New Republic Admiral Aretha Well, a flame-haired, comely middle-aged woman, a native of Corellia, stood on the bridge of a Victory-II-class Star Destroyer bearing the name Liberation.
She stared at the white-and-blue swirls of hyperspace dancing before the wedge-shaped nose of the destroyer, pondering the mission that she, along with the starships under the joint command of Admiral Keir Vantai, had received.
Enter the Oplovis sector, rendezvous with allied forces in the Ketaris system, and destroy the group of Grand Admiral Thrawn attacking the planet.
The enemy consisted of one Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, a pair of Victory I-class Star Destroyers, two Acclamator-class assault cruisers, and an Immobilizer-418 interdictor cruiser. Six starships against the vast New Republic fleet that was to converge in the Ketaris system. However, the enemy did not know what forces he would have to face.
Until now, all the New Republic forces present in the sector amounted to three Mon Calamari MC80 Star Cruisers, supported by a dozen light ships such as two Carrack-class light cruisers, four Nebulon-B escort frigates, and four Corellian CR90 corvettes.
But what Admiral Ackbar had managed to bring to the borders of the Oplovis sector was a far more serious number of strike ships.
Not counting one escort frigate assigned to each capital ship, Admiral Ackbar had amassed enormous forces on the borders of the Oplovis sector. Four more MC80s, Well's own Victory-II, Admiral Keir Vantai's Moon Shadow, also a Mark II but of the Imperial-class, and an Imperial I-class.
Notably, the latter was a destroyer that had once served in the Oplovis sector fleet under the name Wolf Claw. It, along with two other destroyers, had accompanied the Executor-class super Star Destroyer Guardian at the Battle of Tantive V, which ended with the destruction of Admiral Drommel's flagship, two ISDs, and the capture of Wolf Claw. It had been renamed, of course, but... the new name wasn't much different from the old one.
Immediately after that, the vast sector fleet partially scattered to other Imperial Remnant commanders, partially was captured by the New Republic, but for the most part was destroyed by the advancing armada of the Rebel fleet. All this allowed, almost six years ago, to conquer Oplovis almost bloodlessly.
Well... At least from the side of what was then the Rebel Alliance, there were few casualties. As for the Imperials... Well, death is always a sad thing, but in war the options are limited — either you destroy the enemy, or he destroys you.
Aretha Well had already devoted considerable time to the cause of liberating the galaxy from the Imperial plague. During the evacuation of Echo Base, she had been a navigator aboard a transport ship that was covered by her countryman, and perhaps the most famous Corellian among X-wing pilots, now General Wedge Antilles. Her skillfully plotted course through the Imperial fleet formation — that of Darth Vader's own Death Squadron — allowed the ships to escape.
And since then, her military career had been on the rise...
And now she commanded not only her Liberation, but also its assigned Nebulon-B.
Their small detachment, by order of command, was moving toward the Ketaris system from different directions. In effect, soon the main strike forces from the Strongk star system would begin an attack along the front of Grand Admiral Thrawn's ships, forcing him to maneuver in the narrow space between the New Republic reinforcements and Ketaris's planetary defenses. The detachments approaching from several sides, consisting of seven capital ships and seven escort vessels, were to cut off Thrawn's retreat into hyperspace.
Unfortunately, the nearest New Republic forces did not have an interdictor cruiser to hold the Grand Admiral's fleet in the system, so they would have to use brute force — push forward, ignoring fire from other starships. The objective of the entire operation was to destroy Grand Admiral Thrawn.
No one even counted on capturing him — only destruction. This sentient was too dangerous to naively think he could be restrained.
Apparently, on Coruscant they feared this non-human so much that after all the humiliations he had inflicted on the New Republic, no one even tried to take him alive.
As bitter as it was to admit, the Imperial terror over the past year and a half, which had turned into an endless string of defeats and losses in the last four months, had found its reflection in soldiers' humor. Thrawn's actions proved to be such delicate manipulation that some began to develop paranoia.
Aretha had often heard joking excuses from subordinates, claiming that any breakdown on the ship was all Thrawn's doing.
And it would be funny, if the Liberation and Moon Shadow were not among the ships that investigated the massacre that, as was now known, Thrawn had committed in the Rugosa system. And then repeated at the Hast shipyards...
Yes, after he had signed his name across practically all of the New Republic's recent failures for the entire galaxy to see, one could indeed think that Thrawn was somehow involved in the numerous breakdowns plaguing the Liberation.
Either the sensors malfunctioned, or the engines started acting up, or the artificial gravity generators... And this went on until the Liberation and Moon Shadow had undergone repairs at the Fourth Fleet base. Back then, the ships that had participated in the investigation of the incident in the Honoghr system had just returned, and nothing like that had happened.
But now, every single day brings some kind of external malfunction. Not critical, of course, but the number of breakdowns was growing exponentially.
Right now, for instance, the long-range communications antenna had failed. As if someone had cut the information transmission channel.
But that's just stupid!? No living thing could survive outside a ship's hull during a faster-than-light jump. The radiation levels there are so high that even sensors and weapons systems go blind for a time after emerging into realspace.
The antenna failed shortly after the ship entered hyperspace. Since time was pressing and finding the problem could take hours, Aretha ordered the flight to continue. After all, the long-range communications antenna is needed for conversations over vast distances, and once they emerged in the Ketaris system, she could use short-range...
The white-blue lines of hyperspace unexpectedly — and as swiftly as her feet lifting off the deck — parted, contracting into points.
