Commander Vict Darron, accompanied by several of his stormtroopers, approached the doors of the compartment where the meeting had been scheduled for him. Two beings standing "on guard" at the entrance to the required compartment of the Chimaera, clad in the crimson-and-black armor of the Imperial Guard, unceremoniously, without uttering a sound, blocked the path of the armed Imperials.
The hint was more than obvious.
A silent command that only someone mistakenly counted among the class of intelligent beings would disobey.
The Commander handed his service blaster to the guards, then entered, ordering his stormtroopers to wait for his return near the entrance. Judging by how his escorts hesitated, they were clearly uncomfortable being in the same room as the Grand Admiral, an unknown gray-skinned being, and a naval officer with major's command tabs but the gaze of a cold-blooded killer.
"Have a seat, Commander Darron," Thrawn said in a quiet voice, gesturing to a standard metal chair. Such chairs are always found aboard Imperial military ships of cruiser class and above. Simple to manufacture, sturdy, and with magnetic clamps hidden in the legs that prevent this piece of furniture from sliding around the ship in an emergency.
"Thank you, Grand Admiral," replied the commander of the Direction restrainedly, taking his seat opposite the Supreme Commander.
"Let us get to business, Commander," the Grand Admiral said in the same tone. "Are you aware that, as a result of the New Republic's treacherous attack on the Ciutric Hegemony, the latter's defense fleet has been partially destroyed, and Prince-Admiral Krennel, along with his senior officers, perished aboard the Retribution from an attack by the Republican fleet?"
"Yes, sir, Grand Admiral," said the Commander. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to freely communicate with the commanders of the remaining ships and the base commandant on Ciutric."
"At present, you are the highest-ranking officer in the Hegemony," the Commander continued, as if ignoring Vict's words. "In fact, considering the military dictatorship regime imposed by Prince-Admiral Krennel, you are also the acting head of state."
"The fastest career advancement in my life," Darron grumbled. "Especially since I neither desired nor aspired to it."
"I am aware of that, Commander," Thrawn nodded. "Are you aware of the current situation in the state under the Empire's protection?"
"The situation is — 'screwed and nowhere to go,'" the commander of the Intention said bluntly. "Three systems are under pirate occupation. Direct flights beyond the Hegemony through the Liinade system are blocked by a pirate interdictor cruiser. If I remember the statistics correctly, losing these planets means losing over fifteen percent of the gross domestic product."
"You are quite well informed about the internal affairs of the Hegemony," Thrawn praised.
"I had to pass the time somehow during patrols," Vict admitted. "I read publicly available data. Can't always be dealing with supply invoices, repair estimates and maintenance for the Star Destroyer, and so on."
"What will be your next move?" Thrawn inquired.
Are you joking or what? the Commander nearly blurted out.
But he bit his tongue in time.
Grand Admirals do not joke. They are organically incapable of it. Especially this one.
Still, looking at things from another angle... He could easily tell Thrawn where to go — everyone in the Imperial Remnants knows that the last Grand Admiral of the Galactic Empire holds no real power over the armed forces, let alone the political forces, in the Remnants. They had dumped all the unreliable, irreconcilable, and otherwise non-liquid Imperials on him, given him a few ships, and sent him to fight the New Republic just to keep him out from underfoot and prevent him from interfering with the division of what remained after Endor and the Imperial Civil War. Which, in fact, is still ongoing. Just not so overtly.
Only now, this being commands at least six more Imperials than he originally had. Not to mention nearly a hundred old but still combat-effective heavy cruisers of the Dreadnaught type. And how many New Republic starships he captured after this battle... It's best to keep quiet and pray that the Grand Admiral doesn't get the idea of quietly seizing power in a single Hegemony.
Because after the destruction of Krennel and his much-publicized "impregnable defense" of the worlds of the Ciutric Hegemony, and if one were to take his word for everything he said during the broadcast of the thrashing of the New Republic, there are certain sentiments among the military about joining Thrawn.
And the civilians are stirring too.
Vict had heard rumors that Thrawn was somehow connected to the Morshdine sector — at least, equipment from Ciutric's factories was being shipped there. And again, according to rumors — the Grand Admiral and his subordinate Moff had organized a rather cozy spot within a single sector. Though, they even give non-humans a chance at decent work and civil rights, something the Hegemony could only dream of.
But that is not the primary concern...
The main thing is that by broadcasting the thrashing of one of the four New Republic military fleets, Thrawn demonstrated that, unlike the arrogant Krennel with his sadistic tendencies and love for purging his own population, he actually wins. And if you consider that all the achievements Krennel had claimed for himself were actually Thrawn's (because how else could Prince-Admiral's fleet never have left the Hegemony systems?), the prospects become downright depressing.
Therefore, it was decided to "launch a preemptive strike."
"I will repair the ships, replenish the crews, and begin the cleanup," he said guilelessly.
"How many ships remain in the Hegemony's defensive fleet?" the Grand Admiral inquired. "Combat-ready."
"Two Imperial IIs: the Resolute and the Direction; two Victorys: the Emperor's Wisdom and two interdictor cruisers; and a couple of Dreadnaughts in Imperial modernization," Darron replied quickly. "And also three Strikes. Not counting the Retribution and the trio of Mon Calamari star cruisers..."
