Mara took a sip of freshly squeezed juice, looking around with the indifferent gaze of a noble lady from some distant world. The kind who always act like everyone owes them something, not realizing that in the grand scheme of the galaxy, most sentients don't care about their status, blood purity, or worldview.
The galaxy has completely different elites.
And it's not like these so-called elites were present here, in this small restaurant at a waystation. Just small fry, nothing more.
And for that very reason, Mara was trying her hardest to show contempt for them. A small, calculated move — small-time traders don't like upstarts. But they adore money. They doubly adore charging this kind of customer much larger sums for providing their services.
And if she were acting now like an ordinary person who'd flown to Wohai just to buy some Imperial starship parts on the black market, no one would even pay her any attention. They'd simply be afraid to deal with someone who—
"Excuse me, Mistress," a voice sounded nearby. Mara effortlessly put on the expression that could only be described as: "I'm doing you a huge favor by even looking your way and breathing the same air as you." And only then did she turn her attention to the Togruta standing beside her, dressed in a light burqa that hid the woman's figure and body, except for a small area around the eyes. As befits an alien servant serving a human in humanocentric worlds. "Please forgive me, but I simply couldn't find a seller for the parts you need."
"Fool," the contemptuous attitude toward the Togruta didn't even need much acting. It was enough to add just a little realism to her words. "I can't trust you with anything."
"Mistress, I tried!" To Jade's surprise, Ahsoka masterfully imitated servility. She should remember that this woman wasn't just a former Jedi, a crime-fighter fighting against everything bad for everything good, but also an excellent little actress. "It's not my fault we were deceived and nobody sells parts..."
With hints from the Force, the red-haired young woman sensed that the person this performance was meant for was listening to their conversation. He was sitting at the table right next to them.
A huge male of the Herglic race was a black-market dealer in Imperial parts. He acted as a middleman between representatives of some of the galaxy's largest shipbuilders, including Kuat Drive Yards, Fondor, the Corellian Engineering Corporation, and some others. When the shipbuilders' managers knew perfectly well that someone in Imperial Space needed rare parts for their starships, they made sure potential buyers learned about this sentient. And the faster, the better.
Unlike the Empire, the New Republic didn't control weapons trafficking. At least — until recently. The cold-blooded humiliation and destruction of the Fourth New Republic Military Fleet, orchestrated by the Grand Admiral, broadcast across the entire HoloNet, had shaken up the entire Republican military, their own security agents, and other risk-averse types. No, they of course knew about underground goods traders. And they knew about the lack of weapons control in their young state. But they traditionally couldn't root out the problem. At least — not quickly.
That's precisely why, at this moment, the New Republic had only increased covert surveillance of anyone who might, one way or another, supply parts to the Imperials. Because everyone understood perfectly — the Imperials didn't have enough production complexes to keep their ships in proper technical condition. Consequently, there was a high probability that, through intelligence operatives or agents of influence left over from their days of galactic dominance, the Imperial Remnants would try to obtain what they needed through "gray" schemes.
And this monstrous sentient was a participant in one of those schemes. A hardened dealer who never missed an opportunity. But who also wouldn't risk his own hide. He'd been sizing up Mara and Ahsoka's pair for a couple of local days, in no rush to approach a potential client on his own. He preferred to check their identification data, sniff around to see if they were someone who'd cause him trouble.
And judging by the fact that he was now heading their way — his information network was clearly very well established.
"Haw-u-u-um... Honorable lady," the Herglic addressed them in a deep, rumbling voice. "Forgive me, I meant no eavesdropping, it's just that you were speaking so loudly... Haw-u-u-m..."
Mara, without dropping her mask of haughtiness, sized up the sentient approaching her with the look of a true aristocrat.
Herglics were large bipeds who apparently evolved from similarly large aquatic mammals. Their height often exceeded two meters. Despite evolution having replaced their fins and flukes with arms and legs, they still breathed through a blowhole on the top of their heads. Their smooth, slick skin was a remnant of their aquatic past and often dried out under natural light. That's why Herglics preferred to stay in the shade and work in humid climates. For this very reason, this black-market trader arranged meetings with his clients in a restaurant at the Sensino monorail station, where the climate control was precisely set for the comfort of reptiles and amphibians.
