Nine years, ten months, and eight days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, tenth month, and eighth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and twenty-eighth day since the Arrival.)
The Chief of Dominion Counter-Intelligence, Lieutenant Colonel Astarion, remained silent for a full minute after the visitors to his office finished presenting their version of events.
The counter-intelligence officer didn't believe a micron of what was told, and both privateers sitting before him knew it.
"So you're saying you had no intention of discovering a planet with remnants of secret Confederate production and claiming that world for yourselves?" he clarified in a businesslike tone, as if he had no complaints whatsoever about the nearly absurd story from the commanders of the Colicoid Swarm's crew.
"That's right," Captain Irvin said. "Otherwise, why would we have informed the Dominion about the discovery of planet Horn?"
"And about there being an entire settlement of people there who restored the foundry, are producing Separatist technology, and offering minor repair services?" Yazuo Vain supported his captain. "And we even negotiated with them to accept Dominion citizenship in exchange for protection and access for Dominion specialists to the planet."
Astarion smiled good-naturedly.
"The Dominion's diplomats negotiated that, Captain Vain," he clarified. "You merely provided the data on the planet's location. Don't overestimate your efforts, and certainly don't take credit for others' achievements."
"In that case," Irvin said, "the Dominion's diplomats had nothing to do with it either — the Intelligence agents did all their work for them."
Astarion smiled even wider.
"Alright, alright," he said to the men. "But those are details. More importantly, I'm interested in something else. Could you explain how you even discovered the planet, whose coordinates were inaccessible to the ordinary user of the galactic astro-navigational directory for decades?"
"What do you mean, 'inaccessible'?" Irvin tensed, exchanging glances with Yazuo Vain.
Without a doubt, both former pirates understood that things weren't as simple as the Counter-Intelligence chief was making them sound.
Seasoning truth with lies, mixing it well, and serving this dish to an unprepared listener — that was the most common method of provocative interrogation used in the Empire.
The point wasn't even that Vain and Irvin probably suspected they were being set up.
It was about how Yazuo Vain would behave.
Unlike Captain Irvin, Vain didn't possess the composure or life experience to withstand this type of interrogation.
And that was precisely why his eyes were darting back and forth, glancing at Irvin more and more often.
The junior privateer understood perfectly well that something was fishy — especially on their end. So he instinctively hoped for help from his more experienced comrade.
"You forget, I served in the CIS," Irvin said. "And I know quite a lot about what you consider classified. However, I have no idea how the coordinates of this planet could have disappeared, when the Old Republic visited the planet more than once. It's one thing if the executors — the fleet — lost the coordinates. All sorts of things happen. Fall into an ambush, a lucky ion cannon shot destroys all the ship's computers... But, as far as I remember, there was also a battle on the planet between the Empire and the Rebel Alliance, when the latter intended to use the CIS's legacy for their own purposes. So the planet's coordinates clearly exist. It's strange that the Dominion itself hasn't come there and seized the planet yet. So, the Empire must have had the coordinates."
A good position.
Backed by facts.
Irvin had no doubt been planning his defense tactics before reporting the planet to the Dominion.
"I didn't say the Empire doesn't have the coordinates of this planet," Astarion reminded him. "I said they are inaccessible to the ordinary user. In its time, the ISB spent considerable effort to conceal the location of secret Separatist bases and production facilities from all sources."
"But not from black market dealers," Irvin continued to defend his position. "Or are you trying to say these coordinates were with me all along, and your counter-intelligence officers, who turned the Colicoid Swarm upside down, couldn't find those records? In that case, I should get a bonus — I can keep secret information better than you can find it."
Admirable bravado.
Which only confirmed Astarion's suspicions.
"That matter will be discussed," the lieutenant colonel stated, having gotten everything he needed from the privateers. "You will receive the reward for discovering the planet later. I assume you understand that discussing the planet's location is forbidden?"
"You've already scrubbed all data storage devices on my ship of any information regarding Horn's location that you deemed dangerous," Irvin reminded him. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't return there."
"All the better," Astarion said. "Has the Grand Admiral briefed you on the missions awaiting you in the sectors near the Dominion's home territories?"
"Fighting pirates and other former colleagues," Captain Vain said sourly. "Like we hired on with your Counter-Intelligence."
"You can always submit a corresponding application, and I will personally review it," Astarion promised.
"No thanks, we're free privateers," Vain noted with disgust. "I hate wearing a uniform. Makes me feel like the employee of the month at a Twi'lek entertainment establishment."
"Besides, we have enough sense to understand that the path to 'free grazing' is already closed to us," Irvin continued. "You're throwing us against pirates and smugglers, slavers and other players in the galaxy's shadow economy. I wonder, did the Grand Admiral plan from the very start to turn us against our former partners and make us, if anything happens, their most desired targets if we try to screw you over and run off somewhere else?"
Astarion held back a smile.
Yes, Irvin had guessed correctly.
The Grand Admiral had spent considerable time weeding out, from among a dozen gangs and mercenaries, those who had come into his service at the start of the campaign.
Some had merged into a single gang — the lieutenant colonel refused to recognize Captain Tyberos's unit as "auxiliary forces." Others had died during missions. Only those remained who had secured for themselves a long-term "reputation" as Dominion mercenaries hunting criminal elements across the galaxy.
