct," Astarion confirmed. "At least, we only know of him. Him we trust, and for him we are ready to go into battle, to preserve and develop what we have. Is that not why you and your crew sought to reach Tangrene?"
"Everything... has become more complicated," the commander of the Void Wanderer admitted. He was silent for a time, then inquired:
"What will happen to those Imperials who were aboard the Eradicator, the Black Star, and the Adjudicator?"
"We have weeded out the unreliable, obvious agents, and others requiring further screening. At present, they are all considered dead — the Ubiqtorate wrote them off without even attempting to investigate what happened. This provides a small, but at least some, guarantee that their families will not be repressed. At this moment, we are ready to integrate over eighty-seven thousand sentients who have come over to our side into our fleet. Who came over voluntarily!"
"Aboard all three starships, there were approximately one hundred fifteen thousand crew members alone," Abyss said bitterly. "Not counting nearly thirty thousand stormtroopers..."
"At the time our soldiers began boarding the ships, after the feint maneuver and the ships' disablement, the number of survivors aboard the destroyers reached one hundred twenty thousand. During the operation, that number decreased to what I stated. Some resisted our troops and were killed; others were executed by Ubiqtorate stormtroopers. The latter, as you know, do not surrender, so they did not even make it onto the survivor lists — not after the crimes they committed against fellow Imperial servicemen. Thrawn does not forgive such things and responds accordingly. You and your people could have witnessed it firsthand if you had agreed to participate in the ships' clearance."
"You haven't answered — what will happen to these sentients and my crew," Captain Abyss repeated his question.
"At present, preparations are underway for a rotation of fleet personnel," Lieutenant Colonel Astarion said. "We have a considerable number of ships that are essentially idle without full crews."
"You'll redistribute these men so that small numbers end up on the decks of various starships and keep an eye on them," the commander of the Void Wanderer understood. "That should be enough for a couple of destroyers..."
"As recently as a few weeks ago, we had six Star Destroyers without crews," Lieutenant Colonel Astarion said in a calm tone. "Grand Admiral Thrawn has a habit of not destroying but capturing enemy starships. Especially Star Destroyers acquired by rebels through boarding actions."
"Now I understand why you need these nearly ninety thousand crew members and those twelve thousand serving on the Void Wanderer," Abyss nodded knowingly. "Or are you hoping to put those three thousand civilians we evacuated under arms as well? That wouldn't be surprising, given you have a shortage of over two hundred thousand crew..."
"Some time ago, we crewed two of them; only four remained," Lieutenant Colonel Astarion continued. "Now we have four more Star Destroyers."
"Eight," the Void Wanderer's commander's eyes widened. "A whole fleet..."
"The Void Wanderer will be repaired within a few days, if you are ready to join us, Captain Abyss," Astarion said. "Along with your crew, of course. That will be one less idle destroyer."
"You're in a hurry," the officer tensed. "Is some operation planned?"
"You'll find out if you swear allegiance to Grand Admiral Thrawn," the chief counter-intelligence officer replied simply. "I warn you now — there will be no turning back."
Abyss looked at him with sorrowful eyes.
"I already have nowhere and no one to return to, Lieutenant Colonel Astarion," he said quietly. "Everything that connected me to the past is now destroyed and forgotten. So, let's finish with the formalities and get down to business. Abyss, Captain of the Imperial Fleet, commander of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Void Wanderer," the man, fifteen minutes after the conversation began, answered the first question. And fifteen minutes after that, he left the office of the Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet chief counter-intelligence officer with the text of the new Oath.
* * *
I leaned back in my chair in the semidarkness of my quarters as usual, studying the holograms of ships projected beneath the ceiling.
Twenty Star Destroyers.
Words fail me.
Twenty.
Star.
Destroyers.
Exactly that many "Imperial-class" ships are currently in orbit around Tangrene, awaiting further orders. Preparations for the crew rotation are in full swing — accounting for over one hundred thousand fresh recruits, we need to crew three of the eight "idle" Star Destroyers. This, in fact, is why the meeting with Tangrene's top officials has resumed.
"The Void Wanderer will be repaired and recommissioned by the thirtieth of this month," said Starshipwright Ryan Zion, whose hologram, along with Moff Ferrus's, was now glowing above the tabletop in front of my computer monitors. "The remnants of its crew are already assisting us as best they can. As are those workers from the Bilbringi shipyards who arrived with them. The damage is extensive, of course, but nothing critical — we'll restore the ship by the target date at an accelerated pace."
"As will the other crewed Star Destroyers," Moff Ferrus interjected. "But we simply cannot fully crew three Star Destroyers at once — we lack the personnel. Only if we strip them from other ships..."
