As soon as the Eta-2 Actis left hyperspace behind, the tunnel of light ceased to exist.
Only the endless sea of stars surrounded the Togruta, trapped in the cramped cockpit of the interceptor.
The young woman stretched languidly, loosening up after the meditative trance she had maintained throughout the flight.
The first thing she instantly felt was the Actis lurching forward, accelerating from a standstill.
The second was the howl of the astromech, dressing her down in binary so colorfully that if she had ears, they'd surely be blushing.
"Oh, sorry, sorry," the girl muttered, lifting her foot off the accelerator pedal. "It's not my fault everything's so cramped in here and my legs are long..."
The astromech, a cantankerous bucket of bolts with an optical sensor and a considerable number of spare parts inside, angrily beeped each of the sixteen points from the operational manual for this type of ship that she had violated in that short span of time.
"And I used to think Senator Amidala's protocol droid was cranky," the girl sighed. "Drop the booster ring, switch to sublight on the interceptor."
The clamps detached silently, and the nimble machine shot forward, deploying its solar panels.
The cockpit's automatic polarization system kicked in the moment the sensors detected excessive brightness.
And she had to admit, there was plenty to shine out here.
Fully aware she was observing a binary star system where the planet she needed had a figure-eight orbit, Ahsoka still couldn't tear herself away from contemplating such a magnificent spectacle.
Occupying only the third orbital position, the target planet had two moons, but they held little interest for the Togruta.
She had come here following the beacon signal of an old friend who had disappeared long ago and stopped making contact.
Ahsoka had tracked the trail to quadrant R-6 in the Auril sector...
"Is the beacon signal stable?" she asked, just in case.
The astromech hummed in affirmative agreement.
Well, she had no other reason to postpone a communications session.
"Establish contact with the Grand Admiral," she ordered, steering the interceptor on low power so it would close on the target along the least detectable orbit.
Whatever had happened here, Eymand couldn't have just stopped making contact for no reason.
No matter what authority Thrawn had vested in him, disappearing completely was unlike him.
It remained a mystery why the Grand Admiral himself hadn't raised the alarm when reports from the Zabrak stopped coming in.
In general terms, she understood that the Shadow Guardsmen, of which Eymand was a part, were not simple agents reporting every little thing to Thrawn. Nor were they the kind of individuals who would clear every action with their superiors to avoid mistakes.
They were perfectly capable professionals who could get along without anyone's support for extended periods.
At least — the Jedi.
Well, considering everything she had pulled off in her life, and especially her intentions regarding the Dominion's ruler himself, she could say she was incredibly lucky to have been assigned to the Shadow Guard.
Though she herself clearly saw it as a huge advance.
So huge that the only things bigger were either a Hutt who had eaten himself to the size of his own repulsor barge.
Or maybe a Jawa sandcrawler...
Either way, it was a promotion and recognition of her achievements.
A confirmation of the loyalty she had decided to only strengthen after the battle at Hypori.
Big, clean plans were all well and good, but there was one issue: one person, even a Jedi, was not an army.
And no matter how much skepticism she had for the concept — Jedi serving Imperials — the fact remained. Both sides in their original forms hadn't survived.
You can pound your chest all you want and repeat platitudes about nobility and protectors of peace, but facts are stubborn things.
The New Republic is not a government capable of maintaining peace and order.
Grand Master Yoda would surely have wept if he'd heard her pronouncements.
And he certainly wouldn't have regretted the High Council expelling her from the Order.
A pity, a real pity, that democracy is merely an illusion.
On a galactic scale, at least.
"Lady Tano," came the reply from the miniature hologram of Thrawn projected from the portable device.
Just think — she has the trust of the very man she'd planned to kill if she didn't like his vision for the galaxy's future.
And those she'd lived side by side with her entire life never believed her back then, during the explosion at the Jedi Temple.
Maybe the Jedi truly are a relic of the past, and the galaxy should stop viewing the Force, the world, and the place of the gifted through the narrow lens of just the Light and Dark sides?
"Grand Admiral," she replied in the same tone. "I've arrived at the orbit of Ossus. The beacon is operational, and I'm beginning my descent to investigate the circumstances of Master Eymand's disappearance."
"Good," Thrawn replied. "I'm forwarding you the comm frequency for the Hand — she's already on-site and will bring you up to speed."
She took a moment to process what she'd heard.
"Understood," the young woman said, disconnecting the transmitter.
Alright, fine — complete trust still had to be earned.
* * *
When the hologram faded, Dor Reder didn't look particularly impressed or upset.
For him, it was as if nothing had changed at all.
Eric swirled the contents of his glass, hinting to his comrade that he could relieve the tension anytime with some excellent Corellian whiskey.
Dor followed his advice, taking a small sip.
The women sitting on the soft sofas in the lounge chose to continue boring holes into each other with murderous glares.
On one hand, it was amusing; on the other...
Who can understand these women?
It's not like he was going to ask Ventress and Niclara why they'd taken such a dislike to each other.
"A good proposition," Reder finally said, having drained half his glass. "Keeping all Imperial service credits, a salary increase, being back 'in the game,' a normal life, if you can call it that..."
"I'm sure there will be some among the crews who won't want to serve the Dominion," Niclara remarked quietly. "Even on the Krueger, there are those who don't care for aliens."
