Nine years, eight months, and fifteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, eight months, and fifteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and thirty-five days since the Arrival.)
The pirate fleet in the Mentanar Vosk system was burning out.
Commodore Shohashi stood on the deck of the central command platform, studying the hull of a Neutron Star-class cruiser that was currently breaking in two, exposing its rich inner world.
Gutted like a rotten fish, the old ship — clearly not maintained in good technical condition — spewed tons of scrap metal, disfigured bodies and their pieces, and streams of atmosphere into the airless void.
A series of internal explosions ran through the starship's aft section, splitting it into pieces.
Each of which also exploded.
"Enemy fleet destroyed, Commodore Shohashi," the watch officer reported to him.
Eric habitually slid the pad of his thumb along the inner surface of his pocket chronometer. The skin traced the familiar curves of Iran's engraving...
Snapping the device shut, the man put it back in his pocket.
"Blockade the planet," he ordered. "No one leaves. Shoot down any escape attempts."
Not hearing confirmation, the commander of the Red Star battle group turned his head to memorize the face of the slow subordinate.
As he'd expected — he was from Ciutric. A young kid, looked about twenty, twenty-two years old. He'd clearly received his lieutenant's pips upon graduating from emergency officer courses. In the old days, someone like this would have pulled a decade-long stint in the crew of some patrol tub in the Mid Rim — and that's if he'd been top of his class.
Then again, it was worth remembering that they didn't graduate such green fruits back then. If someone left the Academy with a lieutenant's pips, it meant they were something. Because incompetents were either expelled or graduated with the lowest rank after months of training.
A careless fellow — who in their right mind would keep staring at a monitor screen after hearing an order from their commander?
"Lieutenant," the commodore reminded him, "if you're not too busy, be so kind as to listen to what I'm telling you."
Receiving an elbow nudge from the comm operator, the watch officer snapped to attention, stood at parade rest, and stared at Shohashi with wide eyes, exactly as he'd been taught in the training courses.
"My fault, sir..."
"No one doubts that," the Butcher of Atoa nodded. "Did you hear what I said?"
The kid's eyes darted from side to side. He licked his lips nervously, obviously trying to come up with something that would serve as an excuse... Idiot.
"Understood," Eric said, turning away from the "youngling." He noticed the superstitious fear flickering in the lieutenant's eyes.
Shohashi continued to silently contemplate the aftermath of the second massacre he'd orchestrated in the Nidjun sector.
The pirates from the Aar system hadn't been much of a problem — the Red Star had swept those ships aside like garbage. Which, in fact, is what they were.
Intelligence reported that such a swift defeat of a significant portion of the pirate bands in the sector had thoroughly shaken up the criminal underworld. After a day of planet-side cleansing, which left only ruins of cities and thousands of corpses of the stubborn Aar'aa who'd tried to resist the stormtroopers, control over the planet, over the system, was established.
Brandei, who'd jumped to the next target, reported that the population of the Kabiryun star system had understood the hint — a pair of Star Destroyers appearing in the sky above their planet — quite correctly. After a few hours of negotiations, that star system expressed a desire to join the Dominion. Their diplomatic group was already ready to depart for the capital — Ciutric IV — to meet with authorized representatives.
The third target of the campaign was the Mentanar Vosk system.
No native population, just vague settlements of pirates and bandits. They surrender — they go to hard labor according to their crimes. They're not so prudent — their problem.
"Sir, may I speak?" came the voice of that same lieutenant.
"You can when a Twi'lek trades you his lekku," slipped from Shohashi's lips reflexively. An idiom experienced instructors used to beat the "civilian mindset" out of cadets. "In the fleet and army, you say, 'Permission to speak.'"
"My fault, sir," the kid seemed to blush. "Permission to speak?"
"Granted," Eric replied.
"I fully admit my fault..." the young officer began to mumble.
"Cancel that," Eric cut him off. Oh, how difficult it was — to be training the crew all over again. On the Dictator, it had been so much easier — they were veterans who even dreamed in strict accordance with regulations. "Fawning and ingratiating yourself on board my ship or any vessel under my command is hazardous to your health. Next time you think of covering your mistake with such intentions, think three times about how pathetic you look in the eyes of your comrades and what a contemptible creature you become when you choke your own honor and dignity. Understood?"
The lieutenant, already pale as chalk by the end of the reprimand, nodded vigorously.
"Now, share what captured your attention so strongly that you ignored my address," Shohashi demanded.
"A message, sir," the kid said, swallowing. "A shuttle entered the system transmitting valid identification codes..."
"Authentication," Eric corrected him.
"Yes, sir, authentication," the kid agreed. "He's going to wet his pants," Shohashi thought, sighing. "A message came in that an envoy from Grand Admiral Thrawn himself was being sent to us. I triple-checked the authenticity before reporting to you..."
"The codes are genuine, confirmed by the Chimaera?" An envoy from Thrawn? Well, that was news. Decided to assign a spy? Or did the campaign plan for cleaning out the criminal element from the Nidjun sector need to be adjusted in a way he didn't trust to a voice transmission?
"All confirmed, sir." Eric turned his head to look at the kid. Scrawny, uniform too big, neck like a hatchling's... He basically was, in essence, a human hatchling... Highly unlikely his place was on board a combat ship of an active fleet. But handling rotations in the middle of an operation was a bad idea. He'd need to give a reprimand and watch what came of it. "I ordered them kept away from the Crimson Dawn and held within weapon range until I received your confirmation. The shuttle is awaiting your decision, sir."
