Nine years, nine months, and twenty-first day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, ninth month, and twenty-first day since the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and sixth day since the Arrival.)
Grand Moff Ferrus met my gaze calmly.
"Excellent work," I praised, setting aside the personal datapad with reports from the core territories.
"Thank you, sir," he replied.
Felix had indeed done a great deal of work.
The same man I had met about six months ago sat before me.
But this was no longer the administrator of a small, remote sector barely scraping by.
Now, despite his middle age, he was an excellent administrator and executor — moderately diligent and proactive.
Thanks to him, the core territories were transforming for the better every day. With a staff of loyal assistants and his own clones, he had not only restored communication within the sectors and systems under our control in record time but also jump-started the motley economy of the sectors and remote systems we occupied.
"By the end of this year, economic and industrial sector stability will reach levels that will allow us to provide the population with everything they need, as well as accumulate strategic reserves," the Grand Moff said in a calm tone.
"Does that also apply to the military-industrial complex?" I inquired.
"We're prioritizing that first, sir," Ferrus stated. "Though I won't say your desire to standardize a single caliber on large Imperial-design ships — eight-gun turbolaser turrets — comes easily to us."
"With all due respect to your achievements, Grand Moff, the Dominion cannot afford to produce different types of weaponry for the regular fleet," I reminded him. "That's why we're unifying the calibers of our Star Destroyers and strike cruisers. The era of stockpiling armed forces by any means is over."
"I understand, sir," Felix nodded. "The shipyards are working around the clock to refit and modernize vessels. We're removing those with critical damage from the lists and breaking them down for spare parts for the rest."
"I take it this applies to the Corellian corvettes, frigates, and escort frigates?" I clarified.
"Exactly, sir," the Grand Moff confirmed. "Shipwright Zion forwarded his proposals for modernizing the escort frigates, interdictor cruisers, and other vessels to you?"
"Yes, I received them in a timely manner. It's worth noting that your specialists should also be commended for the efficiency of the communication systems. Thanks to the work your subordinates put into the new relay stations, Dominion territory no longer has any 'dead zones.'"
"We merely followed your instructions, Grand Admiral."
It should be said that the dozen relays, including the manned one, are not "new" in the conventional sense of the word. We acquired each of them during the attack on Coruscant and a dozen other systems controlled by the New Republic in the Core Worlds.
Since ancient times, the Galactic Republic had only moved cheap, outdated HoloNet relays to the Outer Rim. And if it was ever the opposite, millennia have worn the systems down, and maintaining every one of the thousands of such installations across the galaxy in optimal condition is quite expensive.
As it happens, in the northern galaxy where the Dominion's core territories are based, we have rather outdated relays in need of repair, which significantly complicated our communication with remote systems. For now, we've solved the problem by decommissioning the worn-out relays and replacing them with ones stolen from the New Republic.
Communication problems in that state didn't particularly interest me, but ensuring worthy communication for the Dominion — that's one of my goals.
So right now, our communication is partially supported by relatively new relays, and partially by duplicating old installations with new ones.
Naturally, the locations of our relays have changed — so the enemy won't be able to pull the same trick on us as easily.
"Is Asteroid-II in position?" I inquired.
"We've changed the defensive line layout in all directions except the Kanz sector," the Grand Moff stated. "Captain Dobramu continues to place camouflaged asteroids in the newly acquired territories of the Kanz sector while the conquest of the Mieru'kar sector is underway. We're working to ramp up production of cloaking fields and the necessary asteroids by using old mining bases. We're somewhat behind schedule, but by the time Dobramu finishes deploying the asteroids, we'll already have interdictor stations and a second defensive line ready. After that, using the crystalline gravity trap, we'll change the position of the deployed asteroids, and the plan for creating the first and second defensive lines will be complete. I had to increase funding for several areas and hire additional personnel to meet the schedule by the end of this month."
"Expenditures on Dominion security are justified," I said. "As are their increases. I take it you've begun laying down Crusader II and Raider-II corvettes at the shipyard in the Venin sector?"
"Affirmative, sir," Felix confirmed. "The slips there are small, suited for ships of that class. The personnel are reasonably competent. Given your wish to replace CR90s and DP20s with our own production, I considered it correct to start full-scale production immediately. Especially since the factories producing components, engines, and weapons are already operational."
"Considering that a significant portion of the laser armament installed on corvettes of this type goes to the regular fleet for refitting Star Destroyers and other vessels, the commissioning timelines could be delayed," I noted.
"That's true, which is why I'm directing the shipyard to produce and assemble hulls without armament," the Grand Moff explained. "After that, we'll tow the ships to the fleet base and equip them according to standard complement there, as well as conduct acceptance trials on site. This way, we not only keep the shipyard working and the personnel with stable orders and wages, but we also provide the fleet with support ships to replace the Corellian vessels. They won't enter service quickly — unfortunately, the industry isn't ready yet to supply the latest laser cannons for both modernizing and newly built ships. But we'll have the hulls and train the crews. These ships can always be rearmed quickly and easily."
"And besides, you're probably counting on the fact that after the confrontation with the Zann Consortium, we'll gain control of their production complexes and solve the laser cannon shortage in one go," I said.
The Grand Moff nodded affirmatively.
"Sir, this is in no way motivated by ill intent. Of course, I should have coordinated the development direction with you, but the statistics of your orders regarding enemy industry speak for themselves."