Oh, this Imperial ship layout.
Not a single railing on the bridge...
The fiery-haired woman slid down a stanchion between two viewports, where ruthless physics had flung her.
Only after several seconds did her battered lungs manage to fill with air again, and the sounds stopped reaching her as if muffled through thick cotton.
"Ma'am!" one of the duty officers rushed to her. "Are you all right?"
The woman looked at the bloodstains on her subordinate's face, at his light-brown uniform spattered with blood... It seemed she wasn't the only one who had taken an unplanned flight across the bridge.
"What... happened?" It looked like she had hit her head hard, because even speaking was a tremendous effort.
"Something pulled us out of hyperspace," the duty officer reported, helping her regain a vertical position. "There are many casualties on board and..."
The woman-admiral felt a chill run through her.
Pulled out of hyperspace.
On a course where nothing of the sort could possibly happen.
She turned, looking through the transparisteel of the bridge viewport. Then, with a chill, she glanced at the tactical monitor, hoping this was all just a dream...
And she felt the cold inside twist into a tight knot.
She opened her mouth to issue a belated order...
The last thing she saw on the tactical screen before proton torpedoes from TIE bombers struck the bridge was a Dominion Star Destroyer at the center of a bowl-shaped formation, accompanied by a good dozen Corellian Corvettes and Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers, shielding with their hulls an Immobilizer 418-class interdictor cruiser.
On the grey hulls of those ships, the golden-yellow "cogs" of the Dominion burned with a bright flame, even in the darkness of interstellar space.
* * *
After the Liberation lost its central control point in a bombing raid, and the Nebulon-B escort frigate began venting streams of atmosphere and a cloud of debris into space, falling victim to crossfire, Captain Morgot Astorias gave the order to begin capturing the future prizes using the stormtrooper units stationed aboard the Stormhawk.
Many considered him no more than a simpleton, fit only for following orders. Even Grand Admiral Thrawn wasn't far from that majority opinion.
Morgot didn't dispute it. Let them think that.
Captain Astorias simply didn't like to stand out, preferring quiet, steady service over brilliant rises and equally disappointing falls. He knew his job well, understood his weaknesses perfectly, and kept his strengths hidden from prying eyes to avoid becoming a target of the internal intrigues so common in the Imperial Starfleet.
But now, in the Dominion, he realized it was time to "spread his wings" and demonstrate everything he was capable of.
His key trait was that he, a professional hunter, absolutely adored setting ambushes for big game. He did it excellently, perfectly understanding the habits of prey that wants to attack but doesn't want to be detected ahead of time.
And today, he became the first among the commanders of the Dominion fleet's operational-tactical formations to open the hunting season on New Republic "predators."
* * *
Oddly enough, after the Battle of the Hast shipyards, when Grand Admiral Thrawn demanded that Alexander provide him with his own tactical assessments, the commander never actually used a single one of them in practice.
Working "for the filing cabinet" was somewhat insulting.
However, the commander of the Unrelenting didn't suffer from an inflated ego, perfectly understanding that, for the most part, this was a teaching moment. A lesson to keep him from getting too big for his boots.
Well, if Thrawn wasn't using his assessments, why not use them himself?
"Squadrons deployed?" he asked his assistant. "Aviation in position?"
"Yes, sir," the officer unobtrusively pointed to the tactical monitor.
Alexander's glance swept over it.
The standard ambush tactic involved a "bowl" formation, where the enemy found itself in a semi-encirclement by Imperial ships.
Simple, straightforward, and allowing the "prey" to be attacked from three sides — from the front and both flanks.
The presence of an Interdictor-class Star Destroyer named Eternal Wrath ensured the enemy wouldn't escape.
But today, Alexander intended to deviate from standard tactics.
The enemy's approach vector was known to him — analysts from the Chimaera had transmitted it not long ago. He'd had to change his position, of course, but there was every reason to intercept a large enemy force.
The Unrelenting was positioned on an intercept course, while the Eternal Wrath was several dozen units away on a lower echelon. Its four gravity well generators were currently operating at full power. But only two of them were deployed across the enemy starships' course. As soon as the enemy was pulled from hyperspace, they wouldn't be able to continue their journey because of the gravitational anomaly created directly ahead of them. And immediately after that, the commander of the Eternal Wrath would deploy the other two vectors, cutting off their retreat.
Alexander positioned his heavy cruisers at a distance of forty units from the point where the enemy would appear. This distance allowed two groups of "dreadnoughts," positioned opposite each other, to deliver crossfire at lethal range.
Considering that starships emerging from hyperspace are blinded for a time, and their targeting sensors are jammed with residual radiation, the right to the first strike belongs to Captain Mor's operational-tactical formation.
The "bowl" formation was also good — under certain circumstances.
Given that the blisters of the weapons mounts on Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers were located on the sides and oriented for forward firing, the most logical use was for crossfire. In that case, the rate of fire would be higher, and the maximum number of turbolasers would be engaged.
Furthermore, if the enemy emerged from hyperspace in too high or too low an echelon relative to the ambush ships' position, a short rotation would allow them to change the angle of inclination or elevation in the shortest possible time.
At least, that's how it worked out according to Alexander's calculations.
"One minute to the control time, sir," his first officer reminded him.
"Battle stations," Captain Mor ordered. "Raise deflectors. All ships, open fire on the enemy. Corvettes and small craft — fire for artillery suppression."