"Out of the question," I declared. "We are already severely undermining the combat cohesion of our crews. Quantity at the expense of quality. That is unacceptable."
"In that case, we can only fully crew the Void Wanderer, and at most two other Star Destroyers — on a residual basis," Moff Ferrus proposed.
"Or we could remove one watch of enlisted personnel from the ships," the starshipwright suggested. "There are still six of them, not counting the various technical staff and duplicate officers..."
"Unacceptable," I said.
"Why is that?" The eyebrow above the starshipwright's real eye arched upward.
"At present, every enlisted person aboard a ship stands a watch of four hours per day," I explained. "Given that neither the 'Mark I' nor the 'Mark II' are equipped with adequate automation, after each watch, sentients are literally drained dry. The watch standard was not chosen by pulling numbers out of thin air, esteemed starshipwright. It is the psychological and physiological limit that the average person can endure at a combat post without degradation of attention and combat effectiveness in an environment of near-total automation absence. If we reduce crews and increase watch duration, we will introduce chaos into crew actions directly before a battle."
"But if we do nothing, we will effectively have a huge number of ships sitting idle," Moff Ferrus protested. "Sir, with all due respect, Tangrene already looks like a..."
"Fleet base," I calmly cut him off. "Which is precisely what it should be. No, I am not suggesting we leave things as they are. At this moment, we have four Star Destroyers in active service. And another will be ready for battle in two days."
"Yes, sir," Moff Ferrus confirmed.
"We can return all twelve thousand crew members to the Void Wanderer," I continued my line of thought. Despite inwardly remaining opposed to the rotation of nearly one hundred two thousand sentients — almost a fifth of the people under my command who make up the crews of a dozen fully-crewed Star Destroyers — it was necessary, because trusting ships to those who had recently served under other command... was unreasonable. And harmful. "That is a mandatory condition," these sentients committed formal treason to serve under my command, and therefore, they cannot be broken into pieces.
And again, a certain conflict arises — if we treat the Void Wanderer's crew so exceptionally, then why are the other three crews any worse? They ran into invisible asteroids. Most of the command staff, consisting of Ubiqtorate officers, died when the bridges were destroyed. Immediately afterward, the stormtroopers began eliminating the crews who had decided to surrender... But these people came over to our side. In principle, they are experienced crews — after all, the Ubiqtorate took them under its wing for a reason. And by keeping them together, supplementing the crews, we could gain far more than by immediately giving Ferrus the go-ahead to shuffle established crews, mixing them with each other.
Furthermore, without the Void Wanderer's crew, it turns out that the crews of the former Ubiqtorate Star Destroyers are nearly at full strength. They are short an average of about seven thousand men each... Captain Abyss's ship is short about twenty-five thousand. If I can scrape together roughly fifty thousand men somewhere, I can instantly supplement my twelve active destroyers with four more. And while the Void Wanderer still needs repairs — two days to restore its combat capability — I cannot even dream of the Eradicator, the Adjudicator, or the Black Star being restored anytime soon. So what is to be done?
Well, at the very least — not waste time on nonsense. I have three Star Destroyers that, one way or another, have minimal crews. Two Mark IIs and one Mark I.
"Starshipwright Zion," I said, addressing Ryan. "As far as I recall, five upgraded Venators with ion cannons as their main battery are already ready?"
"Yes, sir," he said cautiously. "My specialists did everything properly, so each ship will be able to achieve maximum rate of fire."
"These ships are to depart from Tangrene today, together with the destroyers, escort carriers, and interdiction vessels," I instructed.
"Yes, of course," he frowned. "But the sixth ship, as you said, is still not repaired or upgraded; it doesn't even have a crew as such, only a skeleton crew..."
"Therefore, it remains in Tangrene orbit," I concluded. "Since all other fleet ships are either repaired or completing that process, use the shipyard forces and the Bilbringi artisans to expedite the Void Wanderer's commissioning. After that, once the fleet departs Tangrene, begin restoring the structural integrity of the Ubiqtorate ships — I want them capable of long-range transit by the time we return."
"That won't be easy, sir, but..." the starshipwright hesitated.
"I'm not asking whether it will be easy or not," I had to remind the man that we were not playing games. "Do what must be done. These ships must fly and not become the cause of death for their own crew members. Full restoration is not needed, only what is necessary. Moff Ferrus," the governor of the Morshdine sector looked at me with interest. "As far as I recall, we have three Star Destroyers with minimal crews, do we not?"
"Yes, sir," he confirmed. "The former Liberty of Sair Yonka, which you renamed the Dawnstrider; the former Offensive of Leonia Tavira, now the Pillar of Autumn; and the Red Gauntlet... which you did not rename."