The sound "haw-u-u-um," which accompanied this Herglic's speech, was nothing more than clearing his blowhole — a common Herglese word throughout the Tapani sector, used with emphasis as a preface to an important remark. Mara knew this perfectly well, as she'd often encountered members of this race as bodyguards for Tapani sector aristocrats.
They say Herglics are wider than they are tall, and that's the plain truth. As a rule, they're very sensitive and touchy about mentions of and jokes about their large size. And the reason isn't that such big "fellows" are melancholic at heart and easily moved to pity. Herglics are excellent bodyguards and fighters who can tear a victim apart with their bare hands.
The discomfort about their size among Herglics is driven by purely pragmatic considerations. Most other sentient species in the galaxy were smaller than them, and since the primary law of construction is not to make corridors/doors/windows/turbolift shafts larger than necessary for the current task and the majority of sentients, Herglics generally felt somewhat shy and out of place when removed from their communities or ships. Simply because they often couldn't fit where they wanted to go. Even this trader, to get into the restaurant, had to use not the main entrance but a cargo receiving ramp. Simply because that was the only place he could squeeze through.
The trader's bulky size meant he took up two seats in the restaurant, and most doorways required some maneuvering. Despite this, they were usually good-natured and loved meeting new people and visiting exotic places. Usually. Unless they were involved in crime, like this "character."
A Herglic explains to a Rodian that he's wandered into the wrong district (Rodians brick factory in progress)
"Let's say that's true," Mara said, wrinkling her nose slightly. "And what can you do for us?"
"Haw-u-u-um..." the Herglic cleared his blowhole. "As it happens, I possess certain resources... Haw-u-u-um... May I be of service to you, honorable lady? I am certain that such a beautiful and busy young person, undoubtedly playing a major role in the affairs of her own aristocratic House, must be quite tired of all these various incompetent merchants who cannot satisfy your requests."
"Yes," Mara clicked her tongue. "This isn't what I was hoping for. I was told this planet was the best source for Imperial parts. But she," Mara pointed a finger at her "servant," "is too stupid to negotiate supplies. And certainly incapable of conducting negotiations. And I have no desire to go wandering through shops myself..."
"Haw-u-u-um... Oh, you certainly should not have to do all the routine work yourself," the Herglic said. "I dare to offer my services. If the honorable lady would do me the honor and follow me to my shop, I assure you, you will leave there immeasurably satisfied and will return again."
"I doubt there's anything here that interests me," Mara continued to act capricious. "The ship I need parts for... is highly specific."
All these pleasantries from the black-market trader were nothing more than natural politeness, meant to win over even the most stubborn customers. Because in the galaxy there were only two things this race excelled at above all others. Everything Mara knew from her Imperial instructors — who'd spent years drilling various quirks and peculiarities of many xenos races into her head — spoke to this. An agent must possess information and understand the mindset, culture, strengths, and weaknesses of those they have to work with. Brute force or cunning aren't always the answer. Especially when your opponent is a Herglic.
Herglics were born explorers and traders. In the early days of the Galactic Republic, the angular cargo ships characteristic of Herglic trade vessels became common throughout the galaxy, but contact with the Republic remained minimal. They had an inquisitive yet practical nature and a calm temperament, which helped them interact with other species and made them a welcome member of the galactic community. The Herglic trade empire joined the Galactic Republic over thirteen thousand years ago, and Herglic hyperspace scouts played a crucial role in establishing the Rimma Trade Route more than five and a half thousand years ago. Palpatine once told her that the Herglics were friendly with the Jedi and were used by them to import and export goods to and from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.
With the rise of the Galactic Empire, the Herglic manufacturing centers and trading enterprises were among the first to be nationalized by the Emperor's New Order. Usually docile and calm, the Herglics tried to fight their enslavers, but after significant bloodshed and realizing their resistance was futile, they decided to be pragmatic and submit completely to the Emperor's will. Fortunately, they ceased resistance and surrendered before the infrastructure they'd built over millennia was destroyed. Many of them even acquired noble titles — not in the Empire, but in the Tapani sector, where one of the great houses began trading aristocratic titles to anyone who could afford them. The Empire turned a blind eye to such "antics" because the Tapani aristocrats had always been Palpatine's supporters and mainstay. Up to a certain point, of course. And the New Republic... They simply didn't care.
"Haw-u-u-um... But it is of Imperial design, is it not?" the trader inquired.
