Nine years, nine months, and seven days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, nine months, and seven days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Four months and twenty-seven days since the Arrival.)
Cautious footsteps sounded behind him.
"Admiral," the Mon Calamari turned his chair to face his interlocutor. "The main hyperdrive has failed. The system has switched to the auxiliary one."
"Which means we won't be reaching Coruscant any time soon," Admiral Ackbar said sadly.
"Yes, sir," the chief mechanic informed him. Lowering his voice so only the commander could hear, the man added:
"Sir... I haven't told anyone this, but 'Home One' is literally falling apart. We're patching holes, fixing everything we can, but systems are failing one after another."
"My people build reliable starships," the Mon Calamari noted.
"Yes, sir, I know," the interlocutor confirmed. "But for some reason, this is happening. I still don't understand why the main hyperdrive shut down. We should have ended up in realspace, but..."
"The backup kicked in," Gial Ackbar cast a glance towards the main viewport. "The automatic navigation control system doesn't account for that, does it?"
"And never has, sir," the chief mechanic assured him. "Something like that is only possible manually. But we have no information about what's happening in the engine and navigation sections. Depressurization and rising radiation simply prevent us from getting there."
"It's all very strange," Admiral Ackbar said.
And the word 'strange' was merely an approximate synonym for what had been happening aboard 'Home One' since fleeing the ambush set by Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Less than a day after that incident, it turned out that in the aft section of the starship, there were systematic depressurizations of compartments.
The shattered aft section kept breaking apart, deck by deck, compartment by compartment.
The repair teams sent to restore the hull had been run ragged over the past few days, trying to patch the hull and fix all the problems.
But nothing helped.
Yesterday, at noon ship time, a piece of plating was torn off in the reactor compartment, and everyone there died, thrown into vacuum. The breach was so huge that there wasn't even a thought of restoring the integrity of such a vital compartment.
Then, a similar fate befell the navigation deck.
The damage to the aft section was increasing every day. The number of breaches, destroyed communication and sensor systems had reached its peak. The two and a half hundred beings still on board had completely lost heart. Defeatist sentiments literally hung in the air, compounding the already oppressive atmosphere that had arisen aboard the New Republic's famous starship.
And now this strange failure of the main hyperdrive...
The chief mechanic hadn't mentioned this malfunction to him personally for no reason.
The crew was on edge.
Now 'Home One' was literally a day's flight from Coruscant, but the discovered fault was setting their journey's end back by several days.
"Too strange a technical malfunction," Admiral Ackbar declared.
"Everything about this is strange, sir," the chief mechanic supported him. "I've been in many battles, but consequences like these... I'm seeing this for the first time. But what worries me even more is that, because of the hyperspace radiation in the depressurized compartments, I can't send repair crews to check what's going on in there — my men would be roasted alive."
"Even in the highest-grade protective suits?" Ackbar clarified.
"They're designed for work in open space, sir," the chief mechanic shook his head. "Hyperspace radiation can only be stopped by something like half-meter-thick duraplast, like our armor plates. But I can't figure out how to protect the repairmen with it so they can still do their jobs and not die."
"We must conserve our soldiers and specialists," Admiral Ackbar declared. "We'll make it to Coruscant."
"Yes, sir," the chief mechanic confirmed. "But, honestly, after this, even restoring 'Home One' will be too costly."
"We'll deal with that issue later," Admiral Ackbar promised. "First, we need to reach Coruscant."
After a moment's thought, he added:
"Select from among your subordinates those who are competent in repairing emergency and lifeboat equipment. If the ship continues to break apart during flight, we need to have any possibility to evacuate at least some of the crew from the ship."
"It will be done, Admiral," but there wasn't a hint of confidence in the chief mechanic's voice.
* * *
Approaching the doors leading to Grand Admiral Thrawn's quarters, Captain Pellaeon gave a silent nod to the two guards standing at their post.
Clad in red-and-blue armor, the Sentinels didn't react at all to him touching the outer door control panel and stepping into the airlock. They weren't even concerned by the fact that the Star Destroyer's commander was whistling a light tune under his breath.
Stopping before the second door, which opened into the commander's quarters, Gilad waited with a sly smile.
The Grand Admiral's bodyguard was undoubtedly somewhere nearby, and he would certainly try to play his eternal game of hide-and-seek on the occasion of Gilad's return to the Chimaera.
Closing his eyes, Pellaeon waited for the inevitable.
The games with Rukh called "Find Me" had long become a sort of ritual that the captain had to undergo before entering the Grand Admiral's quarters.
At first, Gilad pretended that none of this was happening at all. He tried to show Rukh that he didn't even notice his actions.
Then, when that didn't work, Pellaeon started getting annoyed by the fact that Thrawn allowed these games in the first place.
That also had no effect.
After that, Gilad began bargaining with himself, thinking of ways to get rid of the annoying Noghri.
But he concluded that he couldn't do it and explain to the Grand Admiral the reasons why the corpse of his bodyguard, with injuries incompatible with life, was found aboard the flagship of the armada. And he certainly couldn't think of a way to pass off the Noghri's repeatedly broken body as an accident. The idea of luring Rukh into the engine room and vaporizing him was tempting, but impossible.
Due to the impossibility of stopping what was happening, Gilad fell into despondency for a while and immersed himself in work.
And today, heading to report to Thrawn after several days spent aboard the Guardian, in a different atmosphere and having shifted his attention to matters not related to shortening the bodyguard's lifespan, the captain arrived at a certain solution.
Since Rukh wants to play hide-and-seek so badly, let him play.
The Guardian's technicians made something special for the ship's commander. Something very, very special.