"Don't apologize for being engaged in beneficial work, Grand Moff," I asked. "I understand your logic, and I fully agree with it. Additionally, Shipwright Zion will soon receive further instructions regarding a number of Star Destroyers currently in our repair reserve. They're in for a significant modernization, so you'll have the opportunity to redirect some laser cannons to equip the corvettes. According to my estimates, the refitting will take several weeks, which will allow us to have up to fifty of the latest Crusaders and Raiders by the end of the year, freeing the regular fleet from Corellian ships."
"May I ask what exactly you intend to propose to the Shipwright for development?"
The Grand Moff's interest is understandable — the needs of the military shipyards are primarily supplied by the enterprises under his control.
"Are you familiar with the Shipwright's concept for an interdictor cruiser?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir," Ferrus confirmed. "He proposes enlarging the existing Vindicator-class heavy cruisers we have, adding gravity well generators to them. Effectively turning them into larger Immobilizer 418s."
"In broad strokes, correct," I agreed, scrolling through the catalog of reports and finding the right one. "But this will be a completely different ship. The Immobilizer."
Seeing the three-dimensional projection, the Grand Moff grimaced in displeasure.
"I wish Reyes were working with us instead," he said. "Zion, with his provocative behavior, is starting to irritate me."
"I completely understand you," I said. "The fact that he painted the model in Grand Army of the Republic colors and added the Open Circle Fleet markings from the Clone Wars era — from his perspective, that's quite witty. A childish prank, nothing more. The substance of his proposal is more important than the flimsy form he's wrapped it in."
"I can see that hundreds of gravity shadow generators transferred from the Pentastar Alignment are practically burning a hole in his hands," Ferrus stated. "He just can't wait to turn the Vindicators into a parody of interdictor cruisers."
"The initiative is actually worthwhile," I countered. "Zion is proposing we build a new version of the interdictor cruiser. A lighter one compared to the Immobilizer 418."
"I understand why he's suggesting reducing the number of gravity shadow generators," the Grand Moff said, pointing to two spherical formations on the ship instead of four. "In ninety percent of cases, only two generators and two deployment vectors are needed."
"Against a weaker opponent — yes," I agreed.
"As far as I know, you often use all four projectors on such ships."
"Because I'm blocking not just the known vectors for jumping into hyperspace, but the very possibility of leaving the battlefield," I explained. "Zion is proposing a solution that would allow us to increase the number of interdictor cruisers at once."
"You want to take the Vindicators away from me," Ferrus said dejectedly.
"Yes, the Vindicator-class heavy cruisers received from Grand Moff Kaine will have to be refitted into Immobilizers," I confirmed. "And later, we'll set up their production at one of our shipyards. I think the refit can be assigned to the shipyard in the Vosterlig system in the Oplovis sector. They performed excellently in repairing Mon Calamari Star Cruisers and modernizing Nebulon-B escort frigates, didn't they?"
"That's correct, sir," Ferrus agreed. "But... Sir, why make such sacrifices? Just yesterday, the Torii Catcher, the Bastion, and the Assessor joined the Dominion, increasing the number of interdictor cruisers under Dominion control to ten! Why follow Kaine's example and ruin perfectly good ships just to make them perform roles they aren't designed for? You yourself know how much the Vindicators' firepower drops after being converted into Immobilizer 418s. I'd rather we asked Kaine for another variant of these heavy cruisers — the Marauders, which have more reactors and weapons."
"It's obvious you haven't quite understood me correctly, Grand Moff," I said quietly. "No one is going to turn the fifteen Vindicators we have into Immobilizer 418s. And I'm not going to cut their firepower during modernization either. On the contrary — the Immobilizer-class ships of our own production will retain the Vindicator's turbolaser armament, but by increasing their size and installing two gravity shadow generators, they will become not just heavy cruisers, but heavy interdictor cruisers."
Ferrus stared at me intently.
"Sir, forgive me, I don't understand. But why do you need heavy cruisers with those functions if you have Interdictor-class Star Destroyers? They're more powerful and better protected than anything Zion wants to create."
"I'll agree," I baffled the Grand Moff again. "I don't need that kind of ship, not with ten Immobilizer 418s and four Interdictor-class Star Destroyers. And considering that there are about thirty interdictor cruisers at Sluis Van, including the former Beu'a, the Choking Grip, the Claw, the Fire Talon, the Emperor's Net, the Whirlwind, the Claw, the Fire Talon — which are arguably the most famous ships of this type in the entire Imperial part of the galaxy — I have no need to introduce reasonably well-armed but poorly suited heavy cruisers into the regular fleet for system blockades. On the other hand, they're perfectly suited to lead the Dominion patrol detachments operating within the core territories."
Felix narrowed his eyes.
"You want these ships to be part of the Dominion Defense Fleet?"
"Exactly that, Grand Moff," I said. "At the moment, we control fourteen sectors. With the addition of Mieru'kar, there will be fifteen. Formally, they've all undergone major purges of pirates and criminals. Once Operation Crimson Dawn is complete and the Dominion closes its borders to free movement, a black market will inevitably emerge and smugglers will become active. Pirates, who aren't so easily wiped out, will also show themselves. Given that we've decapitated the major gangs, we can't rule out that smaller ones survived the purge. They'll be afraid to flee openly — so they'll start operating inside the Dominion. The Immobilizers are capable of fighting off ships weaker than themselves, repelling attacks on convoys, or organizing blockades of some trade route. An armed freighter or an outdated vessel is no match for them. Starting next year, the regular fleet will have additional tasks, including border patrols and countering aggressors. We can't afford to pull ships from the perimeter to comb systems for pirates. And we can't allow supply ships to disappear on our internal hyperspace routes."
"I think I understand," the Grand Moff said. "That's why you don't mind us starting production of the Crusader IIs and our version of the Raider. You're transferring the Corellian corvettes and frigates to the Defense Fleet?"