And the pirate or smuggler environment is such that armed conflicts between independent gangs are considered completely normal. However, when one faction hires themselves out to destroy others…
After the elimination of the Luminii pirates, the Lok Revenants, and a dozen other minor pirate and smuggler gangs, Tyberos, Irvin, and Vane had burned their bridges.
Word of the mercenary nature of their "work" had already spread throughout the galaxy.
Even if they abandoned the Dominion or tried to return to their old ways of making a living, it would bring nothing but serious trouble.
Left without Thrawn's support, they would quickly become targets for the remaining gangs, who would decide to settle scores with those who hunted their comrades. Not out of a sense of justice — but simply from a desire to seize the large ships at the disposal of the "auxiliary forces."
With Kavil's Corsairs, things were much simpler.
They had initially positioned themselves as a pro-Imperial band of mercenaries.
And they served gladly, unconcerned about reputation.
Right now, for example, the corsairs from Axxila were enthusiastically and energetically engaged in exterminating the pirates, slavers, and smugglers that were hindering the Dominion's subjugation of the Kanz sector territories.
While the Red Star was doing the same work in the Korva sectors, and Captain Tyberos was clearing the Meram sector, the former criminals were gleefully cutting down their former "brothers in arms" in Kanz. And, it had to be admitted, they did so with great pleasure and expertise.
Informants from the SDB, embedded in the gangs and ship crews, supplied a steady stream of information on the real state of affairs. And it had to be said, this was a very, very productive job.
And, most importantly, a high-quality one.
The loot taken from pirates and slavers replenished the Dominion's treasury, the corsairs received their percentage of the spoils, and the Dominion's influence spread across new territories.
The cause the Grand Admiral was advancing, by focusing on the destruction of pirates and other criminal elements, favorably influenced the integration of new peoples, planets, and sectors into the young state.
Yes, there were malcontents, even terrorist groups and rebels — but they were dealt with quickly, radically, and without the slightest negotiation.
"If you wish, you can inquire about this matter directly with the Grand Admiral," Astarion suggested, returning his face to its usual expression — cold politeness. "I, however, am giving you a lead on a new target."
"Who are we going to rob?" Yazuo Vane's eyes lit up.
"You're heading to the Mieru'kar sector," Astarion stated. "Your task is to find and exterminate all criminal groups located there."
Judging by the shadow that crossed Captain Irvin's face, he was clearly not thrilled with the new mission.
"Any problems?" the counter-intelligence officer clarified.
"You're proposing that we, with the strength of a single ship, head into a poorly explored region of the galaxy where some of the most ruthless pirates operate?" Irvin clarified.
"Yes," Astarion confirmed. "In addition to the Colicoid Swarm, you also have the Gozanti."
"That's a bit thin if we're going up against several groups," Vane said, doubt creeping into his voice. "It could pay off handsomely for us, but only if there aren't serious forces gathered there."
"You will be provided with our intelligence data," Astarion assured him. "As far as we know, there aren't that many groups at the moment. Furthermore, they are thoroughly fragmented amongst themselves. Time your moment and destroy them one by one."
"We'll choose our own battle tactics," Irvin declared. "It's strange that the regular fleet isn't handling problems like this…"
Astarion couldn't suppress a smirk.
Of this pair, the commander of the Colicoid Swarm was not only the cunning one, but also quite observant.
"The regular fleet has other things to keep it busy," the lieutenant colonel said. "However, if you don't want to earn some extra credits, I can always find someone else willing to take the job. Kavil's Corsairs are a sizable enough group…"
"We agree," Captain Irvin said quickly. "But we'd also like to know where we'll be based now, since access to our old base is closed to us."
"Complete the job in the Mieru'kar sector, and then we'll talk about where and how your ship will find a haven," Astarion declared. "You can handle ammunition resupply and minor repairs here, on Ciutric. But you must do it in the shortest possible time. You're dismissed, captains."
After the pair had left his office, the lieutenant colonel activated the protocols for a secure communication line.
The hologram of the recipient appeared above his desk almost instantly.
"Report, Lieutenant Colonel," Thrawn began without preamble.
"The control interview has been conducted, sir," Astarion switched to his professional tone.
How he hated this "good-natured interrogation" manner. Yet it was one of the most effective tools in his work.
"Results?" the Grand Admiral inquired.
"The assumption of the agents and operatives has been confirmed," the Dominion's chief counter-intelligence officer stated. "Irvin and Vane are purposefully traveling the galaxy searching for CIS planets that still have infrastructure remaining. I am certain they only reported Horn because we had our navigator on board the ship. As per your orders, the option of directing them to the Mieru'kar sector has been implemented."
"Have your people ensured that tracking devices have been placed on the Colicoid Swarm?" the Grand Admiral inquired.
"Everything is in accordance with your instructions," Lieutenant Colonel Astarion confirmed. "They are currently undergoing minor repairs. Our operatives, posing as workers from the Ciutric orbital repair yard, will install additional tracking devices, as well as a hack module. I suspect there is an isolated database on board, either well-hidden enough that our specialists haven't found it, or it consists of separate data blocks. That's the only way to explain such a direct course towards Horn. Judging by how Irvin mentioned Republic and Imperial attacks on the planet during the conversation, he is quite informed about its history. But he doesn't know about the cable worms the Empire dropped on the planet to prevent the Rebel Alliance from reusing it."