"There is no need," I declared. "Distribute the crews from the Eradicator, the Black Star, and the Adjudicator among these destroyers, using the data on missing crew members from the planned rotation projections. Shortfalls in the crews will be compensated as best we can from the personnel of your fleet, stormtroopers, and also the clones of the eleventh batch from the Mount Tantiss facility, which will mature in four days. Also, make maximum use of the mobilized personnel, transferring them to the Tangrene defense fleet ships, and those being sent to us from the D'Astan sector."
"Sir, but in that case, I will have to reduce crews on the Acclamator-class assault cruisers," Ferrus warned me. "As well as on a number of other ships..."
"You have a large number of starships that are in a state of repair or under construction," I cut him off. "Tangrene is well defended — Project Asteroid has proven its effectiveness. Moreover, this substitution is only temporary — until the twelfth batch of clones is ready. This way, we will fully crew four Star Destroyers at once," and squeeze out all our resources, even the potential ones. We will have to send some ships back for 'additional training' in field conditions, but that is no longer the biggest problem. "Starshipwright Zion, I want to remind you that you promised to present your modernization of the 'Imperial-class' ships by the end of this month."
"The ship will be ready, Grand Admiral," he said, pursing his lips. "May I request permission, should you be satisfied with the result of the transformation of the former Errant Venture, to begin refitting the Eradicator, the Black Star, and the Adjudicator."
"First, finish your work on the Vindicator-class heavy cruisers, the Venator refits, and other projects entrusted to you," I tempered him. "Together with the destroyers crewed by Moff Ferrus, the ships must arrive. If In Amber Clad truly proves to be the ship you claim, a decision will be made regarding the other vessels as well."
"Yes, sir," he replied.
"That will be all for now," I ordered. Zion's hologram vanished. "Moff Ferrus, I expect you to resolve the matter of crewing the Star Destroyers within the next twenty-four hours and send them to me in the Skaross system."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral." The moff was clearly not pleased. I understand him — his entire fleet is effectively left with one or two watches aboard each starship. And those sentients will have to manage on their own. It will be far from easy... But it is pure mathematics here — increasing the attacking forces in the Ciutric Hegemony campaign will allow us to effectively resolve issues with both Krennel and the possibility of recruiting crew members once and for all. Although 'once and for all' is, of course, a gross exaggeration on my part, but it will definitely be enough to fully crew the starships I have.
Turning off the holoprojector, I looked at the blinking light of the comlink. Then, I shifted my gaze to the holograms of the destroyers... The fleet I hope to field in the Hegemony will be enormous.
Sixteen Star Destroyers, three of which are Mark IIs. A pair of Providence-class carrier/destroyers — the Colicoid Swarm and the Black Pearl. An equivalent number of Victory-class ships — the Steel Aurora and the Crusader. Two Quasar Fire-class escort carriers. Five Venator-class Star Destroyers with ion cannons as the main battery. A torpedo sphere. Three Interdictor-class Star Destroyers. Two Immobilizer 418 cruisers. And ninety Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers. Yes, I could have stripped half of them of their crews and crewed the destroyers, without resorting to disarming the Tangrene defense fleet. But there is a catch — in that case, it would undermine the combat capability of my own fleet. I am already short of Corellian corvettes and frigates of the CR90, DP20, and Crusader II classes. Even after Imperial Intelligence stole ten ships of each type from Corellia using Niles Ferrier's mechanisms, I still only have forty-five of the first, a dozen of the second, and one of the third. And they must protect thirty starships from enemy starfighters — the Imperial-class, Victory-class, Immobilizers, Interdictors, Quasar Fires, and Venators. That's two per capital ship. Meanwhile, the Dreadnaughts and the Providences will remain without their protection...
Hard mathematics, but war does not come without losses.
I am now preparing for a battle where I do not know for certain what forces the enemy will possess. Most of the ships in my fleet have no combat experience. I am more than certain that both Krennel and the Republicans will bring entire armadas of starships...
Ideally, I should also summon the Mon Calamari star cruisers from Lok, but... Their crews have only just begun to form. There is no concept of combat coordination or joint tactics. The equipment itself is not even properly studied. Throwing them into open battles would be sheer foolishness. And even more so — dragging them into the Ciutric Hegemony.
Because there will be a slaughter there. One that will play out according to my score. If everything goes as I have planned, a significant portion of the enemies will not pose a major threat. But for that, I first need to disable the key player of the Republican fleet.