The bridge froze in anticipation of the approaching slaughter. Every nerve, every muscle, every mind of all those involved in the operation was tense, waiting for the events that were about to unfold here and now, halfway from the sector border to the Ketalis system.
The ship's chronometer was counting down the last seconds when...
Forcibly decelerating, the triangular wedge of a Star Destroyer and its escort frigate appeared on the scanners in realspace.
And in that same instant, all ships — from TIE interceptors to the Star Destroyer — opened fire.
They didn't have that much time to exploit the advantage given by the blindness immediately after exiting hyperspace. But it was enough to carry out what was planned.
Green-white and scarlet-golden streams of turbolaser and laser fire, reinforced by flashes from ion cannons, literally drowned both enemy starships from the bow and both sides.
Alexander watched with a crooked grin as streams of plasma and branching bolts of ion charges tore through the hulls of the Republic ships.
Now, sniper precision wasn't that important — maximum rate of fire would replace it.
Fractions of a second turned into seconds, and more and more salvos rained down on the blinded New Republic ships.
The armor blossomed with black scorch marks, constantly cracking or melting, spewing into space streams of instantly crystallizing air and the bodies of the sentient. Drops of freezing metal, which had moments ago been part of the structural framework, turned into ugly clusters of bizarre art.
Pillars of flame bloomed, marking the breach of compartments.
Alexander, as if mesmerized, watched the superstructure of the enemy Star Destroyer become engulfed in flames. Like a fiery crown, which could only be caused by nearby TIE bombers, it illuminated the darkness for a moment — just long enough for the air in the breached upper compartments, damaged by the destruction of the deflector shield generators and communications systems, to burn out.
"The enemy is returning fire," the first officer reported.
"At least this won't be slaughtering defenseless children," Alexander chuckled. "Report damage."
"The destroyer's defense systems are destroyed — no deflector field detected. Up to half of the turret artillery has ceased to exist, including the medium triple-barreled turbolasers. Numerous hull breaches. Bridge destroyed. Corvettes are shooting down enemy fighters almost immediately after launch. The escort frigate is heavily damaged, with breaches across its entire hull. Aviation secured on its racks has been turned into scrap. Attempts to maneuver are being suppressed by concentrated fire. Currently, the engine clusters are being destroyed."
"Excellent work," Alexander praised. Everything was exactly as he had planned. Well, this scheme could now be passed on to Thrawn, not as an experimental one, but as a fully functional one. "Prepare boarding parties to capture the enemy Star Destroyer and escort frigate. And, by the way, what's the name of the first one?"
"Sir, Wolf's Claw," the watch officer replied. "Identified as our former Wolf Fang from the Oplovis sector fleet."
"Mm-hmm," Alexander drawled, watching as a squadron of interceptors used concentrated fire to burn out the gun emplacements on the enemy Star Destroyer's starboard side. "They're not exactly creative in the New Republic. Communications bay! Transmit by laser beam to the destroyer and frigate: if they surrender immediately, then very well, the crews will be spared and will be tried for illegally crossing the Dominion border. Otherwise, stormtroopers will kill everyone who shows even a hint of intent to resist on their face."
"Yes, sir," the officer in charge of the communications systems acknowledged. "Working on it..."
Thirty minutes later, the Wolf's Claw and its escort ceased to be part of the New Republic fleet.
* * *
Having finished studying the operational summary data and the reports on the completion of current assigned tasks, I leaned back from the double row of monitors and stretched my stiff neck.
Judging by the slight hum of the deck, the Chimaera was finishing its repositioning to match its exact position at the moment of the fortress-planet's capture as closely as possible. When planning an ambush, you always need to ensure the enemy learns about you as late as possible. This also applies to the matter of force distribution.
That's why only those ships that the government of Ketaris had been able to report to the ships in the Stronk system and on Coruscant had remained near my flagship. Showing the Dragon and the heavy cruisers at this point... wouldn't be right. It would ruin the entire trap.
The familiar semi-darkness of my quarters prompted thoughts of sleep, but my body, overflowing with energy, stubbornly insisted otherwise.
Interesting.
The group of ships led by the Chimaera had been reorganized into a defensive formation; the ground forces and defensive assets had been disarmed and placed under the command of the Dominion's ground forces.
The repair of the orbital defense stations was proceeding at full speed...
Well, we are ready, that can't be denied. Now all that remains is to wait for the enemy to deign to stick its head into the mousetrap, so we can tear it off up to its knees.
But among today's reports, a few others also pleased me.
The Jedi archaeologist Eymand reported that he had managed to obtain and purchase on the black market several Jedi infocons containing basic swordsmanship training techniques. Not the best thing in the galaxy, but not bad. And cheap, actually.
On Susevfi, Saarai-kaar had managed to use the obtained databanks to integrate them into the training program for the Jensaarai defenders. Yes, it was "textbook training," but still — better than nothing.
Especially since Eymand reported that he had stumbled onto something big and was preparing for a new assignment. Well, let him continue his socially useful work, I'm not against it. Especially since, thanks to the beacons installed aboard his ship, I always had information about his whereabouts. So far, nothing incriminating had been found.
Noticing a light on the holographic communicator, I activated the device.
Almost immediately, a small white-blue copy of the commander of the Red Star squadron appeared above it.
"Commodore Shohashi," I addressed the officer. "Are there problems with the current assignment?"
"No, sir," he shook his head negatively.