Cable worms were a true scourge for anyone who used electricity.
This one was an invertebrate. Outwardly resembling a wire, the parasite preferred to live in electrical cable channels and fed on the electric current passing through them. They often ended up on spaceships, causing power outages, and were treated as vermin.
The parasite was quite resilient, and generally considered harmless to sentient beings.
As long as there was a source of electricity. In its absence, the cable worm would seek out another, even the smallest, source of energy.
There were rumors that the parasites could penetrate a sentient's brain if they couldn't find suitable food for themselves. Whether this was true or not, Astarion didn't know.
And he would prefer to live the rest of his life without practical knowledge on the subject.
Almost every ecumenopolis in the galaxy, and especially Coruscant, suffered from infestations of these creatures. Safety systems on space stations and ships helped mitigate the threat by warning the crew of an onboard problem in advance. But that didn't make the problem any smaller.
The Empire often dropped broods of these creatures onto former Rebel Alliance or CIS military bases to prevent them from being reused.
The problem was that the parasites didn't have the longest lifespan and, strangely enough, were afraid of high temperatures.
But this fact wasn't widely known.
Honestly, Astarion couldn't even guess who else might know information about these parasites, as it had been obtained by Dominion intelligence directly from the Horn settlers during the negotiations for the planet's accession to the state.
That was why no one in the Empire even remembered Horn, believing it to be infested with cable worms. And there weren't many willing to take the risk.
"An interesting fact," Thrawn said. "Continue monitoring this ship and its crew. If there are still factories and other CIS industrial facilities in the galaxy, we must secure them."
"What should be done with Irvin and Vane if they disobey the order and try to flee?" Astarion inquired.
The system of checks and balances Thrawn used was good, of course, but criminals were criminals; sometimes, for profit or to save their own skins, they might take a risk.
"Continue surveillance," the Grand Admiral ordered. "If they violate the order, report immediately. We'll solve the problem once and for all."
Confirming receipt, Lieutenant Colonel Astarion deactivated the holographic projector.
Making a note in his work plan, he switched to other current tasks.
He needed to ensure the security of the new research facilities engaged in studying the cloning technologies brought back by Grand Admiral Thrawn from Mustafar.
And it wouldn't hurt to oversee the vetting of the defected Republicans.
Soon, the prisoners of war were to be returned to the democrats. And he had to ensure that the maximum number of competent specialists remained in the Dominion of their own free will.
As for how many of the returned prisoners would be Intelligence informants, Astarion preferred not to think about it.
Let that be a headache for the Director of Intelligence.
Whoever that was.
* * *
Having finished studying the data from the monitoring system for the movement of the droids from Project Morrt, I summoned a hologram of the regional hyperlane routes in quadrant R-6.
I carefully studied each of the hyperlane routes known to the Dominion in this part of the galaxy.
Considering the response time, the task force had to be located not too far from any of them to be able to swiftly set a course for the Adega system.
The archive data indicated that the Republic ships were in the Ren Var system before setting a new course.
Right where we simulated an attack by New Republic ships on convoys coming from Lianna.
Well, a fairly advantageous starting position.
Given the course and direction, it could be asserted that this task force was part of that noose the fleet intended to tighten around Lady Santhe's neck.
And this garrote was already preparing to tighten completely. A few more days and Lianna's fate would be sealed.
Not in favor of the Lianna government.
A rather interesting combination was shaping up.
Our rendezvous point was much closer to their target. What took the Republicans days would take us a few hours.
If we compared the current time expenditures — ours and the Republicans' a rather interesting trap-within-a-trap scenario would unfold.
We could simply go and destroy this New Republic flotilla, but it would be an extremely protracted battle.
It wasn't advantageous from the perspective of the ongoing campaign.
Especially since, among General Antilles's ships, only a few starships interested me.
All the others… Whether they survived or were destroyed wasn't that important.
My goal was to ensure the security of the valuables being evacuated from Ossus.
"Captain Pellaeon," I addressed the commander of the flagship Star Destroyer via comlink. "The Chimaera is separating from the fleet. The Crusader, the Steel Aurora, and the Dragon-III will accompany us. Captain Astorias is appointed senior officer of the remaining fleet for the duration of our absence. Orders remain the same — monitor the situation, do not interfere with ongoing events until receiving a separate order."
"Yes, sir," Gilad replied in his usual, businesslike manner. "Ready to exceed lightspeed in five minutes."
"I will arrive on the bridge five minutes before we exit hyperspace," I added after a pause.
"Summon Lieutenant Kreb, the commander of Black Wing squadron, to me ten minutes before we reach the target."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral."
* * *
The Kaulon system in the Meram sector could boast three reasons why it differed from most others.
Located in quadrant O-4, the system had a habitable world, which already made it worthy of attention.
Secondly, the system contained a vast asteroid field. Any geological scanner would indicate that inside these rocky boulders, plenty of minerals could be found. Only, this was happening in the Meram sector.
Which meant that either you were so desperate, arriving almost at the galaxy's edge in search of minerals, or you, like most of this system's population, could only dream of a few extra million credits appearing in your pocket to develop the local mineral deposits.
No matter how many times mining operations started here, they always ended in the bankruptcy of whoever undertook the venture.