Hm... Dragging the captured MC80s into open battle is, without a doubt, idiocy; they will be destroyed. On the other hand, three or four of the seven starships are fully restored vessels. Provided with crews, albeit not the best ones, drawn from the populations of Lok, Matamere, Susevfi, and recruited Republicans... These forces could prove useful. But not on the main theater of operations.
However, all of this is a solvable matter. But only after I set a vitally necessary task.
I activated the comlink.
"Grand Admiral Thrawn, sir," came Rukh's mewing voice with notes of concern. I wonder how long he had been trying to reach me? It is notable that he did not break into my quarters to check if everything was all right. Well trained. "Zakarisz Ghent requests permission to meet with you."
I looked at the chronometer. Yes, right on time.
"Very well, Rukh," I said. "Let him in."
A couple of seconds later, after I had dismissed the holograms of the fleet ships, the "slicer" appeared in my quarters, squinting myopically. With a finger movement on the regulator, I increased the lighting to an acceptable level.
"Greetings, Zakarisz Ghent," I welcomed the blue-haired man.
"Um... Hello," he said, staring at the floor in embarrassment, chewing his lips.
"Have you been accommodated comfortably?" I inquired.
"Yes, thanks, all in all," he said. "It's literally the best tech I've ever seen. The guest apartments where Luke Skywalker, Irenez, and General Iblis once stayed are now only two-thirds occupied. In one room, under round-the-clock surveillance, is Winter, guarded by a pair of Imperial Guardsmen. As soon as the ship to transport her to Tangrene is ready, she'll leave the vessel."
In another luxurious cabin, by my order, Ghent was quartered.
"Knowing the Slicers' peculiarity of working in comfort without leaving their bed, I arranged for all necessary equipment to be installed in your cabin," I thought to explain to him the reason why half of his luxurious cabin, used (along with many others, including mine) on destroyers for accommodating high-ranking guests, was packed with various computers. The best that could be purchased in the Imperial Remnant and on the black market without attracting attention.
"Oh, thanks, this is just right," the Slicer nodded vigorously. "But just... Where did you get a Republic military-grade communication console for contacting higher command?"
Naive child... Intelligent but guileless. Just as Mara Jade described in her report.
"There's still some information you're not ready to know, Mr. Ghent," I said.
"Well... I suppose so," the slicer lowered his gaze and began scraping the deck with the toe of his right boot. "So... What is it I need to do?"
"At your disposal is New Republic communication equipment," I reminded him. "As well as holo-recordings of a Republic military officer obtained from open sources. This"I handed him an infoc chip with pre-recorded disinformation—"is the data you are to send to the flagship of the New Republic's Fourth Fleet. The chip also contains a file with the text that must be voiced to the ship's commander."
"That's simple enough, I'll set up a channel right now and push it into their operational data stream," Ghent smiled, thinking the job was done.
"It's not that simple, Mr. Slicer," I replied. "It must be done so that the enemy ship believes the data came from Coruscant."
"Oh," was all Ghent said. "That's complicated."
"Otherwise someone else would have managed it, don't you think?" I clarified.
"Ah, well, right, I suppose," Ghent scratched his nose. "So... I'll need a stable connection to the HoloNet to set up a 'hop' for the signal. In short, I'll first make a holographic 'puppet' from the recordings, then implant the text that needs to be spoken, and then direct the signal to a Coruscant relay over an encrypted channel so it gets the New Republic headquarters' digital signature. But just... Keep in mind, if they have equipment signature recognition, the channel through headquarters won't last long—that's why I say we need a stable signal so everything goes fast and data packets are transmitted in hundredths of a millisecond." The Slicer looked at me with the most honest eyes in the galaxy. I understood him without doubt—this was exactly what they had warned me about from the start when Imperial Intelligence captured the equipment. "So-o-o," the slicer drawled, "after that I'll bounce the signal back to the relay and send it to the ship... Only..." He blinked. "You want the false data to go as a transmission accompanying the holo-recording?"
"Fals-a?" I said, the term was familiar, but it was better to clarify to avoid misunderstanding.
"Well, false information," Ghent nodded.
"That's not false data," I declared. "It's the exact location of an Imperial Star Destroyer for the next standard week. I want the New Republic to know where this ship will be."
"Oh, you..." Zakarisz blinked. A man whose every thought and emotion showed on his face. A boy, seemingly blissful—sees no evil, understands no hints, incapable of anger. "Well... No, it's certainly important, I don't know how you do things here, of course, but when I worked for Karrde, when captains talked over the holocommunicator, they just talked to each other. The 'puppet' will say everything right, I guarantee it. But... What if something goes wrong?"
"Explain," I requested.