And the gunners.
"Three infantry squads to docking port seven," Shohashi ordered. "Scan the vessel the moment you send the approach order. Order Third Squadron to escort the ship and destroy it on any attempt at unauthorized undocking."
"Will be done, sir!" The kid saluted and ran off to execute the order.
An envoy from Thrawn...
Looked like something interesting was brewing.
* * *
The haze of hyperspace compressed into points of distant stars.
But one of them — Ketaris Prime — was closer than the rest.
But not closer than the planet Ketaris itself.
Planet Ketaris.
A planet with a Type I atmosphere, covered in oceans framing several large continents. Temperate climate, warm weather — everything necessary for this world to become what it was: the largest trading hub in the sector and several neighboring ones.
Captain Pellaeon recalled that Ketaris once had a university famous for its xenoarchaeology courses. Though it had gone bankrupt some time before the Clone Wars began.
And now it was a fortress planet, once turned into such by the forces of the Galactic Empire.
And now, Imperial ships had come to take this world from their opponents.
"All systems at battle stations," the central command post reported. "The Black Asp is beginning deployment of gravity well generators along agreed vectors."
Pellaeon strained to study the image of the planet, frowning in displeasure.
The Chimaera led the task force, consisting of herself, two Victory-class ships — the Crusader and the Steel Aurora — an Immobilizer-418-class interdictor cruiser, and a pair of Acclamator-class assault ships carrying units of the regular army, heavy equipment, and... spare parts for restoring the functionality of the defensive platforms.
Despite Thrawn's claim that there would be no battle on the planet and the troops were needed solely for occupation and control of strategically important objectives, certain doubts remained.
Even despite the absence of New Republic starships — seriously, no one was going to count a pair of Carrack-class light cruisers as serious defense — Ketaris's defenses were imposing with its ten Golan II-class orbital defense stations and the squadrons of starfighters — X-wings and TIE fighters — scrambled during the time the commander was deploying his vessels into battle formation.
"Excellent, Lieutenant," Grand Admiral Thrawn nodded in response, strolling leisurely across the command bridge. His demeanor was unflappable, even bored, hands clasped behind his back. Relaxed. As if he had foreseen and anticipated everything... But then again, after nearly four months of this, what was there to be surprised about? "Inform me when they're finished. Captain!"
"Sir?" Gilad, standing beside the commander's empty chair — with his constant companion, the ysalamiri, on its back — lifted his head, gazing without fear into the Grand Admiral's burning eyes.
As always — not even a hint of emotion. Yes, Thrawn had become more "human," sometimes even smiling, but when it came to combat operations, he retreated back into his "shell of imperturbability."
And yet he should feel at least some joy — in such a situation, when he was about to tweak the New Republic's nose once again, how could he keep such composure?
Gilad himself certainly felt it. Like returning to his cadet youth, when he looked at everything with burning eyes, craving glory and new knowledge...
Pellaeon, like the entire crew of the flagship, felt the anticipation of the coming battle. They were preparing to seize the Oplovis sector in one stroke, driving out the Republicans who weren't about to give up territory so easily, and the itch and urge for battle had become almost unbearable. Some, like Lieutenant Tschel, felt it physically, which led to endless speculation about how the Grand Admiral would humiliate the New Republic this time.
Yes, they could only guess, because Thrawn had revealed his plan only to the commanders of the Star Destroyers leading the operational-tactical units involved. Well, junior officers and enlisted ranks could only enjoy the spectacle itself. They hadn't yet earned being told all the details.
"Have distress signals from Ketaris been received?" the Grand Admiral inquired.
"Yes, sir," Gilad replied. "A signal to Coruscant, and also to the Sronk system."
"Where the New Republic fleet defending the Oplovis sector is based," the Admiral said. "It will be interesting to see how much help they can send."
The Chimaera's commander nodded to his own thoughts with a crooked smile on his face. The New Republic had already seen and suffered enough of Thrawn's tactics. They had abandoned all systems in Oplovis except two. Given the seriousness of Ketaris's orbital defenses, it was no surprise they'd chosen to keep their fleet at the less-defended Sronk.
However, seeing the forces Thrawn was using to attack the fortress planet, would they respond to the invasion? Or would they continue to wait?
The Grand Admiral had made his move before the enemy could bring reinforcements here — scouts at the sector's borders and beyond had detected no enemy fleet movement, so there would be no surprises. And even if help did arrive from somewhere... Well, there were other task forces participating in the operation. They would be more than happy to warm up their turbolasers.
Pellaeon looked through the central viewport at Ketaris. He marveled once again at the cunning, elegance, and simplicity with which Thrawn approached the matter of dismantling enemy defenses.
"Let's begin, Captain," Thrawn commanded. "The enemy has had ample time to study our battle formations, count our ships, and correlate them with their bases. Now we can be certain they are sufficiently informed about us."
"Yes, sir," the Chimaera's commander confirmed, heading to the part of the bridge that had been specially equipped for him.
After all, if Thrawn had his own chair on the bridge — something not standard for an Imperial-class Star Destroyer in general, or the Mark II in particular — then why shouldn't the Star Destroyer's captain have one too? Not smack in the center of the platform before the viewports, of course, but modestly, off to the side...
