Nine years, nine months, and ten days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, nine months, and ten days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Four months and thirty days since the Arrival.)
This gas giant reached one hundred eighteen thousand standard kilometers in diameter. Like most astronomical objects of this type, the planet had a solid metal core.
The gas layers surrounding the core were mostly toxic and lethal to most species of sentients inhabiting the galaxy. And the pressure in the dense atmospheric layers reached values that would reduce any human to a fine particulate mist.
Despite this, at approximately one hundred fifty to one hundred eighty kilometers from the upper edge of the stratosphere toward the surface, the gas giant contained an atmospheric layer breathable for oxygen-breathing sentients. Only thirty kilometers thick, this layer between the dead vacuum and the toxic gas zones allowed over six million sentients to live in artificial cities and settlements.
Though those figures hadn't been updated in quite a while.
But frankly, the dozens of starships — large and small, military and strictly civilian — were here not to admire the gas giant's scenic colors.
They were all here for one thing.
A rather rare gas, yet vitally important for warfare.
The gas giant called Bespin was one of the galaxy's largest suppliers of tibanna gas.
Tibanna could be found in many gas giants across the galaxy, but such extraction operations cost trillions of credits and years of survey work. That's why galactic society clung tenaciously to already known and well-developed deposits.
Bespin was unique for tibanna extraction because nature itself allowed pressure to transform the gas in the giant's depths. Then, under colossal pressure, tibanna and other gases rose in updrafts through to the upper atmosphere, where specialized mining platforms detected and collected them.
The gas was then processed and frozen in carbonite for transport off-world.
Control over tibanna meant never worrying about how often or how long you fired a blaster or turbolaser. Not to mention other types of energy weapons based on the same operating principle.
When infused with a specific type of radiation, tibanna releases enormous energy from its tiny volumes. Compressed at the atomic level, tibanna was used as a conductive agent in blasters and other energy weapons, producing greater energy output and therefore dealing more damage.
Most personal weapons couldn't handle such a power increase, but shipboard blasters benefited significantly from using tibanna gas. The exception was the DC-series rifles from BlasTech Industries, which used tibanna gas to produce powerful ionized bolts that damaged both organics and droids — a decisive factor in winning the Clone Wars.
The centrifuging process was prohibitively expensive, except on Bespin, where it occurred naturally. That's why any regime in the galaxy always needed Bespin — its tibanna deposits were inexhaustible, its production and freezing were continuous, and all customers could do was empty certain Cloud City warehouses, which would be refilled within days for the next bulk buyer. But, as always happens with such massive enterprises — the warehouses of Cloud City and dozens of gas-mining platforms were almost always full.
Additionally, specially processed tibanna could be used as fuel or as a coolant for propulsion systems.
Which is exactly what industrialists, business tycoons, and the criminal underworld took advantage of.
But at this particular moment, the starships in Bespin's orbit weren't doing anything illegal. They were the same civilian ships protected by New Republic military vessels, forming a transport convoy packed to the brim with frozen tibanna.
The state was at war with a calculating and dangerous enemy. Grand Admiral Thrawn had been mercilessly destroying New Republic transport convoys. But in recent days, his ships had vanished, and logistics had resumed their pace.
Yes, it was dangerous — essentially, Thrawn could simply be lying low, waiting for more transports to start moving along the hyperspace routes.
But there was no choice — military bases needed supplies, so numerous convoys crisscrossed the galaxy, trying to make the most of the respite.
Because if the Grand Admiral struck supply lines again in the future, a catastrophe could occur.
But those who thought that way didn't know one thing.
The Commander-in-Chief of the Dominion had ordered the attacks on enemy convoys stopped not to launch a powerful strike against them in the future, unleashing all his fury on New Republic logistics.
No.
It was something else entirely.
Grand Admiral Thrawn no longer saw any benefit in attacking enemy convoys and seizing cargo.
Grand Admiral Thrawn had once again changed his war strategy on the fly and was attacking the sources of enemy resources.
Planet Bespin.
The Star Destroyer Inexorable tore through the fabric of space in the star system of the Anoat sector, pulling the ships of the operational-tactical formation into realspace behind it.
"Begin jamming all signals. All ships — launch fighters, prepare for battle," Captain Mor ordered. "Corvets — detain the tankers. Cruisers — engage enemy forces. Detach a squadron of TIE fighters to find and destroy the relay — don't let them even think about calling for help."