And that was the third reason the Kaulon system was not like the others.
Here, in the asteroid field, was the base of one of the boldest, most ruthless, and bloodthirsty gangs in the entire Outer Rim.
The Cavrilhu Pirates.
Scavengers who would always follow battlefields, hoping to pick over anything left after ships were destroyed.
Dishonorable barbarians who didn't care who they robbed. If you were weaker than a Cavrilhu pirate raiding party, you would be attacked and robbed.
And woe betide you if you dared to speak out against them.
In that case, pray the pirates killed you, rather than selling you through their contacts to one of their slaver acquaintances.
Because those who did business with the Cavrilhu pirates were themselves moral degenerates who deserved the noose.
The Black Pearl was positioned right between Kaulon's orbit and the asteroid belt.
Having launched numerous scouts and been scanning asteroids one by one, Tyberos paced impatiently on the bridge.
From what he knew, they had stumbled upon this Cavrilhu base almost by accident.
First, the regular fleet had given them a good mauling, driving them out of several nearby sectors.
Some ships had managed to escape — and intelligence had tracked their movements to two bases.
Tyberos was currently dealing with one of them.
What would happen to the second, he didn't know.
But he knew for certain that Thrawn wouldn't just let the pirates go unpunished.
Honestly, intelligence had also informed the Black Pearl's commander about the fairway vector the fleeing Cavrilhu ships had used to get here.
And, in fact, he could lead his boarding parties through that route.
At the same time, he could simply start blasting asteroids to carve a direct path through the field.
But he wasn't going to do that.
First of all, almost every single asteroid here was filled with ore.
And lately, Grand Admiral Thrawn was known for having an unhealthy obsession with space rocks.
Considering that scanners had detected auridium deposits in some of the asteroids, blowing them up… wasn't the best idea.
Tyberos doubted that destroying the Cavrilhu base this way was a good idea.
Knowing Thrawn, at the end of such an operation, he might not only withhold a bonus but also demand compensation.
So he positioned his two frigates and the destroyer to block the asteroid field, and sent out fighters to sweep the area and make the pirates worry about their safety.
The nerves of those who lived for easy money weren't made of durasteel, so they would definitely panic and try to escape the system.
In principle, that was exactly what Tyberos was waiting for.
The droids from Project Morrt would gladly keep the pirate starships company, and the Dominion would be only too happy for the Cavrilhu to lead the auxiliary forces to their next "hiding spots."
"Captain, we have a contact," the scanning systems operator reported. "One Kaloth-class cruiser, four transports. Bearing six-three-seven."
"Notify all ships," Tyberos reacted. "Nearest fighters, intercept. Disable their engines. I want those ships for boarding."
"Yes, Captain."
In principle, the escape vector of the Cavrilhu ships passed not far from the Black Pearl itself, and strictly between the flagship and one of the captured CIS frigates.
Either of these starships could be sent to intercept.
And an inexperienced captain would have done just that — that's what the pirates were counting on.
But Tyberos had extensive experience in pirate organizations to understand that this was nothing more than a diversionary maneuver.
The enemy had far more ships than they were showing now.
At least, certainly more transports.
Their combat fleet had been battered, of course, but not so badly that only one cruiser remained.
And the Cavrilhu weren't stupid enough to hope to break through with such a small force.
No, they were just diverting attention from the main breakout route, so as many pirates as possible could save themselves and grab the "juiciest" loot.
Besides, no competent leader of a large group, when abandoning their base, would leave it intact. Simply because they knew perfectly well that among their subordinates, there were too many slackers and ignoramuses who could leave enough traces for those who had attacked to follow.
That's not how things were done.
And it was certainly not in the Cavrilhu spirit.
The group of pirate ships had already emerged from the asteroid field.
The nearby Delta-7-Dominion fighters engaged in battle easily and effortlessly, entertaining the pirates with their high-speed maneuvers and attacks.
"First frigate, close on the cruiser and engage," Tyberos ordered. "The Pearl will move to the same point at thirty percent cruising speed. Prepare for a turn and acceleration."
The fact that the Cavrilhu still hadn't revealed their main forces only indicated that they really didn't have that many combat ships here.
Consequently, the emphasis was on evacuating the base and the loot. Therefore, they needed time — freighters weren't fast enough to outrun pursuit.
Moving one of the starships from its position should provoke them properly.
You'd have to be a complete idiot not to realize that hiding inside the field indefinitely wasn't an option.
Breaking through right under the enemy's nose was even less likely.
So they would fall for the idea that the commander of the blockading force thought he had waited long enough for the pirates, if any were still in the asteroid field, to leave it.
Classic deception — show the enemy you're smart, but demonstrate that you're not as smart as you are actually cunning.
One-third of cruising speed would give the enemy hope that the Black Pearl couldn't catch them.
Which meant a breakout attempt should be expected soon.
Ah, what a shame that scanners couldn't distinguish a ship with its power off from a simple rock at this distance.
And comparing every detected rock against databases for a match was always an endless cycle of failure.
"Multiple contacts, bearing two-one-four!"
"Identify targets!" Tyberos ordered. "Scramble the nearest squadrons for interception!"
"Six large transports, eight medium ones, and four Kaloth-class cruisers!"