"Absolutely," Mara put on a face of mystery and inner smugness. An experienced illegal trader is always something of a psychologist, so he'd certainly notice this. The unconcealed emotions Mara expressed on her face and in her actions were meant to convince him that she adored the vessel in question. And this, in turn, should make the trader understand that he could make a lot of money if he managed to get his potential client to open her wallet wide enough. Nothing brings traders as much profit as satisfying the desires of not-too-bright but wealthy clients who only obsess over their toys. "A very large and powerful ship. That needs a lot of parts..."
"Haw-u-u-um..." the Herglic's eyes gleamed with anticipation of profit. "In that case, I think we should talk in my office. We shouldn't discuss such matters even in such a cozy little spot."
"Of course," Mara snapped her fingers. Ahsoka, continuing to play the role of a slave, took a small step closer to her. But then froze, listening to her own sensations.
She didn't see them, but she felt suspicion radiating through the Force. Its source was a pair of humans, though dressed in simple clothes trying to blend in with the crowd, but their military bearing, sharply focused thinking, aura of threat... That wasn't typical of ordinary customers. Imperials had come to visit the black-market trader. And they very much wanted to blend in with the crowd and not seem like what they were.
The fact that they'd clearly come here not for lunch was also indicated by how both were practically radiating suspicion aimed at the Herglic. Who had also seen them. And had fallen into some hesitation because he had to choose — cheat one clearly wealthy client, or continue doing business with long-time partners. But Mara was confident the latter weren't as solvent as she was trying to appear.
However, she needed to check if these were the very people she and Ahsoka had come here for.
The mission to find Imperial procurement agents had turned into something bigger for her. Because the girl understood perfectly — Imperials don't buy parts for nothing. This was a strictly specialized and categorized version of goods. Which couldn't be found through regular access. That's why they needed a middleman of this level.
One could assume that these Imperials had nothing to do with the object of her search. After all, there was no shortage of ships of this type in the galaxy, and the fate of many remained unknown. But Grand Moff Kaine had his own excellent and perfectly functional connections with Kuat Drive Yards and had no need for such dirty schemes. The New Republic also had its own Super Star Destroyer, but even they could quite officially acquire everything necessary for its restoration.
The possibility that the traders had come for something other than what Thrawn's Hand herself was seeking... was plausible. And it should be investigated. For example, by visiting their ship and digging through its registration data and navigation computer coordinates.
Whether the buyers had come from the Guardian, or from any other Executor-class Super Star Destroyer considered lost, ultimately didn't matter. This was Imperial property. And the Grand Admiral demanded its return.
"Return to the quarters," Mara ordered Ahsoka, while she herself fixed the entrance door with a gaze that was perfectly ordinary for an aristocrat — one of haughty disdain. The pair of Imperials kept shifting their weight from foot to foot, clearly unsure what to do. Professional spies didn't behave like this. A professional would have taken a seat at one of the empty tables and pretended to be there only for a meal, looking for an opportunity to make contact with the trader. So these were either amateurs, or simply part of the crew. Mara was betting on the latter. "I'm going to take a walk with the gentleman trader. If his selection of parts is as rich as his vocabulary, I'll let you know, and you can hire transports."
"Yes, Mistress," Ahsoka said, curtsying in a respectful bow to her "mistress," then shuffled toward the exit. As she passed the two Imperials, the Togruta suddenly stumbled and fell against one of them. The Imperial, not expecting this, pushed her away with a bestial hiss... right into the second one. Falling against him as well, the young woman began babbling apologies, her entire demeanor screaming that she was just a clumsy, slow-witted slave.
"Get lost!" one of the Imperials barked. Ahsoka apologized once more and left the small restaurant. Mara's gaze met the second Imperial's. He tensed, realizing that touching another's servants, let alone shoving them, was a breach of etiquette. In some states, the punishment for that was losing a hand. Or a head — depending on the executioner's mood. "My lady, I offer my apologies, it's just that she..."
"That wretched slave got off easy," Mara said with a grimace. "Can't do a damn thing right. So," she looked at the Herglic. "Shall we go?"
"Hrrrrm..." He tore his gaze away from the Imperials and looked at Mara, who was waiting for his answer. "Yes, yes, of course... Please," he gestured gallantly toward the exit. It seemed he would have to squeeze through the front doors, and he didn't want his client waiting patiently while his bulk lumbered out.