Rukh will surely like it.
"Captain," a sepulchral voice mewed.
Gilad held his arms crossed over his chest, so pressing a tiny button through his tunic sleeve was quite simple.
"And I missed you too, Rukh," Pellaeon assured him. "So I take it you won't unlock the door until you've had your fun?"
"This isn't a game," the Noghri mewed from somewhere to the right this time. "I've said already — it's training. The Grand Admiral has a visitor. We must wait."
The last phrase came from above altogether.
"Well, then we'll wait," Gilad assured him.
"Giving up so easily?" he said again from behind.
"You want me to amuse you with my attempts to find you?" Gilad inquired.
"Training must be constant," the Noghri reminded him, now speaking from the left side.
The rascal moves fast.
"As you say," the captain said evenly, taking off his cap and pretending to scratch the back of his head.
He himself squeezed his eyes shut tightly, pressing his forehead against the bulkhead and hunching his shoulders.
"Are you praying to your gods, Capta-a-a-in—?" The Noghri's mockery was cut short as a super-powerful light source, borrowed from an engineering lamp, illuminated the darkness Rukh was accustomed to with blinding white light.
The power source lasted a few seconds — as the Guardian's technicians had assured him.
And though colorful spots floated before his eyes, the captain still found his prey.
The gray-skinned freak sat in the far right corner, diligently rubbing his eyes with both hands.
Gilad, grinning carnivorously — so much so that one could almost hear the delighted applause of the late Wilhuff Tarkin — approached Rukh.
In the latter's hands, an obsidian blade flashed, slicing through the air in front of Gilad.
Pellaeon, continuing to smile sardonically, carefully recalled the hand-to-hand combat techniques he had learned back at the academy.
Delivering a good kick to the bodyguard's rear, the captain triumphantly raised his arms above his head, even tossing his cap.
Rukh hissed angrily, still recovering.
He had clearly already understood what had happened and that no attack on Thrawn was planned.
The obsidian blade spun in his hand like a black lightning bolt...
Gilad clenched his right hand into a fist in anticipation...
The blade returned to its sheath...
The fist shot toward the bodyguard's face with the speed of a straightening spring...
"Owch-sh-sh-sh-sh!" Rukh whimpered and hissed softly, rubbing his nose, which Pellaeon had flicked soundly with his fingers.
At first, of course, he wanted to punch him properly, but then thought it would only lead to a fight. In which the Noghri would undoubtedly win, so he had to settle for less.
"You're so predictable, Rukh," Gilad mimicked the bodyguard with his own words, then turned toward the opening inner door of the airlock and met the gaze of a young officer emerging from Thrawn's quarters.
Oddly enough, he recognized him immediately.
"Commodore Dobramu," he nodded to the well-groomed young man with a contemptuous smile on his lips.
"Captain Dobramu," the other said clearly, almost pretentiously, brushing invisible dust from a new rank bar on his tunic. "I have business, Captain Pellaeon."
And the brat left.
He also emphasized Gilad's rank with his tone. Was that a hint that the greenhorn held the same rank, while the commander of the Chimaera already had gray hair? The subtext was surely meant to say, "What a failure you are, Gilad."
"You may proceed, Captain," Rukh said in a calm tone, his voice now sounding to the left of Pellaeon. So the rascal had recovered. "This training has been beneficial for me."
"You're welcome," Gilad advised him. "I have plenty more in store."
"I'll be waiting," genuine interest sounded in Rukh's voice.
Deciding not to dwell on it, Gilad stepped into the cabin.
As he had expected, the cabin was filled with holograms.
But for some reason, they were not works of art.
Today the "exhibit" featured holograms of tanker starships that the commander... Captain Dobramu had delivered to the Dominion.
"Come in, Captain," Thrawn invited, for the guest, stunned by what he saw, had paused at the door. "What news?"
"Operational-tactical formations are moving into position," Gilad reported, watching as a holographic map of the galaxy joined the images of the tankers. Naturally — with tactical markings. "Your fleet is also prepared for the operation."
"Thank you for the report," Thrawn pointed to the red dots — targets for the coming counterstrike. Actually, in Gilad's opinion, there were more markings than the number Gilad had been informed of. "Additional targets," he explained in a pedagogical tone. "What do you think of Captain Dobramu?"
What could he think of a true Imperial? An arrogant, boastful xenophobe?
"A promising officer," the captain said reservedly. "He secured our fleet with several months' supply of bacta. I ran into him in the airlock — he's bursting with joy over his promotion."
Or more accurately: "His heels are practically on fire."
"Undoubtedly," agreed Thrawn, nodding almost imperceptibly. Pellaeon looked closer. On Thrawn's uniform, the epaulets that were standard according to Imperial Army dress regulations were missing. Instead, over the fabric on Thrawn's collarbones were two curved aurodium plates. "Especially considering that capturing the tankers was not his achievement."
Pellaeon looked at the Grand Admiral with interest.
Of course, in the entire Dominion, only an idiot could think that the boy could simply capture an entire convoy with a single cruiser while destroying the escort fleet.
Dobramu simply discovered these ships by intercepting a distress signal — which he honestly admitted.
"Reasonable initiative is rewarded," stated Pellaeon, hinting at the promotion of the xenophobe.
"Don't read too much into it," the Grand Admiral responded. "The captain's bars are nothing more than a necessity. Dobramu and those like him should be gotten rid of."
Now that sounded extremely unusual, out of the ordinary, and clearly had a double bottom in Thrawn's intentions. If only one knew what considerations he was acting upon in making his decision...
Wait, stop. Let's shut down the reactor. He wasn't planning to kill the boy, was he?