Gilad met the eyes of Rukh, sitting in the shadows near the captain's station. The bodyguard bared his teeth. Or was that a smile of sorts from a Noghri? Hutt only knew, really...
In fact, Ketaris, with its orbital stations, planetary shield, and powerful space-defense batteries, couldn't be taken even by a fleet twice as strong. The enemy likely expected a Torpedo Sphere to drop out of hyperspace at any moment to deal with the fortress planet's defenses. And naturally, it would take heavy damage from the defense stations, since the main weapon of that two-kilometer siege platform was its proton torpedo launchers. Their effective range was much shorter than that of turbolasers. So before it could reach the planetary shield, the Torpedo Sphere would have to fight the Golans. And they certainly wouldn't let themselves be carved up by torpedoes alone.
The defensive artillery on the Golans was sufficiently effective against proton torpedoes and anti-ship missiles, meaning the Torpedo Sphere couldn't inflict critical damage on the defenses. The laser cannon crews would easily and simply destroy any incoming projectiles.
And without destroying the orbital defense stations, getting close to the planetary shield wasn't easy. Not to mention cracking it.
This required either a superlaser or repeated volleys from a Torpedo Sphere, followed by a ground assault to destroy the deflector generators. This could have been avoided if the Grand Admiral had ordered reconnaissance sent here to knock out the generators. But that hadn't been done, and Gilad knew why.
No one is going to take the planet by storm or conduct a grueling siege. Because Thrawn intended to take Ketaris whole and intact — with all its warehouses and defensive lines. That's a task no one had ever accomplished before, and that type of defense had remained an unbreakable barrier. One Thrawn meant to shatter, proving his tactical and strategic genius to the entire galaxy once again.
Gilad took the seat in front of the dual ring of monitors and found the right key. The monitors displayed the same information that was duplicated on the tactical screen and the control terminals at the command posts.
The Chimaera, along with both assault cruisers, was approaching the Golan's engagement zone. They had left both Victories behind to guard the Black Asp. And judging by the notations, Captains I-Gor and Kalian had already released their DP20 gunships from the magnetic grapples and deployed their screening squadrons.
The Grand Admiral's flagship came to a halt, still ten units short of the maximum range of the turbolasers. The assault cruisers followed suit.
Scanners indicated that beneath a blue-white film representing the planetary shield on a schematic display, numerous freighters, cargo starships, private yachts, small commercial and passenger vessels, and shuttles were already circling in Ketaris's atmosphere. They had all intended to flee, to leave the planet, but now that Thrawn had approached so close, every segment of the planetary shield had locked into place.
Covering an object the size of a planet with an energy shield requires a massive amount of power. The deflector shield projectors are also numerous, each responsible for its own segment. Even when a planet is under siege, you can always find one or two segments that lower for a short time to let ships carrying refugees out or to deliver ammunition, reinforcements, food, and medical supplies. But now, as heavy cruisers of the Dreadnaught type — once part of the legendary Katana fleet — began emerging from hyperspace, obeying the laws of physics, that opportunity for the enemy disappeared.
The appearance of those ships marked the beginning of the second phase of the operation, which Thrawn had designated "Negotiations and Blockade." The first, accordingly, had been labeled "Flag Demonstration."
A dozen heavy cruisers spread out at a respectable sublight speed at the same distance from the Golan artillery's engagement zone, taking up positions directly above the planet's equator. Their very presence demonstrated that they were acting as a deterrent. And anyone foolish enough to emerge from the protection of the planetary shield would inevitably become a target for the Dominion's fighters or interceptors. One more reason to remind the enemy that no one should be allowed to leave the perimeter.
Pellaeon glanced at another starship that had just exited hyperspace.
A perfectly respectable-looking Venator-class Star Destroyer. Yes, instead of a lower hangar, it had a hemisphere of a solar ionization generator protruding, but otherwise it was no different from its siblings. And you'd never guess that just a few weeks ago, this starship had been in the hands of Trandoshan slavers.
And now the Dragon was bearing the insignia of a new state on the galactic map.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gilad saw the Grand Admiral settle into his chair.
Then a double click signaled a switch to an open channel.
"Star Destroyer Chimaera of the Dominion Fleet hailing the government of the planet Ketaris," the Grand Admiral's voice boomed from the speakers. "This is Grand Admiral Thrawn speaking. The sector government on the planet Harrod has declared its accession to the Dominion. The presence of New Republic armed forces, as well as any obstruction to organizing the sector's defense by Dominion forces, is illegal and will be regarded as a war crime. I demand that the planetary deflector shields be lowered, all military units be withdrawn to their garrisons, and the garrison and New Republic military personnel lay down their arms and surrender."
There was no response.
Expected.
"I know you can hear me," the Grand Admiral continued, completely unflustered. "If you continue to blatantly ignore my address, I will consider your actions a hostile act toward the sector government and insubordination to orders. In that case, you will be regarded as rebels, and you will be treated accordingly."
And again, silence...
Although... did anyone truly expect this to be simple?
Of course not.
"Two more messages have been sent from Ketaris," the comms officer's voice was calm and measured. "Same as the first time — to Coruscant and to the Strong system."
"Well," Thrawn responded, almost good-naturedly. "Now they've updated their status. Though, of course, no one will receive their warning in time. One can only admire their tenacity, their faith in their allies, and... their excessive self-confidence."
"Sir?" Pellaeon looked at him in surprise.
"Send the authorization order to the Dragon," the Grand Admiral commanded.
