The Ringali Shell.
That was the name historically given to the region along the Perlemian Trade Route, passing through the Bormea and Darpa sectors, skirting the Ringali Nebula.
This part of the galaxy consisted of six densely populated systems that sequentially connected the planets: Corulag, Chandrila, Brentaal, Esseles, Rinnall, and Ralltiir.
Quite a bustling area in terms of trade flights and population density.
However, if you knew how, you could always bypass Republic military patrols and come out exactly where circumstances demanded.
And now, the latter had led to the Star Destroyer Stalker, drifting in orbit around a planetoid that had undergone significant external changes due to construction structures, running into trouble.
Of a very, very substantial size.
An Imperial I-class Star Destroyer, supported by an Immobilizer 418-class interdictor cruiser Black Asp, accompanied by two Acclamator-class assault ships and a Venator-class Star Destroyer.
An armada opposed by the forces of a single Star Destroyer.
Even if it was a "Two," which could easily have emerged victorious from a battle with its "little brother," giving the rest of the flotilla's starships a good thrashing...
But the appearance of these ships, as well as the deployment of gravity mines by the Black Asp, came unexpectedly.
Primarily because the planetoid was located deep inside New Republic territory.
"What the...?" the Stalker's commander, Captain Akal Zed, frowned, running a hand over his bald head, which instantly became slick with sweat. "What in the Hutta⁈ Why didn't the long-range sensors report their arrival?"
"I don't know..." the officer of the watch mumbled.
Akal flew into a rage upon hearing the unregulation response.
A strict and unscrupulous enforcer of the most stringent adherence to regulations, Akal couldn't even imagine someone deviating from their execution.
Even if it was an inexperienced, milk-drunk lieutenant who had come aboard his ship through the draft.
The ship's commander was next to the subordinate in an instant and, with a single punch to the solar plexus, folded him in half, shoving him away from the control panel.
"The long-range detection systems are not responding; the equipment is disabled!" the ship's commander roared. "How did this happen? Why wasn't a technical alert declared?"
"The... chain... break... was only... detected now," the lieutenant said, forcing himself.
"Are you saying we're completely cut off from the alarm systems?" Captain Zed continued to roar.
He glared hatefully at the bridge watch, most of whom, like the entire crew, consisted of recent draftees the Stalker had provided to the Ubiqtorate. The only worthwhile thing after the Star Destroyer accepted Agent Blackhole's offer of a new post.
"Sir, the Venator has exposed its hangar bay," another young officer timidly reported.
"Don't stand there like pillars, you oafs!" the Star Destroyer commander shouted! "Raise deflectors, launch fighters! Lock on to that ship!"
"Sir, they're beyond turbolaser range!"
"Fire!"
"Another shot!"
"Ion cannon!"
"Prepare for impact!"
Punishment did not strike the Stalker — white-blue lightning crawled across the surface of the space rock, in whose depths lay the Ubiqtorate complex guarded by the Star Destroyer.
But, contrary to expectations, the facility did not cease functioning — only the turbolaser emplacements.
Base "D8-Red" was built in the same year the Rebel Alliance destroyed the Death Star.
Captain Zed had no precise data on what was done on the planetoid. But from conversations with some "D8-Red" personnel, the Stalker's commander knew the facility served as a staging ground for covert Imperial operations and secret missions in the Core Worlds, as well as the main departure point for operations in the Outer Rim.
Once, thousands of Imperial Intelligence agents were stationed here, and the facility's defense was in the hands of a hundred naval special forces soldiers.
In reality, now it all boiled down to the fact that, under the Stalker's protection, a team of scientists and engineers continued their work on "D8-Red." They were responsible for developing new weapons and equipment that could be used for covert operations.
Now, the previous production volumes had been reduced to a minimum, largely because a significant number of scientists had either been executed by Agent Blackhole's shadow stormtroopers on suspicion of disloyalty to the New Order. Those who remained had little enthusiasm for inventing anything new, instead repairing old equipment and studying samples of weapons and technology delivered to the base from all corners of the galaxy.
And now the station was disabled.
The protection mission was a failure.
Captain Akal Zed stared hatefully at the enemy Star Destroyer, trying to understand who and for what reason had done what they did.
"We're being hailed, sir," the communications officer reported. "Hologram. Imperial Navy general frequency."
"Contact Agent Blackhole!" Zed finally came to his senses.
"The Vector is not responding," the communications officer shook his head.
And Agent Blackhole had expressly forbidden contacting anyone else independently.
Such were the security rules for Ubiqtorate secret facilities — it was easier to lose one base than to let the enemy learn of the existence of others and track them down.
The Stalker was considered one of the missing, deserted destroyers — a cover story for the public. Any attempt to contact forces like the Pentastar Alignment, to call for help, would expose Agent Blackhole's plans and assets.
"Ignore the incoming transmission!" he ordered.
"Sir, the station is transmitting a directed signal to the enemy destroyer! They are surrendering!"
"Unacceptable!" the Stalker's commander roared. "Destroy the station!"
"Sir, but there are scientists and technology there..." the officer of the watch tried to object.
"That's exactly why this base was attacked! The enemy disabled the turbolasers to board it! Nothing that belongs to the Ubiqtorate must fall into the hands of traitors! Fire on the base with all weapons!"
A few seconds later, when the Stalker had closed to a range of assured destruction, its hull was struck by two flashes from a powerful ion cannon, clearly exceeding standard shipboard ion cannons in all parameters.