Now this looked like the main force.
"Destroyer, execute a turn, intercept course," Tyberos ordered. "Increase speed to cruising. Prepare launchers — fire on the cruisers. Fighters, attack the transports."
The Providence-class carrier/destroyer described an elegant arc, settling onto an intercept course for the new enemy formation.
Tyberos noticed that almost in the center of the asteroid field, multiple eruption points of explosions had formed — the main base's self-destruct system had been activated.
The ships of the enemy's first group were already in distress — the modified frigates might not be the best ships of the modern era, but their armament had been upgraded.
Turbolasers from Victory-class Star Destroyers had left behind the main drawback of Separatist ships — low shot power and poor fire control.
Now the first frigate was literally evaporating the gun emplacements on board the Kaloth, while its engines and the few escort fighters were being vaporized by Tyberos's air wing.
The captain himself watched with satisfaction as the gunners on the four other cruisers tirelessly fired at the anti-ship missiles, trying to save their tubs from righteous retribution.
The fire from the Black Pearl's turbolasers ruthlessly tore the enemy's deflectors to pieces, and the anti-ship missiles that got through the barrage holed their hulls.
Plumes of detonations on the hull of the Cavrilhu pirates' warships bloomed like enormous fire-flowers, devouring everything in their path: crew, metal, ammunition, particles of matter in the vacuum.
The enemy starships, engulfed in flames and washed over by white-blue streams of turbolaser bolts, blackened, deformed, and turned into hideous chunks of metal.
With silent accompaniment, one of the Kaloth-class cruisers broke in half as a good half-dozen anti-ship missiles slammed into its central hull section.
The structural frame and construction assembly couldn't withstand the power of the explosive and the shockwave, scattering the ship's debris through space, turning them into shrapnel of various calibers.
The second cruiser vanished in a colossal sphere of white-orange fire, literally evaporating before their eyes: the ship's power plants had detonated.
The third Kaloth lasted a little longer, but after a dozen broadsides, it turned into a leaky, decompressed hunk of metal from bow to stern, where surviving inside would have been a miracle.
The fourth cruiser, abandoning the transports to their fate, tried to flee, brutally torturing its engines. The fighters on its tail rained fire on the nozzles from all guns, forcing the main drives to go dark one by one.
By the time the Black Pearl's tractor beams reeled in the last armed pirate vessel, no more than half of its artillery remained operational on board.
The pirate gunners fired desperately at the Pearl, but their cannons lacked the power to punch through the reinforced deflector.
The turbolasers aboard Captain Tyberos's ship, however, had no such weakness, taking out the remnants of their combat-capable guns in one salvo.
"Begin the boarding action," Tyberos ordered, heading for the exit of the command bridge. "I will lead it personally."
* * *
The task force emerged from hyperspace at the edge of Ossus's far orbit.
Wedge barely had a moment to appreciate the beauty of the binary star system before the ship's executive officer hit him with the news:
"Sir, enemy starfighters detected in orbit!"
Tycho, present on the bridge, reached the tactical holoprojector first, where markers for friendly and enemy starships were already flickering to life.
Wedge had brought four MC80 Mon Calamari cruisers, eight Nebulon-B frigates, the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer Radiance, and two Corellian corvettes into the system. The ships were arrayed in a semicircle, meant to prevent the enemy from fleeing the system until the Radiance could deploy its gravity well generators.
Standard precaution, really, and hardly necessary since no enemy ships had been reported in the system.
But that was exactly why the youngest general in the New Republic had chosen this formation. At this point, you could expect anything from the Imperials — including a sudden arrival of reinforcements, an ambush, or something else entirely.
Grand Admiral Thrawn, credit where it was due, was doing an excellent job of raising the galaxy's tactical game.
And some of his techniques were worth adopting.
Wedge had decided to start with constant readiness for trouble.
Which was how they found an Imperial Star Destroyer in orbit of Ossus, accompanied by a Zann Consortium vessel.
A Crusader-class corvette.
Though not quite the kind the Republic had grown used to seeing in battle — that annoying little ship that wouldn't let you fly freely or bomb unopposed.
"This won't be easy," Tycho said, marking the Crusader.
"And on top of that, that In Amber Clad is clearly a Mark One," Wedge confirmed. "Be careful — a Crusader alone can make your life hell, and a Mark One is as loaded with laser cannons as a Gamorrean is with filth."
"We'll handle it in style," Tycho said with a smile. "Besides, we need to bring the rookies up to an acceptable level."
Wedge thought sadly about how many good pilots Rogue Squadron had lost in the clashes with Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Time and again, Isard had used them blind.
Not to mention that wild story she'd told about being cloned.
Almost all the Rogues he'd known and could call friends had been wiped out by Grand Admiral Thrawn's Imperials.
That was probably her real plan all along.
Well, now they had a good chance to settle the score with both the Grand Admiral and the Iceheart.
After all, the In Amber Clad was carrying Dominion recognition markings...
So why not dish out a little payback for everyone the New Republic had lost?
"Radiance has deployed two gravity-trawl vectors. Enemy ships are blocked from jumping to hyperspace," the star cruiser's executive officer announced.
"Raise deflectors, launch fighter cover," Wedge commanded. "Let the battle begin."