After thinking it over, Gilad thought he had found the answer.
"The recent personnel movements in the fleet," said Pellaeon. Thrawn, who had been looking at the monitors before him, leaned back slightly and turned his gaze to Pellaeon.
"Clarify your words, Captain."
"Personnel rotation," said Gilad. "You transferred a significant portion of officers worthy of attention and interest from the medium cruisers, and moved in their place those who arouse suspicion from counterintelligence as potentially disloyal to the Dominion."
"Yes," agreed Thrawn. "Develop your thought."
"In the past, you did exactly the same with the crew of the Striking, which Dobramu commands — honestly, that was the end of Pellaeon's logical chain. But, if one recalled the reason for such an act by Thrawn, then..."
"You gathered all potentially disloyal officers onto the cruisers," Gilad licked his suddenly dry lips. "Xenophobes, supporters of the New Order, those who express dissatisfaction with your command..."
"Yes," Thrawn jabbed his index finger at the holograms of the bacta tankers. "There were more of them. Fifty, to be precise — Delta Source is quite detailed on this matter. Such a large convoy was intended for the First Military Fleet covering Coruscant and the Core Worlds. And the tankers were guarded by an entire squadron, including Mon Calamari star cruisers."
"Someone went to great lengths to ensure these ships were destroyed," Pellaeon voiced his thoughts aloud.
"'Certain someone,'" Thrawn emphasized, "went to great lengths to ensure our commodore returned to the Dominion from the backwaters of the galaxy as a hero. And helped him by destroying the convoy's combat escort but not damaging a single transport..."
Then where are the rest, if there were fifty?
."..Meanwhile, keeping most of the bacta for themselves, and providing Dobramu with a substantial amount so that his actions would not go unnoticed by me," Thrawn continued.
Pellaeon frowned.
He didn't like the Grand Admiral's tone.
"You know who?"
"And you know too, Captain," stated Thrawn. "It's enough to think about who has sufficient power to destroy thirty escort ships so quickly that they couldn't raise the alarm. And who has sufficient need for thirty such," he pointed at the holograms of the ships, "bacta tankers. For which they don't have to pay."
There were many options, except the Grand Admiral wouldn't have paid attention to any of them who weren't a threat to him in some way.
And in turn, that means only one candidate in the galaxy...
His stomach gave a lurch.
"Palpatine," Pellaeon said hoarsely.
"Not personally," Thrawn confirmed his fears. "His agents. The Dark Side Elite, or a fleet, part of which attacked Luke Skywalker on the asteroid Polis Massa. Essentially, it doesn't matter. I have already taken countermeasures."
He offloaded the potential traitors onto ships that practically never leave patrol duty...
"Captain Dobramu, for displayed valor and ingenuity, has been promoted in rank," Thrawn commented. "He now commands four Strike-class medium cruisers. A maneuver formation for carrying out important assignments in ensuring the Dominion's defense. And Dobramu is currently heading to the southern part of the metropolis to deploy the camouflaged asteroids we have..."
'...And now it's clear why Dobramu's face was almost twisted — the boy realized he wasn't getting the bridge of a Star Destroyer. Wait a minute! A potential traitor is building defenses?!'
"Sir, would it be right to allow Dobramu to deploy camouflaged asteroids on our borders?" Pellaeon inquired.
"We have a need to ensure the Dominion's security," said Thrawn. "The Star Destroyers are either occupied with pacifying criminal elements in the Sprizen sector or in upcoming operations. Dobramu, whoever he truly is, is a decent officer. Competent enough to escort and guard the transports with asteroids that will set up a barrier on the hyperlanes leading into the Dominion. The work is honorable but tedious. And requires a responsible officer. Dobramu is an excellent candidate. Especially since his masters aren't exposing the boy to danger for no reason — they need him to find out what's happening in the Dominion's metropolis. And knowledge of the main defensive line — what greater service could he render the former deceased Emperor?"
Pellaeon frowned.
"Sir, are you deliberately taking a risk so that... Dobramu can distinguish himself before Palpatine? Helping him curry favor with our, possibly most dreaded enemy?"
"Yes, Captain," Thrawn's eyes burned like two coals ready to start a massive fire. "I have put considerable effort into weakening the New Republic ahead of Palpatine's offensive. There is a certain probability that after the completion of Operation Crimson Dawn, the defensive capability of Coruscant's current masters will reach a catastrophic limit. We must ensure that Palpatine is not so strong either. If we eliminate some of his potential allies, we'll do ourselves a good service for the future. In the long run, we may even strengthen the Dominion."
Interesting, how will the Dominion become stronger if the traitor captain knows that at certain points on the hyperlanes leading into the Dominion, there are camouflaged asteroids, a collision with which at sublight cruiser speed could flatten a Star Destroyer into a piece of metal the size of a Corellian corvette?!
The thoughts in Pellaeon's head frankly refused to form a coherent picture of what was happening.
Clarification was needed.
But he suspected the Grand Admiral wouldn't give a direct answer.
But it was worth trying.
"But if Dobramu serves Palpatine, then you've effectively handed him several Strike-class medium cruisers," Pellaeon noted. "Three, not counting Dobramu's own Striking, to be precise. Not to mention that he'll know how to penetrate the outer defense perimeter."
"Indeed?" Thrawn's dark eyebrow rose on his blue face. "Well, well, and I hadn't thought of that."
Pellaeon did everything to keep his eyes from bulging.
Okay, it wasn't the first time the Grand Admiral had shown something human. Emotions, the ability to joke... Though wait. He might actually say that without a hint of humor. He was capable of it...