Mara moved toward the exit with a graceful stride. Once by the transparisteel doors, she called upon the Force to enhance her hearing...
"Hrrrrm... Loading zone seven," the Herglic whispered (so, they were capable of it). "Hrrrrm... Engine parts, deflectors, turbolasers, everything requested."
"Good," replied the Imperial Jade had already spoken to. "Get rid of the client as fast as you can."
Mara left the establishment and quickly pulled a comlink from her clutch.
"Loading zone seven," she rapidly informed Ahsoka of the location she needed to check, while Jade herself would be cultivating ties with the shadow trader. Because spare parts were never superfluous. Especially when dealing with a Super Star Destroyer. After all, no matter which ship of this type those Imperials led her to, the vessel definitely needed repairs. "Check it out. Get pictures of the engine part markings."
Such equipment for Executor-class vessels was dramatically different from what the Imperial Navy used.
"And why did I steal the shuttle access keys from them?" the question was rhetorical. But it at least made it clear that the young woman with the lightsabers was clearly no longer the noble Jedi the New Republic made them out to be.
"Plant a beacon and check the navicomputer," Jade advised, tucking the comlink back into her clutch. As soon as the screen went dark, the automatic data-cleaning system completely erased all traces of her contacts.
"Hrrrrm..." The Herglic had finally managed to navigate the doorway's dimensions and now approached his potential client. "My apologies for the delay, most honorable lady..."
"It's quite all right," Mara smiled. "I used the time productively. So, where did you say your office was?"
* * *
"You will be free," said the Noghri, whose black fur nearly blended into the dimness of the hydroelectric plant's interior, where the "honored guests" had been staying for the past few days.
Steben pulled himself away from the bunk, thoughtfully provided by the facility's masters on Yalara, and stretched to loosen up.
The scout sat on the bunk, dangling his legs, and looked at the commander of the Death Commando squad, who had been running this facility — of interest to Grand Admiral Thrawn — for several years now.
"So, I take it you've made contact with the Noghri Overclan Council?" he clarified.
"Yes," the unit commander replied curtly. "Much time passed. Many talks were had. Decision made."
"Well, I should think so," Steben pulled his shirt from the headboard, slipped it on, and began slowly getting himself in order. "I hope you didn't risk contacting them directly from Yalara?"
"We are not children, like those you brought with you," the Noghri mewed. "We were careful."
"Right, right," the scout chuckled, straightening his clothes. "So, what's your decision, Commander?"
They had talked for a long time right after arriving on Yalara.
One might even say "a very long time."
They had shared the latest news with the Noghri, who had been in complete isolation here. They had explained events in the galaxy, on Honoghr, and determined the legitimacy of the orders given by the Grand Admiral.
And they had asked questions in return.
The Death Commandos stationed on this planet had been cut off from the world for years. One could say they had spent nearly ten years here — Darth Vader had sent them to capture Yalara almost immediately after the first Death Star was destroyed at the Battle of Yavin IV. Why the Sith Lord needed a secret planet, one that could be hidden from any sensors or detection methods, he naturally hadn't told his Noghri. Not their place to know.
Still, it wasn't hard to guess.
After Luke Skywalker destroyed Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin's creation, the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces had tasked nearly every agent in the state with finding the Rebel leaders, especially those involved in the superweapon's destruction. The faces of Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Alderaanian Princess Leia Organa, a Wookiee named Chewbacca, and several others dominated the front pages of operational bulletins. "Wanted by the Empire."..
Yes, it had been quite a hassle back then, but the results were practically zero. Still, all that was irrelevant now.
Darth Vader had clearly intended to create another refuge for himself, one that even the Emperor himself wouldn't know about. And what better place for that than a planet so remote that even the catalogs of galactic adventurers had no mention of it?
With such a cloaking system, one could build their own empire here. Granted, they'd have to work for it — the planet's mineral reserves weren't that abundant, as the Noghri had discovered over their time here. Useful ores were also scarce. The only viable source of building material was the local stone, from which the dam feeding the cloaking device was constructed.
And even that device wasn't as flawless as one might wish.
For starters, one had to understand that such a mechanism couldn't run continuously on a power source like a hydroelectric plant. Deep within the dam were enormous energy capacitors that charged over long periods. Only then could the device be activated. Its operational duration also depended entirely on the capacitors' charge.