"We have about a hundred ships of that type," I reminded him. "We'll make gradual replacements — and then you'll have fast vessels for pursuit and patrol. What we can maintain in working order ourselves should be used. However, by the time the repair work on the Nebulons in their improved modernization is complete, the need for Corellian ships will also disappear."
"They can be transferred to privateers and auxiliary forces," Ferrus suggested. "Like we did with the Arquitens-class light cruisers."
"Exactly."
Despite their age, the Arquitens could still chase down old pirate tubs and performed well against enemy small craft. However, the presence of our fast Crusader IIs and Raiders made the light cruisers redundant. We simply don't need light cruisers when we have well-armed, fast corvettes or escort frigates.
"Grand Admiral, sir," Ferrus addressed me. "Since we've touched on the subject of interdictor ships... Allow me to suggest: we have a large number of Imperial-class Star Destroyers assembled at the shipyard in the Venin sector, captured from Ennix Devian and the ×1 faction. Virtually all of them are currently in reserve because they require additional repairs to fix numerous flaws from shoddy construction. Why not use them, since we have a large stockpile of gravity shadow generators?"
"That's exactly what I intend to propose to Shipwright Zion," I noted. "But again, there's a catch. The Interdictors are a trademark of Kuat Drive Yards. We can technically ignore that and do whatever we want with our ships — that's a matter of jurisprudence and good-faith acquisition. But we already have an excellent Star Destroyer project."
"The Trio."
"Exactly. Its development requires radical internal redesigns, so I plan to refit the eleven destroyers we have — four from the ×1 faction, six from Ennix Devian, one obtained on Raxus Prime, and some of those we'll acquire after Crimson Dawn is complete — into our own type of interdictor Star Destroyer. Taking into account the design flaws of the original project and operational experience with this kind of vessel."
"There are Interdictors at Sluis Van that we could capture?" Ferrus inquired.
"A handful at best," he said. "Unfortunately, there are major problems with interdictor ships after the dissolution of the Galactic Empire. A significant portion of the Immobilizer 418s ended up in Pentastar Alignment territory and were converted into 'Marauders.' Most of the Interdictor-class Star Destroyers were destroyed in battles or retreated into the Deep Core. Kuat Drive Yards and Lianna have stopped producing that type of ship under pressure from the New Republic, which is trying to build its own interdiction ship design and has very serious developments in that area. So we need to worry about filling our fleet with such ships ourselves. There's nowhere to buy them — if Kuat and Lianna are producing them at all, it's exclusively for themselves. Getting into a conflict with them right now is not in our interest."
"I understand, sir," Ferrus sighed. "If you have more time, allow me to discuss a few initiatives regarding the defense fleet."
"Of course," I said. "What interests you, Grand Moff?"
"Commodore Shohashi captured a Keldabe II-class battlecruiser in the battles against the Zann Consortium," Felix said. "My specialists evaluated the ship. In terms of protection and armament, it's on par with Imperial-class ships, but at the same time requires significantly less crew. Considering that the Mon Calamari star cruisers in the metropolitan fleet have had their SEAL generators removed, perhaps we should think about starting production of stronger ships for defense? After all, we understand that the star cruisers we currently have are essentially junk we're using for lack of anything better. Without the SEAL system, these ships are no more dangerous than Victory II-class Star Destroyers. Earlier, knowing practically nothing about these ships, we considered them equal to Imperial-class, but now, having studied them thoroughly, we realize that our cutting-edge developments surpass the main ships of the New Republic. At least as far as the MC80 model line up to the MC80b, like the Mon Remonda. The Keldabe II is a fairly advanced ship, but at the same time weaker than the main starships of the regular fleet, so the armament distribution concept will be preserved."
"An interesting proposal, Grand Moff," I agreed. "I'm also familiar with the results of the ship's inspection. The Keldabe II is saturated with the same electronics and equipment as the Imperial-class. This will preserve the principle of unified spare parts production. But wouldn't it be simpler in that case to create ships like the Procursator, which is currently your flagship?"
"The Keldabe is better protected and armed," the Grand Moff countered.
"Our military doctrine doesn't assume there's an enemy inside the Dominion strong enough to withstand anything more powerful than a heavy cruiser," I reminded him.
"Yes, sir, that's true, but at the same time we have systems outside the metropolitan area," Ferrus reminded me. "Kelada, Chasin, Trogan, Makem Te, Columex, Garos IV, Atrisia, Karthakk..."
Yalara, Svekk, Cholganna, Horn, Susevfi, Myrkr, Veylan... I mechanically added a list of star systems in my mind.
"Not to mention Tammuz-an, which is effectively under our protectorate," the Grand Moff finished his reminders. "Once the Zann Consortium is destroyed and its resources fall to us, we could even produce these ships for sale to other states. Naturally, there would be nothing secret about them, but it would allow us to openly trade weapons and replenish the budget..."
That's actually not a bad idea.
But there are a number of factors preventing the immediate realization of this idea in 'metal.'
"The proposal deserves a detailed review," I said. "We still only assume the actual combat value of the Keldabe II, and it hasn't participated in battle against ships of its own class. The confrontation with Crimson Dawn in the Hypori system wasn't a trial run. I think we should restore the ship, replacing the laser anti-air cannons with standard rapid-firers. And send the ship to the Bosph sector to support the mining companies there that are in conflict with the Corporate Sector and the Zann Consortium backing it."
"Rebuilding the ship will require significant expense and time," the Grand Moff warned me.