"Prepare for boarding," Captain Zed ordered, clinging to the nearest terminal casing and fighting the zero gravity. "This is the Dominion! The Stormhawk attacked us! Only they play around with weapons like the 'v-150 Planet Defender' mounted on a Venator! The traitors decided to strike at the Ubiqtorate!"
"Sir," the officer of the watch appeared beside him. "If the Dominion has uncovered the location of Base 'D8-Red,' that means Grand Admiral Thrawn has gone to war against the Ubiqtorate..."
"You're a genius of thought!" Zed snapped. "Of course he has! And Blackhole is silent because Thrawn has probably attacked him too! And other Ubiqtorate facilities!"
"But then that means... the Ubiqtorate will be destroyed?" The tone of the officer of the watch displeased the ship's commander.
"I don't know what Thrawn thinks of himself, but we will remain loyal to the Ubiqtorate to the end! We must protect the station! Even at the cost of our lives!"
"No, Captain," the officer of the watch had drawn his standard blaster pistol. "If the Ubiqtorate is finished, then we no longer have to fear it."
"What are you babbling about, you nexu pup?" The ship's commander lunged with his right hand, intending to strike his subordinate again.
He didn't succeed.
But the young lieutenant did succeed in firing, putting a hole through his commander's neck.
A perfectly accurate shot.
"Notify all compartments," the officer of the watch turned to the others. "Offer no resistance to Dominion ships. We surrender — finally, the nightmare of serving the Dominion is over."
The young lieutenant and most of the crew had enough sense not to die for those who saw them as nothing more than expendable material.
The Ubiqtorate's star had begun its inexorable descent toward the horizon.
* * *
The Ubiqtorate's contact station was located in the Parshun system.
The Outer Rim, Perinn sector, Pentastar Alignment territory.
A remote part of the galaxy.
It was unthinkable that anything could happen here that was not part of the Imperial intelligence command's plans.
Yet, a fact was a fact.
A Mon Calamari MC80-class star cruiser, whose designation suggested it belonged to the New Republic Defense Forces, had never actually been associated with the Ubiqtorate.
Nor had it ever belonged to the New Republic.
For the past few weeks, this starship had been part of a fleet of raider cruisers under Grand Admiral Thrawn's control.
It rarely took part in combat missions, instead "attacking" convoys of military goods transported by Pentastar Alignment starships.
Like dozens of other ships of this type, it escorted transport and cargo starships abandoned by their crews, then delivered them to a holding system where other specialists reloaded the goods onto auxiliary starships of the Dominion fleet.
Then it returned to the "hunting ground" without having fired a single shot from its artillery.
This did not affect the crew's combat training, however.
The ship's commander strictly ensured that scheduled training drills and live-fire exercises took place on time, and that the crew never felt relaxed.
And, it must be admitted, the effort was worth it.
The crew of this MC80, as often happened on raider cruisers, was serving on such ships only temporarily.
They were waiting for their real starship, one of the Dominion regular fleet vessels, to complete its modernization.
In this particular case, the crew was eagerly awaiting their return to the decks of their Victory-class Star Destroyer, the Triumph.
This starship had served the Galactic Empire well for many years but was captured by the Rebel Alliance during the operation to seize Coruscant several years ago.
Along with the Monarch, they joined the New Republic Defense Forces under new names.
A few months ago, during the battle in the Ciutric system, when the core of the Fourth New Republic Fleet was defeated by Grand Admiral Thrawn, these ships ceased to serve the zealous guardians of democratic values.
The Triumph was finishing its refit and would soon join the active Dominion fleet.
Like the other Victory-class ships in Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet, this starship would receive a weapons upgrade and numerous internal modifications.
Instead of ten quad turbolaser cannons, each Victory would carry an equal number of octuple heavy turbolasers.
Eighty main-battery guns was enormous firepower, previously available only to the Imperial-class.
The Triumph's commander watched a Lambda-class shuttle landing in the hangar, showing no emotion.
Half an hour ago, this same shuttle had left the star cruiser to reach the station. Then a signal came for the ship to proceed to the designated system.
Which the star cruiser did.
A middle-aged young man in a black combat suit descended the shuttle's ramp.
"Captain," he nodded to the greeter.
"Agent Bravo-Three," the commander of the Unshakable replied in the same tone. "Any new orders?"
Escorting a Dominion Intelligence Service agent to his target — the Ubiqtorate communication station — was a rather responsible task.
Especially when you had to operate deep in ostensibly enemy territory.
But, in his time, the commander of this ship had spent a lot of time hunting smugglers and pirates in this part of the galaxy, so he knew the "secret paths."
Illegal smuggler hyperspace routes — just what was needed to deliver an agent to his destination.
And the MC80, better than any other starship, was suited for this kind of task: covert delivery and creating the necessary information pretext.
What a single man would do aboard the Ubiqtorate station was not his headache. If an intelligence agent acted alone, it was necessary.
"You may destroy the station," the agent said calmly.
"Yes, sir," the Star Destroyer commander replied calmly.
Activating his comlink, he gave the order to the senior gunner.
A minute of precision fire later, only memories remained of the place where Ubiqtorate agents transmitted their messages to coordinators.
And a multitude of buzz droids from Project "Morrt."
To eradicate a parasite, you had to reach all its parts.
* * *
The planet Marquarra was located in the Outer Rim, in the Prefsbelt sector.
In space controlled by the Pentastar Alignment.
This world was not heavily populated and certainly lacked any major defensive structures.
No orbital defense platforms, no covering fleet ships.