"Thrawn was quite clear on that point," Ventress reminded her. "Anyone who isn't satisfied can leave in whatever direction they choose. There will be no persecution."
"I'm happy to believe that," the Alderaanian's tone suggested otherwise.
"Either way, I think the offer is sound," Dor declared, drawing a line under the women's argument. "Eric, we're heading back to the Krueger. I'll need a few hours to relay the Grand Admiral's offer to all crew members. Some more time to settle accounts with those who want to leave immediately. I don't think Thrawn would object if I gave the Marauders to those who want to get out?"
"I'm sure he wouldn't," Eric agreed.
The Dominion didn't have much of that morally obsolete, "veteran" equipment. And judging by the fact it was being sent to defense fleets, Thrawn was gradually moving away from the "anything will do" approach.
Slowly but surely, the Dominion fleet was becoming standardized.
Over time, all these half-measures and ships that had somehow ended up in the Grand Admiral's hands would fade into obscurity, becoming training vessels that no one would even notice when they finally fell apart.
"In that case, I'm heading back to the Krueger," Dor said, rising from the sofa. "Niclara, are you coming with me?"
"With your permission, Captain, I'd like to stay on the Crimson Dawn," the woman said phlegmatically, looking straight into the squadron commander's eyes.
"If Commodore Shohashi has no objections," Dor noted, shifting his gaze between the Alderaanian man and woman.
"If you don't mind, Captain Reder, I'd like a word with your first officer," Eric stated.
"Well, I bet you would," Dor snorted, his phlegmatic demeanor finally cracking. "We won't get in your way. Lady Varnilian, would you do me the honor of a small tour..."
"Only if it's to the incinerator," the Dathomirian witch replied, as delicate as ever.
The very picture of femininity, wrapped in a shell of rage and a maniacal desire to kill.
One way or another, only the natives of Alderaan remained in the lounge.
Eric reached for the bottle and poured himself more whiskey.
The crystal decanter clinked loudly against the rim of the glass.
"I see your nerves are still shot," Niclara said.
"A lingering effect of the mutiny and my injury," Eric stated, setting the bottle aside. "I'm not offering you any. As I recall, you're not a drinker. Has that changed?"
"It hasn't," Niclara said, looking away. "I heard about the mutiny on the Imperious too... and your raids in the Outer Rim after Endor..."
"Of course you heard," Eric said through clenched teeth. "Since you survived. Billions died, but you're alive. You were alive and silent all this time!"
"That sounded like you're not glad I survived," Niclara said with distaste.
"I mourned you!" Eric shouted, sweeping both the glass and the bottle off the table in a fit of rage.
Both crystal objects shattered into pieces with a crash.
Niclara didn't even flinch.
"Your nerves are clearly not in order," she said.
Eric snarled.
"You were alive!" he repeated. "All these years since the Battle of Yavin, you were alive!"
"So what?!" the Alderaanian woman also raised her voice without preamble. "Was I supposed to send you a message? Fly over for a visit? Apologize for my husband shooting you?!"
"You just had to say you weren't on the Death Star!" Eric shouted.
"I was transferred right before the jump into the Yavin system," the young woman replied. "Right after Grand Moff Tarkin tested the superlaser — which I was responsible for calibrating — on our homeworld, I was transferred to the Star Destroyer Pulsar as Senior Artillery Officer under Commander Dor Reder. It was there that I learned my dear husband had turned traitor and attempted to kill you. But I was bound by a non-disclosure agreement!"
"I don't give a damn about that agreement!" Eric gripped the head of his cane. "I served alongside Reder! You could have passed information through him!"
"I couldn't!" Niclara shouted back just as loudly. "The ISB had only just stopped harassing me over my husband's investigations when I was sent on leave. On Ord Mantell, I identified a couple of Rebel operatives. I planned to capture them to salvage my reputation, but I failed! It led to the deaths of several Imperial soldiers. I was demoted but kept on board the Pulsar until the Battle of Endor."
"When Palpatine died and everything went to hell, then you could have contacted me!" Eric's voice didn't drop. "No one would have cared about the past! Everyone was scrambling for power however they could!"
"Yes, but when the Pulsar crew was captured by the Republic and escaped, it turned out you'd simply vanished! You were nowhere to be found! There was no way to reach you! I followed Reder into service under Drommel, but I deserted that bastard, gathered a small squad, and terrorized Rebels across the Outer Rim, hoping to run into you! And you'd fallen into a black hole!"
"I was following my oath!"
"And what was I supposed to do, stare at Twi'leks in a strip bar?!" Niclara snapped, also jumping off the sofa to stand face-to-face with the commander of the Crimson Dawn. "Then you went into service with those bastards from Imperial Space! And then that whole thing with Irene's death came up, with Isard's ears sticking out from every corner! Was I supposed to put out a call: 'Looking for my little brother across the galaxy! Distinguishing features: pirates crap their pants at the sight of him, and he likes hunting his own kind. Yes, that's right, I'm the sister of the 'Butcher of Atoa' anyone with a bone to pick, let's meet up! Is that what I should have done?!"
"You did nothing!" Eric shouted in her face. "I mourned you for ten years!"