* * *
"Looks like our Jedi had backup," Mara remarked, watching the enemy fleet re-form to pin the single Star Destroyer in orbit.
"Yes," Ahsoka confirmed, standing beside her on the bridge. "They want to box us in with two echelons and blast us from medium range, forcing us to choose — either try to break out and get shot to pieces from pistol range on all sides, or stay put and fight off every ship in this fleet at once."
Mara looked at the commander of the In Amber Clad.
The man gave a silent nod, confirming the Togruta's assessment.
"She knows fleet tactics too," Thrawn's Hand thought distantly.
"What are your orders, ma'am?" the ship's commander asked the young woman.
The In Amber Clad had been placed under Mara's command for the mission to retrieve the Jedi legacy from Ossus.
He didn't know who she was, but he was aware of her special status. The commander asked for her input to ensure his subsequent actions didn't distort the mission's intent.
A mission about which he knew barely more than nothing.
Well, the mission was accomplished — and then some.
Eymand — found.
The reason for his long stay on Ossus — determined.
The threat of betrayal from the Zabrak — eliminated by his death.
But as for the "then some" part...
Ancient Jedi texts and knowledge had been discovered.
And this was exactly what the Jensaarai had been lacking to gain any real weight among Force-wielding organizations. And judging by Eymand's dying words, there was a good chance the discovered relics of the past held certain knowledge that the Jedi had lacked before Palpatine destroyed them.
Well, maybe they had it, but not universally.
Not all of them were pushovers.
Probably.
The Isanni people had been discovered — descendants of the ancient Jedi who lived on Ossus before the catastrophe that destroyed this world. Many of them were interested in undergoing training in the Jensaarai Order.
That meant the few dozen Jensaarai she'd heard about were about to get reinforcements. Though that number wasn't huge compared to the size of the tribes that had once been under Travgen's control after his arrival on the planet.
But this was just the beginning, wasn't it? There were still the Dathomirian witches, after all.
Mara didn't really know anything about them — what their relationship was with the Dominion. She could assume it was at least neutral, since no one had laid siege to them, and the Dominion had an open diplomatic mission on the planet.
And finally, Luke Skywalker had been captured.
He hadn't come to the Dominion's representatives willingly, nor had he fallen victim to one of Thrawn's clever schemes — he had been defeated in combat and taken prisoner, by all the canons of military science.
And now, Thrawn's Hand, a Shadow Guard, the Dominion's newest Star Destroyer, and a support corvette were under blockade with no way to avoid battle with the New Republic fleet.
"Whatever happens, we must keep the In Amber Clad and her cargo under the Dominion's flag," Mara summarized the objective, fully aware that failure on the brink of victory was unacceptable. "As for tactics... Notify Grand Admiral Thrawn. There may be regular fleet ships nearby that can come to our aid."
Ahsoka shot her a displeased look but stayed silent.
"Yes, ma'am," the ship's commander acknowledged, moving toward the communications section. "The enemy will be within weapons range in twenty minutes. Republic fighters will attack in fifteen, ma'am. My people are ready to repel them."
Mara watched the man go, noting how his fingers brushed along the handrails surrounding the central command platform and the "pits."
A small but necessary modification to the military environment, made on the Grand Admiral's initiative.
Now crews — at least on the Trios and other Imperial-class ships that'd had a major refit — had something to grab onto instead of tumbling into a pit when the superstructure took a hit.
Jade looked at the Togruta.
"Fight to the end, right?"
Ahsoka smirked.
"Red, you have no idea what ship you're on, do you? There are enough guns here to give the Republic a beating before Thrawn arrives, without even breaking a sweat."
"I think you're overestimating the Grand Admiral," Mara said. "If he intended to come here, he surely would have..."
The red-haired young woman fell silent.
"Told you?" Ahsoka finished her sentence. "Don't flatter yourself, girl. You and I, whatever our status, we're just tools. And they don't tell tools they're being used as bait."
"You think we're being used?" Jade asked.
"Used, or the Grand Admiral is exploiting the circumstances — it doesn't really matter," the Togruta shrugged. "One thing I know — if he doesn't show up for the party, I'll be very disappointed in him. I'll have to take the credit for smashing a Republic punitive squadron on my fragile feminine shoulders..."
Oh, come on. A smashing, sure...
* * *
A young man in the black flightsuit of an Imperial pilot walked silently into my quarters, accompanied by Rukh's grey shadow.
"Have a seat, Lieutenant," I said, gesturing Kreb to the chair by the wall across from my desk.
"Thank you, Grand Admiral," the squadron commander replied in a colorless voice, taking the indicated seat.
I couldn't say Kreb had ever been much of a joker before, but now, even with the light panels on half power, it seemed like the young man had aged twenty years in an instant.
I had already received a report from the Chimaera's air wing commander, Major Bren, about the need to remove Kreb from the Star Destroyer.
He had clearly suffered a serious psychological trauma, making it hard to predict how he would react in the future, or whether it would lead to certain problems.
I wasn't in a hurry to remove Kreb from the Chimaera.
At least not until I had confirmation that this officer was truly unfit for further service for one or more significant reasons.
The upcoming battle was an excellent opportunity to understand the core of the character that kept the lieutenant from falling apart like a house of cards.
"Your squadron is filled with rookies?" best to start the conversation with something neutral to establish psychological contact.