It was quite likely that this installation used to work for much longer than the week the Noghri could manage even five years ago. A significant portion of the equipment had broken down, and in the last few years, the cloaking field had barely been performing its intended function. The installation had received no maintenance for a long time — no scheduled technical work, no replacement of parts worn out from extended service...
The local inhabitants — whom the Noghri, incidentally, had exterminated on Vader's orders — lacked technical literacy and hadn't even reached the stage of metalworking, so things were as clear as a day on Tatooine: the installation had been built by beings with far more advanced technical skills. Judging by the surviving markings on tools and parts, it was clearly from the Old Republic era. Tens of thousands of years ago, perhaps. At the very least, the technologies used for the hydroelectric plant were so archaic, yet so well-executed, that one could only marvel at how much better they used to build things back then.
Now it was clear why starships built thousands of years ago were still flying around the galaxy. Quality, what can you say.
Meanwhile, warships that had rolled off the assembly lines less than thirty years ago, at the height of the Clone Wars, were already obsolete and required rearmament, electronics modernization, hull reinforcement, plating replacement, and power plant upgrades...
Well, in some ways progress marched forward, and in others, the manufacturer's pragmatic approach of creating products only fit for short-term use won out. No wonder the Empire approached this issue with extreme thoroughness and didn't skimp on quality equipment. Not always, true, but in the vast majority of cases — yes.
"My decision is simple," the Noghri rasped. "My squads return to the Overclan. We acknowledge the dominion of Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"Splendid," Captain Steben slid his arms into his tunic sleeves and straightened his shoulders. After all, the Imperial uniform had always been comfortable and familiar to wear. And you didn't think about anything else when you devoted all your time to service. "In that case, I need to contact the Grand Admiral, report the situation, and receive further instructions."
"What will happen to us?" the Noghri mewed.
Steben, who was buttoning up, stopped mid-motion and looked at his interlocutor with a frown:
"What do you mean?"
"Our lord Thrawn invoked the ancient law," the Noghri explained. "I and my soldiers are also guilty. Of deception."
"Ah, that's what you mean," the captain resumed dressing, frantically thinking of something to say that wouldn't drive the Noghri to despair.
From a purely formal standpoint, all Noghri were guilty of deceiving Thrawn — and they had already conducted a public chastisement and self-flagellation for their race. These ones had avoided it.
But from an actual standpoint regarding the question at hand... Thrawn had taken command of the Noghri shortly before the Battle of Hoth. When these squads were already on Yalara. Consequently, they hadn't just not deceived Thrawn — they hadn't even known of his existence or their own oath to him.
All Noghri were indeed guilty of concealing information from Vader about the ancient technological temple on their planet and for hiding data about other regions of the planet unaffected by the poison.
But then the question arose: "Does Thrawn even care that some Noghri deceived Darth Vader?"
When you thought about it, the Grand Admiral probably couldn't care less — it didn't affect his interests.
But at the same time, with Thrawn, you could never be sure he wouldn't use something for his own purposes.
Still, as the coordinator of the Noghri battle groups, Captain Steben could also voice his opinion.
For example, in favor of letting these specific Death Commandos live. For one simple reason — they were either better trained or more skilled than the ones currently at Thrawn's disposal. And that was no joke — all Noghri were without a doubt the best saboteurs and assassins Captain Steben had ever encountered in his memory. Even the new recruits.
But those on Yalara had effortlessly tied the "youngsters" in knots without them even squeaking. Did that speak to their overwhelming professionalism compared to the current generation of Death Commandos? Without a doubt, yes.
"I can't promise anything regarding the decision the Grand Admiral will make," Steben admitted. "But I can assure you and your commandos that I will do everything in my power to present him with objective information about you, your subordinate units, and your merits and professional qualities."
"Thank you," the Noghri mewed. "I will await your message and the will of our lord. My commandos will show your younglings how to properly care for the installation and the dam. And we will teach the younglings what we know."
Steben initially wanted to object to the last part, thinking, why bother? Thrawn wouldn't order them all executed anyway — the most likely punishment would be the same decimation.
Then it dawned on him.
No one was immune to that punishment.
Any of these commandos could be killed if such an order was given. And right now, their commander was doing what any honorable being in his place should: making sure the knowledge accumulated by these commandos wouldn't be lost with them.