"For your focusing lens's sake, Shohashi!" the artillerywoman swore. "Do you even have a brain?! I just explained why I didn't! Or would you have preferred if Isard — the one you decided to hunt — found me first and used me to lure you out, like a Jedi trying to save the galaxy?!"
"The Iceheart has been dead for months!" Shohashi threw out.
"I've been stuck in the Outer Rim and the Unknown Regions for two years!" his sister replied. "I didn't even know you were still alive! We only just got out and received information from our suppliers! I've been in charted space for a single day! When I saw you, the Imperious, this squadron... I couldn't even speak from joy!"
Eric stared into his sister's eyes for several seconds, not looking away, as if trying to find the fine wrinkles on her face that inevitably appeared with the passing years.
Niclara Varnilian (sister of Eric Shohashi).
Conflicting feelings warred within him.
The desire to say everything that had boiled over.
The urge to hug and hold close the one he'd long considered dead...
And the simple human emotions he'd suppressed for so long...
Shohashi closed his eyes, cutting himself off from the surrounding reality.
He took a deep breath.
Exhaled.
Opened his eyes.
"I'm glad you're alive, Niclara," he said in a calm, more familiar, restrained, almost official tone.
"I believe you," the Alderaanian said with a faint smile. "I'm glad to see you too. Believe me, I thought the best option was not to draw Isard's wrath down on us both and to keep the secret..."
"It's all in the past," Eric said, extending his left arm and pulling his sister into a half-embrace. "You're alive, I'm alive... and we're on the same side."
"Always on the same side," Niclara said, rubbing her thick mane of hair against his chest, just like in childhood. "Well, except for that time you almost choked me..."
"You married my first mate," Eric recalled.
"If I'd known he'd betray me, I'd have shot him at the altar," Niclara declared, running her hand over the colorful rank cubes on his chest. "A commodore's bar... You've earned it for a long time. Will you tell me how you got it?"
"Definitely," Eric promised. "First, we need to finish securing the Korsa Sector..."
"We can help," Niclara assured him.
"First — repairs," Shohashi said flatly. "I won't take a damaged ship into battle, especially one not yet in Dominion service."
"I'd forgotten what a stickler for regulations you are," the Alderaanian woman sighed, pulling away from her brother. She glanced quickly at the ship's chronometer. "I'm fine myself, and Reder is too — we'll go into Dominion service. The rest... Let the squadron commander decide. And we have time to tell each other what's happened over these ten years."
"Of course," Eric said with a strained smile, fully aware that today would be all they'd have for the foreseeable future. Despite everything, however much he wanted to keep a piece of his past that had miraculously come back within arm's reach, Niclara would serve in a different unit. Relatives should not be in each other's chain of command.
He hadn't made an exception for his friend, and he certainly couldn't afford the luxury of breaking the rules. If you don't follow them yourself, why should your subordinates?
"Alright," Niclara said, looking at her brother with a smile. "Start by telling me how you came to command a star dreadnought and an entire task force the size of a strike squadron."
"It's disgustingly simple," Eric stated. "I decided to attack that very dreadnought with just the Imperious."
His sister coughed.
"You attacked a predator as prey?" she clarified.
"Yes," Eric confirmed. "But I wasn't alone there, of course..."
* * *
Ellie Stark gave him anything but a kind look.
"And that's all you want to ask me after all these years?" she asked. "Whether I'm working with the Zann Consortium?! Not 'Hello, it's good to see you!' Not 'I'm sorry I abandoned you and ran,' but that?"
Jahan massaged his temples vigorously.
Three hours of the same thing.
And, oddly enough, only Stark could give him a headache, tenderness, and sympathy all at once.
"Ellie," he said as gently as possible, knowing that if he pushed, she'd shut down completely, "this really is important. The people who made that deal with you are puppets of the Zann Consortium!"
"I heard those criminals were brought to justice a long time ago," Ellie said. She had a wonderful trait. Not her only one, of course, but this ability of hers to instantly grasp a situation and separate the important from the secondary was exactly why Jahan had once recommended she become an Imperial agent.
And who knows, she might have made it if not for her lineage and the Empire's bureaucratic obstacles.
"Unfortunately, not all of them," Jahan stated. "The leadership has gone to ground, and in the current reality, we, the Dominion, need to get rid of them."
"I recall the Empire once took on the role of galactic police," the girl said. "And in just over twenty years, that police station fell apart into competing departments."
He wanted to say it was completely different, but getting into an argument during an interrogation wasn't wise.
"Darling," Jahan said, moving closer, giving a disarmingly understanding smile while putting an arm around the girl. "I understand that after all these years, there's a rift between us. But right now, this matter is more important than you and me. The Zann Consortium is preparing a counter-offensive. And they're about to acquire a droid army and a fleet."
"You're getting a little ahead of yourself about the droid army," Stark remarked, shaking his hand off her shoulder. "The Rossum factory is destroyed."
"And it might not be the only one producing battle droids," Jahan stated. "That's why I need the name of whoever offered you that contract in the first place. Ellie, I'm asking you to tell me that name, or names, for the sake of saving lives."
Whoever that person was, they clearly knew both the production capabilities of Rossum Industries and the needs of the Zann Consortium.