Alexander watched indifferently through the destroyer's main viewport on the bridge as the bloated supply starships, filled to the brim with their precious cargo, scrambled in panic.
"The Interdictor has deployed its gravity well generators," the watch officer reported.
"Which means," a devilish smile played on Alexander's lips, "they can't escape now. Full speed ahead! All batteries — fire on the nearest enemy cruiser. Prepare landing craft. Signal the Interdictor — have them organize cover and protection for the transports as soon as they finally deign to arrive with their escort."
Two Mon Calamari MC80 star cruisers, supported by three Corellian corvettes and six Nebulon-B escort frigates, bravely charged toward an Imperial-I-class Star Destroyer, ten heavy Dreadnaught-class cruisers, and fifteen Corellian CR90 corvettes.
Meanwhile, the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer hung placidly a few hundred units from the battle site, projecting an artificial gravity zone into space, preventing the enemy from fleeing the field.
A minute later, ten CR-75 medium transports appeared beside it, arriving with an escort of twenty Nebulon-B escort frigates bearing Dominion recognition markings. A couple of minutes later, five more transports arrived, this time Action IV-class. Ten seconds after that — three dozen more freighters with their own escort. And two minutes later — another fifty transports and freighters, their cover consisting of a similar number of corvettes, Corellian-built gunboats, and a couple of Carrack-class ships assigned by Grand Moff Ferrus.
Well, then. The transport armada had arrived on the scene.
Including massive bulk carriers.
Today, the holds of all these starships would be filled with premium tibanna. And they would be filled for as long as necessary.
Captain Alexander Mor glanced at the ship's chronometer, synchronized out of old habit with Coruscant time.
Dawn was just breaking in the galactic capital.
Well then, good morning, New Republic!
* * *
Staring through the transparisteel viewport at the seemingly perfect sphere of the celestial body, covered in swirling white clouds, the deep blue of seas and oceans, the spotted stone skin of the continents, Captain Dorja smiled.
"Hyperspace jump complete, Captain," reported the pit. "No stragglers, no damage."
"Registering enemy pickets, scanning — they're identifying us."
"Good," Dorja said with satisfaction. "Begin the countdown."
"Aye aye!"
The words of an Empire's hero, Major General Maximilian Veers, came to mind.
"Chandrila is the jewel of the Core Worlds, but historically it has sheltered factions of dissent and treason."
Chandrila was located in the same Imperial Oversector as the galactic capital, Coruscant.
This planet was also one of the signatories of the Corellian Treaty, on whose terms the Rebel Alliance was founded. The other two — Corellia and Alderaan, along with their prominent representatives — played their role in the Empire's destruction.
As the Rebel Alliance grew, Chandrila remained one of its key players. And following its principles — supporting anti-government movements if they didn't conflict with Chandrila's own interests — this planet's government had trained rebel militants for years.
So Veers had spoken prophetic words back then...
The plain truth, if you remember for even a moment who heads the New Republic Provisional Government, and before that — who was undermining the foundations of the Galactic Empire.
A Chandrilan. Mon Mothma.
The rebels, and now the New Republic, love using such natural wonders. Well, he would cure them of that bad habit.
Dorja snorted, noticing a hurricane spiral forming in Chandrila's atmosphere.
Oh yes, the inhabitants of this planet were in for many anxious hours today.
Planet Chandrila.
The watch officer appeared silently beside him, as if from thin air.
"Sir, the formation has emerged from hyperspace. Ships are on combat alert. Shall I order the attack?"
Dorja looked at his subordinate as if he'd seen a ghost in the flesh:
"Black bones of the Emperor, Lieutenant, think before you speak!" not maliciously, but he made it clear to the idiot what the correct order of operations should be next time.
"My apologies, sir!" The boy was young, recently transferred to the Relentless from one of the Ciutric Hegemony cruisers. But, pleasingly, he was competent. "But, if we're not here to attack... then why?"
"To accomplish the task set before us by command, Lieutenant," Dorja snapped, turning toward the comm station. "Only an idiot would attack a world shielded by a planetary shield, further guarded by a dozen Golan Mark IIs, with a single formation. Not to mention that significant New Republic forces will arrive in the system before this day is out."
Meanwhile, the enemy, having deployed its patrol tubs, was launching starfighters. Not that many, if you thought about it. Maybe twenty squadrons. Well, well. Dorja had more.