The Ubiqtorate did not widely publicize the locations of its assets. And to preserve the secrecy of the weapon cache on Marquarra, the organization resorted to an old, reliable tactic: using a remote planet with a small garrison of proven fighters, completely cut off from the command information net.
Therefore, when six Mon Calamari star cruisers emerged from hyperspace, instantly destroying two orbital communication satellites, nothing could stop the New Republic from attacking the Ubiqtorate arsenal.
And it was this cold-blooded attack by the Republic that would be talked about across the HoloNet soon, a few days after the events.
Interviews Imperial reporters would take with locals would tell of fearsome Wookiee soldiers who landed on the planet and stormed the Ubiqtorate facility.
They would tell of the extraordinary ferocity with which the natives of Kashyyyk dealt with the shadow stormtroopers guarding the facility.
They would describe in detail how numerous transports carried dozens of large transport containers with weapons markings out of the depths of a modest mansion on the outskirts of the settlement.
What would not make the airwaves were the locals' reflections on how much equipment and machinery the Republic soldiers had removed from the mansion grounds.
Nor would details of the Pentastar Alignment law enforcement's inspection of dozens of underground levels of the Ubiqtorate base, cleaned out by Republic troops, make it.
The HoloNet would be shaken only by the angry statements of Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, who would threaten the New Republic with retribution for the operation to destroy and demoralize the Ubiqtorate and the entire Imperial intelligence system as a whole.
What the Grand Moff would not say, he — and a small circle besides him — would know.
The Ubiqtorate had not simply lost its leadership, control over information, and secret weapons caches.
Dozens and hundreds of the most fervent and criminal, immoral and bloodthirsty Ubiqtorate agents had been eliminated by the time the news report aired.
Always by different methods, always in the most unexpected places — but death found every one.
No one saw the killers, and the absence of traces of the crime made it impossible to identify the perpetrators, and through them, to reach those who had ordered the executions.
The only clue the Inquisitorius investigators, looking into these egregious crimes, could find was a mention that Jawas had been seen near the locations where the bodies were discovered.
But who would pay attention to galactic scavengers, harmless and pitiful?
Neither did the Inquisitorius investigators pay attention, wasting their own and others' time and, gnashing their teeth, receiving more and more data on the fatalities.
By the end of the current year, the Ubiqtorate had ceased to exist as an organization.
Because most of its personnel had been killed, its resources and weapons confiscated.
Those Ubiqtorate agents about whom anything was known — honest and law-abiding, unlike their unscrupulous colleagues — simply disappeared.
Where they were and what they were doing, the Inquisitorius and other organizations brought in to investigate were never able to determine.
But what had happened added no small number of contradictory opinions in the public eye about the activities of the New Republic's intelligence services.
No matter how much Coruscant apologized and denied it, a fact was a fact — the undeserved glory of the conquerors of the bloodiest and most merciless organization of the New Order had fallen to them.
* * *
"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Vex inquired.
The Twi'lek was glaring unpleasantly at a container of food waste, inside which, judging by the sounds, a new life was being born through the mutation of rotting leftovers.
"Yes," Reynar replied curtly.
"It's just that whoever you're looking for is unlikely to walk through stinking alleys full of garbage."
The Shadow Guard rolled his eyes in helpless rage, listening to the Force.
No, they needed to wait a little longer.
"He won't come through here," the former Inquisitor stated confidently.
"Then what are we doing here...?" the girl nearly shrieked when a hideous-looking creature jumped out of the container, snapped its claws, and scurried away into the alley.
"Shoo-shoo-shoo shoo-shoo!" the girl said, her eyes flashing angrily, hinting that the Shadow Guard really ought to take his hand off her mouth.
"Qui-et," Reynar warned her in a whisper, looking her straight in the eyes. "Agreed?"
"Shoo-shoo-shoo-shoo-Shoo!" Vex tried to kill him with a look, but realized it was useless, so she pointed at her blaster.
Reynar sighed resignedly and removed his hand from his partner's face.
"Boor!" the girl declared, looking at the man with disdain.
"Will you just shut up already!" the former Inquisitor hissed at her. "This is an ambush, not a club for women's romance novels!"
"I don't follow…"
"Stop talking!"
"Fine, whatever," the girl snorted. "How much longer?"
Reynar suppressed the urge to kill his partner right then and there.
But he remembered in time that she was necessary for the plan.
Unfortunately — alive.
At least for the next few minutes.
"Now," the Force told him the right moment.
Grabbing the shrieking Twi'lek with telekinesis, Reynar hurled her out of the trash-filled alley and straight onto the night road.
Vex twisted in midair and fired a burst from her blaster in his direction.
"Die, Jedi!" her voice was full of fury and contempt.
Perfect performance.
Though knowing her, there was no doubt — the girl said exactly what she thought.
And the wish sounded extremely genuine.
The girl was supposed to knock down the tall man in black robes with a hood pulled over his head, but he just raised his hand up and the Twi'lek, changing trajectory, hovered above the ground.
Then, she immediately closed in on the man.
"Jedi?" he asked in a low voice.
"That fucking Skywalker broke into my club!" the girl wailed, jabbing her blaster toward the trash-filled alley. "Hey, you, what's going on‽"
"Get out of my sight!" The girl crashed onto the road, and the man in black, snatching an oblong object from his belt, strode quickly toward the direction the girl had indicated.
He crossed half the alley before he stopped and looked around.
The Force led him to a heavy trash bag, which he sliced open with a lightsaber.
In the same instant, a small medallion that had been inside the trash flew out and landed in his hand.