It could have been someone from the company's staff, or conversely, someone from the Corporate Sector Authority. They had signed the contract, but beforehand they would have needed to know whether Rossum could even fulfill such a contract.
"Jahan, do you realize how insane that sounds?" And there was her bad side.
Ellie, like any human woman, was incapable of processing logical arguments and thinking about the greater good for long if it came at the expense of her own interests and ego.
"You spied on me, kidnapped me, blew up my own factory, dragged me to an Imperial state known for spreading terror and chaos across the galaxy, and you're asking for help?" The girl looked at the agent as if he had completely and irrevocably lost his mind.
"First of all, I saved you," Jahan clarified. "The Zann Consortium doesn't leave witnesses. You would have either been brainwashed or eliminated. There were no other options. Since the organization was crippled, its leadership has been acting much more ruthlessly."
"And you destroyed the factory so the enemy couldn't get the droids," Ellie said with a knowing nod.
"I knew you'd understand," Cross assured her.
"But there's a weak point in your plan," the girl stated.
"And what's that?"
"Why do you think I'm not working directly with the Zann Consortium?" the girl asked. "You said yourself they could have brainwashed me. Or forced me..."
"The latter is no longer a viable option for solving problems for that organization," Jahan stated. "They don't take anyone at their word. Only elimination or brainwashing."
"Alright, then why do you think they didn't brainwash me and that I wasn't doing what I did out of loyalty to them?" the girl pressed on.
"Because if that were the case, no one would have paid you billions for even such a large batch of droids," Jahan explained. "Criminals don't like spending money where they can cut costs. It would have been much simpler to frame it as charity from your company — and you'd have produced those droids at cost. Besides, I believe in your honesty and integrity."
"Well, thanks for that much," the girl snorted, folding her arms across her chest.
She sat in complete silence for a few seconds before speaking.
"The Authority's military-industrial sector advisor," she said, her voice carrying several resentful notes. "He was the one who suggested I modernize my production line for those droids. He was the one who gave me all the updated documentation for manufacturing the improved machines. He was the one who lobbied for the contract's execution within the Corporate Sector Authority. Aveka said you were at the reception celebrating the contract signing."
"Yes," Jahan agreed.
"Then you should have noticed the brute who practically groped me all over," the girl said with disgust. "That's him. A disgusting type — especially after we signed the contract, he started acting like we had a master-servant relationship."
"I'm sorry I couldn't spare you his company earlier," Jahan said, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. "Everything will be fine now. You know, about the destroyed factory... Several production complexes are opening up in the Dominion, including for droid manufacturing. The Grand Admiral is looking for suitable managers..."
"Compensation for a destroyed factory?" Ellie raised an eyebrow.
"Something like that," Cross assured her.
"Instead of billions of credits' worth of property, you're offering me the position of manager of state-owned assets," the young woman sighed. "You clearly think this is the best offer there could be."
"Yes."
"Because you've already decided for me that the Dominion will be my new home?" the girl asked.
"I'm afraid you simply have no other choice," Jahan shook his head. "Anywhere else, the Consortium's mercenaries could reach you without any trouble. Here, you'll be protected — it's part of the deal for cooperating in droid and military equipment production management. Oh, and a small villa on a tropical planet as a little bonus."
"And does a marriage proposal come with the deal?" Stark asked venomously. "I recall you said a lot of things..."
"As soon as the threat of the Consortium is eliminated," Jahan said unexpectedly, looking the girl in the eyes, "we'll get married."
Ellie looked at him with disbelief.
A spectrum of emotions crossed her face, as many as the young woman was capable of.
"Just like that," she hedged, clearly not expecting such an answer. "I... we haven't seen each other for so many years! I need time and..."
"As much time as you need," Jahan assured her, kissing her hand. "For now, think about our future. I need to get back to work."
Leaving the girl visibly stunned by what she'd heard, Agent Cross left the guest apartments in the government palace where Stark was staying.
Silently passing the guards, trying not to pay attention to the Noghri lurking in the shadows, the man entered a small room adjacent to the guest apartments. Few ordinary residents paid attention to such rooms — they usually contained charging stations for droids.
But this particular room held several beings.
And they were all clad in long dark cloaks that made them look like Jedi.
With the sole exception that under the cloaks were not light tunics, but armor. Their faces were also hidden behind sealed helmets.
All except one — a Mon Calamari. But that was understandable — go find a helmet for someone from Dac. And how much would it weigh with all the necessary protection elements...
"Thank you very much for bringing her out of her focused state," said the Mon Calamari himself.
"During an unexpected emotional outburst, you can read a lot from a person's facial expressions and gestures," Jahan explained. "I didn't think it would help your analysis too."
"Yes, it helped," the Mon Calamari stated. "We will, of course, continue observation and analysis of her emotional field."
"Those are the Grand Admiral's orders," Jahan nodded understandingly. "But, in broad strokes, can you at least tell me — is she really saying what she thinks, or is it all just clever play?"
"She is being sincere," the Mon Calamari stated.
"Almost," said the shortest of the three in sealed helmets unexpectedly. "She has some secret she's afraid to tell you."
"Are you sure, Protector Sabre De'Luz?" the Mon Calamari inquired.
"Yes," the other replied. He turned his head toward Jahan. "When you proposed marriage to her, she became agitated, thinking you might find out about something she preferred to keep hidden all this time — since the moment you parted ways..."