"Then what prompted this urgent call?" I admit, the Alderaanian knew how to surprise. Of all people, the "Butcher of Atoa" clearly didn't need to be led by the hand or have details spoon-fed to him — he was competent and intelligent enough to act autonomously during the current task. In fact, that was one of the reasons he, unlike most other Star Destroyer commanders, had advanced another step in his career.
"Your envoy, sir, Ahsoka Tano," Shohashi didn't hide it. "May I inquire about the reasons for her assignment to the Crimson Dawn?"
Well, well... Interesting. What had happened there that the imperturbable Alderaanian had decided to take the initiative and inquire about such things?
There was, of course, no need to tell him the truth — that I had gotten rid of a potentially bothersome former Jedi who was traditionally "for everything good against everything bad." Even if he stood out from the general mass of commanders, he was still my subordinate, and nothing would change that. Therefore, there would be no confidences either.
Only the dry official version.
"Lady Tano is our temporary ally in the fight against crime," I said. "Her tasks are to assist you in matters of eliminating criminal and pirate threats."
And there's also a strong hope that she'll get herself killed quietly somewhere.
A Jedi who doesn't work for the Dominion is potentially dangerous because they could switch to the enemy's side. For ideological reasons, at the "behest of the Force," or for some other considerations.
"Understood, sir," Shohashi seemed to simply want to confirm that the Togruta had any authorization to be aboard the ships under his command. "There are already some results from this collaboration."
Really? Interesting.
"Elaborate," I demanded.
"As of now, she is on the surface of the planet Mentanar Vosk," Shohashi explained. "Almost immediately upon arrival, she stated that she sensed the presence of some 'adept of the Dark Side' on the planet. Based on her explanations and what I found out from the HoloNet, it's some generic name for Jedi enemies."
Well, well.
Had the lady actually found someone from the Dark Side Elite?
If so, what were they doing there? The Nidjun sector is thoroughly infested with pirate and mercenary gangs. Did Palpatine or his cronies need people they wouldn't mind throwing into the meat grinder? A logical assumption, under certain circumstances.
But at this moment, it was unsubstantiated. There were plenty of Dark Side cults, surviving Imperial Inquisitors, fallen Jedi or their apprentices, and simple self-taught practitioners in the galaxy... Any of them could be on Mentanar Vosk. Or none, and what Ahsoka Tano sensed there might have nothing to do with sentient beings. An artifact of some kind, or some other quirk of the Force. As I recalled, there were even animals sensitive to the Force, like vornskrs, for example.
"Monitor her work, Commodore," I ordered. Whatever was on that planet, it had attracted the Togruta so much that she rushed there without a second thought. That means it's at least of interest. After all, it wasn't necessarily that Ahsoka Tano told Shohashi the truth, was it? There could have been a Jedi there, or something Jedi-related... "Whatever she discovers — if she tries to appropriate it, take it by any means necessary."
"Even lethal means for her?" Shohashi inquired.
"Especially lethal means for her," I clarified. "If our allies try to snatch something valuable from right under our noses, they deserve death. Especially those sensitive to the Force."
An extremely common practice in this galaxy: some Jedi or near-Jedi finds an ancient and dangerous piece of... treasure, then declares themselves Emperor (or something similar), and another Sith-Jedi meat grinder begins, grinding millions and billions of sentients through the millstones of war. Given the impending Yuuzhan Vong invasion and other eventualities I anticipated, the last thing I needed was to nurture some kind of cult with my own hands.
"You have ysalamiri aboard," I reminded him. "As soon as you obtain what Tano is looking for, place it in a sealed compartment and surround it with cages of ysalamiri. No one in or out; use droidekas and guards for security. Keep me informed of everything and report at the slightest change in circumstances."
"Yes, sir," the Commodore acknowledged. If he was surprised by the order I had just given, he didn't show it.
After the hologram of the Red Star squadron commander vanished, I sank into my own thoughts.
Jedi, Sith, and such... The Dark Side, the Light... And then there are the Jensaarai, who don't care at all which art they use, as long as it serves to protect the sentient.
Currently, I had in my assets an Inquisitor, a half-trained Hand, a couple of Jedi (provided Reynar Obscuro wasn't lying, and the Mon Calamari Jedi was genuinely ready to discuss cooperation), several dozen Jensaarai, half-trained individuals like Tyberos and Aurra Sing, this Tano character... A volatile mix of contradictions that I had to collect on the principle of "just as long as they exist." Because Palpatine had his own pack of Force adepts; the New Republic also had at least Luke Skywalker on its side (and there had been talk of Galen Marek and Rahm Kota too... who knows, maybe there were others I simply didn't know about); and all I had was a mad clone...
I was collecting fragments of Jedi and Sith power — concepts, philosophies, worldviews that were mutually exclusive... Having not the slightest idea how to train and prepare them, I was essentially letting things take their course, leaving it to the Jensaarai... Which was starting to remind me of the New Jedi Order. With all the possible consequences.
And the question arises...
What to do with those among them who, like some of Luke Skywalker's students, would prefer to consider themselves humiliated, insulted, not trained according to their "great potential"? It was precisely these kinds of "renegades" that caused the New Republic no small number of problems. Not to mention that even during the time of the Old Jedi Order, this problem was extremely acute.
Up until the Jedi Purge almost thirty years ago, if I remembered correctly, they had their own special unit that handled finding and eliminating renegades. In addition to performing other tasks, of course. As history shows, ordinary Jedi handled the tasks of finding and eliminating threats of this magnitude... Not very well, let's say.