"Of course," I confirmed. "But we have to understand that if this ship goes for export, we won't be outfitting it with our own advanced technologies."
"Naturally," the Grand Moff nodded.
"Let's return to metropolitan affairs," I suggested. "How are the modernization works on the Torpedo Sphere progressing?"
"In full swing, sir," the Grand Moff declared. "Shipwright Zion is supplying us with the modernization plans. Ideally, we'll reduce the crew to twenty-five thousand personnel."
That's more than half.
The freed-up officers and enlisted personnel could easily crew several modernized 'Triple' destroyers.
Speaking of which, it's worth stopping calling them that and coming up with a name for this class of ships. Because despite being a deep modernization, essentially, apart from the triangular hull, the raised superstructure, the solar ionization reactor, and some interior décor elements, this ship no longer resembles an Imperial-class.
Though, naming things is quite a chore. Not a top priority.
I think we could announce a contest among the population of the Dominion's metropolitan area on this matter — let people get involved in affairs of state. Actually, the same could be done with the rebuilt Interdictor...
But again, these are not matters of utmost importance.
They can be postponed to 'later.'
"How are the operations to buy back New Republic prisoners progressing?" I inquired.
"Surprisingly briskly," the Grand Moff, who oversaw this operation, perked up. "We've already sent home up to forty percent of all prisoners. Mostly enlisted men and junior officers. Counterintelligence reports that several quasi-governmental structures of the New Republic have also joined the 'initiative.' But they're primarily interested in senior command staff. We're returning them, except for those convicted of crimes against civilians and other war criminals. For the latter, we only hand over the bodies after execution."
'Perfection is not a war crime if you were having fun and acting for the good of democracy.'
I once read that slogan in my past life on a fan site from this universe. Obviously, it's a joke, but the more our counterintelligence operatives worked with Republic prisoners, the more convinced they became that a very large number of young sapients had their brains washed by Republic propaganda.
For them, fighting the Empire was something like a gambling game — hence, instead of short, substantive negotiations over the comm, they put on actual comedy routines.
No inner understanding that war is a place of bloodshed and death can come for anyone.
Being in Dominion captivity sobered their view of life somewhat.
And the filtration camps and procedures awaiting former prisoners upon their return to the New Republic only add color to the situation.
"Is the budget replenishment noticeable?" I inquired.
Not that, with the launch of interstellar trade and the Dominion's economy, and given the sources of aurorium and the treasures of Sa'Nalaor, I still faced a problem of insufficient funds.
But extra credits never hurt.
Especially Republic credits, which are then used to purchase defensive stations and other equipment by our trade agents like Captain Hoffner and his clones.
"We're saving a lot by using the proceeds to acquire goods we need," the Grand Moff confirmed my conclusions. "This allows us to make significant progress on a number of projects and directions, including issues of completing, modernizing, outfitting, and restoring the habitat sphere."
Captured from Ennix Devian's fleet in the Ghost Nebula, the habitat sphere had lost all its production and industrial clusters. All that equipment went to strengthen our shipbuilding and ship repair facilities within the metropolitan area.
As for the battered hull of the enormous space object, it was decided to use it as the headquarters of the Dominion fleet. It will take a lot of time to get this project at least into a semi-ready state.
But the idea of the Dominion having a protected, mobile headquarters capable of sublight and hyperspace travel never left me.
Attacking a base on a planet's surface doesn't require much brains or force.
But destroying a one-hundred-twenty-kilometer semi-combat station moving along secret coordinates — now that requires some effort.
Especially when the project is complete.
But for that, we'll need either a huge amount of money and workers, or several years.
Perhaps even decades.
Because dumping the entire budget on something like that would be foolish.
So for now, the habitat sphere is stashed far away, for a long time, and is mostly in the process of dismantling needed equipment.
Because the only one who could properly 'shake it up' in engineering terms is busy improving our star fleet.
"Are the academies built?" I inquired.
"And ready to receive recruits, sir," Grand Moff Ferrus beamed. "The Lieutenant Tia Volunteer Pilot Academy, the Colonel Selid Storm Commando Academy, the Captain Von Schneider Regular Fleet Senior Command Academy, along with its branches named after Captains Brandei and Harbid, the Lieutenant I-Gor Junior Regular Fleet Middle Command Academy, the Combined Arms Ground Forces Academy under the administration of Major General Maximilian Veers, the Colonel Molo Himron Intelligence Academy... The Stormtrooper Corps Academy is under construction, but details are classified. Actually, same for the Storm Commando and Intelligence academies. I recently received a notification from Astarion that the Counterintelligence Academy will not conduct an open enrollment of cadets — they will seek out students on their own, based on their own considerations. Same for the Intelligence Academy, actually. The educational institutions are scattered across the entire metropolitan area, on different planets; most are fully built — both using prisoners and construction equipment. We are finishing outfitting the institutions with all necessary equipment, simulators, and other property. In the new year, we plan to start the first enrollment — as soon as we form the instructor and teaching staff. No quotas, restrictions, prejudices, prohibitions — admission to most higher education institutions will be conducted on the basis of an open competition based on exam and interview results. We have a huge number of applications from potential applicants — over three hundred thousand applications have already been sent to the rector's offices, and this is despite the admissions committees not even starting work yet! The academies aren't even officially open yet! And the fleet headquarters is already reporting requests for transfer from active duty to teaching. Among naval officers, it is considered an honor to teach at institutions named after fleet heroes. For some, those heroes were their commanders or comrades. Coordinated with the regular fleet headquarters, the armed forces, and the defense force command, lectures by active commanders and armed forces specialists are planned. Commodore Shohashi has already sent a draft of a lecture series on detecting and neutralizing pirate threats. Captain Morgot Astorias is coordinating with the academy command to conduct classes on ambush tactics using task forces. Captain Stormayer... In fact, the headquarters and ship commanders have sent a large amount of supplementary material, which, I was assured, will strengthen and diversify the old Imperial training material. Not to mention simpler educational institutions, like the Internal Affairs Academy, where future law enforcement officers will be centrally trained, as well as dozens of other educational institutions to meet the Dominion's needs for qualified public sector specialists..." The Grand Moff paused for a moment, frowning as he looked at me. "You are aware of these initiatives, aren't you?"