"Well, if they ask the 'puppet' questions, then what?" he asked. "The 'puppet' can't come up with answers or ask questions itself—it's a program, not a droid, it won't think on its own."
So the lad really is worth holding onto with both hands and feet. Let's see how he handles the Fourth Fleet flagship. If he succeeds, and without blabbing on board what he did and for whom, then he might be allowed to decrypt files from Palpatine's personal collection.
"Good point, Mr. Ghent," I praised him.
"Aw, come on," the young man blushed. "Just 'Ghent.' Everyone calls me that. So, do I just make the 'puppet' or come up with something interesting?"
In fact, I was waiting to steer the young man toward the trick that Wedge Antilles' subordinates pulled off in the book 'Wraith Squadron.' The trick was that an actor sat before a holoprojector, mimicking the mannerisms of a person who had previously commanded a warship. During the holo-call, a heavily modified setup transformed the actor's movements and appearance for the other party so that it seemed as if the Imperial ship's commander—who by that point was already hopelessly dead—was talking to them directly.
"You're the specialist, Ghent," I flattered him. "Tell me how we can fix the situation."
The Slicer thought for a few seconds before proclaiming:
"I'll make a virtual double," his voice was confident. "So, someone else will speak, but on the New Republic ship, the image will show that they're talking to the one we're trying to impersonate. And if questions are asked, we can answer right away."
"Proceed, Ghent," I offered.
"Of course, of course, as you say," he nodded, scooping up the data chip I had given him.
"Report preliminary results in two days," I said to the young man standing in the doorway of my quarters.
Zakarisz Ghent turned, looking at me with surprise:
"Why?" he asked. "I'll do everything, you'll sit someone there, they'll chat with the Republic, and that's it..."
"In your ordinary life, such an approach might work," I said peaceably. "But you are now in Imperial service, Ghent. You are given an order—you carry it out. I trust that is clear the first time?"
The young man blinked, then nodded silently.
"Very well," I concluded. "You may go now."
"Um, Grand Admiral Thrawn," the Slicer scratched the back of his head. "And why do I need to report in two days?"
"Because if the information is not sent to that ship in time in two days, it will jump away from the planned coordinates; in three days from today, it will link up with another Republic fleet unit; in four, it will move to the attack site; and in six, the Empire will be counting tens of thousands of corpses left after a coordinated enemy attack."
"Oh," the Slicer's eyes widened. "Well... I understand, of course. Only... Well, you misunderstood me. I can manage it in a day."
"All the better," I allowed myself a slight smile. "You are free, Ghent. I expect your report in one day."
In complete silence, the Slicer left my cabin. For a while I sat in total quiet, simply studying the movement charts of enemy units on my monitor screens ahead of the attack on the Liina system. Their target was supposed to be the third planet from the local star.
But judging by the jump trajectories, only one unit was moving in that direction. Meanwhile, the Fourth Fleet units and the Bothan ships, which had so conveniently stopped by the Honoghr system to rescue General Solo and picked up the Morrt project buzz droids there, were clearly in no hurry toward the hyperspace routes leading to the outskirts of the Ciutric Hegemony.
I sat in thought for several minutes before it finally, as they say, 'dawned on me.'
Cunning fox, Fey'lya...
A Bothan, finally 'gone off the rails.' However, that hardly deviates from what I know of him. Both here, in reality, and on the pages of the Expanded Universe books...
The Councilor made a move that, in his opinion, should bring him to the zenith of glory and secure an infinite number of political points. And I must admit—if his plan succeeds (and without intervention, it clearly will), then Fey'lya is guaranteed applause and favor from the entire wing of Republic senators advocating for the destruction of the Imperial Remnant.
Mon Mothma will be cast down from the Provisional Throne in the same Provisional Government. The Skywalker-Solo faction, already out of favor and long kept 'offstage,' even if they return after the Ciutric campaign, will be unable to fix anything...
And then everything will proceed as usual. The snowball of problems and Bothan bureaucracy will only accumulate, accumulate, grow... And by the time Palpatine, like a jack-in-the-box, springs out of the Unknown Regions, everything will be very, very bad.
Exactly what I feared so much will happen—the New Republic will not just weaken. It will split. And—not even through my fault. The Bothans will drive it to the brink first.
Ironic...
The Imperial Supreme Commander will have to make sure this 'most democratic state in the galaxy' doesn't completely collapse into the abyss. At least—not before its time.
After sitting for a while longer, having looked into information about broadband signal transmission through HoloNet relays, I fell into thought.
A rather interesting move might be possible, actually.