"Aye, sir," the Chimaera's commander relayed the commander-in-chief's will through his comlink. "The Venator is ready."
It was impossible to see on the tactical display, but the fact that the ship was indeed reporting what was actually happening aboard it raised no questions. Pellaeon could practically picture the main hangar bay doors of the Clone Wars-era destroyer swinging open, and squadrons of TIE interceptors — soon to have work suited to their specialty — launching out. Fourteen squadrons, half of which had already launched, with the second half to follow during the main weapon's recharge cycle.
"In that case," Thrawn paused briefly. "Fire."
On the tactical monitor, a crimson lightning bolt of an ion shot stretched from the elongated white triangle of the Dragon toward the planet. A moment later, another one followed, just a second behind. They raced toward the planet, seemingly ready to strike its deflector shield. Laughable, someone might say.
And they'd be right.
Because even with the solar ionization reactor, even with additional reactors feeding the plasma cannons mounted in the side and center hangars, even with numerous generators salvaged from Clone Wars-era SPHA self-propelled artillery pieces used alongside standard auxiliary reactors, the V-150 Planet Defender ion cannon had no chance of penetrating the deflector shield of a fortress planet.
The primary purpose of such an ion cannon is to penetrate a ship's deflectors and disable its electronics, preventing the generators and reactors from restarting and restoring the energy shield. A planetary shield is far more powerful than a ship's, and the generators for each segment are securely buried beneath the planet's surface.
So, at best, the Dragon could significantly drain the power of one segment of Ketaris's planetary shield. But there was one catch.
By the time the cannon recharged, the shield generators would have restored the damaged segment's power to its original level.
So bombarding a planetary shield with such a weapon was pointless...
But the Dragon wasn't firing at the planet at all, as it might have seemed.
The bolts of ion energy raced across the hull of the nearest Golan II, slipping through its defenses like a red-hot knife through frozen butter.
For several seconds, energy flashes danced across the defense station's hull, illuminating the darkness of space with arcing discharges and spontaneous detonations of its weapons systems.
A minute later, the station went dark.
"Scanners show the damaged Golan is non-functional, sir," Pellaeon reported.
The Grand Admiral nodded in satisfaction.
"A new distress signal has cut off, sir," the officer at the comms station reported, with barely concealed excitement.
"It seems the planet is considerably surprised by what's happened," Pellaeon echoed his subordinate.
Well, of course they were.
The Planet Defender is called "planetary" because its job is to fire from the surface of a celestial body at starships in orbit. Not from a ship's deck at orbital installations.
"We need to convince them that what's happening is no hallucination," the Grand Admiral declared. "Inform the Dragon — continue fire until all orbital stations are suppressed or until the order is rescinded," Thrawn said. "Use a progressive time delay algorithm between salvos. Fighters and light forces from all ships are to stand ready to repel any enemy counterattack by small craft."
"Aye, sir," Pellaeon reported, relaying the commander's orders.
And again, arrows of ion fire struck an orbital defense station — the one adjacent to the first target. And again, two shots were enough to render the space object combat-ineffective in seconds.
"Excellent work," the Grand Admiral noted. "Continue bombardment."
The Dragon began to shift, aiming its monstrous weapon at new targets.
As ordered, it used increasing time pauses during recharging, maintaining the enemy's illusion that the weapon required more and more energy after each shot.
This particular shortcoming, revealed during the Battle of Hast, had been subsequently corrected through additional work and the installation of new power sources — generators from the Clone Wars-era SPHA self-propelled artillery platforms. Given the shortage of standard factory reactors, using such mechanisms was the only viable solution. After all, tens of thousands of these SPHAs had fallen into Dominion hands, deploying them on ground battlefronts had proven impractical for a number of reasons.
But Thrawn, as always, had shown truly enviable initiative, putting the legacy of the Clone Wars to maximum use.
Now all that remained was to see how quick-witted the fortress planet's government would actually prove to be.
* * *
"The cloaking field is operational, sir," the senior officer reported to Captain Astorias.
"Is the relay completely cut off from all incoming and outgoing signals?" Alexander clarified.
"Affirmative, sir," the comms station confirmed. "Our signal interception system is registering every single message sent to this relay. The cryptographers are already analyzing them."
"Excellent," Morgot declared, turning his head toward where, a few hundred kilometers from the Stormhawk, the HoloNet relay had been located not long ago. "Notify Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"Aye, sir!" the senior officer replied.
"We're leaving two shuttles here for signal interception and returning to the fleet's position," the Star Destroyer's commander ordered.
A few minutes later, the Stormhawk left the point in interstellar space outside the Oplovis sector, heading back to its designated objective.
* * *
"Orbital stations are suppressed, sir," the comms station reported.
"Excellent," Thrawn said. "Deploy the boarding and transport ships. No risk to personnel — eliminate anyone who resists, evacuate those who surrender."
"Aye, sir!"
"Has the government of Ketaris contacted us?" the Grand Admiral inquired.
"Negative, sir," came the reply from the same battle station.
"Order to the Torpedo Sphere — move to our coordinates," the commander ordered.
Pellaeon tensed unconsciously. The given order meant Thrawn had just abandoned his initial plan to take the planet intact. Because when a Torpedo Sphere bombards a planetary shield, you never know exactly when a section will fail. And often, the proton torpedoes of each successive salvo not only breach the shield but also bombard the surface. In such cases, the casualty count runs into the tens of thousands.