In his own way, Palpatine used the Inquisitorius for precisely these purposes. After all, for him, the remaining Jedi and their allies were the renegades who needed to be hunted with all available fury and resources. They managed... also not very well.
But they did eliminate some threats, both Jedi and Inquisitors.
Which, in turn, leads me to the thought: wouldn't it be more prudent to concern myself with the matter of creating my own Inquisitorius?
The only question is who to recruit into it.
The Jensaarai, even though they are carriers of partially Sith teachings, prefer to work from a defensive stance. Like the Jedi... Which is doubly surreal, considering that it was the Jedi who tried to destroy the Jensaarai. Again, if Saarai-kaar's story was to be believed, the reason for this hatred was precisely that, in the Jedi's opinion, no one and nothing should use Dark Side techniques. And if they did, they were to be eliminated — a renegade, after all.
This logic is beyond me.
The Dark Side, the Light Side... What difference does it make which techniques and philosophies are used, as long as they are aimed not at eliminating threats to statehood and protecting the population? Again, it's a choice of weapon — a scalpel or a sword...
Hmm… Well, now I have some thoughts on how to protect the Dominion from threats by Force-sensitive beings. The Jensaarai won't do for that.
But on the other hand, I already have suitable personnel…
And I won't even have to come up with a new name for them…
I'm already tired of this bureaucracy with "changing the sign."
A comlink chirped.
"Grand Admiral," the voice belonged to Lieutenant Tschel, the senior officer on the ship while Pellaeon was on the surface overseeing negotiations. The first officer's voice held wariness, a bit of confusion. But he wasn't panicking. That was good. "The enemy fleet from the Stronk system has arrived at the far orbit of Ketaris. One of the MC80 star cruisers is missing. In thirty minutes, at the same speed, they will be within range of our Golans' weapons."
"Thank you for the information, Captain," I said. "Order the orbital stations to maintain silence. We don't want to scare off our prey."
"Yes, sir," the first officer replied. It seemed he realized he would now have to command the Chimaera directly. I wonder if he'll figure out this is a test of his professional competence or not. "Any further orders?"
"Of course, Captain," I confirmed. "Contact Captain Dorja and give him the go-ahead for a raid on the Stronk system. Specifically warn him that I'm interested in a fair fight with the enemy."
"Um…" Lieutenant Tschel hesitated. Yes, in his youth, he didn't immediately grasp what was between the lines. However, that was a problem with most Imperial officers, nothing critical about it—they'd learn. "Yes… sir."
"Your confusion is understandable," I said. "But the goal of the attack on the Stronk system is not to capture it as quickly as possible—we could have done that before the attack on Ketaris. I want the 'UNSC In Amber Clad' to demonstrate everything it's capable of. We've waited too long for the ISD-III to appear to delay testing the prototype in near-combat conditions."
"Understood, sir," Lieutenant Tschel breathed a sigh of relief. "Any instructions regarding action against the enemy?"
"Our fleet is already where it needs to be for victory," I declared, smiling. "At least the part of it that the enemy knows about, the one that arrived in this system before the communication blackout with Coruscant. I'll come to the bridge shortly."
Let's see what all these suggestions to the lieutenant have led to, and whether he has prospects of outgrowing his command rank.
* * *
Strange are the twists of life in a military career.
One moment you're preparing your crew to launch into space as the commander of a Star Destroyer.
And the moment you do, you immediately become a traitor hunted by the intelligence service of the state that is the legal successor of the one to which you took an oath.
You flee, find yourself a new home, a new place of service, and still—you fight side by side with your subordinates, supplemented by an influx of clones and conscripts.
And then you become the commander of an operational-tactical formation, which, with the help of a Star Destroyer of the "Interdictor" type bearing the proud and glorious name "Sentinel"a veritable legend of Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet—hangs in the interstellar void.
And you wait.
Captain Abyss found it amusing—the "Void Wanderer" was hanging in the void…
But today he was not alone.
Today he leads an entire squadron entrusted to him, Abyss. A man stripped of his homeland, stripped of his relatives, branded a traitor…
And he continues to fulfill his duty—to fight for the Imperial peace.
Grand Admiral Thrawn can call his state the Dominion all he wants, but in fact, in its inner essence, it's still the same old Empire created by Palpatine.
With the sole exception that it is better.
At least—for now.
No one can predict whether the Dominion will remain as great and law-abiding a state as its creator intended.
But one wanted to believe that if the ruler of this power should ever succumb to senility and insanity, it would not affect the people of the Dominion.
To repeat the fate of the Galactic Empire, rising from its Remnants… That would be very foolish.
And painfully banal.
"Sir, the Sentinel's gravity trawls are deployed," the duty officer reported to him.
He was still a very young lad—just over twenty-five years old. You could say he had barely tasted service but was already trying. If he understood the process, realized his place in this good cause—bringing peace and order to the galaxy—he would go far. If not, if he misinterpreted the interests of his service, he would turn into one of those who had hunted the "Void Wanderer" not so long ago.
"Gravity well generators," Abyss corrected, stepping aside for the officer responsible for the scanning equipment. Glancing at the lieutenant, he noticed the man didn't understand the reason for the correction. Well, he'd have to explain. Every seaman, every soldier must understand what they are fighting for. And how important it is to be who you truly are.
"'Gravity trawl' and 'gravity well generator' are synonymous terms, Lieutenant," explained the commander of the Void Wanderer. "But the latter is the official term, and the former is slang. It is unacceptable for an officer like you to confuse terminology when communicating with a senior officer."