"Hyperspace signal, Captain, sir!"
"Source?"
"Cryptographers confirm the message is from the Chimaera, sir. Personally from Grand Admiral Thrawn."
And since it was encrypted, the officer couldn't learn the reason for the communication. So it was confidential.
"I'll receive the message in the decryption bay," Dorja rose, then, unhurriedly, almost at a strolling pace, headed toward the turbolift shaft. "Watch officer, continue launches according to plan. And monitor the safety of our ships."
"Yes, sir!" the young officer responded briskly before the turbolift door closed behind Dorja.
Leaving the bridge, the captain stopped the car one level down, then just as leisurely headed toward the encryption department.
"Private terminal," he ordered, addressing the senior cryptographer. Without a word, the man pointed to an unremarkable section of wall, which instantly vanished, revealing a small room for conducting secret negotiations. Absolute protection from any kind of eavesdropping.
As soon as he activated the console, a three-dimensional image of a seated figure appeared before him — in a standard black command chair, undoubtedly on the bridge of the Chimaera.
Thrawn in his invariable Grand Admiral's uniform, which, despite the monochrome holographic transmission, was easily identifiable by its cut and style. And by the rank insignia, now epaulets replaced on the tunic's shoulder boards.
Dorja smiled, realizing Thrawn could have configured the communication to appear larger, better, more imposing...
But instead of all that trumpery, the commander of the Relentless saw only a figure a third the size of the Dominion's ruler and commander-in-chief.
All in the best traditions of military ethics — an officer is judged by his deeds and actions, not by a perfectly pressed tunic or the ability to make small talk in high circles of power.
But one thing you couldn't deny Thrawn was his ability to do the impossible. And the current campaign was direct proof.
Just think... Only a few months ago, Dorja was grinding his teeth at being sent to Garos IV. On what he thought was a completely insane and dreary mission. Later, it turned out to be exactly the opposite.
"My assigned formation has reached the designated point, Grand Admiral," Dorja reported.
"I expected nothing less, Captain," Thrawn said, emphasizing that he had never doubted the ability of one of his commanders to navigate his starships through New Republic territory and arrive almost at its very heart. "Is the intelligence on the enemy accurate?"
"Yes, sir," Dorja confirmed. He glanced sideways as the bulkhead slid aside slightly after a short knock. Reaching out, he took a datacard with fresh reports from the cryptographer.
"As you predicted, Chandrila has requested assistance. We are not interfering with the negotiations."
"Don't get too caught up playing games with the enemy, Captain," Thrawn warned him. "A diversion and a point of tension — nothing more."
"I remember the order, Grand Admiral," Dorja grew serious. "We are keeping track of time. Combat pickets are deployed; we have complete control of the approach vector from Coruscant. The 'blockade' has begun."
Even if he had twice the strength — a dozen heavy cruisers, a Star Destroyer, and a dozen and a half escort corvettes — he wouldn't try to break through the Golan stations. Whoever was responsible for Chandrila's defense was undoubtedly watching the holonews. Because he had positioned his orbital defense stations so that they skillfully overlapped each other's fields of fire.
Not to mention that the stations were currently using micro-thrusters to move into orbit, forming a defensive 'shell.' Not a bad tactic when repelling an attack by a large invasion fleet from a single vector. Like now, for example.
"Good," Thrawn said. "Don't forget the second part of your operation, Captain."
Dorja allowed himself a slight smile.
He hadn't been such an optimistic person before.
But, having established good relations with both Thrawn and Pellaeon, the captain — who had already been through more than one battle under the Grand Admiral's command — somehow had no doubt he had chosen the right side in the galactic conflict.
"Yes, sir." He nodded almost imperceptibly. "We are already acting. When the New Republic fleet arrives here to fight us, they will be very surprised."
I'd even say — mortally surprised, he added to himself.
* * *
.".. based on the verdict handed down by the Supreme Court of the Dominion, New Republic General Tyr Taskeen is sentenced to death by hanging," if there was one thing you couldn't take away from the Imperials, both former and current, it was how coldly they behaved before the cameras when announcing the carrying out of sentences. Dominion Grand Moff Felix Ferrus was no exception.
"Han, please," Leia winced. "Turn it off."
The Corellian clicked the remote, but the stubborn device didn't bother to respond.