Given that settlements on Ketaris were fairly common, the worst could be safely assumed — some of them would be wiped off the face of the planet. Along with the defiant population.
But before the comms officer could carry out the order, an unfamiliar voice flooded from the speakers.
"Dominion Star Destroyer Chimaera," the voice was clearly frightened, though it tried to sound firm. "I am the Prime Minister of Ketaris, and I would like to ask Grand Admiral Thrawn to cease the destruction of our defensive installations."
"Grand Admiral Thrawn speaking," the man in the snow-white tunic replied. "What is the purpose of your request for a ceasefire?"
A ceasefire — not a complete cessation. A subtle hint that bombardment would resume if necessary. And so far, all it meant was that the crews numbering in the thousands on the ten Golans were experiencing oxygen problems. And if their hangars had been open at the time, it wasn't hard to imagine the decompression that had begun after the ion charges burned out the power supply circuits of the atmospheric fields, which separated the hangars from space by a thin film. And it was doubtful anyone had managed to manually seal the blast doors — the vast amount of equipment, furniture, and bodies ejected around the dead stations indicated that not everyone had succeeded.
"Can we ask you to cease fire while we discuss the terms of surrender?" the voice repeated from the speaker.
Pellaeon almost jumped for joy!
Ketaris was surrendering? Having lost only the defense platforms? This was a genuine treasure trove! The New Republic had moved all its sector supplies here — enough weapons for an entire corps, not to mention equipment and other material assets!
"The terms of your surrender are simple," Thrawn declared, his voice still calm yet full of authority. "Immediately deactivate all deflector field generators. Do not hinder the landing of our troops on the planet. Withdraw your units and garrison forces to their permanent deployment positions, where they will lay down their arms. All strategically important facilities are to be handed over to our control as soon as my officers contact you. All anti-starship defense cannons are to be handed over to my soldiers. All military equipment larger than speeders is to be returned to unit positions and prepared for transfer to my military forces."
"The garrison commander is asking me," the Prime Minister said after a few seconds of silence, "what will happen to him and his soldiers."
"They are subject to the rules of captivity," Thrawn stated. "They will receive medical aid, and all humane rules for the treatment of prisoners, including food and lodging, will be guaranteed."
"So there will be no mass executions or changes in planetary government?" the Prime Minister tensed.
"The Dominion does not kill those who voluntarily lay down their arms," Thrawn said, almost matter-of-factly, yet somehow... it made it all the more imposing. "The political and social structure on your planet, as everywhere in the Dominion, will remain unchanged as long as you, Prime Minister, ensure the good behavior of your citizens and a decent standard of living for them. Should local or Dominion laws be broken, you or any other criminals will be severely punished."
It sounded like someone on the other end of the line choked on air.
"And once we fulfill your conditions?" the planetary ruler inquired, just as cautiously.
"You will become part of the Dominion," Thrawn stated firmly. "At least, those who wish to. No one is going to keep anyone within our borders by force. Nor compel anyone to do anything."
"Am I correct in understanding that the Dominion operates under Imperial law?"
"Until such time as they are reorganized to meet modern realities — yes, the Dominion is subject to the Imperial system of justice and legislation," Thrawn emphasized.
"Will taxes and duties remain at their current level?" the Prime Minister clarified.
"Taxes and duties are part of any state's budget revenue, including the Dominion's. They are mandatory for all working citizens of the Dominion."
"The Empire bled us dry, no better than the Hutts," the Prime Minister said bitterly. "And then there were those forced conscriptions..."
"I am not an advocate of coercion unless it is necessary," Thrawn's voice warmed slightly. "Military service for a citizen of the Dominion is an honorable duty that will allow a boy to become a man and fully understand what it means to be a defender of his homeland, to face the hardships of life beyond his home, to build character, and to view life with a more sober perspective. The place of such service is clearly defined — the Defense Fleet. Defensive units do not participate in combat operations against the Dominion's enemies outside the state borders; only the regular forces do. On the other hand," Thrawn pretended to consider. "You can always file a petition on Ciutric IV to change your tax rate in favor of increasing Ketaris's tax contributions, proportional to the number of recruits relative to the population, in exchange for a reduction in the number of conscripts. But in that case, assault units will remain permanently stationed on Ketaris, ready to repel any possible attack."
Hearing this, Pellaeon almost laughed out loud.
By the Emperor's black bones, what a brilliant idea!
What is a trading planet rich in? Goods and money, that's what. If the locals don't want to participate in the conscription campaign, let them pay up. No, the Dominion will no longer trouble itself with forced recruitment into the armed forces. With the Spaarti and GeNod programs' cylinders available, it's just a waste of time and effort. Clones, albeit in small numbers, are always flowing into the military, which implies the Dominion has a stable base of professionals. Conscripts are needed exclusively to fill rear support units and defense fleets. And, of course, "fresh blood" for the regular forces — as soon as former conscripts want to change their place of service.
Oh, the Emperor's black bones, it was so simple. How many uprisings and protests had to be drowned in blood over the last fifteen years when the local population was outraged by actions based on forced conscription? And they could have been avoided... Don't want to serve? Pay!
Pellaeon couldn't suppress a smile.
Thrawn had undoubtedly designed this mechanism so that those who chose to avoid conscription would face certain obstacles in the future when it came to holding positions in state government. Which was, after all, only right — how could you speak for the people, being some minor administrator in a settlement, if you had paid the state money in the past to avoid the duty of defending those very people?