"My apologies, sir," said Gilad, calculating that for such disrespect, the Grand Admiral might make him assume the prone position. Even though the disciplinary "talk" with Lieutenant Colonel Astarion had happened several months ago, the crew of the Chimaera hadn't forgotten it. And the junior officer corps throughout the fleet and army had even adopted Thrawn's actions of taking the arrogance out of what was then a pompous ISB officer as a tool for disciplining negligent subordinates.
This had particularly taken root among the conscripts, the young reinforcements of the armed forces, who were to deal with matters...
"Has Lieutenant Rederick reached his destination?" Thrawn asked.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon replied, handing a data chip to the Grand Admiral. "The encrypted message confirms that he hasn't been compromised. We have obtained data on the defense systems."
Thrawn plugged it into his computer, then studied the hologram of the star system for some time.
A well-layered star system.
Yes, there weren't many starships there, but a dozen defense platforms made it clear it wouldn't be easy.
"Has General Kaine already prepared the ground operation plan?"
One of the clones of Major General Maximilian Veers had arrived aboard the Chimaera less than an hour ago by private shuttle... But for now, even his existence remained a secret from most of the crew. They would be informed only when the ships entered open space.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon returned with relief to discussing topics that were personally simple, understandable, and didn't make the gray hair on the back of his head stand on end. "The second file on the chip, after the reconnaissance data on the target designated for the Chimaera and its formation."
"Is the special cargo in place?" Thrawn asked.
Pellaeon nodded affirmatively.
"Yes, sir."
"Is Captain Makeno's unit at the target?"
"Yes, Grand Admiral," Pellaeon confirmed. "All our sabotage groups are in starting positions and awaiting the order to begin the operation. The teams sent into Hutt Space have also reported that they have made contact with the recruiters of Warlord Devian."
"In that case, it's time for us to proceed," Thrawn said thoughtfully. "We begin the main action as soon as we receive confirmation from Axxila! But first," the Grand Admiral lowered his voice, "we will execute justice upon some of the captured enemy commanders."
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief," Pellaeon saluted silently and headed for the exit.
* * *
"This will be an easy victory," said Yazuo Vain, playing with his vibro-axe, glancing at the B-1 series droid that had just reported ten-minute readiness.
Soon, the Colicoid Swarm would exit hyperspace in the southern part of Wild Space.
And give a good thrashing to the Luminii Pirates group that had settled on the planet Zonju V.
Irvin, sitting in the captain's chair on the bridge of the carrier Star Destroyer, stared intently at the large monitor, which displayed a schematic of the Colicoid Swarm. Actually, there was a lot displayed there, but Yazuo didn't bother to delve into the details of what the destroyer's commander was actually looking at.
"You think if you hypnotize the image of the hangar, the Vultures will multiply in there?" Vain chuckled, intending to lighten the mood and provoke his comrade into conversation.
Irvin didn't react, but made a gesture with his hand, as if shooing away a metal dummy standing nearby.
The B-1 droid approached the corsair too closely, and he took a swift step forward, simultaneously uttering:
"Boo, tin can!"
The droid, throwing up its arms, dropped a blaster carbine from its manipulators. The weapon clattered metallically across the deck.
"U-uh," the Separatist droid ground out. "Orders?"
"Fly to Tatooine," Yazuo ordered. "Find the largest tribe of Tusken Raiders, wander the desert with them for ten years, and when you become friends with the chieftain, tell him that you f— his mother..."
"Vain," the ship's commander addressed him quietly. "Stop destroying my droids' artificial synapses."
"Why does he walk around with a stupid face?" Vain asked Irvin.
"Confirmed," stated the B-1, picking up its uncharged weapon and returning to the control panel.
Oh, these stupid droids... They transferred some infantry to crew positions, but they just can't break the habit of lugging around blaster rifles.
A heavy sigh came from Irvin's direction.
"Your jokes make these droids stupid," he stated.
"They weren't shining with intelligence before me either," the half-blood clarified.
"Your sycophant makes the droids even dumber," grated the head of Aut-O, embedded in the armrest of the captain's chair so that Irvin could place his palm on it when necessary. Just like in old pirate legends, where the pirate king sat on a throne whose armrests were adorned with the skulls of his enemies.
"And all that's left of you is one head," Vain snorted.
"Even if only one circuit board remains of me, I'll still be smarter than you, stupid organic," Aut-O declared.
"If I throw both of you out the airlock, will you stop arguing?" Irvin asked, looking somehow only at Vain.
"That's discrimination," Yazuo stated. "There are already few sentient beings on the ship to talk with."
"In your case, it's actually better to keep your mouth shut," Irvin advised. "You'll seem smart from the outside."
Yazuo rolled his eyes.
"How many days have we been moving along these smuggler's routes, huh?" he asked. "I'm literally starting to lose my mind. The Luminii aren't worth such elaborate approaches."
"The Luminii Pirates were quite legally on their planet," Irvin objected. "And the New Republic couldn't do anything to them at all..."
"Well, it's the Republic!"
."..because their intelligence is no worse than that of the Cavrilhu," Irvin finished his thought. "If we had charged at their reserve base straight down the Hydian Way, they would have known of our approach before you even got bored."
"Then we'd have taken everything they have faster and gone on our way!" Yazuo said emphatically. "Or have you changed your mind about digging up old Separatist secrets?"
"This sentient urgently needs a processor upgrade," Aut-O declared. Irvin rewarded the talkative head with a flick on its top.