"Which are under the control of my people," Thrawn's voice was categorical, uncompromising, and made it abundantly clear — he would not give up those starships. They, like the Republican vessels, were his property.
And it was hard to blame the Commander — based on the information the Commander had received from his subordinates, the crew had abandoned the Retribution by the time Thrawn's people boarded it, saving the ship from being shot to pieces by the Republicans. The star cruisers had surrendered to the mercy of the Fourth Fleet... According to the Admiralty Code On Disputes over Government Property Rescued During Distress (duplicated by the New Republic in its analogous acts), Thrawn had acted with surgical precision legally. Those starships belong to him — as do a couple of Strikes. But they are so riddled with holes that it is not even worth discussing their professional viability.
"Correct, sir," Darron said with a sigh. "We have half the fleet left."
"Even less than a seventh of it, considering the medium cruisers and the Mon Calamari prizes I sold to Krennel," Thrawn continued.
Ah! Now I understand where those Republican ships came from, flashed through the Commander's mind. Though, nothing surprising.
"I trust you understand that with such a number of starships, even with a large mobilization resource, you cannot protect the Hegemony from being plundered by the pirates entrenched in your backyard, or from a second strike by the New Republic?" Thrawn clarified.
"I understand that perfectly, Grand Admiral," Darron did not dissemble. "As do all the military commanders who are still alive. We can't even drive out the pirates — we can't cover all the systems with patrols, even if we send one ship to each."
"I am glad you understand that, Commander," Thrawn continued. "In that case, what will be your next move? Joining the New Republic?"
"Do I look like a suicide?" Vict blurted out. "Sorry, sir."
"It is quite all right," Thrawn reassured him. "Explain the reasoning behind your reaction."
"If you had not arrived, then yes, the Hegemony would most likely have been forced to capitulate to the New Republic," he admitted. "Despite the pro-human policies of the New Order pursued by Prince-Admiral, the human population here is just over fifty-six percent. The rest of the population consists of non-human races who do not particularly appreciate being oppressed based on race or other criteria. They are mostly employed in menial and low-paying jobs, as that is the only way to earn a living. So yes, if the New Republic had become entrenched here, the Hegemony would have surrendered completely."
"Merger with other Remnants could rectify the situation," Thrawn suggested. "For example — with Imperial Space. Orinda would welcome you..."
"With all due respect, I find it more believable that the Imperial Ruling Council would order the removal of all our military production and condemn the Hegemony to languish like the other backwaters," Darron said honestly. "They'd take all the Star Destroyers; in return, if they send anything, it'll be junk older than our Dreadnaughts. That will trigger capital flight, a brain drain, and so on, down the slope. Within half a year after that, the New Republic will swoop in to 'liberate the territories predominantly inhabited by non-human races groaning under the yoke of the New Order.' So merging with anyone stronger than us is a sure path to stagnation. And if we merge with another sector, then... Sir, may I speak frankly?"
"Up until now, I thought that was exactly what you were doing, Commander," the Grand Admiral's eyebrow rose. Literally by a couple of millimeters. But the demonstration of surprise was made.
"That's correct, Commander," Vict was embarrassed. "The thing is, we are one of the three major Remnants — not territorially, but economically and industrially. We exist only because we have something others lack: Imperial manufacturing. And anyone who wants to take Krennel's place will need that first and foremost. Our fleet is not strong enough to defend itself. Prince-Admiral might have been able to defend with such forces, but not me. I am a decent formation commander, nothing more."
"You have a fairly solid grasp of the Hegemony's internal affairs," Thrawn clarified.
"Only superficially," the Commander did not hide it. "Sir, it hasn't even been a few hours since the Prince-Admiral's death, and the Hegemony is already seething. I cannot control such a large territory, cannot suppress the civil unrest — at least not all of it. I can come to terms with a couple of planets, but practically everyone is in revolt. No weapons yet, but... As soon as the discontented realize that Ciutric no longer has the power to keep them under coercion, it's all over. The Hegemony will collapse on its own."
"As I recall, this did not happen either under Krennel or Pestage," Thrawn noted.
"That's correct, sir," Vict confirmed. "The Pestage family quite easily found common ground with the population — both humans and non-humans — so there were no problems. The New Order existed here, but it didn't manifest as humanocentric policy beyond what was already present throughout the Empire. Intelligent beings tolerate each other well enough — they just try not to make a show of it. There aren't as many New Order fanatics as one might think. But after his overthrow, everything became..." The Commander paused, searching for the right words. "Prince-Admiral Krennel changed everything."
"For the worse, I presume?" Thrawn inquired.
"If in just a few years half the population of all systems is ready to rebel and wishes death upon their ruler, can that be considered a success?" Darron asked.
"A rhetorical question," Thrawn stated. The Commander nodded silently. "You are not afraid to voice your opinion. That is unusual for officers who served under Prince-Admiral."
"It so happens I am not the most submissive," Vict spread his hands.
"But effective, since Krennel entrusted you with an Imperial II," the Grand Admiral noted reasonably.
"He did not spare the previous commander," Darron darkened.