And that was just the simplest example that popped into Gilad's head.
No, truly, bravo.
Whichever decision the inhabitants of the planet made — joining the army or buying their way out — the Dominion won either way.
A long pause followed. The Prime Minister was clearly no fool. He was probably weighing his options too. On one hand, your defensive systems fall under the control of Dominion stormtroopers and other military personnel. Then a civil-military administration appears on the planet, which will strip you of every strand of power at the slightest hint that you're handling things incorrectly. Before you know it, Dominion bureaucrats will take complete control of all trade on the planet, and after some time, Ketaris will turn into a trading hub for the entire state.
And you'll be rotting in prison somewhere in the meantime.
A transparent hint: either you start working properly, or you don't get in the way of others doing it for you.
And the percentage of the conscription-age population was always high — according to Imperial standards, there was a huge gap between the lower limit of eighteen years and the upper limit of nearly seventy. Nearly the majority of the planet's male population could fall within that range. And considering that most of them had been exclusively engaged in trade for the past few years... The option practically suggested itself.
Because the only alternative was to stand by and watch your planet get occupied. It was hard to imagine what a person might feel in such a situation. And how to act, to choose the lesser evil...
"Grand Admiral Thrawn," the Prime Minister's voice was tense. But who could blame him in light of recent events? "We are lowering the planetary shield as a gesture of goodwill and a desire to cooperate. However... before you gain control of our defense systems and the garrison surrenders, I ask you to organize a rescue operation for our military personnel stranded on the orbital stations."
"Of course," Thrawn readily agreed. "I began doing so as soon as I suppressed the stations and the threat they posed to my fleet. But you must understand that due to your delay in responding, many of them died in the very first moments of the attack?"
"Yes," the Prime Minister said hoarsely. "That is a burden I will carry for the rest of my days. All our fighters have been recalled to the planet. The Karrakis have shut down their primary systems, the planetary shield is lowered, and the anti-starship artillery is in a non-combat position. The garrison is ready to surrender."
"That is the right choice, Prime Minister," Thrawn said. "You will soon notice that for your planet and your people, nothing will change — only for the better."
The Chimaera's commander had no doubt that many former Imperial soldiers would be outraged by such a fact. What conditions could a surrendering side set?
But the Chimaera's commander knew his commanding officer well.
If Thrawn pretends to make concessions, it only means that in reality he intends to gain far more from that gesture than from suffocating a few tens of thousands of defenders in space. Moreover, the station probably houses locals from Ketaris. And in the future, these guys could easily become part of the planetary defense forces. Not here, of course — they'll likely be redeployed elsewhere. But the fact remains: as soon as permission is given to leave Ketaris, dozens of ships, hundreds of sentients, and thousands of conversations about what Thrawn did will spread across the galaxy. Planetary governments will learn that the best option to preserve their citizens' lives is to surrender to the Dominion in the very first moments of an attack — while such an offer is still valid.
"While the rescue operation continues, emissaries will be sent to you to discuss the details of our agreement," the Grand Admiral continued. "They will explain each clause of the union treaty in detail, explain your rights and obligations. You won't object if, parallel to the negotiations, our troops begin receiving military equipment from your garrison?"
A sigh. Pellaeon felt it rather than heard it.
"We have no objections, Grand Admiral," the prime minister said reluctantly. It seemed he had really hoped someone had forgotten about this. Well, he was in for a disappointment. "I will arrange for all necessary paperwork, as well as a conference hall and a banquet to welcome our dear guests."
"You are so kind, Prime Minister," Thrawn's face didn't even hint at a smile.
The intercom went dead.
"Move the Chimaera and the fleet ships to geostationary orbit, Captain," Thrawn ordered. "When the planetary shield is activated, we must be under its protection. The same order applies to all fleet ships. Major Tierce, begin the ground landing according to target priority categories."
"Yes, sir!" the adjutant strode briskly toward the exit of the bridge. How was he supposed to understand that? Where in the blazes had Tierce been all this time, that Gilad hadn't seen him?
The tactical hologram showed the first wave of landing barges and escort fighters. And in each of them were stormtroopers of the 501st Legion, ready to carry out any order without emotion, feeling, or delay.
"Captain Pellaeon," the Grand Admiral said. "Arrange for the repair of the orbital defense stations — we will need them shortly."
"Yes, sir," Gilad replied.
"After that, take a few guards, a couple of stormtrooper squads, and go to the prime minister's residence," Thrawn said, still not taking his eyes off the main viewport.
The Chimaera commander's eyes bulged.
"That's correct, Captain," Thrawn looked at him. "You will present to the prime minister and the government the terms of the treaty on Ketaris's entry into the Dominion. I am confident that with your characteristic tact, you will explain to them that the maximum possible tax rates and trade activity deductions in exchange for no conscripts from this planet are primarily due to their unwillingness to listen to what they are told in the very beginning."
Pellaeon's lips spread into a smile.
"Yes, sir," he replied. "I will do that."
"I don't doubt it, Captain," the Grand Admiral stated calmly, shifting his burning gaze to the viewport. "I have certain hopes for you."
* * *
When the turbolift doors opened, Eric was sitting in his chair, reviewing information on the current state of affairs.
Something in the movement near the turbolift caught his attention, so he turned his head to look at the newcomers.