"I will remind you that General Tyr Taskeen commanded the Republican special forces units that stormed the Imperial Palace on Coruscant," the Grand Moff continued in such an everyday tone that it sent chills down the spine. "During this ruthless raid..."
"Junk tech," her husband cursed, giving up the fight with the remote and rising from the couch, heading for the holovision with the intention of solving the broadcast problem once and for all.
.".. Republican troops killed thousands of Imperial employees," Ferrus continued, "ordinary technical specialists and workers, innocent of any crime that could be charged against them..."
Touching a key on the device's panel, Han cut off the source of disturbing information.
"Thank you," Leia said tightly, turning to the holographic projector, above which hovered holograms of Mon Mothma and General Madine. "Excuse me..."
"Don't apologize, Leia," advised the New Republic Special Operations commander. "Tasken was a friend of mine, too."
"His execution, along with the executions of several of our other commanders held captive by Grand Admiral Thrawn, is a heavy blow to all of us," Mon Mothma declared. "This loss, like many others, weighs heavily on our shoulders."
"Do we know who else besides Tasken was executed?" Leia asked, discreetly biting her lip.
"Over a dozen star cruiser commanders, among those who participated in active campaigns against both the Empire and Thrawn himself," Madine replied. "The only senior commander on the list not reported as executed is Vanden Willard."
"And by a completely random coincidence, not a single Bothan name," Han reminded them of his presence.
Leia, smiling apologetically at her Provisional Government colleagues, turned to her husband, giving him the most benevolent look she could muster at the moment.
The Corellian prudently began acting as if something on his personal datacard interested him.
"We've already received our copy of the military-trade treaty from the government of Balmorra," Mon Mothma said. "Leia, you've done tremendous work! You didn't just get the Balmorrans to listen to you, but integrated them into our military-industrial complex as suppliers!"
"Not to mention that Balmorra has agreed to repair the TIE-series equipment we planned to transfer to Lianna," Madine continued. "This is a huge success. Against the backdrop of our endless defeats..."
Suddenly, the holograms of Mon Mothma and Madine fell silent.
As if they had paused the transmission to communicate with someone in secret from their interlocutor.
Leia felt her heart clench. The Force, belatedly but surely, told her that something was happening...
"Return to Coruscant immediately!" Mon Mothma said in a demanding tone that brooked no argument.
General Madine's hologram dissolved entirely without explanation.
"My ships are getting ready for exactly that," Han clarified without looking up from his datacard.
"Something's happened?" Leia asked in a stricken voice, knowing Mon Mothma would never adopt such a tone without good reason.
In light of recent events, she even began to suspect she knew the source of the interim government leader's pale face — and the reason General Madine had cut the comm link.
"Thrawn," the flame-haired Chandrilan said hoarsely. Her stony face spoke for itself.
Something had happened... Something very, very bad.
"Where?" Leia asked.
"His fleet is on Coruscant's doorstep," Mon Mothma said in a sepulchral voice. "He... he..."
Mon Mothma faltered.
"Leia..." she said dully. For the first time in all their acquaintance, the Alderaanian princess heard this strong woman's voice tremble. "The Dominion attacked Chandrila — my homeworld... The First Fleet has been brought to battle readiness, dispatching a squadron of star cruisers to counter them, but Ackbar took significant forces with him, and..."
The unspoken plea was heard.
"We'll head toward you immediately," Han Solo declared. "We'll squeeze everything we can out of the hyperdrives."
"And then some," Leia added.
When the hologram faded, she looked at her husband.
"Han, you don't think Thrawn intends to..."
"Conquer Coruscant?" the Corellian asked ironically. "I'm more than certain that's the goal he dreams about at the end of his campaign. But, you see, sweetheart, the capital is defended by three dozen Golan platforms — second and third models. There are roughly ten star cruisers in the system, and several squadrons with very serious firepower are stationed in the sector. Maybe Ackbar took the First Star Cruiser Division, but the First Fleet still has enough ships to grind whatever Grand Admiral Thrawn can field against us into dust."
"And if the other Remnants support him?" Leia mused. "They have fleets numbering thousands of starships — and a significant number of those are destroyers and heavy cruisers."