"The Luminii Pirates have an Immobilizer 418-class cruiser-interdictor, if you haven't forgotten," Irvin reminded. "Which means that knowing of our approach, they could pull us out of hyperspace at any convenient spot and give us a nice greeting with turbolasers while our systems come back online after the jump. Again, if you haven't noticed," the pirate pointed at the huge rectangular viewports of the elongated bridge, "we're like in an aquarium here. One good rocket hit, and we'll be breathing vacuum. That's it."
"And I said we should have paid extra to Reyes on the Lok Revenants to book the bridge, like Tyberos did," Vain stated. "Then we wouldn't be shaking like Twi'lek schoolgirls after prom, stuck with a bunch of drunk horny Rodians."
"Irvin, I strongly recommend you perform a lobotomy on your subordinate," grated the head of Aut-O.
"I think about that initiative more often every day," admitted Captain Irvin.
"Move your hand aside," Vain racked the bolt on the shaft of his axe, charging the blaster built into the shaft. "Hey, head, step over here! Let's talk like a man with a defective droid!"
"Don't insult defective droids by including yourself among them," said Aut-O. "I've seen B-1 series droids that are a hundred times smarter than you."
"Shut up, both of you," Irvin ordered, raising his voice.
Yazuo looked at his former and current captain and, in a conciliatory gesture, switched off the power cell on his monstrous weapon.
"Alright, don't get worked up," he advised. "Just blowing off steam..."
"Go find yourself a Twi'lek to blow off steam, you moron!" the tactical super droid's head snapped back.
"Oooh," Irv chuckled, patting the head while keeping his eyes fixed on Veyn, who had turned crimson — allusions to the ladies of Ryloth (one of whom had cuckolded him) were something of a raw nerve. "That was a real low blow, Aut."
"Give me a body and a vibroblade, and I'll show you what a real low blow is, traitor," the head snapped back.
"Then again," Irv said, taking his hand off the remains of one of the droid army's best commanders, "Veyn, shoot."
The Half-blood shook his head and snorted.
"A traveling circus, not a corsair destroyer," he said.
"Look who's talking," Aut-O shot back.
"I'm starting to see why the Neimoidians never let their droids run continuously," Irv remarked. "You lot develop a nasty personality over the years."
"If the droid army hadn't been shut down and factory-reset, we'd have wiped you out long ago, you stupid, inefficient organics," Aut-O declared.
"You know," Irv said, looking at Veyn, "during the Clone Wars, the CIS didn't wipe the memory of their tactical droids or tactical super droids. And they didn't shut them down. That led to them developing personalities based on the efficient enemy-destruction programs they were loaded with. Sometimes it got to the point where they'd kill organic commanders who made a mistake on the battlefield or gave an inefficient order."
"No, I don't know," Yazuo grimaced. "I'm not that old. But since out of all those metal-mad ghouls," he pointed at Aut-O's head, "only this one is left, I'd wipe his memory if I were you, before he orders the droids to string you up from the comms antenna while we're underway."
"He can give all the orders he wants," Irv smiled. "Every droid on this ship has been reprogrammed to obey only me."
"Wait a minute," Veyn looked at the B-1 he'd spoken to earlier. "What about this one?"
"You have the right to give orders to the droids, as long as they don't contradict mine," Irv explained, stroking Aut-O's head. "But our tactical super-friend here isn't included in the command hierarchy."
"The traitor came prepared," the head stated.
Yazuo smiled.
"Can we talk business?" he asked.
Irv looked at him in surprise.
"Since when are you interested in a raid?"
"I told you — I'm bored," Veyn explained. "Besides, you said the 'Luminii' might cause us trouble if they found out we're after their interdictor cruiser."
"That's right," Irv nodded. "I don't believe the 'Luminii' lost all their ships in the Ciutric Hegemony except for the 'Immobilizer.' They must have something, some card up their sleeve."
"He doesn't believe," can droids even sound that arrogant? Apparently, they can. At least, the heads of tactical super droids can. "I told you this in plain Basic! Cross-reference the data from raids they took part in, with information from open sources about what other ships the 'Luminii' used when attacking their victims. Then strike from that list every ship they brought into the Hegemony and lost. You'll find they currently have at least three ships under their command — an interdictor cruiser, a Munificent-class frigate, and a Recusant-class light destroyer. If you gave me access to the CIS fleet databases, I could even give you the identification data for those vessels..."
"Your virtual nose, Aut, stays where it belongs," Irv cut him off.
"Three ships," Veyn whistled. "Not bad, actually, but we have a carrier destroyer..."
"With practically no starfighters on board," Irv reminded him.
"We have more guns than all of them combined," Veyn continued, not bothering with precise math.
"Oh, mathematical algorithms, how can anyone be so inefficient!" Aut-O's head wailed. "Open the manuals, count the cannons!"
"The three of them would still hand it to us," Irv simplified the mathematical situation. "That's why I agreed to Tyberos's help. He'll back us up with cannons, missiles, and fighters. Together, we'll not only smash the 'Luminii,' but we won't let the interdictor cruiser slip away."
"We should have asked Thrawn to give us our own interdictor," Veyn lamented.
"You could have gone with Tavira and persuaded her to handle that," Irv snorted, looking at his young protégé. "Especially since she was so well-disposed toward you. The way she fussed over you, the way she batted those violet eyes..."
"I'd rather climb into a rancor's mouth myself than be left alone with that witch," Veyn assured him.
"Weeeell," Irv couldn't resist, "back on Lok, it looked like you were about to scoop her up in your arms and carry her off to build a little nest..."
"I was just stunned," Veyn began to justify himself. "When I saw her staring at me, my brain just shut down... All I could think was that this harpy seduced and killed Kavil and Axxila just to take over his crew."
"Well, I don't think you have anything to worry about now," Irv chuckled. "I heard through the grapevine that Tyberos has taken quite a liking to her."