"Deception!" the man roared, turning toward the alley's exit.
"You're incredibly perceptive, Zasm Katth," Reynar said, stepping out of his hiding place.
The lightsaber pike spun in his hand, and the crimson blades came to life.
"Inquisitor!" the member of the Dark Side Elite said in a thunderous, utterly contemptuous tone, drawing his own blade. "Your trap?"
"Spreading rumors that the Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker had come to Axila to investigate the murder of two councilors found with lightsaber wounds was quite easy," Reynar stated. "And tracking you was even simpler. You have a fairly developed ability to sense the Force, the Light Side. So I had no doubt you'd run into the alley, drawn by the trinket emanating a Jedi aura."
Zasm Katth threw the medallion away from himself with disgust, staring at the Jedi with eyes whose irises glowed with yellow fire.
"Death awaits you, traitor," he declared. "The Dark Side Elite, Executor Sedriss, knows you didn't die on Vjun."
"All the better, then," declared Reynar Obscuro. "I won't have to remind each of you who I am before I take your pathetic lives."
"You will die," Zasm said clearly. "Here. Now."
Both opponents continued to stare at each other for several seconds before they lunged forward.
Reynar blocked the overhead strike Zasm Katth made.
The lightsaber pike completed a rotating motion, and the second blade flashed before the face of the Dark Side Elite member, who recoiled backward.
If the opponent hadn't done that, his face would have been severed from his skull.
Katth struck at the former Inquisitor's torso, but Obscuro blocked the enemy's blade and additionally slammed his elbow into his face.
Palpatine's servant took two steps back, shaking his head, but his opponent didn't let him recover from the blow to the head.
One of the crimson blades jabbed at Zasm's leg, but he parried it easily, preventing a wound.
Reynar Obscuro grabbed a trash container with the Force and hurled it at his opponent, backing away.
Scattering polymer bags and emitting a stench, the improvised projectile flew toward the Dark Side Elite member.
The latter jumped, clearing the obstacle with ease.
He managed a crooked grin, deflecting several blaster shots that Vex was firing at him, and landed heavily on his feet, returning to the pavement a couple of meters from the former Inquisitor.
And the next moment, a telekinetic Force push sent him flying backward, slamming him into the container.
Zasm snarled like a wounded beast, feeling his vertebrae crack.
He had no serious injuries, but the very fact that he'd been doused in stench and garbage enraged the Emperor's servant.
He lunged forward, accelerating with the Force, intending to cut Obscuro in half at the waist.
The Inquisitor easily sidestepped the attack, rewarding his opponent with a kick to the gut.
Katth stopped, catching his breath, and turned his back to the alley's exit, waiting for an attack.
His hand moved, and several containers blocked Vex's line of fire.
Buying himself a few seconds, the Dark Side Elite member charged at the former Inquisitor.
The blades met and locked.
Zasm used his advantage in height, weight, and physical strength over the opponent, starting to push Obscuro back with wide, sweeping lightsaber strikes.
Reynar retreated obediently, step by step, his back approaching the wall of the nearest building.
Finally, after deflecting another lunge, the former Inquisitor got distracted, leaving his chest uncovered.
With a triumphant roar, Zasm descended on the enemy from above, intending to cut off his head with a diagonal lightsaber strike...
Suddenly, just as Zasm's lightsaber began to slide its tip along the wall, leaving a melted furrow, Reynar ducked down and rolled to the side.
Exactly a moment before the crimson blade of the Dark Side Elite member cut through the high-voltage power cable of the residential complex.
A pillar of sparks burst out, momentarily blinding Palpatine's servant.
Unable to make out anything with his organs of sight, he relied on the Force, batting away Obscuro's lunge.
Then, twisting his body, he put his blade in the path of Vex's shots.
His vision began to return, the light circles before his eyes dissolving...
Joy and exultation filled Zasm Katth as his vision cleared enough for him to discern the outlines of the objects around him.
The last thing he saw — clearly and inevitably — was the crimson blade of the lightsaber pike, which had slipped between Zasm's raised guard and his body.
While deflecting Vex's shots, the opponent momentarily missed that the danger from Obscuro hadn't gone anywhere.
And with the next motion, the Shadow Guard separated the Dark Side Elite member's head from his body.
"Second one," Obscuro said heavily, extinguishing his saber and claiming the trophy blade, which settled comfortably on his belt.
"Just don't take all the credit for yourself, deal?" Vex suggested, holstering her blaster pistol. "If it weren't for me and my improvisation, he wouldn't have gotten distracted."
"Doesn't matter," Obscuro waved dismissively, breathing hard to calm his pounding heart. "The main thing is that there are fewer of them every time."
"Geez, you're actually sweating," Vex chuckled, jumping down from the barricade of trash containers. "It's not like he really ran you ragged..."
"To beat him, I had to really push myself," Obscuro said. "He was fast — thanks to the Force. I could barely keep up."
"So then, who's the good one for distracting him with her shooting?" Vex clarified, grinning cheekily.
"Yeah, you, you're great," Obscuro waved his hand. "And now, be a dear — search him and let's get out of here."
"Why do I have to go rooting through a dead guy's pockets?" the girl wondered. "He stinks like a dead sarlacc."
"So do you," Obscuro grimaced. "That's why you're doing the searching."
"For decency's sake, you could have just said you're out of strength instead of insulting me," the girl winced, timidly approaching the decapitated body. "Acting all almighty..."
He could have argued, but Reynar barely had the strength to stand.