"And we still have three more fleets," Han reassured his wife. "Besides, they won't send every last ship against us — someone has to guard their own systems. The First Fleet is the most combat-capable, most trained and prepared fleet in the galaxy. Mon Mothma is worrying over nothing about Chandrila — it has decent defenses that aren't so easy to breach. And when our squadron arrives, they might as well forget about capturing that world. The planetary shield can't be broken..."
"Thrawn has the Torpedo Sphere," Leia reminded.
"To do its job, it needs to get within range of the planetary ion cannons," Han explained. "So even if Thrawn brought the Torpedo Sphere to Chandrila, even if it knocks down one or two shield segments, it won't decide anything — the local defense forces will sweep their fleet away when they try to close to direct-fire range. That's what the Planetary Defenders were built for — to successfully repel enemy ship raids. Chandrila will hold."
The man walked over and put his arm around the princess's shoulders.
"I know what you're worried about," Solo said, kissing his wife on the top of her head. "The kids are with Winter. The bunker near our house is something even a corps of stormtroopers couldn't breach. Coruscant is as reliable as Fey'lya is lacking in compassion. Even if Thrawn planned to attack Coruscant, he can't break through all the barriers. And we'll be in the capital within a day."
"Only twenty-four hours?" Leia doubted. "It took us a bit longer to get here."
"Well..." Han hedged. "The hyperdrive wasn't running at full, and I wanted to spend a little more time with you."
"You're incorrigible," the princess sighed, hugging her husband.
"I wouldn't have been able to win your heart otherwise, Your Highness," Han quipped just as a shudder through the deck told him the Mon Remonda had entered hyperspace.
Despite its proximity to Imperial Space and the Pentastar Alignment, the gas giant Kril'Dor was a source of tibanna directly controlled by the New Republic.
* * *
Quadrant I-7, where gravity had placed this planet, was a hard-to-reach spot.
Even though the New Republic capital world Coruscant was only a couple of quadrants away, Kril'Dor wasn't crowded.
Only technical personnel from New Republic military specialists and a small garrison responsible for security. And to make it less scary, there was even a whole star cruiser acting as both defender and customs filter in the system.
There were no stable, charted hyperspace routes leading here, so anyone wanting access to tibanna had to make a series of intermediate stops to adjust their courses.
But none of that mattered anymore when green daggers of fire burst through the giant's gas clouds.
This fire above Kril'Dor's orbit was not of natural origin — it was born of human decision.
And that man's name was Aban.
The Bellicose, like a monarch, stayed clear of the squabbles his servants had started.
Six heavy Dreadnaught-class cruisers hammered the Mon Calamari star cruiser defending the massive tibanna mining complex.
No one knew why the enemy decided a single cruiser would be enough to protect this deposit. Yes, the station itself had turbolaser batteries, laser cannons, and even a fighter hangar...
But that was clearly insufficient when facing an operational group.
The few squadrons the mining station and the lone star cruiser could field against the Imperial pilots were nothing compared to a Star Destroyer's unleashed fury.
With surgical precision. Captain Aban's gunners sliced off the enemy's defensive installations.
One aimed salvo after another.
One target destroyed after another.
With their first shot, the Bellicose's gunners destroyed the comm antennas, allowing the object only to scream a desperate distress call and broadcast news of the Dominion ships' raid.
Finally, when all targets were down and a control sweep by an interceptor squadron confirmed the objective was defenseless, assault shuttles poured from the Star Destroyer's bay.
The heavy cruisers jointly finished off the star cruiser, breaking apart its hull riddled with breaches and fires.
An hour later, it was all over.
The planet Roxuli was known for supplying huge quantities of metals to nearby star systems, making it economically attractive to most investors operating in that field.
* * *
It was also located a full quadrant away from the gas mining platform Kril'Dor, which had just been attacked by the Dominion fleet. Its inhabitants were unaware of the looming threat now...
But it would become clear soon enough.
Historians might add that decades ago, Roxuli was the final stop of an Old Republic expedition known as the Outbound Flight before it vanished forever into the depths of the Unknown Regions. Tens of thousands of men and women, of many races and skin colors, lost to oblivion... and no word or trace was ever heard of them.
A Star Destroyer materialized a few hundred units from Roxuli's atmosphere. A pair of patrol ships from the local security and law enforcement forces didn't initially pay attention to the familiar triangular silhouette entering the system — a well-known shape to the local public.
How many such ships with New Republic IDs turned up here?