"I understand, sir," the other replied, nodding his head. "In my defense, I heard about the 'trawl' from the senior navigator and…"
"How long have you been serving, son?" inquired Abyss, moving toward the lift from the "pit." The officer followed him.
"Three months, sir," the other explained. "I'm a conscript, a young specialist."
"Recruited from civilian life?" the commander of the Void Wanderer clarified.
"Yes, sir," the man said, lowering his voice.
"From where?" the ship's captain inquired.
"Brentaal IV, sir."
"And you didn't desert?" Abyss asked in surprise.
"No, sir," the youngster said with clear resentment in his voice. "I am loyal to the Oath and to Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"That's commendable," the senior officer agreed. "Don't take it to heart. Your planet went over to the enemy's side. Usually in such cases, the ISB would nag you to death with their operational investigations and attempts to catch you in betrayal."
"Yes, sir," the youngster confirmed. "I was called to the Security Bureau."
"Really?" Abyss almost blurted out. In his memory, something similar had happened in the fleet with Alderaanians after the destruction of their homeworld. No one had ever come back from such meetings.
"And what was the result?" he formulated a more appropriate question.
"They said they'd understand if I signed a resignation report and left the fleet," the lad winced.
"Um… They didn't even beat you?" The story sounded like a fairy tale. Since when was the Security Bureau, aka counterintelligence, so merciful to potential deserters?
"Judging by the fact you're here—you didn't agree?"
"Yes, sir," the lad sighed. "They held me for a week of screening, then apologized and sent me back to the ships. I used to serve on a corvette, and when your crew was being formed, I requested a transfer to a destroyer. They approved…"
"Could it be that an informant in my crew has revealed himself in such a stupid way?" Abyss thought.
"I've never heard of loyal SB employees," the ship's commander admitted. "Usually they're real… bastards."
"That's what I was told too, sir," the lad admitted. "My commander thought I was some kind of ghost for the first few days. He said no one ever comes back from ISB interrogations…"
"Looks like you had an experienced commander," Abyss thought again.
Either way, he should keep an eye on the lad.
He might be completely innocent; the SB simply found nothing to fault him for. It's quite possible the lad is just following his heart and believing in what he does. The earlier generation of officers, who went through the millstones of ISB purges, feel uneasy remembering those not-so-great years when anyone could be branded a traitor.
And between such an accusation and the death sentence, not much time usually passed.
Well… One can hope that the Dominion will not have such arbitrariness in its security organs as the Galactic Empire had. It's nice to work and serve without looking over your shoulder, with the full understanding that someone is watching you.
"Thirty seconds to contact with the enemy," Captain Abyss announced over the intercom. "Battle stations. Prepare to engage New Republic starships. Mercy only for those who surrender. With the rest—no ceremony. Remember—minimum risk, maximum rate of fire."
As soon as the Mon Calamari star cruiser and the Nebulon-B escort frigate emerged from hyperspace, their hulls were covered in a thin, almost continuous shimmer of white-green turbolaser fire.
"Ion cannons—fire on the locations of the pumping generators and shield projectors!" ordered Abyss.
Yes, it was an indisputable fact—Mon Calamari starships were always a mystery of shipbuilding. They were not built to a single design, and each ship, however slightly, differed from its "sister ship."
However, that was not entirely true.
More precisely, such a statement applies exclusively to the internal layout of the ship—in those passages, corridors, compartments, one could simply get lost if they didn't understand the markings on the walls.
But when it came to the placement of key systems, well, the Mon Calamari did not share such a negligent attitude toward shipbuilding precision.
Their weapons were always located in the same place (unless individually modified), and key equipment was also always in the same place.
It was this knowledge that Captain Abyss used in the unfolding battle.
A Mon Calamari MC80 star cruiser is inferior to an Imperial-class Star Destroyer in terms of armament—almost two and a half times. But thanks to its rapid power recharge system for the deflectors, it returns to a position of equality with the destroyer.
And this confrontation turns into a heavyweight fight—the Mon Calamari lacks the weapons to more quickly deplete the destroyer's shields, but at the same time, its own shield generators constantly renew the defense, which even the most heavily armed Imperial-class destroyer must literally shave off bit by bit.
That's why Abyss intended to disable all key elements of the Mon Calamari star cruiser's hull until the crew and equipment regained the ability to "see" their opponent. Otherwise, the confrontation would predictably drag on.
That absolutely could not be allowed.
At any moment, Grand Admiral Thrawn could recall any of the operational-tactical units to assist his fleet in destroying the enemy squadron advancing from the Stronk star system.
Of course, he had achieved much with small forces, but to oppose a fleet that outnumbers him almost two to one…
"Sir," the duty officer addressed him. "Ion cannon crews have hit the pumping generators of the SEAL system—the one that regenerated the shield power of the Mon Calamari star cruisers. Multiple damages observed on both starships. Extensive depressurization on the escort frigate; the star cruiser has a fire starting inside its hangar; we're seeing a series of internal explosions…"
"Good," said Captain Abyss. "Now patch me through to the MC80."
"You think they'll want to talk?" the lieutenant asked in surprise.
"If they plan to survive this battle, they will certainly answer," Abyss sighed, watching as the six heavy cruisers of the Dreadnaught type from the "Katana Fleet" shot both Republic starships with crossfire, with the eagerness of predators.