* * *
"Sergeant," General Maximilian Kaine called out to Tychus, jabbing a finger toward the AT-AT standing nearby. "What is this disgrace painted on the side of your walker?"
Roach, sighing resignedly, looked the commander of the Chimaera's ground contingent in the face.
"'Hunchback Rancor,' sir," he said, looking away.
Major General Kaine's mouth fell open at the explanation for the picture covering most of the massive AT-AT hull.
Drawing anything on combat vehicles was strictly forbidden by every possible postulate and regulation of the Imperial Armed Forces.
During the Clone Wars, such "artworks" flourished in the Grand Army of the Republic, but the Empire put a big, fat stop to such displays of painting among its military.
The Dominion hadn't yet published any of its own organizational and administrative documents on this subject, so logically, Imperial norms were in effect.
"Explain yourself, Sergeant!" Major General Kaine demanded.
And what was there to explain?
On the side of the AT-AT was a huge image of a somewhat hunchbacked rancor in black.
On the starboard side and the port side, too.
Done with durable paints from the shipboard technicians' arsenal — the kind they used for applying identification markings to armored vehicles.
This hadn't been noticeable during the night landing — after all, the walker had already been loaded onto a landing barge right after being brought aboard the Chimaera.
But with the first rays of dawn, the unknown author's creativity became apparent as soon as Tychus's AT-AT returned from patrolling the vicinity of Base Eidolon, the assault on which had lasted all night.
And now, while stormtroopers and army soldiers were loading everything valuable from the base onto transports, the vehicles were also preparing for departure.
And a Hutt had nudged Kaine into appearing right here.
Tychus's walker was cramped in close proximity to two other machines, so the "art" wasn't obvious at first glance.
So either the general saw it himself, or someone reported it.
The latter was impossible — snitching wasn't customary on the Chimaera.
So Kaine must have seen it himself.
"The hull of the vehicle bears an image of a rancor, painted with black paint, sir," Tychus might have been able to explain the truth to Veers, but with his clone, it was difficult. Kaine was a model soldier, and you couldn't explain to him that this was just someone's joke.
Tychus himself clearly understood that the stormtroopers he'd been swearing around on Mustafar had done this. But try and figure them out — all in identical armor, and the vocoder hid their real voices — who had drawn it.
"And you're observant, Sergeant," the commander praised. "How did it get there‽"
"It was painted, sir!"
What else could he say when there was nothing to say?
Accuse the stormtroopers of doing it?
Not even funny.
Who would even believe that?
All that was left was to answer by the book.
"Don't make me angry, Sergeant!" Kaine warned. "Or I'll quickly send your promotion to AT-AT crew commander back for review! Talk fast — who and by what right painted this hunchbacked rancor on your walker‽"
Kaine's thunderous, booming voice was already starting to attract the attention of nearby soldiers, mechanics, gunners, and stormtroopers.
And it stirred up unpleasant associations.
Following the battle on Mustafar, Kaine had put Roach's name forward for promotion — to command a walker.
And the sergeant had resisted this with every fiber of his being, not seeing himself in that position.
Behind the controls of a walker — sure.
But commander...
People were starting to take notice.
Given that even while waiting for loading, the armored vehicle crews were near their AT-ATs, roughly three hundred people became witnesses to the interrogation.
"I did it, sir," Tychus had no intention of accusing anyone or guessing who was responsible, or clarifying the situation. Why bother, and who even needed to know the real story? After all, he himself didn't know for sure whether his hypothesis about the stormtroopers' involvement was correct.
"What in the blazes for, Sergeant?" Kaine was taken aback.
"I thought that an image of a rancor with a pack would symbolize the unstoppable power of my combat vehicle," the mechanic-driver began justifying himself without batting an eye. "The rancor — as a symbol of the AT-AT's might, and the backpack — a symbol of useful payload and the walker's warlike nature..."
Major General Kaine blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"Never heard anything more absurd," he declared. "You ended up with a hunchbacked rancor, not one with a pack!"
The reaction could have been much worse.
"My fault, sir," the sergeant said, putting on a guilty expression. "I'm a mechanic-driver, not an artist, General. I did my best..."
"Don't do things you haven't been trained for, Sergeant," the Major General advised, shaking his head. "Clean that obscenity off the armor immediately!"
"I can't carry out that order, sir!" Tychus declared resignedly.
"Reason‽"
"It's identification paint, sir," Sergeant Roach explained. "It's eaten into the blaster-resistant coating... It would only come off during an armor replacement..."
Which meant the machine would have to be taken apart almost completely.
"What the hell is this‽" the commander exploded. "Gross misconduct! Ten days in the guardhouse! And that's if the Grand Admiral doesn't see it! Pray to whatever gods you believe in, Sergeant, that Thrawn doesn't remember the ground forces regulations, or he'll have you rotting in some cesspit!"
Veers would have given him a private dressing-down, but Kaine was just the face and memories of his donor. Clones of senior ranks and positions tried to form personalities distinct from their progenitors — to bring at least a little individuality to themselves.
If it were Jurgen in Kaine's place...
"You know, I like it," another familiar voice rang out.
The sergeant slanted his eyes to the side and encountered another Major General.
With the face of Maximilian Veers.
General Jurgen.
Speak of the devil...
"Against regulations," Kaine stated.
"Oh, come on," Jurgen waved his hand. "Emblems aren't regulated either, but the Blizzard Squad has them. On armored vehicles, equipment, personal armor, and shoulder pauldrons. Look," General Jurgen casually grabbed the edge of Tychus's jumpsuit, showing the patch — "a walker in the center of a gear."