The first alarm came when the Star Destroyer approached the patrol freighters and greeted both local vessels — which had witnessed the Stark Hyperspace War's climax — with point-blank broadsides from its batteries, opening both ships like a can opener.
Leaving two hulls breaking apart in its wake, the Dominion Star Destroyer with the memorable name Death's Head, under the command of Captain Harbid, continued its advance toward the Roxuli loading station, raining fire from turbolasers and ion cannons on nearby customs and patrol starships.
The Star Destroyer's interceptors, silently cutting through space at breathtaking speeds, surged forward, engaging the enemy's light ships that had tried to flee, avoiding the fate of being destroyed or boarded.
But their plans were not to be.
Closing the operational encirclement, six heavy cruisers emerged from hyperspace, accompanied by an Immobilizer 418 cruiser and nearly a dozen CR90 Corellian corvettes.
Complicating the enemy's escape by creating an artificial gravity field, the heavy cruisers formed up in an order that blocked access to the vector for leaving the system.
Fighters pouring from their decks joined the Death's Head's interceptors, together forming a vortex of death that drew in the enemy's small craft.
But the advantage was entirely on the Imperial pilots' side.
Brave and merciless, they slaughtered the New Republic's allies, disabling combat patrol and customs ships that proved incapable of standing against the threat bearing down on them.
The Death's Head closed on the station, noting how the station desperately tried to protect itself behind its deflector shield, firing back with sparse artillery.
Perhaps in this part of the galaxy, that was enough to fend off pirates and raiders from the Unknown Regions.
But to hold out in battle against a Star Destroyer determined to complete its current mission at any cost, it was clearly not enough.
Intercepting freighters and cargo ships stuffed with valuable ore as they tried to flee the system — what could be easier for those who had made war and killing their everyday routine and mundane work?
The Dominion wing pilots considered it a trivial task they handled easily. New Republic pilots might be strong, might be experienced, but Roxuli was not guarded by them.
Not by a long shot.
The Death's Head reaped starships like a scythe of death, carving its path to the space station.
Because that was exactly Captain Harbid's target.
The station. And its warehouses filled with mined ore of various metal types, ready for shipment.
And today, those cargoes would not go to the New Republic. Instead, as the bomber pilots reported returning from their first pass, a significant portion of the mines would have to be dug anew by Coruscant's supporters.
Captain Harbid and the crews of the ships under his command finished the slaughter and annihilation of everyone who thought of escaping the system thirty-seven minutes after the operation began.
After that, they set about taking possession of the mined ore stored on the planet's surface and in the space station's warehouses, simultaneously carrying out the second part of their mission.
To get from planet Kril'Dor to the Core Worlds, tibanna traders and freight carriers had to make a stop at the planet Rishi in Quadrant J-8.
* * *
It was there, trying not to attract the attention of the local population, that they had to make corrections to their navigation computers before continuing their journey.
A small world that had never experienced the weight of the Clone Wars or the Galactic Civil War, it was currently a haven for pirates, smugglers, and other criminal elements who in one way or another connected their illegal activities with metal shipments from Roxuli and tibanna from Kril'Dor.
Another notable fact about this place was that, according to Imperial intelligence, the Rishi smugglers felt quite comfortable under the New Republic's wing, participating in the restoration of interstellar trade under the new masters of Coruscant.
In fact, after stopping at Rishi, the onward path was simple and easy. It ran along well-developed hyperspace routes, and experienced traders and carriers had long since learned to pay tribute in advance to the local kingpins and not complicate their lives.
It was precisely this collaboration between the local smugglers and the New Republic that became the reason Rishi was designated as a target in Grand Admiral Thrawn's offensive plan.
And unlike the other first-phase missions, something entirely different awaited Rishi — something that could be called an exclusive approach...
The Star Destroyer Captain Rensen, together with its escort ships, emerged from hyperspace at precisely calculated spatial coordinates.
The appearance of a large number of starships in orbit of the smuggler world caused the expected turbulence among the local population.
A few minutes of confusion, during which the gang leaders on Rishi tried to figure out who exactly had arrived to visit them uninvited, cost many their lives.
"Fire," ordered Commander Darran, seeing that Captain Fulik on the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer had activated all four gravity well generators.
The space around the planet was supplemented by the expanded boundaries of an artificial gravity field...
But that was just insurance.
The Captain Rensen and six heavy cruisers, forming an attack formation in orbit and securing themselves against strikes from the perimeter squadrons, gave their guns free rein.