It didn't matter what we talked about — the important thing was to watch his answers.
And how exactly the lieutenant justified his words.
"Affirmative, sir," Kreb replied in a perfectly businesslike tone. "But with all due respect, sir, I wouldn't call eleven of my clones in my own unit, flying the same type of equipment I do, rookies."
But his averted eyes indicated that not everything was as good as he wanted to show.
"Does working side-by-side with your own clones disturb you?" I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the lieutenant.
"No, sir," he replied. "I've flown with my clones in the squadron before. But they all died on Mustafar."
But the intonations in his voice said something entirely different.
"You're uncomfortable that these clones are from the latest batch," I stated, continuing to bore into the young man with my stare.
The pilot shifted in his seat.
A direct hit, then.
"May I not answer that question, sir?" The pilot's eyes held both pain and a plea.
"You may, Lieutenant; the regulations grant you that right," I nodded. "Besides, your motivation is clear to me regardless. It rankles you that someone besides yourself shares your unspoken feeling and the pain of losing your wingman. Someone you also failed to save. And emotional attachment was forming between you."
"Sir," a flash of anger glinted in the young man's eyes, and his fists clenched. "I follow all the rules! Personal relationships with subordinates are forbidden! I would never allow myself that!"
Unable to contain his emotions, the lieutenant started to rise.
But he was unceremoniously pushed back into his seat by Rukh's hand — Rukh had his own vision of where and how my subordinate should sit in my presence.
"Lieutenant, I had no intention of reproaching or accusing you of anything," now a slightly fatherly tone. Thank you, political officer, for those "heart-to-heart talks." Who knew they'd come in handy, especially in another galaxy. "I was merely stating that you and your wingman were emotionally close. That's not a crime, and it's not forbidden by regulations. On the contrary, mutual aid and camaraderie are the very things that keep sentients from being turned into obedient droids by drill. You can test that principle by talking to some stormtroopers."
The very fact that Kreb had been so vehement in trying to prove himself right already showed that he had indeed grown attached to the girl.
Whether it was a budding romantic feeling or simply grief over a lost friend wasn't clear yet.
Nor was it really important.
"I share in your grief over this loss," my words clearly puzzled him. "I think, after all this time serving under my command, you understand that I abhor using sentients as expendable resources."
The man nodded in agreement.
"You are a promising pilot and commander, Lieutenant," those were the exact words from the dry evaluation Bren had given Kreb. "One day you will become a famous pilot. Not least because you and your wingman accomplished what most Imperial pilots could not: you shot down a large number of Rogues in a single engagement."
"I was doing my duty, sir," Kreb rapped out.
"And you do it magnificently," I confirmed. "Tell me, what did you feel, shooting them down one after another, as if they weren't legends of the New Republic, but ordinary pilots?"
"A sense of a job well done, sir."
"And that didn't conflict with your former admiration for the Rogues?" I asked.
The lieutenant flinched.
"There's no shame in adopting useful experience, whether it comes from a friend, an enemy, or a neutral party," I stated. "It's personal growth and development."
"Affirmative, sir," now he was slightly confused, not seeing where I was going.
"Do you perceive Tia's death as something closer to you, compared to the deaths of other pilots?" I asked.
"Sir, I..."
"Don't waste your time or mine with lies, Lieutenant," I advised. "This conversation determines a great deal. Including my trust in you."
Kreb licked his dry lips.
"Sir, I..." The lieutenant glanced around uncertainly. Meeting Rukh's gaze — Rukh smiled at the young man — he chose to turn back to face me. "I have no intention of distorting the truth in any way or undermining your trust in me..."
"In that case, Lieutenant, doesn't it strike you that a conversation with the Supreme Commander, for a squadron leader, is something far outside the normal scope of service routine?" I asked.
"Affirmative, sir," Kreb nodded.
"In that case, I assume you will be honest with me," I stated. "With all due respect for your flying skills and talent, I see the only correct and reasonable option is to discharge you for your inability to resolve your own psycho-emotional problems."
Kreb remained silent, staring at the floor.
"What sets us apart from the New Republic, Lieutenant?" I asked. "And I'm also curious how much respect you have for those who serve alongside you, who trained you, who hope you'll cover their backs in battle instead of chasing after Corran Horn to burn out his X-wing's cockpit with your cannons, so he can die in agony just like your wingman."
The commander of the Black Wing furrowed his brow.
I could see his nostrils flaring and his jaw muscles clenching.
Cutting into the living flesh — that's what every surgeon must do to separate a gangrenous limb from the body to save the whole organism.
And today, I had to play the surgeon.
Kreb might have been cloned hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, but he was one person. A single original, whose loss — despite blood reserves and regular scans — would be irreparable in the long term.
For the Dominion's survival, until our own Academies were running and rookies — who still needed to get their wings — could replace the clones, preserving the originals was the best move.
The only problem was, if the original went off the rails, there was no guarantee that clones made from his DNA wouldn't inherit his psychological instability in certain matters.
So the conflict of interest had to be resolved here and now.
And it had to be resolved without pulling Kreb out of the squadron — if he could be set on the right path.
If not... well, that would be a shame.
A sensitive loss, but not irreparable.
There were always other donors. But that took time.
Time we didn't have.