However, it's not worth taking risks without knowing the number of ships Krennel himself has. Not to mention that the New Republic's forces are clearly significant. Gathering them all together would certainly be spectacular. But that's already impossible, thanks to Fey'lya's actions. Well, if I can't gather all the enemies together, make them fight each other, and then finish off the survivor, why not return to the old, well-tested tactic that I introduced to this galaxy a few months ago? I didn't want to repeat myself, of course, but circumstances are not in my favor.
Consequently, the best course of events will be to again employ an ancient and well-known saying.
Some attribute it to Gaius Julius Caesar, who, to achieve his goals, pitted barbarian tribes against each other, allowing them to destroy one another with relish.
Most, of course, lean toward the Macedonian king Philip II, father of the renowned Alexander the Great, as the author of the phrase.
In ancient literature, the unforgettable Niccolò Machiavelli also has a variation of such a saying in his works. Historians have also noted these words from the mouth of the French monarch Louis XI.
I do not know the true author, the first author of these words. But nevertheless, I have acted strictly from the historical aspect of this matter.
Perhaps the Romans never said anything like that, but they acted exactly that way.
After the Romans defeated the Carthaginians, they began to seek control over the Mediterranean (particularly its eastern part). However, Siria and Macedonia opposed this. To avoid falling and leaving empty-handed, the rulers of Ancient Rome secured the support of the Greeks. And they, in turn, convinced their ruler not to support the Macedonians. What happened in the end?
The powerful states of Macedonia and Siria were defeated. But one by one. Thus, the Greek cities were liberated from the oppression of the Macedonian army. Rome established total control over all the lands. But if the Roman Empire had not remembered such a strategy, even with all its might, it could not have overcome two very powerful forces that had united to carry out their plans.
For that is the strength of any alliance. Unity creates strength that is very difficult to oppose. Individually, all are weak, but together, they can accomplish the impossible. So it is with people and with states.
And with armed forces.
Fey'lya is leading a huge fleet into the Ciutric Hegemony. Significantly larger than the one he reported—I can see this from the movements of my buzz droids. He will simply sweep away Krennel, no matter what defenses he builds. And I personally do not need Ciutric to become a scorched desert.
Consequently, since the Bothan has divided his formations into small groups to avoid attracting attention, so be it.
We'll destroy some of them on approach.
And if we don't destroy them, at least we'll delay them.
'Divide and rule,' isn't it?
And quite by chance, I have in mind an ambitious pirate and some starships that can contribute to my plan.
And what a coincidence that these starships have class one hyperdrives, eh?
But that call can wait.
First, I need to relay certain news to specific individuals. So that subsequent events won't be too much of a surprise for them.
Selecting the necessary contact from the holoprojector's list, I activated an outgoing call...
At that moment, the comlink beeped. Activating it, I listened to Captain Pellaeon's report about the Torpedo Sphere's arrival in the system.
"Excellent, Captain," I declared. "Inform the Torpedo Sphere's crew that they have time to rest and recover—hiding on the border of the Ciutric Hegemony sectors for several weeks is no joke." "Tell the sphere's commander to report for a briefing as soon as Captain Shohashi's 'Imperious' arrives in the system. They'll play this game of holochess with two sets of hands."
Finally, above the projecting plate of the communication device, the hologram of a Zabrak I knew well appeared:
"Grand Admiral," he frowned. "I am still making inquiries and..."
"Jedi Knight Eymand," I interrupted him, "the search for Jedi heritage can wait temporarily. I have a mission for you that matches your specialty..."
* * *
Once, this freighter, a heavily modified Action VI-class transport, bore the name 'Wild Karrde' and was the flagship of the transport fleet of smuggler and information broker named Talon 'Claw' Karrde.
But after an ambush in the Milagro system, the ship fell to Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet. It had been heavily upgraded by its previous owner, boasting military-grade deflector shields, armor hidden beneath decorative plating, impressive turbolaser armament, military-grade sensors and detectors, not to mention direct connection systems to the HoloNet communication and information network. Its cargo bay could hold a single starfighter or shuttle inside, and the ship's supplies could last for six months of travel without docking.
Exactly what's needed for a long-range raider operating undercover.
The Imperial engineers at the Tangrene shipyards had done an excellent job, equipping the ship with Corellian engines from a CR90 corvette, allowing the vessel to now achieve a dizzying speed boost. The three turbolasers were supplemented by four laser cannons, enabling the freighter to fend off enemy small craft. And a pair of torpedo launchers, concealed in the ship's bow, could unpleasantly surprise even a larger military vessel. Especially if all ten proton torpedoes hit their target.
But today, the 'Wild Karrde,' stripped by Imperial technicians of all forms of identification—both by transponder and engine signature—was not part of the 'wolf pack' assembled from freighters and trucks captured during Imperial fleet raids across the galaxy.