"Blizzard is different," Kaine grimaced. "An elite unit with years of history and traditions!"
"This guy," Jurgen jabbed a finger toward Tychus, "wiped out up to a regiment of enemy infantry on Mustafar, blew up a defensive line, and even managed to crash his damaged walker in a way that didn't crush any men or equipment. I think that's a pretty good tradition too, don't you, Kaine?"
"Where are you going with this, Jurgen?" Tychus was doing his best to act like the conversation between the two Major Generals had nothing to do with him.
Honestly, Jurgen shouldn't even have been there with them — he'd been transferred to command a legion on a different destroyer. But as it happened, the In Amber Clad had also participated in this operation. And it had joined the landing force to speed up the capture of Base Eidolon.
"Create the Rancor Squad," the second clone of Major General Veers shrugged. "Easy enough. A couple of orders, and you'll have a unit with these patches and emblems. No problems from a formal standpoint. And no fear that Thrawn will have a reason to ask you and your unit extremely uncomfortable questions."
"Yes, but that doesn't solve the problem of the emblem painted across the entire hull of the AT-AT," Kaine stated, remembering the "cause" of the celebration and turning his attention back to Roach, who was standing nearby. "Your suggestions, Sergeant? How will you justify this indelible emblem? Or how will you request the walker be sent for repairs to replace the armor plates?"
An AT-AT wasn't an AT-RT or even an AT-ST, which could be fully repaired aboard a Star Destroyer. Replacing the painted armor of a walker would require sending it to a factory. And that would need a serious justification, like a vehicle being out of commission.
But this AT-AT was the newest model. All systems were functioning perfectly. Deliberately damaging something just to get the machine sent for armor replacement — that was sabotage, an act of sabotage.
Actions explicitly listed as war crimes.
"I am prepared to accept any punishment for my wrongful actions, sir," the sergeant stated.
He simply had no other opinion.
He had violated regulations — be ready for punishment.
And it didn't particularly matter whether he had applied the drawings himself or allowed them to appear — the fault in any case lay with the mechanic-driver responsible for the technical and standardized condition of the combat vehicle.
"Let it stay," Jurgen suggested unexpectedly.
"A violation of the regulations on standardization of appearance," Major General Kaine reminded him.
"Then paint the same ones on every machine in this Rancor Squad," Jurgen suggested. "AT-ATs also exert psychological pressure on the enemy through their appearance. Imagine what would happen if the enemy saw a unit that had made a name for itself in some major ground battle emerging from their trenches?"
"But we're not the Imperial Fists," Kaine grimaced. "We'd have to earn that reputation, and ground operations aren't the strongest part of the Grand Admiral's campaign. To be more precise — not the most frequent."
"Well, my authority ends here," Jurgen spread his hands, looking at Tychus Roach. "Sergeant, there aren't many options — disciplinary action, sabotage, or being at the tip of the spear to justify what you were saying about that emblem. Choose for yourself."
Tychus sighed resignedly.
"General Kaine, sir, I request that my crew be kept in the vanguard of the attack in the future," he said.
"Approved," he clapped the sergeant on the shoulder. "An hour after loading, come see me — we'll head to the simulators to test your command abilities. Since you'll be first among them, let's see if you really have a commander's streak in you."
"Yes, sir," Tychus sighed resignedly.
"Dismissed, Sergeant!"
He didn't want the promotion.
He was comfortable enough behind the controls.
* * *
When the mechanic-driver's back had retreated about a hundred meters from both generals, Kaine threw a glance at his "twin."
"You think it'll work?" he inquired.
"The kid's talented, even if he doesn't realize it," Jurgen stated. "Behind the controls, he's an ace, sure, but we also have to think about the future of the armed forces. There are those who can't but want to, and then there are the opposite. The Sergeant's in that category."
"We'll need to keep an eye on him," Kaine stated. "The best vehicle commander is one who knows its construction and capabilities perfectly, not those 'cadet boys' who don't even have an idea what an AT-AT's running gear looks like under the plating. But it's not certain the kid has any understanding of the command process."
"He handled himself well on Mustafar and secured the breakthrough," General Jurgen reminded him. "That alone requires his promotion."
"In rank, not position," Kaine objected.
"Without an officer's academy, 'sergeant' is his ceiling," Jurgen stated. Then he looked at his comrade suspiciously:
"So that's what you're up to‽ You appoint him as walker commander, he formally confirms his fitness for the position on the simulator, then you push him into middle-tier 'training'..."
"If the kid really finds himself in the commander's seat, we'll soon solve our problem with the shortage of officer personnel," Kaine stated coldly.
The man pulled a heavy glove off his hand and looked at the black smudges on his skin:
"Hey, he wasn't joking about the identification paint not washing off, was he?"
"Not a bit," Jurgen confirmed. "Either slice the skin off, or..."
"I'll just wear the glove," Kaine decided, putting the mentioned piece of clothing back on. "The main thing is that the techies don't blab that it was me who ordered it."
"And took a direct part in it," he remembered his original motive to punish the sergeant for teaching the stormtroopers swear words.
And it turned out... differently.
Truly, in the army, even a joke can end up being useful for the armed forces.
"You did let them write off a barrel of spirits for 'cleaning spare parts,' right?" Jurgen clarified. Kaine nodded. "Then they'll keep quiet. Mechanics are a certain kind of people. You'll see — they'll drink the contents of the barrel and never get caught drunk."