Everything seemed as usual, except there was a nuance.
"Togruta?" he asked himself quietly. "Is this some kind of joke?"
But no, a middle-aged woman of that race was indeed approaching him. Dressed casually, in civilian clothes. Two cylinders dangling from her belt immediately caught his eye.
"Jedi," the man realized.
The situation was taking a very interesting turn.
Especially considering the fact that the girl, as she approached him, was frowning more and more.
"Commodore Shohashi, I am Ahsoka Tano, sent to you by Grand Admiral Thrawn to provide support in eliminating pirate gangs," the woman's voice was calm, composed, as if she dealt with squadron commanders every day. Still, if she was Thrawn's envoy, she clearly had such experience.
"There was no order transferring you to my command," Eric stated.
"I am not subordinate to you," the girl pulled an infochip from a pocket on her belt. "I am cooperating with the Dominion to eliminate oppression of civilians by criminal elements. Nothing more. I was told this chip contains all the necessary information."
On a chip. Not a code cylinder.
Indeed — a "freelancer." But the question was, why in the blazes did he need a Jedi for a cleanup operation? To have his head filled with their stories about the Force and other sorcery?
"Fine, you'll be assigned a cabin. Stay there until I need your help," despite his own opinion, Eric considered having a soft-hearted Jedi (he'd seen plenty in his time, read about their "heroics") aboard a ship conducting a punitive operation to be complete nonsense... What useful contribution could she make during combat?
Now she'd start whining, saying she's a Jedi, she came to help, and they're practically shoving her into a corner...
"Understood," at first he thought he'd misheard. Wait... Stop. Was there going to be any whining or not? "May I be dismissed from the bridge and remain in my assigned cabin until you need me to fight a Dark Side adept operating on the planet?"
"Granted," Eric frowned. An unusual Jedi. Understanding... Wait, stop. What? "What Dark Side adept?"
"That's what those who act from their own motives, selfishness, and so on are called," the Togruta explained patiently. "They possess nearly the same abilities as we do," at these words she moved her hand, and the infochip in Shohashi's hand lifted into the air. "But they direct them against those who oppose them, and also use their dark art to enslave worlds and their populations."
"And what's wrong with that?" Eric thought.
Apparently, he thought it so expressively that it showed on his face.
"For your understanding," the Togruta continued, "the Emperor and Darth Vader are Dark Side adepts. The one on the planet is weaker, but rest assured — if he encounters your soldiers, he will destroy them. All that he can."
The decision came instantly.
"I rescind my previous order," he said. Looking at one of the VHs, he ordered the droid: "Take Lady Tano's belongings to her cabin." Shifting his gaze to the Togruta, he said: "You will depart on the nearest shuttle, accompanied by two guards," he indicated the silent figures standing behind her.
"Thank you for your concern, but I am quite capable of taking care of myself..."
"I don't doubt it," Shohashi chuckled. "This isn't about your safety."
The Togruta paused for a moment, then smirked knowingly: "You think I'm deceiving you."
"Well, we'll find out who you are, Ahsoka Tano, and how honest you are," Shohashi smiled.
Maybe she was a Jedi. But against two guards, plus a contingent of stormtroopers on the planet, she would have no chance if she was lying.
"If you want me to start trusting you, Lady Tano — bring me the head of this Dark Side adept," he explained his position. The question of recruiting any anti-Jedi wasn't an issue. If someone like that existed there, then he was to be destroyed.
"I'll bring him to you whole, Commodore," the Togruta smirked. "Believe me, such individuals can tell a lot about criminals in nearby sectors..."
Chuckling, Shohashi turned his back to her, returning to work.
Of course he knew. He'd encountered a couple of Jedi who had joined pirates. And it had cost his ground contingent dearly. So, let a Jedi face a similar opponent — whether she won or lost, the stormtroopers and guards would be nearby to finish the job.
* * *
The emergency session of the Provisional Government of the New Republic began abruptly — right after the state's Armed Forces headquarters received alarming reports of an attack.
"How long can our forces hold out in the Oplovis sector?" Mon Mothma inquired, not taking her eyes off the admirals sitting across from her.
Drayson and Ackbar. Intelligence and fleet. Two forces that help maintain stability in the territories under New Republic control.
"The fortress-planet Ketaris has good defensive positions," the Mon Calamari said. "Defense stations, a planetary deflector shield, anti-space ordnance. Grand Admiral Thrawn brought only three destroyers, two assault cruisers, and an interdictor cruiser into the system. Local force command ordered patrol ships to withdraw under the protection of the Golans. All squadrons — orbital and planetary-based — have been scrambled. That is more than enough to repel the Dominion flotilla's attack. One would have to be out of one's mind to charge at orbital defense stations with three destroyers."
"Are you saying Thrawn is just intimidating our military?" the head of the Provisional Government asked hopefully.
"Not at all," the Mon Calamari shook his head. "He is not the type to act that way. I am certain he has a couple of aces up his sleeve that he intends to play."
"Did we receive only one message from the system?" Mon Mothma clarified.
"That's correct," the Mon Calamari reported. "Immediately after, the HoloNet relay through which broadcasting occurs went silent — neither our ships can contact us through it, nor can our messages reach them. We have to use another, older relay — and it doesn't always transmit messages as needed. Untimely, with delays..."
"Obsolete relays are a headache for the New Republic," Mon Mothma nodded. "For now, we don't have the money to handle their maintenance and repair."