They had been on Yalara for ten years. They knew every detail of the cloaking installation. They had scoured every entrance and exit, every tunnel and gallery, every cooling tower and room. The commander had decided this knowledge should be passed on to the younger generation.
An act without a doubt — unparalleled. If Steben himself knew a death sentence awaited him, he wouldn't care if his knowledge and skills were lost. Apathy and a complete lack of desire to do anything would set in.
The Imperial felt his normally roomy tunic collar becoming constricting.
An undeveloped people, huh? That's how many Imperial specialists working on Honoghr used to mock the Noghri. A prejudiced view of those who hadn't even reached space...
Steben thought his colleagues had been wrong.
The mere fact of building spaceships or exploring the stars was technical progress. Sooner or later, it caught up with all races.
But to preserve loyalty to duty and honor for millennia, to think not of oneself but of the greater good...
Not every human was capable of that. And what was there to say — in recent decades (or maybe even longer), the drive for heroic deeds among the races inhabiting the galaxy had been rapidly declining.
Steben simply couldn't call these Yalaran Noghri anything but heroes.
Men like that, tough as flint, unquestionably deserved to be remembered. And admired.
"You know," the captain coughed into his fist. "I think I should also hear how things stand here."
* * *
Night on Ciutric IV was settling in.
But, as they say, in a city of fools, the work was just beginning.
Turning off the holoprojector, I rose from the table.
"Fleet report, Captain Pellaeon," I said, addressing the commander of my flagship.
Gilad, who had witnessed my conversation with Captain Steben, seemed to shake off a creeping drowsiness.
"Same as always, sir," he replied. "We're using the Ciutric orbital repair facility to restore damaged ships. The Star Destroyers are already repaired; we're working on the prizes. I think the fleet will be fully combat-ready by the end of the next day."
"Good news," I agreed. "The prizes?"
"Repairs on them will only begin once work on our own vessels is complete," the Chimaera's commander reported. "The damage is too extensive. However, the workers at the local shipyard and production facilities are sufficiently qualified to restore the ships to their former combat capability. But it will take more time. Plus, we need to tally the ships and form crews... There's no shortage of volunteers, so I think within a month all the Star Destroyer-class ships we have will be in service. The problem is assigning commanders..."
"We have recommendations from the captains," I reminded him. "That should be enough to resolve the issue."
"Mostly..." Gilad ran a hand over his face. "Sir, may I ask a question?"
"Of course, Captain," I pulled a necessary datachip from the stack on the bookshelf, then returned to my desk and plugged the data carrier into the computer.
"Why did you order all the Noghri on Yalara to be spared?"
"I have no concern for their omissions to Vader," I explained. "They weren't serving me back then. Besides, they fully understand that the life I've effectively granted them is an advance they'll have to work off. Captain Steben reports that these Noghri's skills surpass those of the ones we currently have. Therefore, this advantage must be utilized. Knowing that they owe their continued existence solely to my decision, the Yalaran Noghri will perform even more effectively, going above and beyond to prove their worth and demonstrate to me that they truly justify the hopes placed in them."
"But couldn't the same approach have been taken with the Noghri on Honoghr?" Gilad persisted.
It was a question you rarely heard from an Imperial commander: "Could the mass destruction of sentient beings have been avoided?" This only added to Pellaeon's "humanity points" in the current circumstances.
Whatever the case, no matter how events unfolded — when another solution existed, one should always choose the lesser evil and avoid unnecessary bloodshed.
"Individual approach, Captain," I explained. "We've discussed this before. Before I invoked the ancient laws of the Noghri, there was no guarantee that they would continue to adhere to all the criteria of their loyalty to my orders. Sparing the Yalaran Noghri will only strengthen their loyalty and give them an understanding that only loyalty to me matters. And that, besides demanding ruthless obedience, their lord can also be merciful."
Pellaeon raised his graying eyebrows but remained silent.
Well, he would understand yet.
Everything in its time.
"Inform Shipbuilder Zion that the Crimson Dawn, the Imperious, and the rest of the Red Star squadron's vessels must be ready for departure in the shortest possible time," I said. "Captain Shohashi has a lot of work ahead of him in the coming weeks."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon saluted. "Sir, what about the prisoners?"
"Which ones?" I clarified.