He added the last sentence with some apprehension.
"Yes, I approved them all," the confirmation seemed to remove the shadow of fear from the man's face that he might have overstepped with his initiatives. "Establishing the educational process is, without a doubt, an important process. This is your diocese and I won't interfere. However, I advise not to forget about simple civilian directions either."
"Here, things are even more productive," the Grand Moff smiled. "We are increasing funding and state licensing for Lorrd University, educational institutions on Agamar, and indeed across all sectors. The issue of introducing completely free education in higher education institutions is being considered, but I'm afraid at the moment we cannot afford such a broad gesture — it would severely impact our budget. Partial quotas are the best option at this point. Perhaps in a year or two we can finish most of the military projects, and then some of the military-industrial complex budget will free up."
"I wouldn't count on that," judging by his expression, the Grand Moff already understood the unrealistic nature of that thesis.
"I understand, sir," he confirmed my suspicions with his own words. "My specialists are considering a number of initiatives to increase tax and other budget revenues through expanding private business or public-private partnerships. When the ideas are developed, I will submit them for discussion."
"Good," I agreed. "What about our migration policy?"
"There is a significant increase in settlers from Republic and Imperial worlds," the Grand Moff grew serious. "The former are looking for a quiet and peaceful life. The latter — for service to their liking. Vacancies in the defense fleets are filling rapidly. It has become common for families and distant relatives, acquaintances of those who previously lived in sectors now controlled by the Dominion, to relocate. Potentially, it is this category of population that could increase the budget surplus through their involvement in the state's economic activities..."
The Grand Moff spent a long time reporting on the state of affairs in the metropolitan area, providing data on the state of affairs on the periphery.
The planets turned into fortress worlds at the cost of enormous effort and financial influence were also flourishing, replenishing the budget and strengthening the economy, along with the state's political stability.
I, meanwhile, understood that life in the Dominion was improving.
Of course, this is only report data, and locally there are bound to be problems — otherwise the 'bureaucratic assistance teams' and counterintelligence officers wouldn't be zipping around planets and systems like scalded cats.
You can't just give birth to a state out of thin air.
Either you immediately build a clear and understandable, transparent and efficient system, or you get a pile of problems that will sooner or later erupt into a new civil war.
Listening to the Grand Moff, I pondered whether I should give the order to relocate the Noghri to a certain notable planet where I planned to place my secret refuge and command-analysis center.
And... perhaps I should talk to Saarai-kaar again about moving the Jensaarai under the protection of the metropolitan area.
We have enough empty planets and habitable moons to shelter that people and build them their own educational institution.
The reason for my concern is simple — if Crimson Dawn ends exactly as I plan, the destruction of the Dominion's peripheral worlds can be avoided.
But an attack by the minions of the mad Emperor on the Jensaarai, as soon as they make their presence known on my side, is inevitable.
Since we've heavily thinned out the Susevfi asteroid field for our own needs, it's hard even to hide there.
And it's necessary to save them — the hour draws ever closer when they will have to demonstrate everything they've learned in such a short time under the Mon Calamari's tutelage.
* * *
In accordance with the palace dispatcher's instructions, Rederick reduced speed.
The equipment in the cockpit of the old-looking but heavily modified freighter promptly responded to the new inputs.
"And I still suggest you think it over," said Aveka Dunn, sitting beside him, demonstratively placing her long, slender legs on the top edge of the control panel. "The plan is so bad that if it were a part, even a Jawa would turn their nose up at it."
Rederick stared at his companion's lower limbs, clad in tight leggings made of fabric armor, struggling to gather his thoughts.
"Take them off," he finally uttered.
"What?" the agentess inquired in an innocent tone.
"Your legs."
"Why?" the woman stretched languidly, like a nexu, sensually licking her lips and giving Rederick a very eloquent look.
The agent wanted to reply that she might damage the ship's controls but stopped himself in time.
'Sexual provocation is Vex's key method of operation,' he recalled the words of Agent Cross. 'Dunn knows male psychology perfectly and uses your subconscious against you. Don't let her get into your head. And certainly not under your clothes.'
Bravo-Three took a capsule of sedative from a pocket on his belt and administered the drug.
His actions did not escape Vex, who twisted in the co-pilot's seat even more provocatively. Though, how much further could she go...
"Steadfastness like a stormtrooper," Dunn laughed melodiously. "How long will those little pills last?"
"Is this your gratitude for becoming an agent?" Rederick asked, feeling the blood stop boiling inside his body.
"Let's assume I was an agent even before you put in a good word for me with your rancors in counterintelligence," the girl declared, changing her seductive tone to a less provocative one. Or was it the pills starting to work? "And, if you look at it that way, with your talk of legality, stability, and order, you'd have kept me in your dungeons for a long time, hutt."
Rederick looked at his companion with interest.
"You're not that naive, are you?"
"Of course not," Aveka batted her eyelashes. "And did you figure out why I volunteered to go with you on this mission, and why I was allowed to accompany you?"