"May the Force be with him then," Veyn laughed. "Hey... when he kicks the bucket, can I put in a claim for the 'Black Pearl' again?"
"If I were you, I wouldn't set my sights on that ship," Irv advised him. "Tyberos isn't a privateer anymore; he's the captain of auxiliary forces, a raider. He sold himself to Thrawn, lock, stock, and barrel, just to command his own group. So even if he does die somewhere, sometime, the ship will still go to the Dominion. The crew on board are loyal to Thrawn. I think even Tavira would think twice before trying to get her hands on that vessel if anything unexpected happened to Tyberos."
"Ah," Veyn sighed. "What a shame... I look at my old ship and my heart bleeds. All black, like space. Without that stupid tail 'fin.' And it's got Victory-class cannons, not those separatist pea-shooters. Imperial-style launchers, deflector generators too. Looks like they even upgraded the armor, not the old junk we had..."
"If you don't like it, you can always space yourself," the separatist tactical super droid's head reminded him.
"Useless tin can," Veyn snorted. "Alright, Irv, what's the plan?"
The commander of the Colicoid Swarm scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Same as always, really," he said. "Jump in, beat them up, send the droids to board. We'll take the Immobilizer 418 back to Lok, hand it over to Tavira, then head off to the old separatist factory worlds. Some of them have to still be intact."
"Like Geonosis?" Yazuo asked.
"Or Saleucami," Irv nodded.
"Or Hypori," Aut-O said.
"In short — we've got plenty of room to operate," the commander of the Colicoid Swarm summed up. "Considering how much we'll get for the interdictor cruiser, and maybe for the other two tubs as well, we'll have enough to restore at least one factory."
"And then what?" Veyn asked.
Irv was silent for a moment, looking straight ahead, then at Aut-O's head.
"We'll figure it out," he said firmly.
At that moment, the hyperspace tunnel collapsed into white-blue streaks of light, which shrank into tiny points of stars as usual.
And the massive ash-brown sphere of Zonju V.
"Captain," the same B-1 droid that Veyn had tried to intimidate droned. "Scanners show four starships. Two Munificent-class frigates, a Recusant-class Star Destroyer, and an interdictor cruiser..."
"A bit more than you predicted, tin can," the commander of the Colicoid Swarm tapped Aut-O's head. "Looks like you're not the most efficient one here either."
The order sounding general quarters drowned out both Veyn's laughter and the offended grumbling of the tactical super droid, whose artificial ego had been wounded to the core.
* * *
"The Colicoid Swarm is moving to attack," Tyberos noted, watching as the twin of the Black Pearl surged forward, taking the turbolaser salvos of four enemy ships on its deflectors.
"Just like the Clone Wars," grumbled a somewhat stout officer in charge of the scanners.
The privateer recalled that the man had once been an officer in the Confederacy of Independent Systems. He'd turned to piracy when the separatist cause was lost.
"Aging junk," Leonia Tavira said dismissively.
Tyberos turned his head to look at the tiny woman seated beside him.
In her Moff uniform, with her ever-present whip in hand, she sat in the massive command chair. Compared to her child-like frame, the bridge furniture looked even more imposing.
"Launch the fighters," Tyberos ordered. "Raise the deflectors. Priority target: the interdictor cruiser."
"You got it, boss," the ship's senior gunner replied.
"I didn't catch that," Tyberos looked at his subordinate.
"Orders understood, Captain," the officer corrected himself immediately.
"That's better," Tyberos grunted. "Course four-seven-seven. We go in on the upper echelon, between the interdictor and the Recusant."
The enemy, having reorganized into an anti-attack formation, sent the frigates forward, intending to use their speed and starfighters to pin down the attackers and let the remaining ships operate in open-field conditions.
"I'm impressed," Tavira said enthusiastically. "I expected your ship to be crewed by nothing but scum. But you've trained them well, Captain. My applause."
She clapped her hands.
Because of the gloves she wore, the sound was muffled.
Tyberos fixed his eyes on the tactical monitor, watching as the upgraded Delta-7s launched from his ship's hangars.
A standard Providence-class carrier/destroyer, the same class as the Black Pearl, could bring two dozen full squadrons of droid starfighters or their equivalents to the battlefield.
Given the need to refit Tyberos's hangars to accommodate different models, he'd had to cut the air wing in half.
But ten squadrons of fast, agile, and deadly machines were still ten squadrons of fast, agile, and deadly machines.
And they were already racing at full speed toward the enemy's "freaks" to engage them in a lethal dogfight.
"Captain Irv only launched five squadrons of droid starfighters," Tavira said.
"And?" Tyberos asked, looking at the woman.
"I'm just reminding you that he has twice as many," Leonia batted her eyes innocently. "But he's holding them back for some reason..."
"Because the Vulture-class droid starfighters, Lady Moff," Chief Engineer Reyes interjected, "are a relic of the past. Their fuel cells give them thirty minutes of combat time — and that's average. Their point of no return is fifteen minutes of operation away from the ship. After that, the droid starfighters have to return to the Colicoid Swarm, jettison their engines, take on new ones with full cells, and fly back into battle. It doesn't take long, but in a modern fight, it's damned inconvenient."
"You think the battle will last more than half an hour?" Tavira looked at the chief engineer in surprise.
"My job is to fix ships and equipment," he replied promptly. "What happens on the battlefield is for the specialists."
Tyberos shook his head.
He shouldn't have said that.
"Then keep quiet, Chief Engineer," Tavira said, the same radiant smile on her face. "You were brought on this flight to test your ship's modifications in battle and spot flaws on the fly. There's no need to join a conversation where you're not welcome."