"I have heard bits and pieces of that situation," Vict barely restrained an exclamation. Hearing such a colloquial phrase from a Grand Admiral... Hmm... Aren't they all stiff-necked bastards? Or not all? "But I would like to hear it from the primary source."
Vict averted his gaze:
"Captain Rensen commanded the Direction before me. Prince-Admiral ordered him to destroy a village that, for some reason, was sheltering an individual who, again for unknown reasons, wanted to kill Krennel. Rensen refused. Krennel crushed his trachea and transferred the ship under my command."
"Short-sighted," Thrawn stated.
"I manage the command, sir," Vict said somewhat sharply. Maybe to hell with this Thrawn?!
"I have no doubt about that," I confirmed. "It is short-sighted to kill a capable commander merely for refusing to carry out a thoughtless order. And even more short-sighted to destroy a settlement because of one person. There is the law, there is an investigation — that is their job, to sort out such matters."
Vict discreetly exhaled. His impulse to argue with the Supreme Commander had dissipated.
"I thought much the same," he admitted. "As soon as I found myself on the bridge of the Direction, Krennel gave me my first order: to carry out the mission Rensen had refused, and destroy the village on Liinade III."
"Did you obey?"
"Yes, sir," Darron confirmed without blinking. "But in a way I considered right."
"Elaborate."
"If I had refused to carry out the order, Krennel would have killed me too. If I had destroyed the village with its population, I could not have looked people in the eye. Rensen was a native of Liinade III, and I respected that man. And I respect anyone until they commit a crime."
"What solution did you find for the situation?" There was a note of interest in Thrawn's voice.
"I informed the villagers why they were being targeted," Vict explained. "And I explained to them that after I returned to my ship, I would begin technical maintenance of the turbolasers. And when I finished — half a day later — I would grind their village to dust."
"As I understand it, by the time the technical maintenance of your ship was complete, the villagers had evacuated?" the Grand Admiral asked.
"That is correct, sir," the Commander acknowledged. "Krennel was irritated by Darron's actions, but could not dispute the fact that my actions had the same effect as if I had destroyed the inhabitants. There were no more assassination attempts on Prince-Admiral. Krennel warned me that he would not tolerate further disobedience. And to keep me out of trouble, he stuck me on endless patrols. I, in turn, did everything I could to transfer all the 'disobedient' officers and enlisted personnel from the commands of other Hegemony defense fleet ships under my command, to prevent their execution on trumped-up charges."
"How trumped-up?" Thrawn clarified.
Vict took a deep breath.
"Mainly those who were slow to salute the Admiral when he arrived on the decks of his subordinate ships."
Thrawn paused before answering.
"Well, I see that Darth Vader's bad manners have taken root in the fleet in a highly perverted form," he commented. "However, that is no longer relevant. Now, let us move on to your request."
"Request, sir?" The Commander was somewhat taken aback. He looked around, searching for someone who could explain... Oh, how that gray-skinned one is grinning. And that threatening sound...
"Rukh," the Grand Admiral addressed the unknown being. "Stop laughing."
Ah, you little bastard! I'll string you up by your antennae!
"Commander," said the Grand Admiral patiently. "I have very little free time, so I'll simply state the facts and won't delve into details. Your squad withdrew from patrol on Krennel's orders, a man who brought pirates and mercenaries into the fight. You went radio silent immediately after the withdrawal. You arrived much later than the New Republic fleet's defeat — well outside the travel time from Liinade III to Ciutric IV. Roughly three hours. Which clearly indicates you dropped out of hyperspace somewhere and lay low, monitoring the situation. That's how you learned my fleet was approaching and the ultimatum was delivered to Councilor Fey'lya. Given the active radio traffic between the cruiser Swift and an unknown correspondent during the battle, I'm confident Captain Fulik was communicating directly with you. Then, after you broke the light barrier and assessed what happened in the system, you requested a meeting — but not before discussing the current situation with the other officers. During our conversation, you repeatedly pointed out the Hegemony's dire position due to the lack of a strong patron, downplayed your own tactical achievements, and highlighted your shortcomings in state administration. I get the impression you're well aware of my relationships with the other Imperial Remnants and are awkwardly trying to hint that I should stay in the Ciutric Hegemony. So my question is: why should I do that and thereby come into conflict with at least the Imperial Ruling Council, which dreams of nothing but absorbing your Remnant?"
Only years of service under a tyrant like the Prince-Admiral had prepared him for any eccentricity in his interlocutor, kept him from sitting there with his mouth hanging open before the Supreme Commander.
"Sir," Vict coughed into his fist. "Most of my life has been spent in the Hegemony. It's a beautiful corner of the galaxy, home to hardworking and pleasant sentients. People you can have a constructive dialogue with. You are a sent… a being who enjoys popularity in the highest circles of what's left of the Empire. The sentients in the Hegemony respect the tranquility and reasonableness of Imperial law. If not for the Prince-Admiral's sadistic policies, the Hegemony could have become a desirable place for those who want to live under Imperial realities without distortion. Rumors reached me and my colleagues that under your command, so to speak, the Morshdine sector has been developing. And numerous sentient species coexist there quite well. Krennel's policies turned many away from us — just look at a wonderfully developed world like Axila leaving. Yes, that planet isn't without its problems, but their industry is a major source of income, not to mention they live by the very order we held in the past. Besides, the Hegemony is fairly easy to defend — not many hyperspace routes lead here: the Selonian Spur, which ships use to travel to and from other Remnants, and the Veragi Trade Route, heading toward the northern reaches of the galaxy. With a powerful fleet, you could hold out here indefinitely. And even more so if you forged alliances with systems in the nearby sectors of Sprizen, Quelli, Traga, Kanz — most of which are currently abandoned to their fate — you'd end up with an agglomeration of sectors that still remember the days of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and aren't too keen on living under the New Republic. But the New Order doesn't suit them either, for obvious reasons. So if you agree to rule us, you won't regret it!"