"Those brought from Tangrene," Gilad explained.
"Ah, those," I smiled. "Have you ensured that Princess Organa, General Calrissian, the Wookiee Chewbacca, their protocol droid, and assistant Winter are comfortable aboard my flagship?"
"Of course, sir," Pellaeon stated the obvious. "They've been housed in the guest quarters previously occupied by Skywalker, Winter, and Bel Iblis. No access to information, constant Stormtrooper and droid guard, ysalamiri."
"Excellent," I confirmed. "We'll soon be joined by another participant in the upcoming negotiations. Ensure that the Jedi Skywalker is delivered by Commander Darren to Ciutric IV in the shortest possible time."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon nodded. "And... may I ask one more question?"
"Of course, Captain."
"The observatory on Tangrene," the Star Destroyer commander began. "The one where they supposedly saw the Ciutric IV starfield. Was it actually useful for anything? So much expense just to keep that group of prisoners there... Frankly, I thought you'd let them make a traditionally heroic escape, pinning all blame for their capture on Prince-Admiral Krennel... But after your announcement to the entire galaxy..."
"Without a doubt, Captain, the false observatory played its role," I confirmed. "First, it prevented our high-ranking prisoners from understanding where they actually were. At that time, we only had one base and limited defense systems. If they had escaped before we captured the Hegemony, the arrival of a New Republic fleet would have been extremely unfavorable and inconvenient for us. Currently, thanks to the instructions given to the ship's commander who brought them here, even with all their desire, they don't know where they were held. But without a doubt, they will 'deduce' it from indirect clues of their journey. With the difference that this is not true information at all. Arriving on Ciutric IV will convince them the observatory was a trap. Then they will start looking for the place where they were held. And, in the end, they will draw certain conclusions. Incorrect ones, of course. And the more questions arise in the Republicans' minds, the less clarity they have, the more uncertain they feel. Furthermore, we have made it clear to all the high-ranking prisoners that we are no longer the Empire that fights with numbers rather than skill. The racial prejudices of the New Order are in the past — at least for us. This will first and foremost affect the top brass of the New Republic. They still haven't accepted my ultimatum regarding the exchange, so we will use this fact against them."
"How, sir?" Pellaeon inquired. "I understand correctly that you deliberately didn't set a deadline for the exchange, so they would drag this matter out as long as possible?"
"Exactly so, Captain," I confirmed. "The goals of the second phase of Operation 'Crimson Dawn' have been achieved. The Hegemony is subjugated to us. We have stability in production and a personnel reserve. The high-value prisoners will return home 'thanks to the efforts of one Jedi,' which will allow Luke Skywalker to draw the attention of the Emperor's bloodhounds to himself. A conversation with all of them is scheduled for tomorrow, during which key truths and our position will be conveyed to them. Before they return to Coruscant, additional data about what the territories under my protectorate now represent, as well as a number of supplementary news items, will be released into the HoloNet information space. All of this will not only provide us with an influx of settlers to strengthen the state's internal policy but also create a respectable image of Imperials who do not want war but are forced to participate in it because the New Republic refuses to settle down and continues its imperialist ambitions and political persecutions. We will call their very statehood into question, which will help cut off not only a number of 'doubtful' sectors from the New Republic but also plant seeds of doubt in the minds of those who still believe in them."
"Sir, that could actually destroy the New Republic," remarked Pellaeon.
"I remember your warnings, Captain," I said, tapping my finger on the information chip to draw Gilad's attention to the device. "As long as the New Republic has an enemy it can rally against, they will remain united — at least the majority of the sectors. For the galaxy, given the future manifesto, we are a 'thing in itself' that will attract only a small number of enthusiasts and former Imperials. They will watch us and judge — both our words and our actions. The New Republic will never agree to exchange its prisoners of war for equipment from the Galactic Empire because they do not trust us. Freeing the heroes of the Rebel Alliance will demonstrate to the entire galaxy that we can be dealt with. But the New Republic will not do that — because the second phase of Operation 'Crimson Dawn' has taught them not to trust the obviousness of my actions. They will wait for treachery in my proposals and promises — we will show them the opposite. This will create cognitive dissonance in sentient minds — the words of the New Republic government will diverge from their deeds. That will free our hands to continue military operations."
"But you said you intended to conclude a truce with the New Republic," Pellaeon reminded me.