Kuat Drive Yards' advertising slogan claimed that a single Imperial-class Star Destroyer generated as much energy just for a hyperspace jump as some civilizations could produce in their entire lifetimes.
A tall tale, of course — but who cared about precise wording when the energy output was on full display?
The first orbital turbolaser strikes from Commander Darran's ships hit the smuggler settlements, sweeping away the barracks along with those sentients too lazy to respond to the alarm.
Improvised cantinas burned, fuel depots exploded, and rivers of fire spread through the forests and clearings, amplifying the chaos. The turbolasers kept hitting the surface — white-green beams of death from the Star Destroyer gunners, and gold-scarlet ones belched by the heavy cruiser cannoneers.
They burned absolutely everything in their path, creating local firestorms on the surface that only heavy precipitation could have extinguished.
But no precipitation was in sight.
So the smugglers had nothing left to do but try their luck breaking out of Rishi's gravitational embrace, which had become a death trap for them.
In the stratosphere and orbit, Corellian corvettes, TIE fighters, and interceptors met them.
Flashes of green and scarlet plasma tore metal and seared scorch marks onto hulls, leaving black impact scars.
Now and then, one ship or another — a small craft from either side — would veer away from the battle zone, trying to preserve its functionality. But in that regard, Commander Darran's subordinates had it far easier — they could always call the mother ships' flight controllers for evacuation.
But they didn't.
Because they weren't the ones taking losses.
The smuggler and criminal fleet — a motley mass of armed freighters, outdated starships, and private yachts simply converted for illegal "business" was incapable of withstanding the coordinated, sequential strikes of the Dominion pilots.
This was not a battle of equal opponents.
This was not a slaughter.
This was not even a moral lesson from Grand Admiral Thrawn's subordinates, demonstrating to the criminals why they should not have taken orders from the New Republic or helped the Dominion's enemies.
This was an execution.
Pragmatic, ruthless, bloody.
Commander Darran left no one alive and took no measures to take prisoners.
He killed criminals and allies of the Dominion's enemies, burned their refuges, and reduced to space dust everything the pirates and smugglers used to earn a living.
Within an hour, the space around Rishi was strewn with myriad debris and the hulks of mangled enemy ships.
After losing a few pilots, Darran began unloading the contents of his hold, carefully placing a secret cargo in the vector zone of ships arriving from Coruscant.
When he finished and was satisfied that his intentions remained concealed, the commander led his operational-tactical group to carry out the next operation.
A distant star directly ahead looked like nothing more than a yellow droplet in the impenetrable night of space.
* * *
Its radiance, which in the past had given life and spurred civilization to reach into space, now played no role.
The distance spoiled the magnificence of this celestial body, and the protective filters on the viewports reduced the beauty of this distant phenomenon to mere marks.
The other stars surrounding the Chimaera seemed merely a scattering of glitter on the black velvet of interstellar space.
So alluring, yet so inaccessible...
"The dawn has broken," said the Grand Admiral, seated in his ever-present chair in the middle of the Star Destroyer's bridge, for no apparent reason.
As always, an ysalamiri was dozing on his lap. And as far as Gilad had learned to distinguish these little creatures, this was no longer the one Thrawn had been handling in recent months.
It seemed the Chiss had found himself a new favorite.
Gilad took the datapad from the duty officer's hands, scanned the latest briefings. Yes, everything was excellent.
As it should be.
Lifting his gaze from the device, he handed it into hands hidden by snow-white gloves, then glanced covertly at the supreme commander.
In all the time Thrawn had been on the Chimaera's bridge, the destroyer's commander had never managed to get used to the fact that the Grand Admiral showed not a trace of emotion.
Always detached, always pensive, yet focused. His red eyes, glowing like bright embers, fixed on the instruments — all of this could easily give anyone nightmares.
And to be completely honest, after his first meeting with Thrawn — then still a senior captain — Gilad had been unable to sleep soundly for a long time. Now he had gotten used to it, had been tempered...
Now nightmares haunted their enemies. Relentlessly.
Some of them, despite their age, were surely wetting their trousers.
Ten minutes had passed since Gilad handed Thrawn the reports from the task forces that had struck the first blow.
According to the plan, this was supposed to be the trigger for the attack...
But Thrawn still hadn't given the order. And that... would have been strange if it had happened even six months ago.