"Because the legend needs a young lady with an impressive appearance," Rederick replied automatically.
"Oh, you gave me a compliment," Aveka blinked, making a cute face at the same time. "That's so sweet. I'm all aflame, I'm completely burning with the fire you awaken in me..."
Only the swallowed pill prevented the agent from letting go of the yoke.
"What the—!" he cursed, throwing an angry look at his partner. "Why are you doing this?"
The girl instantly erased the pretense from her face.
"Because you're an illegal agent, kiddo," she reminded him. "And your training is that of a fleet brawler. Let's be honest with each other: that you became a scout, a spy — that happened because of a shortage of personnel in the Dominion. Your Grand Admiral doesn't seem to understand this business very well, so he carried out a reform without thinking about the consequences. And you, my friend, went from a tactical scout to a strategic one. Skipping several steps of evolution..."
"That sounded insulting," Rederick declared, but in his heart he agreed with his partner: he was far from the level of, say, Jehan Cross.
"Don't take offense at the truth, kiddo," Aveka said, sitting up properly at the console. "You're not bad in a fight, but you're a big amateur in everything concerning illegal work. I understand that the navy doesn't bother much with legends, composure, and so on. You're like: fly in, land, get behind enemy lines, place detonators, take prisoners, blow up the rest. The extent of your infiltration is the enemy's rear. But an 'illegal agent' operates right under the nose of the biggest enemy, walks in through the front door, smiles, makes small talk, is always composed, and plays his role impeccably. The slightest mismatch between role and behavior — and that's it, some picky guard will instantly put a 'tail' on such a slacker. Result — a dead agent, a failed mission, wasted time."
"So you're not my assistant on this mission, but a babysitter," Rederick, following the instructions, was bringing the freighter in for a landing.
"I'm your partner, boy," Vex declared. "My task is to help you, share knowledge, and keep you from dying from some random screw-up."
"I haven't had any screw-ups," Rederick declared. "And your feminine tricks don't work on me."
"Partner," a feigned sympathy appeared on Vex's face. "Your pills will run out soon, and I haven't even turned on my charms. Beautiful girls — that's your problem."
"I'm doing just fine with girls," Rederick retorted.
And only after he finished did he realize he had said it too sharply.
"Don't get so worked up," Aveka declared, smirking smugly. "Agents and the fair sex — that's a topic for a scientific dissertation on military psychology. You're just a little out of your element, and all this is new to you: high society receptions, refined ladies, and so on. According to statistics, more than half of beginner illegal agents slip up exactly when a stunning lady with a sultry voice and a pretty face shows up."
"Infiltrating the Hutts isn't a reception on Etti IV," Rederick noted. "This is a gangster organization, not a feast and a cloyingly sweet crowd pretending they don't want to tear you to pieces. There are no big brains in such organizations — and none of the mercenaries pretend they don't want to shoot the other guy. On the contrary — that kind of behavior shows that you're dangerous and worth something as a professional."
"Your reasoning is generally correct, but you don't know Grappa well enough," Aveka countered. "Hutts were and still are slave owners. They surround themselves with expensive toys, trade them, and use them to strengthen their influence. Any dancer in his palace," Vex nodded her luxuriant mane toward the neighboring structure, "is certainly used to relax a guest, dance for him, serve him at the table. Slaves aren't paid attention to because they're nobody and nothing. Mobile property. It's psychology — and few remember that this 'property' has ears."
"Slaves as a means of gathering intelligence isn't new to the galaxy," Rederick declared.
"The main thing is that you don't forget it," Vex said meaningfully. "Our task isn't to slip up and turn everything here into a firefight."
"I remember the mission objective," Rederick stated. "And you don't need to wave your vast experience around here. You're here for cover, not to run the operation."
"But the main part of the work falls to me, doesn't it?" the girl snorted, giving her partner an appraising look.
"Only because we have to play a pair of mercenaries in love, nothing more," Rederick said, grinding out each word through his teeth. "When I get back, I'll tear the head off that coordinator who came up with this cover story."
The idea of this particular infiltration had merit — Imperial Intelligence typically worked with male agents, which had quickly become a reason for suspicion. A lone mercenary without the reputation known to the criminal underworld was always a risk. And such adventurers were always treated warily.
At all levels of crime.
A young couple, on the other hand, was different.
Criminals knew that Imperial chauvinism would never allow a woman to do field work. Consequently, this kind of mercenary would attract slightly less scrutiny than a lone operative.
"You're welcome," Vex stated. "I came up with the cover story."
"No wonder it reeks of cheap farce and women's melodrama," Rederick snorted.
"Or maybe I just don't want you dragged off to some pleasure room where a couple of obliging masseuse-dancers loosen your tongue," Aveka remarked. "You know, I don't like sharing my prey. And I've already got my eye on you."
Rederick ignored the obvious jab.
Locking the ship's controls and activating the security system, he headed to the rear of the vessel, being the first to descend the lowered ramp.
Aveka followed like a snickering shadow.
Five minutes later, they were approaching a wide arched opening, beyond which lay the corridors and chambers of Grappa the Hutt's palace.
Grappa the Hutt's palace.
Surrounded by rocky ridges and barren mountains with impassable passes, easily covered from the barely visible balconies that crowned the palace — which resembled a gigantic hive crisscrossed by transverse ring-shaped spirals.
Two tall, green-skinned Gamorreans blocked their way inside, covered from head to toe in road dust that had settled on their clothes and pieces of shoddy armor.
The pair, armed with vibro-axes and blaster rifles that looked like they'd been manufactured back during the Alsakan Conflicts, grunted meaningfully, pointing their axes warningly at the newcomers.