Nick calmly met the woman's gaze with his artificial eye, then simply turned away in silence, taking an interest in the technical panel.
"Now, where were we, my magnificent...?"
"Shut your mouth, Leonia," Tyberos said quietly.
He spoke softly, but loud enough for her to hear, while remaining inaudible to everyone else on the bridge.
"How rude," Tavira switched to a conspiratorial tone, literally devouring the commander of the Black Pearl with her eyes. "That's so exci..."
"Banthas get excited for a romp," Tyberos parried, pulling away from the chair so the tiny woman couldn't touch him. "I have a battle to fight."
As he stepped away from the command chair, he hit the emergency harness button, causing the automatics to engage and strap the woman firmly to the back of her seat.
Too bad the kit doesn't come with a gag, Tyberos thought ruefully. But he immediately caught himself — if his wish came true, there was no guarantee Tavira wouldn't enjoy it. And then she'd be impossible to pry off the Black Pearl, even if you promised her all the treasures of Despot Xim.
"How's the Pearl?" he asked, approaching Reyes.
"Energy signatures are stable," the chief engineer pointed to the diagrams and graphs on the monitor. "Fluctuations are within acceptable limits, so I don't see any problems. The reactor chain provides enough power for the cannons, shields, and other systems I installed on your ship. But it's too early to draw conclusions until the battle's over."
"I'll bring the guns into action in quarters," Tyberos pointed to the senior gunner's screen, where only half of the ship's turbolasers were lit up with green markers. The laser cannons providing anti-fighter cover, however, were all active. And given that the enemy "freaks" were already pushing through the destroyer's own fighters, they were clearly not firing blanks.
"Whatever works for you," Reyes said. "The system's been tested. There shouldn't be any problems."
"'Shouldn't be' or 'won't be'?" the carrier/destroyer's commander inquired.
"'Shouldn't be,'" Nick didn't hedge. "The repairs and upgrades went smoothly. As for the rest, I'm not going to guess. I'm not some Jedi who can predict the future. You're not flying to a resort; you're heading into the thick of battle — how am I supposed to know what might happen?"
The Black Pearl shuddered violently.
So hard that one of the backup displays tore loose from the ceiling.
The equipment crashed onto the deck, shattering into countless pieces, miraculously missing everyone.
"Repairs went smoothly?" Tyberos asked the engineer, now intensely interested in what had just happened.
Nick sighed ruefully.
"You just got hit by five heavy turbolasers," he said. "Did you really think that in your very first battle, nothing, nowhere would fall off the Pearl after a hit that would tear other ships apart?"
"Just don't forget to fix it when it's over and we're back at base, alright?" Tyberos asked.
"When we get back to base, I'm going to find the foreman of the team that worked on the bridge and give him a piece of my mind," Chief Shipwright Reyes promised.
Tyberos glanced over at Tavira, who was still struggling with the emergency harness, unable to free herself from its grip.
"Well, at least they fixed the safety system properly," he smirked.
Reyes muttered something unintelligible in response.
Assessing the situation on the tactical display, Tyberos waited for the right moment and ordered the launchers to open fire.
When a hundred and two anti-ship torpedoes tore the light destroyer apart, the enemy began to suspect their fate.
After the Black Pearl's fighters had not only thinned out the enemy "freaks" but also thoroughly taunted the protruding bridges of the Munificents, blasting them to pieces, those suspicions began to take on a concrete form.
The pirates' interdictor cruiser tried to break free, slipping past the attackers' ships and abandoning its two disabled vessels to the mercy of the boarders.
Crossfire from crimson and blue turbolaser broadsides, reinforced by harassing missile strikes, forced the leader of the Luminii Pirates to surrender.
An hour later, having locked the surrendered pirates in the Black Pearl's hold, distributed the crew among the captured ships, and said goodbye to Captain Irv and Veyn, who were heading off on a free hunt, Tyberos could finally realize an old dream.
He was returning to base at the head of a squadron of three large ships, and he knew exactly whom to use to convey to Grand Admiral Thrawn the information that both Munificents would be useful for his future raids.
* * *
The western wall of the pleasure establishment hadn't been repaired in a long time.
Despite the fact that this building was supposed to be a place where the wealthy of this world — called Axxila — could indulge any passion and satisfy any desire.
In other words, logically, the building should have been plastered with signs and in perfect condition...
But that would only be the case if the owners of this brothel had any such intentions.
Reynar climbed the pitted, cracked, and chipped wall with relative ease, avoiding areas where the plaster — which had seen better days — might crumble if he put his weight on it.
Many people think being an Inquisitor is all about dramatically Force-pushing doors open, swinging a lightsaber, and smashing everyone around to show off your swordsmanship.
No, of course, that's also part of the job. A big part.
But sometimes you have to use your head.
That's why, not wanting to run into the security of the advisors who ran Axxila, Reynar entered the building through an entrance that didn't fit the average person's idea of a main or service door.
"Need help?" Vex's voice came through his earpiece.
"Help yourself," Reynar snapped, continuing his ascent up the rope, pulling hand over hand, effectively climbing the wall in long strides.
"That's beyond my power," the girl said sadly. "I wouldn't have walked off the Chimaera alive if I'd refused the Grand Admiral's order to pilot your ship. So, hurry up and do what you were told, and let's get out of this dump at FTL speed."
"Then shut your mouth and stop distracting me." Reynar kept climbing, channelling his irritation into a fury that gave him the strength to keep going. The rain lashing his face, accompanied by a sharp wind that swung his body from side to side, helped, as it always did in such situations.