And locking up donors like the Kaminoans did with Jango Fett was stupid. The more experience a donor gained in real combat, the better the clones became. One donor might die, two, three, but dozens would survive.
And with every battle, they would grow more experienced.
That's exactly why I didn't want to lose Kreb or take him out of rotation — as long as there was a chance to "straighten his head," I needed him.
A lieutenant who could single-handedly take down several Rogues was a goldmine of genetic material.
He was the elite I needed.
"I don't understand, sir," he admitted. "How does this connect to talking about my dead wingman?"
"Directly, Lieutenant," I said. "War is a profession. Being a soldier or a farmer — everyone chooses for themselves. You can put yesterday's farmer in a starfighter cockpit, and he'll blow up the Death Star. Whether it's luck or the machinations of supernatural forces doesn't really matter in the context of ideology. The Republic goes into battle to avenge fallen comrades and destroy those who disagree with their vision for the galaxy's future. They are driven by emotions. Every pilot in Rogue Squadron has had their future, their loved ones, their property taken from them by the Empire, directly or indirectly. That was done by people who looked out for themselves at the Empire's expense. A false understanding of the goals and tasks of their service — that's the scourge that turned the Empire from a state of order into an uncontrolled apparatus, consumed by intrigue and power grabs. The Dominion's soldiers don't go into battle to take revenge. They go in to carry out orders. Because every order carried out is the realization of a set objective. Every objective serves the Dominion's interests. One way or another. By replacing the execution of orders with personal vengeance, we become no better than the Republic. By setting the goal of avenging your wingman's death, you negate everything you did training Tia — turning a former criminal into a professional pilot. She was able to destroy a large number of Rogues alongside you. In a single battle. Facing them for the first time. You should be proud of yourself, Lieutenant — you are an excellent leader and teacher."
"Thank you, sir..."
"But if, after leaving this compartment, you get into your cockpit, see the Rogue Squadron IFFs on your scanners, and tear off to destroy them in violation of orders, you will prove with your own hands that you are no different from yesterday's farmers. And everything you taught your wingman was nothing but a sham and hypocrisy. Because you forbade her from taking liberties behind the controls, yet you intend to do it yourself."
Kreb tensed up.
"Sir, I..."
I raised my hand to cut off his attempt to justify himself.
"Today you will face a choice — perhaps the hardest of your life," I said. "In a few minutes, our task force will arrive in the system where you will engage the Republic in battle. According to my information, Rogue Squadron will be among them. If you lose control and rush to take revenge, I will understand you as a sentient being. But as your Commander-in-Chief, I will write you off. You will never be cleared for flight again, and you will be discharged from the regular fleet with a mark for disobeying orders. It's up to you — whether you will continue to serve, carry out orders, and thereby confirm a simple principle: a professional soldier is distinguished from a farmer with a gun by discipline and a clear understanding of what they serve and what they are willing to sacrifice themselves for. Following orders for the sake of ideals, or personal revenge — the choice is yours."
The commander of the Black Wing looked at me for several seconds before looking away.
"I understand, sir," he said dryly.
His voice carried the same regulation tones... mixed with bitterness and regret.
"One should never forget the fallen, Lieutenant," I said. "Their memory lives on with us — as long as we live. Their names will not remain dry lines in official reports. Dying for revenge for the fallen is easy. Living to remember them as your duty and your Oath demand is far harder."
The lieutenant closed his eyes and exhaled noisily.
It seemed the young man had been deceiving himself for a long time, thinking the girl meant nothing to him.
Or he had been playing the role of the strict regulations officer too much, denying simple human feelings and attachments, not noticing how work had become something more.
And only now, having lost her, he sought to fill the gnawing sense of loss with revenge.
A ruinous path, because he would either die trying to destroy the remaining Rogues, or he would finish them off.
But then what?
No one who has made revenge for the fallen the goal of their life has ever lived long enough to enjoy the future.
The longer revenge takes, the greater the emotional burnout that awaits the avenger.
The lieutenant stopped working his jaw and looked me in the eyes.
"I understand, sir," he answered quietly.
But something tells me doubt is gnawing at him.
"May I go, Grand Admiral?" Kreb asked.
"You may, Lieutenant," I said. "We exit hyperspace in five minutes. Prepare your squadron to carry out the tasks assigned to you."
"Yes, sir," Kreb saluted, rising and heading for the door.
"One last thing, Lieutenant," I said. The squadron commander froze in place, spinning over his left shoulder to face me. The final test before he headed to the hangar. "Despite popular belief, I am not immune to all things human. I am offering you a choice: you can ask me to give you and your squadron a direct order to hunt down and eliminate Rogue Squadron in the coming battle. I won't discharge you from the fleet entirely — I'll transfer you to a position as a flight instructor at the newly built Lieutenant Tia Pilot Academy in the Dominion." The pilot remained silent, devouring me with his gaze. "You'll keep your flight credentials. You'll be able to avenge your wingman. But your path as a combat pilot will be closed. Or, you can return to your subordinates and continue your career as a combat pilot. Before you give me your answer, I suggest you remember everything I've told you during this meeting."
Kreb looked down again.
He was silent for several seconds, then looked back at me.
"Permission to go, sir? The battle is soon. I need to check my pilots' readiness for the fight."
The choice was made.
At least — formally.
"Carry on, Lieutenant."