As it turned out, there were slightly more of those wanting to live in the New Republic fleet than those ready to die in a foreign land to satisfy political follies.
* * *
A figure in black clothing with a helmet on its face crept through the corridors of the pirate base on Mentanar Vosk.
From fingertips to head, the humanoid was concealed by a suit of cloth armor. Not a single patch of exposed skin. Nothing except its physique could give any hint as to what this being was, apart from its belonging to humanoid races.
By the absence of horns and lekku, an observer might conclude that the opponent did not belong to the races of Zabrak, Togruta, Nautolan, Twi'leks, and many others.
Something resembling a human, but who knew, besides the wearer of the black armor itself, which world was its home?
And what goals did the figure pursue by sneaking into the base of the Aar'aa pirates and other criminal scum in secret from them?
The decision to come here was dictated by one single necessity: the pirates had something. Something important for the figure in black clothing.
Alarm buzzers were sounding, and at times the figure had to hide in a secluded corner to avoid attracting attention.
Fighting the pirates was not in the figure's plans. Although a glorious massacre could have occurred here, that was undeniable. But why draw attention to itself if the pirates were perfectly capable of occupying themselves with the Imperial Shock Troopers landing on the surface.
What the latter were doing on the planet, the figure did not know. But it strongly doubted that the Imperials needed the same thing it did.
Therefore, the best option for the figure was to quietly sneak into that part of the base to take what interested it and then quickly clear out of the modular base IM-455, once requisitioned from the Imperials.
Such bases were included in the kit of practically every Star Destroyer of the Empire and were essentially a powerful fortification—if maintained, of course, and kept in working order.
Of course, this complex of structures now little resembled the clean, well-kept Imperial bases deployed on planets to create outposts where they intended to demonstrate the greatness and presence of the Galactic Empire's might to the local population.
As far as the figure knew, this base had once indeed functioned—as part of the perimeter forces of the warlord Zsinj. But when their master fell, the Imperials were cut off from supplies. It took the pirates several years to wear down the enemy through sieges and attacks, after which the garrison, having exhausted its ability to resist, surrendered to the victors' mercy.
They were all killed to the last man. Pirates, whom the Imperials had crushed and exterminated across the Outer Rim for years, have not the slightest reverence for sparing the lives of those they could profit from in the future.
The equipment that fell to the pirates from the Imperials was in a deplorable state, which was unfortunate—a grand battle could have drained the pirates' strength even more than now. Because instead of trying to counter the Imperials with Imperial weapons systems, the pirates could only fight with small arms and crew-served weapons. Just think… Owning an Imperial base for so long and not even bothering to use part of the loot to maintain the modular garrison systems in working condition… Foolish beings.
The figure was about to slip out of the dark corner to glide down the corridor, but stopped. Some vague sensation of another being's proximity halted it. And instead of reaching the doors leading to the arsenal room where the pirates stored their loot, the figure remained in place, watching the armored doors. That was where what the figure wanted to obtain was located.
It did not know how these things had ended up with the pirates, but it had taken a long time to find the right trail. Not that it was so important for the figure, but still, the sought-after object was part of its past, so… Why not take it back?
Especially since circumstances in the galaxy were shaping up such that only those who were well-prepared to meet fate survived. And in such moments, it was better to have something one wielded masterfully.
Some time ago, the figure had its own small group of mercenaries. Now they were all dead. Or captured by the Imperials after the massacre at Rugos. The figure had refused to participate in that raid, not tempted by Booster Terrik's promises. But its team, driven by greed, had disobeyed its commander.
The result was predictable—the figure was alive, and its former underlings… Well, who cared about the fate of those fools?
Something very, very terrible was brewing.
The figure sensed this, as it had sensitivity to the Force. A premonition of trouble had not left the figure for a long time, and so, taught by bitter experience, the figure preferred not to take risks.
It would take what was its, maybe get a better ship, and go somewhere far away. Hole up in a deep hole and do everything so that no one would look for that very hole.
That was how Jedi and all those the Imperials considered their enemies hid.
The trick was not complicated, and therefore easily doable.
However, the figure also perfectly understood that coincidences were not coincidental. It had lived and worked without the Force for a long time to avoid drawing attention from the Imperial government and their trained beasts that hunted Jedi—the Inquisitors.
On one hand, of course, the figure could have joined the Inquisitorius, because it knew how to hunt Jedi and loved doing it.
But on the other hand, the past did not allow forgetting who stood at the head of the Empire. To risk showing oneself to beings who had once considered you a hindrance, a threat, and intended to destroy you… No, there were simpler and less painful ways of suicide.
Therefore, the figure decided to simply leave the galactic stage.
It didn't need much to exist—no palaces, no ships, no slaves. Everything it needed it could either buy or obtain quite legally. In extreme cases—take by force.
So the best option was indeed to just hide. After all, there were many planets in the galaxy where no colonist had ever set foot. The figure knew several such places. And it could imagine how to live on them without worrying that sooner or later the executioners would find you.
The figure used the Force again to sense the surroundings. The same pair of guards still stood near the former arsenal.
But at the edge of its perception, the figure sensed the presence of someone else.
A certain being, as before, became perceptible in the Force, but only for a fraction of a moment. Its reflection in the Force seemed vaguely familiar, but it was difficult to precisely identify the possible opponent. Almost impossible: the detected humanoid was carefully hiding its presence in the Force.
Which suggested that he had come here not to fight pirates at all. This vaguely familiar image in the Force was hunting directly for the figure.