Vict felt he was running out of air.
He had blurted out his entire tirade in one breath, and now his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. He had been in a hurry to say everything he had discussed with his "fellow sufferers," each of whom had presented their own arguments and reasons that might sway the Grand Admiral to stay in the Hegemony. Yes, the story about how easy it would be to absorb the neighboring sectors was just a "slight exaggeration," but it was possible — if you didn't try, like Krennel, to conquer everyone by force and impose yourself. "Soft power," as the diplomats liked to say.
In short, the Grand Admiral had to see the potential and seize it.
Because absolutely nothing could save the Hegemony from an internal explosion and subsequent dismemberment — not its fleet, not the Prince-Admiral's sadistic madness… and on top of that, the pirates were hanging around as if they owned the place… For someone who had served defending all these worlds and the sentients living on them, watching it all go to waste was painful. And if there was even a chance…
"I will consider your proposal, Commander," Thrawn pronounced. "But before you and the population of Ciutric hear it, you and I will deal with a few problems first."
"Yes, sir," well, since he didn't refuse outright, that meant he wouldn't send them packing later. And who would turn down such a juicy prize as the Hegemony with all its industry, eh? Only a complete idiot. And people like that generally didn't get appointed Grand Admiral. Here he was being practically personally invited to rule and protect them. If they could keep the old logistics chains and build new ones, as well as trade and monetary relations with the Imperial Remnants and nearby systems, it would be wonderful! All they had to do was direct the revenue not toward enriching a decrepit elite, but toward the needs of the civilian population, as the Pestage family had done, and there wouldn't be a people in the galaxy more loyal to the Grand Admiral than the inhabitants of the Ciutric Hegemony. Here they remembered kindness. But they would never understand or accept betrayal and cruelty. "I and all personnel of the Hegemony's civil-military administration are at your service."
Sector Ciutric.
"In that case," the Grand Admiral's eyes, burning but not radiating danger, flashed. Vict felt a lump in his throat. Oh, weren't they making a mistake by handing power over to the Grand Admiral? The Commander pulled himself together. No, they weren't. If he had wanted to rule them by force, he would have crushed the planetary shields with a Torpedo Sphere long ago and captured the capital, followed by the other worlds and systems. "First, we'll head to Prince-Admiral Krennel's palace and deal with his endless prisons. I want to know what hidden pitfalls exist in the Ciutric Hegemony and what consequences I'll face if I give principled consent to make the Hegemony my base and protectorate. One more thing. Arrange and ensure that the interrogators arriving shortly are granted access to all documents pertaining to the repressions carried out by Prince-Admiral Krennel. And hurry to contact the planetary representations — I want to meet and speak with them, to explain that the reign of bloody terror is over."
"The planet is entirely at your service, Grand Admiral," Darren said with a forced smile. "As is the entire Hegemony."
He would agree.
Even when he saw just how deep in the shit the Hegemony was.
It wasn't for nothing that he had flown a Hutt knows how far just to give the Republicans a bloody nose and tell the whole galaxy that he had crushed them right here, was it? No, he had come here deliberately. It was simply impossible to end up here "by accident." He had almost certainly, like other warlords, had his eye on the Hegemony for a long time, and now he was just playing hard to get to make his rule over the Hegemony appear more legitimate. As in, he hadn't taken it by force of arms; they had asked him to stay.
Or were the counterintelligence guys wrong, and Thrawn didn't care about the Hegemony, and he had ended up here by chance?
No, that's nonsense.
Nonsense, right?!
* * *
There weren't many things in this galaxy that Grand Moff Ardus Kaine valued more than his power over his little kingdom — the Pentastar Alignment.
And one of those things was loyalty. Not to regimes, orders, or that other nonsense that blew off the galaxy as quickly as it settled. That required a certain force that could scrape off the outer gloss and expose internal problems.
Grand Moff Ardus Kaine valued his supporters and loyal people.
Despite his calm attitude toward aliens and a policy of tolerance for their participation in the Alignment's life, Kaine had never had friends among them.
And truth be told, he had never had any friends at all.
But there were people whose connections he treasured.
First and foremost — the other four leaders of the Alignment, with whom he had organized his little kingdom. Also in this category were those with whom he had a long and fruitful, mutually beneficial cooperation.
Second — valuable resources. Human and material. Which were absolutely necessary for someone who lived on a cistern full of tibanna and knew for sure that sooner or later the New Republic's democrats would stretch their grasping hands toward his creation.
Just as they had done with the Ciutric Hegemony.
No, he was frankly glad that the bastard Krennel — that sadist, that being utterly devoid of sanity even in its smallest manifestations — was finally dead.