"That could be a recruitment moment," the Mon Calamari noted.
"No," Jahan said confidently, looking sad. "It's related to our past. Something I found in intelligence archives. The real reason she wasn't admitted to the Imperial Intelligence Academy."
"You feel pain and shame for your actions," said the one called 'Protector Sabre De'Luz.' "Guilt..."
"Yes," Jahan said, his tone turning serious. "It's entirely my fault. Almost thirteen years ago, Ellie Stark got pregnant by me. She went all the way to Blackhole himself to get permission to enter and study. The bastard ordered her to get an abortion as proof of her loyalty to the Empire."
"I suspect that was a perverse joke by the Director of Imperial Intelligence," said Protector Sabre De'Luz. "The memories of what she's hiding are painful and filled with self-flagellation..."
"She believed my words that her place was in Imperial Intelligence and went through with it," Jahan's voice wavered slightly, but he quickly composed himself. "And Blackhole threw her out."
"The Order of the Jensaarai offers its condolences," the Mon Calamari said. "A heavy loss..."
"It'll get easier when we find that bastard and make him pay for everything," Jahan said firmly. "Bre'ano Umakk, are your Protectors ready for the operation to destroy the Ubiqtorate?"
"The best of those I've trained are here," the Mon Calamari declared. "The first fully trained Jensaarai defenders in such a long time..."
"That's good," Jahan interrupted him. "Leave someone to watch over Ellie, and have the rest come aboard the ship — it's time we headed to the rendezvous point. The humiliation of the Ubiqtorate begins today."
"You mean 'destruction,' don't you?" clarified Defender Sabre De'Luz.
"In the end, yes," Jahan confirmed. "But first, we'll humiliate them across the entire galaxy."
* * *
A star system that had no name, not even a mention in astrogation atlases, nonetheless had some designation.
It lay within the borders of the Korva sector in the Outer Rim.
One of the most remote systems in the sector, it contained a planet suitable for oxygen-breathing species.
No native lifeforms had ever been observed here — at least that was what the Republican records said, the ones discovered and captured during Grand Admiral Thrawn's attack on Coruscant.
In the past, the Alliance to Restore the Republic, and now the New Republic, maintained a secret and well-hidden fighter base on this nameless planet.
In the New Republic's internal intelligence documents, this facility was called "Titan Base." According to those same documents, located deep in the rear territories near the borders of space controlled by the Imperial Remnants, this base had never maintained direct contact with command, existing in isolation.
The Republicans kept the system location of "Titan Base" secret even from rebel agents brought there from elsewhere. The right approach when secrecy is paramount.
The enemy made only one mistake — it sent a courier ship to warn the base personnel that their location data had been compromised. And it did so by sending the starship through territories where Dominion raiders operated.
And now, payback had arrived.
At least, that's what they said during the briefing when issuing the assignment and transport.
Sergeant TNX-0297, like the rest of the fighters of the Fourth Special Squad of Assault Commandos, considered this raid no more than another job.
One that should be executed, as always, flawlessly. Mistakes in the work of Assault Commandos are an indicator of inefficiency.
Such things are unacceptable.
The complete base layout had been obtained from Republican records.
Located in an underground cave, with a single exit that also served as a landing strip. For both the dozen X-wings stationed at the base and the supply or personnel transports arriving there.
The unit based here was called "Nightmare Squadron" and was equipped with a dozen T-65B fighters. Raiders responsible for destroying more than one Imperial military facility in nearby sectors. But they gained their greatest notoriety from a raid that resulted in the destruction of an Imperial superweapon prototype known as the "Shell-Cracker." The prototype's purpose was the destruction of enemy starships. It had a complex shield structure containing lattice ion energy, designed to disrupt particle and ray shields, and to deliver a series of bombs against the target.
This information, along with data on the complete destruction of both the development work and all personnel, was also contained in the Republican mission report.
Nightmare Squadron and Republican agents had destroyed over three hundred Imperial scientists and specialists. Irreplaceable personnel losses.
However, for vengeance, this was no more than a pretext, an excuse.
The true reason the Fourth Special Squad had been sent on this mission was simple. And timeless.
Destruction of the enemy on the conquered territory of the Korva sector.
There is an order — it will be carried out.
The captured Republican freighter, after exchanging codes with the "Titan Base" checkpoint, passed the outer perimeter and approached the opening of the natural hangar.
Once inside, the ship flew several hundred meters before the captured Republican pilot, taken along with the vessel, steered the starship into a niche carved into the rock.
As far as the eye could see, the base looked more like a small underground city, though roughly organized inside the rock.
Makeshift houses, small streets, attempts to give a military facility the semblance of a surface settlement.
Except that artificial lighting replaced natural light. Even the rocky "ceiling" was painted in white and blue tones for a crude imitation of the sky.
Psychological comfort for those forced to remain in the deep rear due to the specific conditions of their service.
The base consisted of a command post, a hangar, barracks, and a firing range. Building height — standard three stories.
Wasteful.
A dozen X-wings were located in rocky revetments on both sides of the landing strip.
Typical arrangement.
Personnel — just over fifty people, only half of whom were security.
But, well-trained enough — Republican troopers are a serious opponent, with proper training.