"Get out of the way, both of you," Aveka said languidly, just as the first Gamorrean was about to grunt something.
The pair exchanged glances, offering each other moral support with dull stares, after which their grunting became more demanding.
"They don't seem to like being spoken to that way," Rederick remarked, casually placing his hand on his blaster.
The man understood perfectly well what was happening.
And why they'd been allowed to land, yet at the same time, these two dimwits had been sent to block their path.
"Oh, like anyone cares about their feelings," Aveka snorted. "Hey, you two, vanish into thin air right now, before I put holes in you that your mommy and daddy never even imagined when they conceived such ugly brats in some pigsty! Did you buy your brains at a ladies' underwear sale? If we landed, that means dispatch cleared us!"
Rederick, noticing that one Gamorrean hadn't taken his eyes off his weapon, raised his palms, demonstrating his peaceful intent.
The Gamorrean looked away from him, listening to Vex's excellent verbal sparring match with the second guard's impenetrable logic.
That was enough for the agent. He jumped and slammed his heavy boot full force into the second guard's face.
An indignant, offended squeal erupted from the Gamorrean as he staggered back two steps, while his comrade charged at Aveka, swinging his vibro-axe.
Two crimson flashes stopped the lumbering guard, burning holes through his face and neck.
The first guard crumpled into the dust, convulsing.
His partner, wiping blood from his snout and spitting out a couple of teeth, aimed his blaster at Bravo-Three.
Rederick beat him to it, replacing the guard's throat with a magnificent blaster-burn hole.
The air filled with the smell of fried, rancid lard and unwashed skin.
"You don't mess around," a voice came from the arched passageway.
Rederick trained his weapon on the source of the sound and saw a tall man with a bare torso. His long hair harmonized with his dark skin, and his belt — clearly from military trousers — was absolutely festooned with weapons, from a couple of daggers and a sword to a massive blaster pistol.
"Don't hold us up," Aveka stated. "Besides, they're just Gamorreans. One pair more, one pair less — no great loss."
"And you definitely didn't need to run some stupid test on us," Rederick said in the same languid tone as his partner.
"Oh, just a little joke, nothing more," the thug laughed. "An initiation ritual for newcomers, to see who you are and what you're made of. People fly in to Grappa for quick credits almost every day. But only a few decide to get their hands properly dirty."
"Well, now there are two of us," Rederick said, watching as the half-naked man literally devoured Aveka Dunn's figure with his eyes.
Well, he had to admit her point about male psychology had merit.
"I'm Sol Mon, I work for Grappa."
This pirate's name was well known to the law enforcement of both the Empire and the Dominion.
Mon was the leader of a pirate gang armed with several converted fighter squadrons. The pirate was famous for robbing a considerable number of both Republic and Imperial ships. He left no witnesses — preferring to eliminate survivors on the spot and cover his tracks.
He'd tried several times to attack Dominion convoys, but achieved nothing except losing several subordinates. Consequently, job advertisements had appeared on the HoloNet...
Which Rederick and Aveka had used.
The Dominion had been hunting this thug to bring him to justice, and now it was clear where he'd been hiding the last few weeks.
"I'm Tir," Rederick stated.
"You can call me Peer," Aveka introduced herself under a false name.
"Brother and sister, or what?" Sol Mon was surprised.
"What's it to you?" the Dominion man snapped. "The point is we answered the job offer. And judging by the fact you didn't shoot us down on approach, you need fighters."
Infiltrating a Hutt cartel that was constantly recruiting mercenaries was the best way to get onto their base.
Genon had been under Grappa's control long enough for him to rig up plenty of traps for uninvited guests.
Finding out what exactly this Hutt was up to and who he was cooperating with — that was the primary objective.
And the best way to do that was to get inside the base, not rack your brains over how to break in without an invitation.
"And you don't care what kind of work it is, do you?" the pirate raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
"As long as the credits are there," Aveka said indifferently.
"Exactly," the Dominion man agreed.
"Well, then," Sol Mon looked at the pair standing before him. "Let's go, since you're so determined. There'll be plenty of work."
"You have no idea how much," Aveka whispered as they followed the muscular pirate.
Rederick said nothing.
From today, the countdown had begun for the existence of the Zann Consortium and all its incarnations.
* * *
The IsoTech-Dominion company building looked externally like a typical futuristic skyscraper.
Made of durasteel and polarized glass, it literally blazed with fire in the setting rays of the Ciutric system's star.
The interior decoration was astounding in its designer's twisted consciousness.
Strict Imperial pragmatism and angularity were clad not in the usual gray-steel shades, but abounded in light, pastel tones that softened the design's aggressiveness.
This building had once housed a medical company that had hastened to leave the territory of the newly formed Dominion for ideological reasons.
As far as I knew, the company's owner was a staunch supporter of the New Order, so it was no surprise he'd found refuge on Orinda.
He never opened a new business, resting on his laurels and the capital earned in the past.
But the medical center's now-unemployed staff had gladly agreed to become part of a public-private enterprise, whose executive director, lead scientist, and chief specialist was a tall Arkanian woman, dazzling with the whiteness of her hair and eyeballs.
Against that backdrop, even her facial implants didn't particularly stand out.
"Welcome, Grand Admiral, to our humble medical center," Kratalla offered a semblance of a smile, but her voice was as dead as the ice of her home planet.
"Let's skip the preludes," I asked. "Neither you nor I need these formalities."
"Then let's get straight to business," the woman settled into a high-backed chair at the head of her spacious desk. "Which of the projects interests you most?"