* * *
"Is this the final inventory?" I asked, lifting my gaze from my personal datapad.
"Yes, sir, Grand Admiral," reported Captain Pellaeon, standing to my right.
"You've enriched yourself quite nicely at the state's expense, Grand Vizier," I said, looking at the man sitting opposite me.
In a plain jumpsuit, devoid of rich embroidery or expensive ornaments, the bald man with a long nose, cowering under Rukh's gaze, looked pathetic.
Like a cornered animal, he sat hunched over, glancing around.
His legs were pressed together, only the tips of his toes touching the deck.
His palms were tucked under his armpits, and his whole posture spoke of withdrawal and unwillingness to communicate.
"Jewels, art objects, cash," I listed what had once been present in this secret location. "And you lost all of it after the New Republic captured the base a few years ago. Credit where it's due — you are a simultaneously bold and yet foolish man to have established a base where it had already been discovered once. And located in the depths of space not under your control. A strategic miscalculation."
Base Eidolon was located on the edge of the Northern Dune Sea of Tatooine.
It was extremely curious how this base had even come to exist.
Sate Pestage, as Grand Vizier, oversaw the creation of an experimental strike cruiser for the Galactic Empire to advance Imperial military technology. As a baseline variant, the Strike-class medium cruiser was chosen. Equipped with various technical innovations (according to plan), this ship could rival a heavy cruiser in power.
The most notable feature of this ship was its wing launch and recovery system. After TIE fighters landed/docked in a special double rack installed in the docking bay at the base of the command tower, the TIEs in their racks would move through maintenance and refueling zones, ending up in launch corridors on both sides of the ship. This ensured a constant stream of fighters for short missions.
According to the official version, the ship went on its first and last flight, being destroyed.
In reality, Pestage had taken and hidden the ship for himself without his superiors' knowledge. The ship was never used to its full capacity, because Pestage was laundering money and using the project's funding to build the Eidolon base and purchase munitions, works of art, and other forms of wealth from across the galaxy.
The Rebel Alliance and their fleeting allies discovered the base during their Tatooine campaign in the year of the Battle of Endor. Everything of value was taken and divided among the participants of the operation.
Later, assuming the identity of Blackhole, Pestage reclaimed the base, acting under the guise of "imperials who loathe any Remnants."
He placed his command and information center here, which by now had been evacuated to the Chimaera.
The shadow stormtroopers guarding the base were destroyed, as were the squadrons covering the airspace.
A significant portion of the information banks was preserved.
Including data from the Imperial information center.
The very same that was located in the dungeons of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant.
In fact, Mr. Ghent's report on who made copies from this data source and when became the first starting point for understanding the true identity of "Agent Blackhole."
Slicer said that Pestage made copies of this base twice.
And while the first case didn't particularly worry me, the second one, made from aboard the Star Destroyer Red Dragon, which was already known at the time as the flagship of the Ubiqtorate...
The rest is merely the fruit of observations and strategy-building.
"You cannot win," Pestage declared, breaking the silence. "The Emperor and his army will destroy you and your pathetic Dominion."
Captain Pellaeon gave the former Grand Vizier an appraising look that read "a lot of choice words."
"You'd do well to remember that all forces of the Ubiqtorate are now at our disposal," he declared.
"A pathetic structure," Pestage said disdainfully. "Don't flatter yourself, Thrawn — with a few extra destroyers you won't conquer the galaxy."
"Which was controlled by a no less pathetic man," I reminded him. "I dare say, Grand Vizier, you have no idea what goals the Dominion is pursuing."
"You cannot comprehend my greatness," Pestage said, growing spirited. "Only the Emperor and I managed to escape death, deceiving all our enemies! And when he attacks, everyone else will fall prostrate before him! I will watch as he burns the worlds of rebels and smile. Because once again everyone will be left fools, and I'll be in power. As it has always been — I will once again rule the Empire in mundane affairs, while the Emperor delves into the mysteries of greatness and ancient knowledge."
"Interesting," I said, giving the man a thoughtful look. "Will your triumph, which you so dream of, occur before or after I arrange a meeting for you with Ysanne Isard?"
Pestage's angular face sharpened.
Fear appeared in his eyes.
After all, it was Isard who sicced Prince-Admiral Krennel on him, who destroyed Pestage's clone before the capture of Ciutric.
"You are insignificant, Grand Vizier," I declared. "Without Palpatine, you could not protect yourself from Isard's intrigues, nor save your extended family from Krennel's purges. Even the Ubiqtorate under your command has become nothing more than a pale shadow of its former self."
"Ysanne is dead!" Pestage said emphatically. "The rebels killed her at Thyferra."
"Do you really think you are so brilliant that only you came up with the idea of a clone?" I asked in surprise.
Honestly, until now the Grand Vizier had seemed to me a more level-headed man.
But in fact — he is clearly not among the cunning and calculating.
Greedy and narcissistic — that is who he really is.
"She... cloned herself?" Horror swirled in Pestage's eyes.
"Exactly so," I confirmed. "And soon, as soon as we return to base, you will have a fascinating meeting with that lady."
"I... Thrawn!" he suddenly howled. "You won't do this!"
"Aren't you tired of being disappointed in the validity of that statement?" I inquired.
"She... She'll kill me!" Pestage trembled.
"For what exactly?" I specified. "For profiting off the Empire? For arranging political assassinations? For planning to hand Coruscant over to the New Republic and for that being accused of treason? Specify which exactly from this short list of your crimes worries you so much?"