It would be tough, but otherwise, they wouldn't have sent a special squad here.
All logical.
Time to start.
"They're supposed to help with the unloading," TNX-0293 said to the pilot, who repeated it into his comlink.
"What's the matter?" suspicion crept into the base commander's voice.
"You're in a hurry, falling behind schedule," the commander of the Fourth Special Squad repeated the procedure.
"Alright," the commander said reluctantly. "The guys are busy at the range, I'll send the techs. How much is there to unload?"
The facility's secrecy and lack of direct communication with command — that's a two-way street. They don't know about you, but you don't know anything either.
The perfect situation.
"Twenty containers," the pilot repeated what TNX-0297 had told him.
"Alright, techs are on their way," the commander said. "The pilots and security are at the range, having a shooting competition, so don't blame me. Distracting those guys from their work is just asking for trouble."
No discipline whatsoever.
The characteristic psychology of remote garrisons with a small staff is traditionally linked to a decline in efficiency, morale, and the principles of unified command.
"I'm waiting," the Republican pilot replied, looking at the special squad commander, clad in the black armor of scout troopers.
But better.
"A hundred with me, right?" the man asked in a trembling voice.
The answer was a quick, but strong, blow to the jaw, sending the Republican into a long sleep.
"Prepare for battle," TNX-0297 said over the squad's internal comm.
He exited the cockpit, checking his SoroSuub blaster rifle on the move. Designed to muffle the sound of the shot and the brightness of the flash, it was an indispensable weapon for "delicate operations."
TNX-0333 secured a modified flamethrower on his back. This time, something new would be tested — a development of the commandos themselves.
The other two fighters armed themselves with rifles — in the coming battle, specialized equipment or long-range rifles weren't as important for them.
When the cargo ramp lowered, eight Republicans in technician overalls were already standing at the bottom.
They were laughing and chatting with each other, paying almost no attention to the dark maw of the cargo hold, waiting for the cargo repulsor sleds with transport containers to descend to them.
They simply didn't see the four fighters in matte-black gear.
That was the point.
But there's no fooling oneself — everyone on this base is a serviceman, and with a security clearance.
"Engage," the sergeant commanded.
A burst from four rifles with muffled shots cut down all eight in less than a second.
"Continue," TNX-0297 ordered.
The four fighters, splitting into pairs, reached two objectives designated for the first strike in a lightning dash.
The command post was currently half-empty.
A lone guard trooper was bored, sitting on a crate, devoting his attention exclusively to a computer game on his datapad.
He died in an instant as the glossy-black obsidian blade of a combat knife pierced his right eyeball, lodging firmly in the socket.
TNX-0297 didn't waste time retrieving the weapon from the enemy's body — every second counted now.
Together with another fighter, he entered the command center.
Two short bursts — and a dozen operators died right at the base's terminals, never raising an alarm.
The base commander, wounded in the leg, collapsed to the floor.
The next moment, an Assault Commando took him out with a short blow to the head.
Another second to immobilize the prisoner and gag him.
Leaving the command center, TNX-0297 received a report from the commander of the second "pair."
TNX-0333 reported an additional seven eliminated targets. All were eliminated with knives — no alarm raised.
Not the slightest sign of an alarm — and twenty-seven enemy fighters neutralized. One prisoner.
Twenty-two left.
The pilots and troopers remained — a tough target for a firefight.
Especially given that they were currently at the firing range and armed.
A direct assault could result in casualties.
Unacceptable.
"Execute," the sergeant ordered the flamethrower operator.
The only entrance to the range, separated from the rest of the base by permacrete walls that had already sustained some damage, was located right next to the just-cleared barracks.
Blocking the only exit, the Assault Commandos began the final phase of the "Titan Base" clearance plan.
The remaining enemies were clustered around the targets, discussing their shooting scores.
The perfect time to test the new weapon and provide a conclusion on whether it needed refinement or could be put into serial production by the Dominion's military-industrial complex.
The handheld assault thermobaric grenade, according to the weapon designers' intent, was designed to incapacitate and defeat enemy personnel with its shockwave within a radius of up to twenty-five meters in open terrain, in various types of cover, behind natural local obstacles, and in enclosed buildings and engineering structures.
Detonation method — impact or remote.
Suitable for both direct attack or defense, as well as setting ambushes.
The shooting range perfectly met all requirements for this type of weaponry.
At the sergeant's signal, the Assault Commandos switched the experimental munitions to remote detonation.
Distance from the entrance to the enemy's position — thirty meters. Enclosed space, no extra windows or doors. Ceiling height — over twenty meters — a natural grotto.
Guaranteed elimination.
Anyone who survived would be taken prisoner.
Four grenades flew onto the range in a single throw.
"Detonators!" someone from the Republican fighters shouted.
Blaster bolts shot towards the exit.
But they flew uselessly past the Assault Commandos, or were absorbed by the walls, leaving only black scorch marks.
"Detonate," TNX-0297 ordered, holding the corresponding device in his hand.
The fighters followed his order.
The shockwave and explosive force in the enclosed space caused partial destruction of the permacrete walls.
And also scattered the mangled and broken bodies of Republican dead across the entire range.
Two survivors. Choking on blood from shattered ribs, it was more merciful to finish them off.