The Prince-Admiral's death opened up broad prospects for absorbing the Hegemony and adding it to the Alignment — and it had to be done faster than the senile crooks on Orinda could mess everything up and snatch the fat prize from under his nose.
And what didn't please him at all was the clear understanding of one simple thing.
Grand Admiral Thrawn was not the type to throw dust in anyone's eyes, and certainly not to lie so openly.
Which meant…
His usual discipline and self-control cracked.
And the glass of Corellian whisky, along with its ice cubes, flew toward the wall opposite the Grand Moff.
With crystalline shimmers, the expensive glassware shattered into small pieces, staining the wall with a blotch that instantly reeked of alcohol.
"May a Hutt screw you in every orifice and tear your hair out, Grant!" Ardus growled in helpless fury, kicking his desk with all his might. The massive piece of furniture, entirely made of real wood shipped straight from Kashyyyk and costing him a good million credits, strangely enough, withstood the abuse. But his foot in the polished Navy boot hurt so much that a jolt ran from his toes to his tailbone. "Octavian, you Tapani motherfucker! How could you fuck up so badly!?"
The former Grand Admiral Octavian Grant fell into both categories that Grand Moff Ardus Kaine valued.
He was both a loyal comrade and, at the same time, a valuable resource.
The Empire had descended into chaotic struggle after the Emperor's death and that of his attack dog Darth Vader during the Battle of Endor, four years after the first Death Star was destroyed.
Octavian Grant, unlike many of his other colleagues, had not been blinded by his convictions, fully aware that although he believed he deserved to rule, having been born into the highest aristocratic circles of the Tapani sector, he lacked both the strength and influence to effectively seize the Empire. This was largely because during his service he hadn't tried to befriend any of the Moffs. And his anti-political worldview had also done him no favors. He was frankly weak. And the only thing he could hope for was the loyalty of his Star Destroyer's crew — that was all that obeyed him and had any allegiance to the Tapani.
Little wonder that after Endor, his fellow Grand Admirals considered Octavian Grant the first of their ranks to die in the bloody slaughter of the Imperial Civil War that followed the destruction of the Imperial Fleet at Endor.
Of course, only Kaine knew that Octavian was not stupid enough to die in the first months of the bloody chaos.
He had found refuge in the Pentastar Alignment organized by Kaine and had even helped conduct several military campaigns. For which he was valued.
Grant and Kaine watched as the other Grand Admirals, Admirals, Grand Moffs, Moffs, and just warlords were either captured and subsequently executed by the New Republic or killed in battles with other Imperial factions.
Kaine was betting that he would one day use Grant, who possessed excellent tactical skills and a strategist's gift, to expand his Alignment when the time came. He even sometimes harbored thoughts of subjugating Coruscant.
Grant had developed plans for long-lasting victorious campaigns and held some important secrets of the Alignment. But at the most crucial moment, along with his flagship, he had gone on a raid…
And never returned.
For a long time he was considered dead; then rumors spread about his alleged capture by the Republicans. No one could ever confirm such information, and Kaine, to avoid casting a shadow on his own reputation, had spent more than one billion to finally shut up such "talkers." Some got money, some got a punch in the teeth, and some got a knife in the liver.
The ways to silence the undesirable are always varied.
The rumors about Grant's betrayal died down.
And now this. Not only had Thrawn apparently discovered the tracking devices on the starships handed over to him, but he also, according to his claim, had captured Grant. Who, according to the blue-skinned bastard's own words, circulated across the galaxy, had indeed turned out to be a traitor. And had gone to cooperate with the New Republic.
Desertion, betrayal, high treason — those were just the first lines in the evening news agency bulletins. First the journalists would chew over the truthfulness of Thrawn's words, then, in search of an "exclusive," they would start digging into Octavian's past, learn about his connections with Kaine — and Kaine could just forget that the peaceful days had ever seemed dull and boring to him.
The reputation he had so carefully guarded was now trampled, stained, and would soon be used as a doormat.
The Alignment was clearly in for some unpleasant days.
Damn Thrawn!
May the seat of your chair burn beneath you!
Bastard!
Why did you open your foul mouth right now?!
You beast, even if you did capture Grant, you know damn well who his last collaborator was.
Use your brain in that empty skull! Come and say, "Hey, Ardus, I've got your buddy. Don't you want him back?"
Motherfuuuucker, what a mess!
Someone knocked on the luxuriously inlaid door panel, mounted on hinges like in archaic times.
"Get lost!" Kaine barked. A thin stack of flimsi was slid under the gap in the door — another report. Kaine liked to read documents "on paper" rather than on a datapad screen. Immediately after, hurried footsteps were heard outside the door.
No time for conversations.
Time to think.
Long and hard.
Okay.
Thrawn had already proven he was a damn clever and pragmatic bastard. Trading ships for the murder of a traitor was a perfectly good deal. True, Kaine had agreed to it so he could find out where the blue-faced one actually based himself. But that was history.
Now he was dumping this on the whole galaxy.