Now no one was surprised that the Grand Admiral occasionally adjusted his plans based on incoming operational data.
Right now, that seemed to be what was happening.
Whatever reason was delaying the attack, the Grand Admiral had compelling arguments. Pellaeon had no doubt of that.
"Questions, Captain?" Thrawn inquired unexpectedly.
Asked in a smooth, pleasant voice full of authority and control over everything happening, this question — just two words — instantly sharpened the attention of the entire bridge watch.
Just think — three months ago, Gilad would have considered his crew a bunch of clumsy conscripts.
Now they were seasoned space wolves who had passed through the crucible of dozens of battles.
Just like the crews of every single ship in the Dominion regular fleet.
"None, sir," Pellaeon looked into Thrawn's eyes.
For a brief moment, the eyes burning with bright fire studied the captain of the Chimaera intently. Gilad felt his heart skip a beat. Another, and another...
"Start breathing, Captain," Thrawn said in the same impeccably refined tone. "I wouldn't want you to miss the upcoming battle."
"Yes, sir." In moments like these, when you looked the Grand Admiral straight in the eyes, it seemed as though he was studying you so thoroughly that he had already uncovered the secrets of your DNA. He simply didn't see the need to mention it.
"I assume you're wondering about the reason for the delay?" Thrawn handed him back the datapad.
"Affirmative, sir," Pellaeon admitted. "The first phase is complete. The targets have been struck. All the Republic lackeys who were supposed to inform the First Fleet of their distress have done so. The operation on Bespin is in full swing, on Kril'Dor as well... The fleet is ready to strike the key target!"
"The fleet has already struck the key target of this campaign's first phase," Thrawn replied phlegmatically. "By the time the New Republic realizes that its tibanna suppliers — the largest and nearest — have stopped responding, we will have finished this part of the operation's third phase and moved on to strikes against the Zann Consortium."
Pellaeon couldn't help it — he blinked in surprise.
"A two-front campaign, sir?"
"Yes," Thrawn answered simply. "But technically, the fronts of our activity number in the dozens."
"Affirmative, sir," Pellaeon repeated, analyzing what was said.
"Despite the recovery and growth of the fleet, we must also consider the future, Captain," the Grand Admiral continued. "I need the production facilities of Hypori and Saleucami for the third phase of the operation to conclude as I have designed it."
If only he knew what that entailed...
"So you aren't planning to attack right now?" Gilad asked absently.
The wandering smile on Thrawn's face became hard, like durasteel after tempering.
"I did not order the revival of Project Morrt only to not use it with maximum effect for the situation."
Pellaeon glanced at the distant spark of the yellow star and sighed resignedly; he was failing to understand something again.
"In that case... why did we arrive here so early?"
"For three reasons, Captain. Our opponent had the stupidity to repeat his mistakes. A disciplinary beating is necessary. That is the first. Time is needed for the First Fleet of the New Republic to adequately respond to the attacks on Reecee, Chandrila, Kril'Dor, and Roxuli. As it turns out, they are rather slow in decision-making. That is the second. And finally, not all the actors are at a sufficient distance to arrive at the point of destination of interest to us by the required moment. That is the third. It is also the last."
Pellaeon thought the grand admiral's burning eyes were ready to melt metal at that moment.
After Soulex, Thrawn had hardened.
The failure with the damaged Nemesis and Ackbar's escape had evidently disrupted his plans, so...
So what?
Not clear. Not a single shred of clarity.
"Never forget, Captain," his voice sounded like a river flowing across a plain. Calm, measured, as if on a beaten track. "Our goal is not to defend the interests of the Imperial Remnants rotting from within. At this moment, we need to strike the New Republic such a blow that they wouldn't even think of meddling in our affairs anytime soon. By the time they recover and develop a strategy to defeat me once and for all, we will be ready to guarantee the security of the Dominion. And also — the normal functioning of the economy and the military-industrial complex. Without these two components, the Dominion will fall. I do not wish such an outcome for my creation. We need to free our hands and temporarily force the New Republic into a purely defensive stance. Then the implementation of the postponed attacks will be enough to complete what has been planned."
Pellaeon remained silent.
He did not grasp the deeper meaning of Thrawn's monologue, but obviously, he was not supposed to.
"Inform the fleet that final preparations are to begin on the starships," the grand admiral ordered...
"Yes, s-sir!"