And that complicated matters.
The figure had seen quite a few Force-sensitive beings on Nar Shaddaa. It had even asked who they were. Perhaps this was one of them?
Either way, by playing hide-and-seek, it would only shorten the time its "acquaintance" would spend finding it. Because unlike him, the figure itself could not hide its position using the Force. Could not anymore.
So it had to act. Take what it came for as quickly as possible.
"Hey, who are you?" one of the two guards noticed it, but didn't have time to react—like a released spring, the figure's left foot drove his Adam's apple into his throat, crushing the trachea. The pirate fell to the floor like a sack.
The second grabbed his blaster, even managed to almost aim it at the figure in black, but the figure was faster.
Flexibility and speed had always been the figure's weapons. That's why it never wore full armor. It had a sturdy cloth suit, and its natural ability to bend at almost any angle. More than one Jedi had died at the figure's hands, in the distant past.
And so this time—with a kick, it knocked the weapon from the second pirate's hands, breaking his wrist in the process. The Weequay screamed in pain, but with a punch of its armored glove, the figure silenced him, knocking him unconscious.
An electronic lockpick easily handled unlocking the arsenal's lock, and a second later, as soon as the armored doors swung open, it was already inside.
Piles of loot and shelves packed with Imperial weapons—that's what it saw before it.
But at that moment, it was not interested in gemstones, jewelry, or even ingots of precious metals. Even containers of spice—those did not concern the figure.
It walked to the opposite end of the arsenal, where it sensed the presence of things that once belonged to it.
And it found them…
They lay in a simple container filled with various junk, in which the figure recognized several training remotes that the Jedi used to teach their younglings to deflect blaster shots.
Snorting contemptuously, the figure, with a delicate movement of its hands, allowed the Force to tip over the container, spilling all the contents onto the floor.
What it was looking for turned up almost at the very bottom. Taking in its hands the objects worn by time and prolonged use, it felt a faint response from the crystals sealed inside the hilts.
Oh yes, they remembered it…
Now it needed to get out.
The din of battle grew more ominous—seems the Imperials had already broken into the base. The figure was not particularly concerned—it would leave the same inconspicuous way it came.
Grabbing a couple of pieces of jewelry along the way and stuffing them into its pockets on the go (they would come in handy for selling and buying everything needed to lie low in the wilderness), the figure headed for the exit.
Just ten meters short of the open door, the figure in black cloth armor stopped.
The Force warned it that beings were ahead.
Their thoughts were calm, they were not worried.
These were killers, whose minds were always cold, and whose desire was only one—to destroy the target.
Apparently, the target was the figure itself.
The hilts were light in its palms, just like many years ago. Its thumbs found the activation switches… There was no point in even checking the weapons before using them—these were its lightsabers, and it could perfectly feel everything that was happening within them.
Its weapons were ready for a fight.
"We don't have to fight," a voice came from behind the doors. And the next second, a tall Togruta appeared before the figure, the hilts of lightsabers clenched in her hands. "I came to simply talk..."
The figure let out something like a groan.
This had to be a joke!
No, decades could have passed, maybe even more, she could have changed—both in personality and appearance—but that face, those distinctive white markings...
That was unchangeable.
There was no doubt whatsoever about who stood before her.
"Jedi scum," the figure hissed. The helmet's vocoder stripped the phrase of the rage and contempt it was meant to carry.
The figure spun the blades in her hands, loosening her wrists.
"I'm no longer a Jedi," Ahsoka Tano replied calmly. "So I'd rather not fight you. At first I thought you were on the pirates' side, but now I see not a single stormtrooper has been killed with lightsabers... I think we can come to an understanding. You see—"
"How I hoped you were dead, you little Skywalker beast," the figure ground out, yanking off her helmet.
In what was about to happen, that stupid bucket would only get in the way.
"But," the humanoid woman with pale skin and dark tattoos on the exposed parts of her head said, "it seems I'll have to do it myself!"
Judging by the flicker of recognition in the Togruta's eyes, Tano had recognized her too.
The Togruta's mouth curled into a mocking smile:
"And the years haven't been kind to you, old acquaintance."
"We'll see what you say after I gut you like a gizka in a meat processing plant," the figure in black hissed through clenched teeth. "Get out of my way, Jedi cur."
"Ah," the Togruta sighed with feigned regret, activating her lightsabers with blue blades. One of them was shorter than the other... a shoto! "We got along well enough in the past. Especially during our last meeting on Coruscant."
"We'll handle her," two massive shadows in black-and-blue robes appeared unexpectedly behind the Togruta. Their opaque visors hid their faces, but... "Orders are to take her alive."
Even if they'd repainted their uniforms, the figure had no trouble distinguishing Imperial Guardsmen from anyone else. She'd seen these guys in action...
"Wait, boys," the Togruta's voice turned icy, and her eyes seemed to lose all their usual cheerfulness and mockery that annoyed absolutely everyone who dealt with her. "I have a long-standing score to settle with this lady. I promise I won't spoil her merchandise too much."
"Arrogant fool," the pale-skinned woman spat on the floor.
"At least my lack of body hair is dictated by physiology, not by being a Dark Side-boiled puppet that got used and then nearly killed," the Togruta shot back. She extended her right hand in front of her and, without releasing her blade, made an inviting gesture with her fingers. "Don't drag your feet, Ventress, attack. It's time for a proper warm-up."
With a furious roar, Asajj Ventress launched herself at her long-time opponent.