No, credit where credit was due — he had wiped the floor with the Bothans and the leadership of the New Republic Armed Forces magnificently. So thinly that the bastards would be a long time cleaning themselves up. Not to mention he had made it look as if he had just happened to be nearby. Though knowing the cunning of that alien, he had almost certainly arranged everything to be in the right place at the right time, and with enough forces to kick the Republicans' ass. Well, intelligence would report on that. Why else had he sheltered the snakes from the Ubiqtorate under his wing?! Let them work, the brutes!
And they still couldn't explain where three entire Star Destroyers had gone, sent in pursuit of a single deserting ship. With an incomplete crew too… Oh…
Should he already be thinking that those Destroyers were now part of Thrawn's fleet, or not?! The latter was most likely true. And all four starships, possibly even with their crews, already belonged to the thirteenth Grand Admiral.
His usual restraint and phlegmatism were wearing off as quickly as dust blown from leaves in the rain.
And with them came not only rage at those around him, but also the understanding of a simple fact.
That bastard Grant had to be pulled out of Thrawn's captivity immediately.
Not even because political capital could be made from his conviction and execution, or, conversely, to hide him far from prying eyes and force him to devise a strategy against the Chiss himself.
Grant knew too much.
And the fact that the New Republic had spared his life meant at least a few things.
First — Octavian had handed over his crew and his flagship to the new masters of Coruscant. That's why nothing had been heard or seen of them for all these years.
Second — his life could have been spared only under one circumstance. Grant had talked. And he had talked a lot, at length, and clearly in detail, spilling the secrets of the Empire to the enemy.
This could explain the reasons for the rebels' capture of many of the Empire's secret bases and depots in the years following his "disappearance."
Perhaps Grant had actually been cooperating with the New Republic on strategy and tactics development — their victory over Zsinj and the other incompetents looked far too fantastic otherwise.
But all that was nothing compared to the work Octavian had done in the Pentastar Alignment.
Namely, he was the one who had come up with the idea of hiding the capital of Kaine's little empire — the Grand Moff's homeworld, the planet Sartinaynian, now renamed Bastion. The coordinates of this planet, through the efforts of Kaine's subordinate Ubiqtorate and the Inquisitorius, had been erased from the vast majority of information sources, making the future capital of the Alignment safe from sudden invasion or attack by enemies and outright foes.
Given how well security for Bastion was set up, not even a womp rat could get in. That meant, if the New Republic possessed this information, it would certainly have sent at least scouts. But that didn't happen.
Consequently, Octavian had kept his filthy mouth shut about at least that.
Only there was no guarantee that Thrawn would be as diplomatic toward his former colleague and traitor as the New Republic's dermocrats had been.
Which again led to the only correct conclusion — Octavian had to be extracted from there by any means. Trade, ransom, beg. Tell a tear-jerking story about friendship or come up with something along those lines to make the blue-faced bastard believe.
Because being in Thrawn's captivity could not only loosen Grant's tongue, but even a show trial of the traitor would elevate Thrawn to an unattainable height.
If the desire among Imperials to tear out Grant's throat had died down until now, in light of recent events it would be so strong that it would be difficult to predict.
Not to mention that the nearly dried-up stream of volunteers willing to work for the Grand Admiral would turn into a full-flowing river. And no wonder. Krennel had so vividly described "his" achievements, attributing others' victories to himself, that the emergence of the actual "guest of honor" from the shadows would serve as such a formidable motivating force that it would be impossible to stop. And while Kaine was calm about the Alignment, Orinda and Imperial Space might bend under the circumstances.
The situation should be discussed with the Imperial Ruling Council.
Perhaps they could somehow "spin" Thrawn's current actions as a violation of his commitment not to interfere in the internal politics of the Empire. Though…
All that was dust and nonsense.
Thrawn was no fool. His galactic PR move was so effective that the Ruling Council would triple-check before rushing to embrace him. Thrawn undoubtedly had proof of his direct involvement in all the events he'd announced, which meant that in four months he had caused the New Republic more headaches and problems than all the Remnants combined had managed. Which, in turn, meant a simple and obvious truth — if Imperial ships poked their noses into his base at Tangrene, or if the Ruling Council tried to openly hinder him, it would simply explode the Imperial masses. The councilors and those who obeyed them would be strangled with bare hands.
And then the Imperials would march on foot through interstellar void to take Coruscant.
Ardus tried to calm down.
He couldn't make hasty decisions.
Except one — he should immediately head to Ciutric IV, subjugate the Hegemony, then make contact with Thrawn and clarify the possibility of handing Octavian over to Ardus. Perhaps he should even arrange a joint participation in the destruction of the traitor — that way, at least, he would be at peace about keeping secrets.
But it had to be done very, very quickly.
The Grand Moff took a few steps toward the desk. Then he changed his trajectory, walked to the door, and picked up the documents from the floor.
There was nothing better than disconnecting from the whirlwind of events by immersing himself in analyzing the current situation. And it was best to do that sitting in a comfortable chair…
Besides, the stationary comlink suitable for encrypted and secure communication with the Reaper was built right into the desktop.
Plumping down into the soft chair, Ardus ran his eyes over the first lines of the report.
His hand, reaching for the comlink, froze in mid-air.
Then it slowly clenched into a fist — simultaneously with the Grand Moff's pupils dilating.
The rage that had been quieting down erupted with new force, boiling over into a state of frenzy.
May you die a virgin, Palpatine's mother!?