They wouldn't become prisoners — they simply wouldn't survive.
And needless suffering for the doomed is wrong. Not efficient.
It's sadism.
That's not the way of the Fourth Special Squad.
The enemy should be respected, and mercy shown in finishing them off.
That was Colonel Selid's belief. And his clones had no reason to distrust the rich life experience of their genetic donor.
Two muffled crimson flashes ended the enemy's suffering.
The Fourth Special Squad goes "Boom."
It took the four Assault Commandos two minutes to search the base and count the bodies.
After the clearance and control period expired, the commander of the Fourth Special Squad activated the comlink aboard the freighter:
"Star Destroyer 'Adamant', mission complete," this Victory-class had previously been occupied guarding the planet Wayland. But now it had been returned to the regular fleet.
And it was the support ship for this mission.
"Acknowledged," the ship's commander replied. "Moving into the system. Prepare for extraction — Grand Admiral Thrawn has requested your return to the Chimaera."
"Understood," TNX-0297 replied calmly.
A change of deployment meant a new assignment.
Just what was needed to bring the two new fighters up to the required standard.
* * *
"Luke, are you sure?" Leia's hologram definitely conveyed suspicion and concern. The very same she felt during the conversation with her brother. "That's a very remote region of the galaxy."
"Yes, we've already checked with the navigation databases," the white-and-blue projection of the Jedi Knight replied, smiling.
"I sense concern in the Force," the sister said, embarrassed.
"Those are echoes of what's to come," Luke replied, growing serious. "That's why I need to continue my mission. The fate of all Jedi depends on this flight."
"Wait at least a day or so," Han interjected, approaching his wife and putting his arm around her shoulders. "I'll get in touch with Elom and have a couple of Mon Calamari star cruisers shepherded there. Not the greatest thing, of course, but much better than sticking your head straight into a krayt dragon's mouth."
"If something truly is happening on that planet that has you so stirred up, it's worth waiting at least a little," the princess supported the Corellian.
"I'm sorry," Luke shook his head. "The Force calls me there, and I have to be there. There's no other way. Otherwise..."
"Yes, you've said," Leia winced. "The future of the Jedi depends on your mission. But you should take a few extra precautions. You're alone, and if there's an enemy there... Remember Polis Massa."
"I'm not alone," the Jedi Knight assured his sister. "I have the Force with me..."
A delicate cough sounded.
"And also Irene," Skywalker added, looking away.
Han let out a completely tactless whistle.
"Oh, well, if you have my countrywoman at hand, then everything will definitely go..." Solo paused, feeling a sharp elbow from his wife. ."..then everything will definitely be fine."
"Thanks for the encouragement," Luke smiled. "We need to get ready to exit hyperspace, so... If no one objects, I'd like to do the piloting. This system has major gravitational anomalies, a binary star, and all that..."
Han opened his mouth to make corrections regarding the accuracy of the astronomical terminology, but Leia tested his ribs for resilience again.
"Of course," she said. "We'll be waiting to hear from you."
"As soon as there's news — most certainly," the Jedi nodded, ending the holocall.
Leia stared for a few seconds at the spot where her brother's hologram had just been.
"I feel uneasy," she admitted.
"You're not the only one," her husband shared her anxiety, starting to search vigorously through his comlink. "And, I think, kid is slightly overestimating his abilities, going there alone."
"He has that new acquaintance of his with him," Leia said with a hint of jealousy. "Irene..."
"That's precisely why, when dealing with Corellians, you should always have a backup plan," Solo shared his worldly wisdom with his wife.
"You could have told me that back when we were swimming in the garbage chute of the first 'Death Star,'" Leia said, kissing her husband on the cheek. "I would have been more careful choosing my travel companions."
"Sugar, when it comes to Corellians, and on top of that a Jedi's happiness, I'd advise not sticking your nose out of the house at all," Han, apparently having found the contact he needed, pressed the call button.
"Do you intend to call someone to help Luke?" the princess clarified.
"Not 'intend to,' but 'am already calling,'" the former smuggler correctly noted. "And not 'someone,' but a man who wouldn't mind sparing some of his precious time to save our relative's life and limb."
"For example?" Leia raised a questioning eyebrow.
But the holoprojector built into the comlink answered for itself.
"Han, Leia," greeted them the youngest general in the New Republic. "What can I and the 'Rogues' do for you?"
"Hi, Wedge," Leia waved, figuring out what was going on. "There's a small favor we'd like to ask of you."
"You know I'm always game," Antilles responded readily. "What's the cargo, where to, who are we running from?"
The old smuggler's saying.
Never before had it been more relevant.
"You're in the Third Fleet's area of responsibility right now, aren't you?" Han clarified.
"Actually, that's classified," the youngest general sniffed.
"Then let's pretend I never asked you about anything, and you generously never asked any questions," the former smuggler found a compromise. "But Luke's gone off on his Jedi business to a very notable system. Right next to your base of operations, by the way. He says the fate of the Jedi is being decided there. If Leia and I weren't currently the ones mainly responsible for getting the Imperial ships in order, I'd have packed up and headed there myself, but you understand..."
"I think," Wedge immediately perked up, "my boys could use some exercise. We'll go on patrol... Word is, the Imperials are causing trouble not far from here. So where did you say our beloved Jedi is going to meet his fate?"