Judging by how her pupils dilated, a remarkable thought had entered her red-haired head.
"Could Thrawn have destroyed the modern relay so that we would receive information through the old one, i.e., with delays?"
"That would be foolish of him," Admiral Ackbar declared. "If he intends to occupy the Oplovis sector, he will need a functioning relay. Not an old one, but a thoroughly modern one. If he somehow disrupted its operation, it's most likely that he fired on it with ion cannons."
"In that case, he'll need a couple extra billion to repair it," the chief intelligence officer of the New Republic smirked. "Such valuable and rare technology is not available for free sale. It's no accident that the destruction of HoloNet relays is one of the gravest crimes among all spacefaring civilizations — building new relays is a massive money pit."
"But there is also no other commonly known reason why the relay could have failed," the Mon Calamari countered. Meeting the intelligence officer's eyes, he shook his large head. "I understand what you're hinting at, Admiral. But if you think every accident is due to the Dominion or Imperials having another superweapon, that's not far from paranoia."
"Speaking of which," Mon Mothma stated. "Where is the Torpedo Sphere currently?" The advisor looked at Admiral Drayson.
The question was more than timely — using such a "mini-Death Star" weapon, the Imperials could punch through planetary shields with ease.
"We don't know where it is," he did not hide. "Attempts to infiltrate the Hegemony's territory or any other sector under Dominion control have ended with the destruction of our teams."
"As if the enemy knows what we intend to do," Ackbar grumbled discontentedly.
"This situation concerns me no less than you, Admiral," Drayson admitted. "Something out of science fiction is happening. Our operatives in nearby sectors noticed no troop movements. Where the enemy starships came from, which sector allowed them to make such a maneuver, is unclear."
"They could have used smuggler routes," there was displeasure in Admiral Ackbar's voice. "Those that are not on our maps."
"Whether that's the case or not, it won't change the situation now," Mon Mothma declared. "At the previous meeting, we discussed sending reinforcements to the sector."
"That's true," Ackbar confirmed. "Transport convoys were intercepted, and military ships... We haven't yet accumulated enough strength to easily defeat Thrawn's fleet. Into each system of the sector, he introduced a task group consisting of a Star Destroyer and six heavy Dreadnaught-class cruisers, not counting screening ships. To suppress such a force, we would need to deploy forces of at least equal qualitative ratio. That is — no fewer than two or three Mon Calamari Star Cruisers per system."
"That totals — twelve to eighteen capital ships," Admiral Drayson performed a simple mathematical calculation.
"Exactly," Ackbar confirmed. "At present, I have managed to assemble, without attracting attention, a group of only four Mon Calamari Star Cruisers and several Star Destroyers. With a few escort ships for each vessel. But we will in no way be able to oppose the combined forces of Thrawn in the sector."
"We should have acted back when they struck our ships in the Akuria system," Mon Mothma said sadly.
"At that time, we did not have sufficient forces in the region," Ackbar reminded. "I withdrew the squadron to the Strongk system to protect our second and last ally."
"Yes, I remember," Mon Mothma nodded. "I approved that decision myself. But... Can't we force Thrawn to delay the blockade of Ketaris and send the forces we already have to destroy him? Those in the Strongk system, as well as the ships you've assembled."
"To squeeze him between coral reefs and a predator attack from the surface," Admiral Ackbar intoned thoughtfully, with the oceanic epithets characteristic of Mon Calamari. "Yes, we can do that. But the problem is that in that case, Thrawn might also recall his starships from nearby systems. And then our ships would end up in a kill box. Not Thrawn's detachments."
For some reason, General Solo's words about the recklessness of such an approach came to mind.
"We planned to lure Thrawn into a trap in the Oplovis sector," she reminded. "Can't we time it so that we strike Thrawn's ships while he is in the minority?"
Drayson looked with interest at the red-haired woman, who embodied unyielding faith and hope for a better future in the eyes of all New Republic citizens. Though one doesn't usually expect sound military decisions from politicians. Advisor Fey'lya could confirm.
"Technically..." Admiral Ackbar stroked his chin appendages with a powerful hand, "it is possible. Thrawn himself has often used such tactics. But in that case, we would have to coordinate the attack of our forces based in the Strongk system and those ships I assembled on the sector's borders. In turn, leaving the planet Strongk unprotected, we would leave it to the Imperials — one Golan-II defense station, which we managed to deliver there, will not delay any of Thrawn's detachments for long."
"Maybe use the Lusankya for this?" Admiral Drayson suggested.
"No," Ackbar cut him off. "The ship is in a state of rearmament. We don't even have a crew for it. We'll have to manage with existing forces."
"We'll lose the system, but destroy the enemy commander," Mon Mothma said firmly. "Imperials tend to be demoralized when they lose command."
"That's true for any army," Admiral Drayson noted quietly.
"Therefore, we must put absolutely all our strength into the strike," Mon Mothma declared firmly.
"One strike that can end the war," Admiral Ackbar confirmed. "Quickly and efficiently. I will order the starship commanders to ignore all other targets except Thrawn's flagship. Even if we lose several ships in this fight, at the cost of killing the Grand Admiral, we can capture his starships."
"For the second time, the Black Asp will be ours," Admiral Drayson said, staring at one point.
Whether this was a joke or not, none of those present knew.
Now they were united only by the hope that this day would end with the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
And they had every chance of achieving their plan.