Today, the 'Wild Karrde,' officially designated in current documents as 'Shorty's Hauler,' had ventured beyond Wild Space. Its final destination was quadrant I-21, which existed in the galactic navigation atlas. But the star system located there was not marked on any known map in the galaxy.
And yet, Grand Admiral Thrawn somehow knew that the planet Yalara was located right here.
Planet Yalara.
"Planet is visible," mewed Mushkil, sitting in the copilot's seat—a young Noghri, member of a special squad of young Death Commandos whom the Imperial captain was leading on their first combat mission by order of the Grand Admiral.
"I see," Captain Steben said dryly.
He didn't like it when things didn't go according to plan. Especially when he was sent to find an invisible planet, but in fact, he could now observe from orbit a fairly large world covered with desert landmasses. Judging by the intensity of the local star, the planet clearly had an arid climate. However, bluish hues breaking through the clouds gave hope that an ocean or seas might also exist on the surface.
"Descending, Captain?" Mushkil inquired.
"Yes," Steben said firmly. According to orders, he was supposed to send the Grand Admiral confirmation of reaching the target, but before it reached the 'Chimaera,' wherever it might be at the moment, a short transmission would pass through hundreds, if not thousands, of relays. And could be intercepted by nearly any lover of prying into other people's data. And then decrypt...
Captain Steben believed in Imperial cryptography.
As he believed that the galaxy was vast, and many intelligent beings were capable of decrypting even the most cunning code.
And then, using back-tracing of the signal, one could step by step trace it back to 'Shorty's Hauler.' And find this 'invisible planet.'
No, the report could wait—until the situation with the planet itself was clarified. Then the data would be more objective.
The Corellian-built freighter penetrated the dense layers of the atmosphere at a shallow angle, making orbits around the planet.
No, 'Shorty's Hauler' was a sturdy enough vessel to break through to the surface even if it fell vertically on repulsors alone. But Steben was not interested in reaching the surface of this arid world as quickly as possible.
He was far more interested in the data from the scanners, which with each new orbit around the planet fed more and more information about the planet into 'Shorty's Hauler's central computer.
On Yalara, there were no high-tech cities, settlements, or even laboratories. This world, besides being arid and not having a welcoming climate, was not rich in intelligent habitation sites—that became clear on the first orbit.
But it couldn't be that such a remote world had no intelligent beings at all. Grand Admiral Thrawn was confident that on Yalara, Noghri Death Commando units were operating, sent here by Darth Vader to gain control over some high-tech device. The very source of cloaking that, in Steben's opinion, should have hidden the planet from detection.
For now, as a working theory, he chose the one that said the Noghri on Yalara had disabled the device themselves. That could at least somewhat explain why the 'invisible planet' was not actually invisible.
If there was some high-tech installation on the world, the scanners of 'Shorty's Hauler' should detect it. If not on the first orbit, then on the second, third, fifth, tenth. There was actually no rush. He just had to let science and precision instruments do their work for him and provide the necessary data...
After which the ship would land and detailed work would begin.
On the forty-third orbit, when 'Shorty's Hauler' had already scanned the entire northern hemisphere of Yalara and 'descended' from the local magnetic belt to the equator, the search was finally successful. At least—at first glance.
"We have a return," Mushkil mewed. "Energy fluctuations directly below us. Power source—large, starship-sized."
"Head the ship there," Steben ordered. Reaching for the ship's intercom panel, he said into it:
"Attention crew. Power source detected on the planet. Duty personnel to stations according to battle order, the rest of the commandos prepare for ground mission."
He didn't need to turn his head to see the gray shadows of the other Noghri entering the bridge. There were quite a few of them on board—since it was assumed that Noghri might be on Yalara, it would have been quite foolish to bring a squad of stormtroopers on such a mission.
Kindred souls from the same race would find common ground more quickly.
And all the more so, if the Noghri Death Commando units sent here were on Yalara, only other Noghri could stop them.
The Dam with the Cloaking Device on Yalara.
The sought-after object was found in a very spacious, but somewhat narrow for 'Shorty's Hauler' canyon, which bore unmistakable signs of technological modification. And it wasn't all that long ago—the scanners registered quite modern materials. Though they had been in use for several thousand years...
"Continue attempts to contact the Death Commandos on the planet," he ordered. "On all frequencies."
"Yes, Captain Steben," mewed another Noghri, sitting in the seat of a crew member responsible for communication systems. After that, he continued saying something in his growling-mewing language, which Steben, unfortunately, did not understand at all. He had made attempts to grasp what was going on, of course, but had never succeeded.