"E-e-everything," Pestage stammered. "She... I'll do anything for you, as long as you don't hand me over to that chained bitch of the Emperor!"
"Oh," I exchanged glances with Captain Pellaeon, who was no less puzzled than I. "It seems Isard has another nickname."
"I don't think she'll be pleased to hear it," Captain Pellaeon remarked.
"But it will help us lure her out," I declared.
"No-no-no-no-no!" Pestage wailed. "Thrawn! I'll give you everything you could wish for! Not Isard! Ensure my safety! I can talk the Emperor out of attacking the Dominion! I'll make sure your little empire remains untouched during the campaign!"
"How interesting," I leaned forward, my hands forming a steeple. "Another confirmation that Palpatine does not intend to honor agreements."
"He doesn't give a damn about all these treaties!" Pestage stammered. "He's insane! He wants to destroy his enemies — that's all he cares about! He's not interested in anything else! The advisors around him — they want to get rid of you! I... I'll tell you who exactly! And I'll tell you how they intend to do it!"
"Well then," I looked into the eyes of this cowardly semblance of a man. "I await your revelations. The more you tell me that I don't know, the easier it will be for me not to dial Isard's comlink number."
"There is a traitor among your officers!" Pestage declared. "He supplies data on the Dominion's defense systems!"
"Through the Ubiqtorate?" I specified.
"No, no! He has his own contact! One of the dark Jedi who serve the Emperor directly! I merely relay his words to the Executor!"
"To Sedriss," I stated.
"Y-yes!" Pestage nodded. "He disgraced himself after you prevented the destruction of the Noghri. A pathetic worm! The Emperor broke him easily and casually, and now Sedriss is constantly looking for a way to regain his place as the Emperor's right hand."
"Which you currently occupy, 'Agent Blackhole,'" I said, narrowing my eyes and glancing at Pellaeon.
Gilad, who had already seen much under my command, tried not to be surprised by anything.
The right approach.
It prolongs life.
"Yes!" A greedy glint flashed in Pestage's eyes. "Thrawn! I can help you preserve your Dominion!"
"Is that so?" I raised an eyebrow. "And how?"
"I will be a double agent," the Grand Vizier licked his dry lips. "You were rash, destroying my bases and people — and I know you well. You have purged or will purge the Ubiqtorate from top to bottom, so nothing more interferes with your plans..."
Let's say.
Orders have already been given — and will be carried out as the analysts work through the Ubiqtorate archives. I cannot afford to let high-class criminal operatives and complete maniacs live.
."..I will continue gathering intelligence for Palpatine," Pestage continued. "In fact, it's already ready..."
"You have marked targets for him," said Pellaeon.
"Yes," Pestage nodded. "I'll tell you which ones."
"Is the Dominion among these targets?" I asked.
"Not as the first priority," Pestage shook his head. "Palpatine doesn't care about the Dominion — he's confident that once he shows himself, all imperials will flock to his banner. But you... His inner circle fears you. You fight too well..."
That classic case where your talent is your curse.
"A significant portion of all Imperial Remnant forces see you as a leader," said Pestage. "Many of them would have already deserted, like Captain Abyss, but they fear that the Ubiqtorate will treat their relatives the same way it treated the families of the Void Wanderer's crew..."
"You destroyed the liner with the families not to stop the Void Wanderer," said Pellaeon. "You wanted to make an 'example' for the other military personnel..."
"Yes, yes, yes," Pestage nodded. "The fanatics in the Ubiqtorate, in the post-Endor years, have killed as many military personnel as the rebels — everyone who in any way wanted to leave the Empire. The Ubiqtorate holds them back under threat..."
"All" is, of course, an exaggeration...
"Until I hear something that would make me spare your life" in truth, that's not the case. But those present don't need to know that.
"I will be your agent," Pestage reminded. "I'll make sure Palpatine is personally interested in your survival. I'll make you an icon of the armed forces — and then no dignitary or courtier will be able to contradict him. They're not complete fools over there — they understand that if you are killed, it will enrage all those who almost worship you. There will be unrest among the military, and the killer will clearly paint a target on his own forehead after such an act. I'll make sure he doesn't actually look in the direction of the Dominion — that he allows you to take some territories and exist autonomously within the Empire. And in return, you will conquer the galaxy for him! You're excellent at that, aren't you?"
"No," I declared.
"But you've already taken over more than a dozen sectors," Pestage marveled. "And with Palpatine's forces, you could conquer the entire galaxy in a year or two..."
"Not a bad offer," I appraised.
"Agree," Pestage's eyes literally oozed greed and anticipation. "And then..."
"And then we destroy the Emperor, you take his place, and I become your Supreme Commander?" I needed to clarify.
"The best scenario," Pestage nodded. "Can't leave a madman on the throne..."
"No one said that assumption would be realized," I declared.
"Thrawn..." Pestage tensed. "What do you mean...?!"
"Exactly what I said at the very beginning of our conversation, Grand Vizier," I declared. "You have no idea what my goals are."
The man's left eye twitched.
"Captain," I addressed the commander of the Chimaera, "set a course for base. And prepare a comfortable cabin for Mr. Pestage — he needs to rest before his meeting with his fate."
The Grand Vizier began to shake violently.
"THRA-A-A-A-A-WN!!!" With eyes bulging from their sockets, the man lunged forward, arms outstretched, hoping to strangle me.
With a punch to the face, Rukh broke "Agent Blackhole's" jaw and sent him into oblivion.
How symbolic...
Oblivion awaits him.