This was beyond the pale!?
Thrawn had just announced his protectorate over the worlds of the Ciutric Hegemony, and also communicated a policy of complete benevolence for all those intending to resettle under his protection.
Regardless of gender, age, race, skin color…
Ardus Kaine stared at the Ubiqtorate report with wide-open eyes.
His well-groomed phlegmatism and years of trained restraint had finally evaporated, leaving room in the Grand Moff's head only for an excellent string of barracks profanity.
The Empire's last Grand Admiral had just openly wiped his feet on the New Order, the Imperial Ruling Council, and all the restrictions the power-hungry had placed on him nearly two years ago.
The Grand Moff was stunned, merely shaking his head in admiration.
This alien had the nerve and the backbone to do what many Imperial commanders had talked about but no one had dared to do, fearing the others would tear them apart.
Which meant...
Thrawn definitely had something that could bloody the nose of anyone who tried to intrude on his domain.
The Katana Fleet?
Oh please, that wasn't even funny.
Ardus Kaine could only think of one thing that would give Imperials such confidence in their own invulnerability.
It seemed Krennel really did have his own Death Star after all.
And now Thrawn had it.
A big club that would break the spine of anyone who tried to come at him swinging.
And that made you think thirty times before unleashing the Reaper...
"This is the Grand Moff," Ardus finally keyed a frequency on his comlink. But it wasn't connected to his Super Star Destroyer. "Recall every spy you have in the Ciutric Hegemony immediately. The last thing we need is Grand Admiral Thrawn thinking we're still watching him."
Without waiting for an answer, he cut the connection.
He could smell trouble brewing... Big trouble.
He'd better not get burned.
* * *
After the holo-recording finished playing and the image of Borsk Fey'lya kneeling before the Imperial Grand Admiral froze, it was time for the assembled audience to react.
Mon Mothma sat pale as a ghost, a stark contrast to her red hair. Her terrified expression and both hands pressed to her lips spoke volumes about the state of the head of the New Republic's Provisional Government.
Admiral Ackbar, freed from prison just a few hours earlier and reinstated as Supreme Commander of the New Republic Armed Forces by Mon Mothma's special order, watched the recording with the characteristic phlegmatism of a Mon Calamari, blinking slowly.
Admiral Drayson, head of Republic Intelligence, sat with his eyes downcast, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Or at least to sink a couple of floors below his current position in the Imperial Palace and, if possible, get lost in the maze of corridors beyond any hope of being found.
The holograms of General Han Solo, Wedge Antilles, and the young Jedi Luke Skywalker silently stared somewhere ahead of them.
The silence reigning in the Provisional Government's meeting hall was striking in its absolute impenetrability.
It seemed even the cooling fans for the super-powerful computers and the ventilation system had decided to join in heightening the tension during this hour of Republican shame, running quieter than usual.
"Well then," General Solo spoke first, "I suppose no one has any doubts left that I wasn't talking to some 'wedding Grand Admiral' on Honoghr?"
"I think the only one who actually believed that is currently serving as a boot-polishing brush for Grand Admiral Thrawn," Wedge said with a nervous smile.
"I see no cause for jokes, General Antilles," Admiral Ackbar said sternly. "Or for joy, either. We are in a crisis."
"I'd put it more bluntly, but then I'd get kicked out of polite society, which I was dragged into against my will," Solo said.
"I disagree, Admiral," the former commander of Rogue Squadron unexpectedly insisted. "I do have a reason for joy."
"And what reason is that?" the Mon Calamari's voice turned sharp.
"That Imperial was too busy with his affairs on Ciutric IV to be at Liinade III," Wedge explained. "Otherwise, my name might have been on that list too."
Luke, standing before the holo-projector next to the New Republic's youngest general, nudged him with his elbow. No time for jokes.
"How bad is it really?" Mon Mothma finally found the composure to speak.
"I could be more precise," Han warned.
"To repeat myself," Ackbar cut him off, "in the time since my release, I haven't had the chance to study much of the information left by Councilor Fey'lya, but I don't think things are better than they appear. We are in a crisis. The core of the Fourth Battle Fleet is either destroyed or captured by the enemy. The Bothan fleet has effectively ceased to exist. The New Republic's act of aggression against what turned out to be a neutral state, one that, moreover, wanted to join us and had offered a planet for refugees from Alderaan, is now known to the entire galaxy. I've already ordered the remaining starships recalled from their search in the Ghost Nebula. It's clear enough that this was nothing more than disinformation designed to distract us from the main theater of operations."
"I'll try to handle the political problems at an emergency session of the Senate," Mon Mothma said. "I managed to delay the meeting for a couple of days. In that time, can we assemble a fleet and return to Ciutric IV?"
"To get our teeth kicked in again?" Han asked glumly. This earned him the expected disapproving look from the Mon Calamari.
"Though I wouldn't put it that way, I agree with General Solo," the commander rasped. "Even without intelligence, it's clear that since Thrawn managed to destroy over fifty of our warships and then declare a protectorate over the worlds of the Ciutric Hegemony and any worlds wishing to join him, he possesses forces far superior to anything we can assemble, prepare, and dispatch in the near future. I do not recommend a military solution to this problem."