He had just reached the top floor when he felt a sense of unease bordering on wrongness building inside.
"Did you die or something?" he asked his partner, whose speeder was parked in a lot a few buildings away. The elevated parking spot let the girl monitor the entrances and exits of the building, giving the guard reliable information that the targets were still inside.
"You asked me to be quiet, so I wasn't talking back," the girl replied irritably.
"Since when did you get so obedient?" Reynar was surprised, having reached the railing of the sloped roof. Staying in the shadows, he listened to his feelings, mentally extending his Force perception sphere...
Yes, just as he thought — a guard ten meters away. The man couldn't hear him; the downpour masked any quiet sounds.
"Ever since Fodum, before we left, asked me to come back in one piece," the girl replied. "Anyway, I'm quiet. Do your job. If something comes up, I'll let you know."
"Fine by me," Reynar said, flicking off the comlink's audio signal to avoid startling his target prematurely.
Immediately after, feeling that the target's attention was drawn to something at the base of the building, he calmly climbed over the railing, unclipped the carabiner from his gear, and laid it on the roof without a sound.
Only then, having estimated the distance from the roof's edge to where the guard stood in his raincoat, looking bored, did he dash toward him.
With one precise move, Reynar knocked the guard onto his back. Before the man could even register what was happening, he crushed his larynx with a punch and then snapped his neck.
Dragging the body away from the edge, he tied it to the end of the rope and positioned it so the railing's supports would keep it from falling.
The rest was a matter of technique.
Crushing a simple lock with the Force, he dropped down to the top floor, landing in a service corridor.
His senses were at their peak. The Force served as a reliable tool.
So, the moment the first of the Advisor's guards appeared around a corner, Reynar crushed his throat with the Dark Side and broke his neck.
By the time the second guard realized his partner had moved on to a better world — and even managed to let out a surprised cry — a crimson blade had already split his skull into two unaesthetic halves.
Immediately after, his body was caught by the Force and hurled into the cluster of other guards blocking the exit from the floor.
They scattered like bowling pins, allowing Reynar to close the distance to the nearest enemy without engaging in hand-to-hand combat, and with a couple of swings of his lightsaber, end their miserable lives.
There were no more life-signs — sparks in the Force — on this floor.
So, like a black shadow, Obscuro vaulted over the railing and landed in front of the entrance to the floor below. This was where those whose lives he had truly come for were spending their time with such enthusiasm.
He felt absolutely nothing as he killed the guards who stood in his way.
Even though the former Inquisitor didn't live on this little planet, he still knew the kind of beings the Advisors were.
And, thanks to the local information network, he had even seen a few examples of what the local residents accused them of.
Though, even if he hadn't had the dubious pleasure of watching these guards indulge in brutal games with the locals — hunting them or worse — during their free time away from protecting the Advisors' mothers-in-law, he would have killed them anyway.
The logic was simple: he had a mission, and he would complete it. Those who stood between him and his goal were nothing more than an obstacle.
So he cut, he slashed, literally skinning a couple of thugs, but he kept walking toward his goal, leaving behind a true slaughterhouse and a carpet of bodies. And their parts.
When the living guards were finished, a few bodyguard droids tried to block his path, but Reynar crushed them into shapeless lumps of metal and used them as throwing projectiles to smash a couple more unlucky suicide-baiters against the far wall.
He found the door to the luxurious baths where both councilors were relaxing without much trouble — it was the only room on that floor.
The heavy doors, made of real wood, shattered into pieces, unable to withstand the power of the Force.
Inside, they opened fire on him, but the former inquisitor's skill allowed him to deflect blaster shots back at the shooters.
The guards of the councilors who had cowered in the steam room — one thin, the other huge and fat — were finished in literally a couple of minutes.
Reynar spun the weapon in his hands, parrying a shot at his back that had tried to take down the Shadow Guard. The crimson bolt ricocheted off the blade the color of arterial blood and left a cauterized wound where the bodyguard's eye had been.
"Don't do this!" squealed the thin councilor, watching the figure in black robes and a black cloak, with its hood pulled over its head.
"Any amount of money, any price!" shrieked the fat councilor.
Amusing little men...
He almost felt sorry for them in a way.
He yanked the thin one out of the pool with the Force and ran him through, impaling his torso on the lightsaber.
"Jedi, please!" the fat councilor sobbed like a child, shaking his greasy hands, the skin on them flapping like sails. "We'll do whatever you say! We'll give you anything you need! There's money! Lots of money! Mountains of money! Take it all, just leave me alive..."
"Well, well," Obscuro thought, tossing the first councilor's now-lifeless body into the pool.
The second one would take a bit more work, of course.
"And what can you offer me?" Reynar asked with a smirk. "All your treasures are dust."
"I... I... Skywalker!" the fat man pleaded, seeing Obscuro adjust his grip on the saber. The Shadow Guard didn't even take offense at being mistaken for the only widely publicized lightsaber wielder in the galaxy. "May you and your New Republic be damned! Burn in hell!"
"Believe it or not, I've already burned," Reynar muttered, retrieving his lightsaber after the throw.
As he left the bath chamber, the fat man's severed head was still rolling across the tile floor...
Using the very first guard's body as dead weight for a rapid descent from the building, Reynar cleared the brothel long before the patrol airspeeders of law enforcement and the observers from Kavil's Corsairs — fulfilling their end of the deal — arrived on the scene.
Sitting in the airspeeder next to Spiteful, Reynar sent an encrypted message to the Grand Admiral, then blindsided the silent Twi'lek with a question:
"How about we have dinner together?"
And only his companion's quick reflexes saved them that day from dying in a traffic accident...