No response had come yet.
Meanwhile, 'Shorty's Hauler' had already descended into the depths of the canyon. Its deflector shields were operating at full power, the Noghri at the turbolasers and laser cannons were now controlling the surrounding area to prevent anyone from trying to attack the ship.
But this world seemed dead.
No indication that anyone alive could be here at all.
When the Corellian freighter hovered near the small landing platform, Steben headed for the ramp. Whatever was happening here, observation and scanner data collection alone wouldn't solve anything. A ground landing and full reconnaissance by Noghri Death Commandos would be required.
The wind howled around him, fueled by the roar of falling water — only now did he pay enough attention to the structure and realize that the power source that had drawn their attention was a perfectly ordinary hydroelectric station. The kind that haven't been built on developed planets for decades.
Mushkil held the ship steady enough that Steben could easily move from the vessel onto the landing platform. Following him, several squads of Noghri disembarked the same way, equipped in light clothing suited to Yalara's arid climate — even next to the artificial waterfalls, it was hot enough.
They proceeded from the landing platform to the massive, clearly blast-resistant doors leading into a tall, angular tower rising above the main dam complex. Steben gestured for his escorts to spread out.
And the moment the doors swung open, as the automatics detected their approach, the scout saw a Noghri standing in the doorway.
His hide was darker than those of the ones the captain had arrived with, with a somewhat bluish tint, if that was the word. He wore a light sleeveless tunic, with not a hint of a weapon in his hands — but the Imperial knew that couldn't be the case. Noghri and weapons were a partnership from the first step to the grave.
"Leave this place!" he said in a demanding tone. There was a strong accent in his voice. This Noghri was likely one of the first to serve Darth Vader and hadn't had time to properly learn Galactic Basic. And here, he probably didn't get much language practice.
"I am Captain Steben of the Imperial Navy..." the Imperial began, but the Noghri with the bluish hide cast him a furious glare.
"Leave this place!" he repeated.
"Not happening, kid," the Imperial shook his head. "I have orders — to investigate this place. From your master, no less."
"Captain Steben," Mushkil mewed, appearing from behind the Imperial. "I'll handle this."
'You're going to the front line ahead of your commander?!' the Imperial wanted to bark, but then he smiled as he saw confusion appear on the old Noghri's face. Turning around, the captain chuckled.
Those crafty little shorties! Now it was clear why this "blue one" had looked at him like he was a rancor. The scout himself had thought the Noghri had stayed on the landing platform and would be visible to anyone watching.
But no — the young Death Commandos were already having a grand time dispersing across the dam's territory via the cables and ropes strung across the gorge. Well, that explained why this Noghri had kept repeating the same thing...
"I am Mushkil, from the Noghri Overclan," his co-pilot introduced himself in Galactic Basic. "This man," he pointed at the Imperial, "is our mission supervisor. Our master, Grand Admiral Thrawn, sent us here to bend Yalara and all its secrets to his will."
The Noghri with the bluish skin tone looked at his kinsman with irritation and hostility.
"Our master Darth Vader ordered us to kill anyone who comes here without permission," he growled threateningly. "Leave, little Mushkil. I don't know any Thrawn."
'You'd be better off never meeting him in person,' Steben thought cheerfully.
"Our former master Darth Vader lied to us," Mushkil said. "The life debt we promised him — a deception. The Noghri no longer live on dying Honoghr. The Noghri no longer serve Darth Vader. Grand Admiral Thrawn, who freed us and saved us, who granted us life under ancient law — he is our master. Forever."
The old Noghri looked at his kinsman with undisguised malice. Then at Steben. And again at his underling.
"Come inside," he rasped, turning his back to them. "We must talk. I will kill you and my commandos if you lie to us."
"Your commandos?" Steben asked in surprise, looking around. "And where are they?"
"Tying up the young ones you brought to Yalara," he grumbled. "The dynasts have lost their minds entirely, sending youngsters to do men's work."
"Speaking of which," Steben declared. "You see, the dynasts are no more..."
The elder Noghri stopped dead in his tracks. He turned slowly, then looked at the Imperial with such a gaze that chills ran down his spine.
"Come inside," he repeated. "We will talk. We will talk a long time."
Steben was about to object, glancing at the ship. He fell silent when he saw groups of Noghri with bluish-tinted fur leading the Death Commandos who had remained on board down the ramp, their hands bound.
'Brilliant,' the Imperial thought. 'And what were the odds that Darth Vader would send his best Noghri to an operation on a hidden planet? Hutt-forsaken Sith! Even from the grave, they manage to make life hell for other beings!'
There was nothing to do but comply.