"In that case, what are we talking about here?" Mon Mothma's voice sounded nervous and uncertain. "Just swallowing this bitter pill?"
"As much as we might want to, we can't," Wedge declared. "Thrawn didn't just slap our wrists. He's been punching us in the gut the whole time, and he did it so skillfully that we invented three enemies for ourselves instead of one. Though, we can't rule out the possibility that they're working together — Krennel, Thrawn, and Isard."
"Why be modest?" Han sighed. "We're up against the whole Empire. But on the front lines, it's this Thrawn. About whom we know nothing, right, Admiral Drayson?"
The head of Republic Intelligence nodded affirmatively.
"We can't just leave things like this," Mon Mothma continued. "Soon, news of our defeat will reach the galaxy's farthest reaches. Entire systems and sectors will panic. Most likely, some will even try to leave the New Republic..."
"What concerns me most is that our fleet, already weakened, is in such an unenviable position," Ackbar pressed his point. "Hundreds of thousands of service members are languishing in captivity..."
"And what concerns me is that my friends and my wife are among them," Han Solo declared sharply.
"One way or another, we have plenty to worry about," Mon Mothma concluded. "The people in Imperial hands must be freed from captivity by any available means."
"Unfortunately, we don't know where they're being held," Drayson said. "Otherwise, I would have already prepared a rescue and evacuation plan..."
"I'll repeat myself once more," irritation crept into the Mon Calamari's voice. "Under the current circumstances, a military action or special operation to free them would only lead to greater losses among the participating personnel and add more arguments against us to Grand Admiral Thrawn's arsenal. A different solution is needed."
"Does anybody have one?" General Solo asked.
Another silence fell.
"I do," Mon Mothma said quietly. "Thrawn does."
"Who would've guessed," Wedge said glumly. "And what does he want?"
"A prisoner exchange," Ackbar explained. "Our prisoners for the Imperials who've ended up in our prisons, one for one."
"Doesn't he know there aren't even a couple thousand of those?" Wedge wondered. "We don't keep surrendered prisoners locked up; we offer them amnesty, and most of them end up serving the New Republic. The ones in prison are exclusively hardened, cold-blooded war criminals..."
"I'm sure the Grand Admiral is perfectly well-informed about all of this," Ackbar sighed sadly. "And he clearly understands that, in our position, it would be disadvantageous to exchange only prisoners of war for prisoners of war. Such behavior would make the remaining captives hate us for those decisions. So Thrawn proposes we supplement the remaining prisoners of war with captured Imperial equipment. Small craft, ships, tanks, artillery — everything we have."
"For now, these are just preliminary demands that came to us along with the recordings of Fey'lya's defeat," Mon Mothma said quickly.
"Thrawn wants to fish in deep waters," the Mon Calamari declared. "And he's arranged it so we can't refuse."
"Well, handing him a couple of freighters full of Imperial junk isn't such a bad option," Wedge said meaningfully. "If this guy had said the missing Rogue Squadron was also in his custody, I wouldn't even hesitate. The longer our people are in his dungeons, the more secrets might stop being secrets — at least as far as this particular Imperial is concerned."
"The thing is, as I understand it, all the captured Imperial equipment is either already in use," General Solo declared, "or has been scrapped?"
"Exactly right," Admiral Ackbar confirmed. "Give him what he wants, and our already battered armed forces will weaken even more. But even then, we simply don't have the resources for an exchange. His demand is simple: one Republic prisoner for one starfighter. Or a ship, tank, or artillery piece with an equivalent number of crew members. For example, thirty-seven thousand prisoners for one Imperial-class Star Destroyer. We already don't have enough armed ships to counter all possible threats to go giving them back like this. But that's for ordinary prisoners. High-value prisoners he exchanges solely at the rate of 'one princess equals one Star Destroyer.' Given that he has a dozen or more such prisoners, the exchange would simply strip us of our fleet."
"Meanwhile, Thrawn and the Empire will strengthen their existing armed forces and be able to start capturing sectors," Drayson said darkly. "Though, there is a third option."
"Oh," General Antilles couldn't help commenting. "And what does he demand for that kind of initiative?"
"The third exchange option doesn't require us to disarm our troops at great cost," Admiral Ackbar said reluctantly. "But it would significantly weaken us and strengthen Thrawn by an order of magnitude. This option is the most unacceptable. I've already ordered a change in the ship repair facility's location, as there's no guarantee its location remained unknown to the Imperials. Discovery of that location could pose a direct threat from Thrawn and..."
"Is he joking?" Antilles darkened. "This isn't even negotiations anymore — it's an ultimatum..."
"Will someone explain what we're actually talking about?" General Solo grew agitated.
"I'm afraid it's the most unlikely of the options," Admiral Ackbar shook his large head. "Thrawn is willing to return all our prisoners in exchange for the Lusankya. We cannot return that starship to the Imperials because, after losing the Crimson Dawn, we no longer have the slightest chance of maintaining parity in ships of that class with the Imperial Remnants."
A heavy silence fell...
"I can only say one thing," Han Solo declared. "I wouldn't risk playing sabbacc with this red-eyed Imperial."
"I'll say it once more," Admiral Ackbar stated. "We are in a crisis."
"I'd put it much more precisely," Han Solo sighed.