"The Auril sector," Leia said. "The Adega system..."
"Some planet called Osuss," Han finished.
"Consider us already there," the youngest general of the New Republic winked, quite boyishly.
* * *
Major Tierce entered my quarters without any hindrance from Rukh.
A fleeting thought crossed my mind: why does my bodyguard take such pleasure in tormenting only the commander of my flagship?
Hypotheses, including those based on the Noghri's own words, still found no resolution. And asking directly… Why bother, if both of them are enjoying this game of "catch the Noghri"?
If it bothered Pellaeon, he would have quietly shot him long ago and thrown him out the airlock. Then you'd be left trying to prove there "ever was a Noghri."
"Vinsoth has fallen, Grand Admiral," my adjutant stated clearly and to the point, clicking his heels impeccably.
I glanced covertly at the chronometer embedded in the corner of one of the monitors.
Two hours.
Exactly two hours had passed since the 501st Legion's landing began.
Not that the Chevins didn't have an army — they did, and their slaves were armed with relatively modern weaponry.
But to fall this quickly…
"Casualties?"
"Two percent."
In other words — just under two companies. That was a very good indicator.
"Contact headquarters, request assistance with establishing a garrison," I instructed.
"Yes, sir," Grodin replied briskly.
The adjutant stood rooted to the spot, awaiting further instructions.
Perfectly aware that they would come.
They most certainly would.
"Take a shuttle and proceed to our facility in Quadrant T-6," I said, handing him an information crystal.
Even in the semi-darkness, I could see Tierce tense up.
"Permission to speak, sir?" he asked quietly, taking the data storage device.
"Yes, we are moving to the final phase of the current campaign," I replied, perfectly understanding what he was getting at. "You, Grodin, are the only one I can trust to execute the final stage of the operation flawlessly."
The guardsman's hands clenched, turning into what could be called "hundred-pound fists."
"Sir, forgive me, but this is an extremely risky step," he said, just as quietly, barely audible.
"There is no other option, Grodin," I concluded, looking at the guardsman. "We both understand perfectly well that this is the only way to buy time. Much to my regret, our defensive fortifications are not in a state that allows us to just sit it out safely. We need time. Much more than we currently have. The territory is too vast. But there's no other way — if we don't take it now, we'll have to root out the remnants from every system later."
"I understand, sir," the guardsman assured me. "But… I am certain there is another way. This step could cause everything you have built to crumble. You cannot expose yourself like this. The power structure is not yet stable."
"Yes, we could get the same thing the Empire experienced after Endor, but on a smaller scale," I agreed. "That's precisely why there are always backup plans. You and Pellaeon are the only ones who even know of their existence. And you, Grodin, know all of them. Gilad only knows the part he needs to play his role. He is a good military man, but he is no match for the enemy we are facing. Even with the files I have passed on to him."
"Sir," Tierce pursed his lips. Fascinating. The first time I've noticed him do that. "It is an honor to serve under your command. No matter how events unfold — I will not regret for a single minute my decision to serve you."
This…
Was unexpected…
A revelation.
To hear something like this from a guardsman who is capable of single-handedly clearing an enemy station…
It meant a great deal.
"Thank you for your frankness, Major," I replied. "Rest assured, that recognition and respect are mutual."
Heels clicked, and Grodin saluted.
In complete silence, he left my quarters.
And within ten minutes, a Lambda-class shuttle with my adjutant aboard departed for the rendezvous point, where Grodin would transfer to another ship and head for the objective.
I stared at the monitor screens in a mild stupor.
The plan, so well-structured at the beginning of the campaign, was beginning to come apart at the seams.
Just because no one saw the dispersion of forces and the beginning "slippage" didn't mean it wasn't there.
There was far too much to accomplish in the remaining month.
The Ubiqtorate.
Isard.
The Lusankya.
Lianna.
Sluis Van.
Not to mention the dozens of smaller operations, the results of which needed to coalesce into a single coherent picture overnight.
And certainly, one must not lose sight of Palpatine's impending return. And the Corporate Sector had clearly gotten too cozy with the remnants of the "Zann Consortium." That wasn't good either, from any perspective.
But first…
How interesting the movements of individual New Republic fleet groups are. Without knowing they're gathering for an attack on Lianna, one might genuinely think the Republicans are vigorously simulating frantic activity, showing the galaxy that previous defeats haven't completely broken them.
I activated my comlink.
"Captain Pellaeon, are we receiving telemetry from our spy droid in the Vinson system?"
"Yes, sir," Gilad replied. "Steady and identifiable. Tragan cluster, system M2934738."
So they aren't that far away.
Lurking practically right under our noses.
Well then, that makes it easier for us.
"Excellent," I concluded, checking against the lists of available ships. "We'll make some adjustments to the upcoming operation. I'm sending you the list of starships we'll need during the first phase."
"Yes, sir..." the Chimaera's commander acknowledged.
A second later, he asked again.
"Crimson Dawn? Sir, Commodore Shohashi is conducting operations in the Korsa sector."
"I know, Captain. But I'm sure he'll make a small exception to his current plans to carry out a separate assignment. He'll clearly be glad that his efforts won't go to waste this time."