"And I still wish for that," I confirmed. "The problem is that in their eyes, we are still not equals. The third phase of the operation will make them understand otherwise. And only after they are completely broken, crushed, and see every one of our operations as having far more goals than they realize, will the inevitable come. They will accept the obvious fact — they cannot win this war. Other remnants — maybe. But not our state. And then they will come to us themselves with a peace treaty. Its terms will be dictated by us from a position of strength and entirely justified and lawful demands. They will have to submit and accept the inevitable. As I have said before — peace is valuable when it is concluded not between a weak side and a strong one, but at least between equals in capability. Once we gain such weight, once sentients across the galaxy understand that supporting the New Republic and participating in their madness is deadly dangerous, the sectors will come to us. For protection, stability, and prosperity."
"Alongside military strikes, we will deliver political ones," Gilad understood. But he did not grasp everything.
"And also ideological ones," I clarified. "War of ideas and worldviews is one of the bloodiest. But it brings the greatest dividends to the victorious side."
"How complicated this all is," Gilad massaged his temples.
"You will learn, Captain," I said. "For us now, the main thing is to take what is ours. In the best possible scenario. After that — to survive Palpatine's attack. Which we are ready for, unlike the Republicans."
"But you did inform them that it was coming," said Pellaeon.
"Of course, Captain," I allowed myself a smile. "But you don't think that after everything I have done and will do to the New Republic, they will believe me, do you?"
Gilad, realizing the scope of the idea, swallowed convulsively.
"Palpatine will sweep through the New Republic with fire and sword," I predicted. "He will raze cities to the ground, destroy millions, if not billions of sentients. And when the time comes," I tapped the information chip again, "the sentients of this galaxy will understand that democracy is not the best way to counter internal and external threats. Especially when it becomes known that these very democrats were warned about the impending catastrophe. But did nothing to prevent it or minimize the damage."
"A war against Palpatine would unite them, since it would be an existential threat," Pellaeon objected.
"That is precisely why the sectors and systems that show prudence and join us will not suffer," I explained. "In the ruins of the post-war years, when the bitterness of defeat and the loss of loved ones demands an outlet and the assignment of blame, we will make our move. We will be ready to care for those the Republic forgot while saving itself. In the midst of the fratricidal war that will break out after Palpatine's invasion, we will be the voice of reason that guarantees order," I again drew Gilad's attention to the information chip. "Order. And retribution for atrocities."
"Is that what I think it is?" my flag bridge commander tensed.
"Exactly, Captain Pellaeon," I confirmed his guess. "Mr. Ghent did an excellent job. The encryption on the 'Caamas Document' has been broken. The data is open and studied. In the post-war devastation, what Borsk Fey'lya recently did will pale in comparison to the ideological explosion against the foundations of the New Republic that the publication of this information will cause."
"Does it contain a list of Bothans involved in the destruction of the Caamasi homeworld's deflectors?" Pellaeon clarified.
"Yes," I confirmed.
"And... how many representatives of the ruling clans participated in this genocide?" Gilad shuddered, only briefly imagining the execution of the 'Base Delta Zero' order against the homeland of the peaceful Caamasi.
I allowed myself to smile again. Making a gesture for the captain to come closer, I turned one of the monitors showing the list so Pellaeon could comfortably run his eyes over it.
When his gaze stopped at the end of the list of perpetrators and clans, an expression of righteous fury froze on the Imperial captain's face.
"Why, you...!" grinding his teeth, he clenched his fingers into fists with all his might. "Furry bastards! Leading the whole galaxy by the nose for so long!"
"You are mistaken about one thing, Captain," I said, turning the monitor screen back towards myself. "The perpetrators are by no means bastards. They are the most respectable sons and daughters of noble houses on Bothawui. Now we know how the Bothans bought themselves practical autonomy from Imperial occupation during the height of the Galactic Empire's power. When the time comes — the entire galaxy will learn of this."
"So they were right at the academy," Pellaeon hissed. "Hit any Bothan — they're guilty anyway."
"And it is the Bothans whom we will make the scapegoats, guilty of the atrocities that the reborn Palpatine and his coterie of henchmen have in store for the galaxy," I said in a promising tone.
"The dream of billions of sentients will come true," the commander of the Chimaera said darkly.
"Yes," I simply replied. "Bothawui will burn. To the ground."