"All of them," I replied simply. "Let's start with military prosthetics."
"Everything is standard," the Arkanian answered without a trace of interest. "You supply us with crippled soldiers, we — at government expense — fit them with prosthetics and return them to normal life. Not a single fatality during prosthetics or surgery. Not a single complaint about substandard products or problems with our work."
"I'm aware of that," I assured her. "What about the secondary projects in this same field?"
"If you're talking about training cybernetic stormtroopers, then I only know who and how many prosthetics I've installed on special order," Kratalla stated. "What you do with them afterward doesn't concern me."
And the answer to the unspoken question was quite simple — we were retraining injured stormtroopers from their usual specializations into ones they hadn't held before.
In the Galactic Empire's Stormtrooper Corps, there had been a number of specializations for stormtroopers. Only people who agreed to undergo cybernetic prosthetics were accepted. They removed a number of limbs and organs to increase the body's resistance or protection against the harmful effects of hazardous environments in which they had to work.
By gaining access to data from the Imperial Palace that had been considered destroyed, the Dominion had also acquired the data on training stormtroopers in these specializations. The full-scale recreation of the Stormtrooper Corps was progressing by leaps and bounds.
With the sole exception that I found it sacrilegious to cripple people for such work. It would be much simpler to offer a cripple a return to life — but not as just another stormtrooper with prosthetics.
Rather, as a more advanced, better technically equipped part of the Dominion Stormtrooper Corps.
Naturally, there was no shortage of volunteers.
And what sane being, even a clone, would refuse an offer to swap regular low-paying service for more dangerous but higher-paying work?
There were no idiots among stormtroopers either.
"Cloning," I indicated my next area of interest.
"That's not exactly my specialty," Kratalla warned.
"That doesn't mean you can't study the data and give an opinion," I noted. "Arkanians are known for their research into fine genetic manipulation. I'm interested in how far you've advanced in studying this issue."
"We're still at the information-gathering stage," Kratalla shook her head. "It's too early to draw conclusions, but I can already warn you that the life cycles of clones are accelerated compared to simple tissue and fluid samples. We're currently calculating the approximate cell degradation coefficient to issue an expert opinion."
"The Spaarti program — have you figured it out?"
"Strangely enough, yes," Kratalla perked up. "The provided documents show traces of Arkanian intervention. Obviously, the project was created and adjusted by one of my kin..."
I wonder if your voice would sound so pleased if you knew the program was developed by Zeta Magnus?
"The loyalty program and cognitive degradation," I reminded her of the key points.
"And here, Arkanian intervention is clearly visible," Kratalla stated. "Apparently, this block was added on and didn't come with the cloning cylinders. And this is where a conflict of systems begins that the developers never managed to resolve. First — transplanting a consciousness matrix into a clone that isn't the donor organism. This case leads to degenerative changes in the brain, a decline in professional abilities. The process is irreversible, as far as I could understand its progression. So, if you've had any ideas about putting one consciousness into another's body, it's better not to — the degenerative changes will render the clone unusable."
Which, essentially, had been known before.
I needed an answer from a more qualified specialist.
And I got it.
"Now, regarding loyalty programming," Kratalla continued. "Here, if the Arkanian scientist's notes are to be believed, it's important to understand that the protocol is based on conditioned reflexes of the human body. Numerous side effects were observed when freely programming a body different from the matrix's originator. Judging by the notes in Arkanian script, this is primarily due to differences in susceptibility to the program and body control."
"Elaborate," I demanded.
"It's simple," the Arkanian replied in a bored tone. "The human brain is a biochemical computer. Thinking releases tiny electrical charges. It must be uniform throughout the body. But since the consciousness in the body is accustomed to thinking in its own categories, it forces the brain to produce its own charge. The program glitches, resulting in dementia and psychopathy, or other similar mental phenomena."
"In other words, you're indicating that we should only copy those whose bodies we plan to put the consciousnesses into in the future?" I clarified.
Which was, essentially, what we'd been doing ever since we discovered the process that had been interfering with working the program "at full capacity."
We talked for several hours.
Kratalla briefed me on the finest details I wanted to be informed about.
A familiar picture was emerging:
Clone the body and program the consciousness for loyalty — only from someone directly loyal to you. Clean and unconditional.
That helps the program take better root.
Well, we'd arrived at that intuitively anyway.
Though, I confess, I'd hoped to learn more.
"With all due respect, Grand Admiral, I have no desire to get involved with cloning," Kratalla said seriously. "If you want to continue research and limitations, do as you see fit. I'll prefer to stick with what I know."
The phrasing seemed affected, challenging, provoking conflict — but that was the entire Arkanian nation.
Pompous, arrogant, selfish.
Useless to try and fix them.
And pointless to react to it, either. I still wouldn't get the result I needed.
At least, not with her help.
"One last thing. What can you tell me about those cloning units I provided you with?"
The question made Kratalla look away.
"Someone — apparently the Hutts — tried to copy Kaminoan cloning cylinders, combining them with Spaarti program technology," she said. "And they did it so crudely that the clones emerging from those autoclaves are clearly emotionally immature, and therefore insane. It was done to speed up their maturation, but it causes indelible damage to appearance and brain trauma. Apparently, the work was done without a proper understanding of the cloning process or the incubator's functioning."
"Is it possible to fix the defects?" I asked.
"In already-manufactured clones, wherever they are — no. But if some ingenuity is applied, with a suitable sample, my workers could try to eliminate the assembly errors and restore the incubators to working condition..."
Which meant an additional four thousand cloning cylinders obtained during the capture of the faction×1 base on Mustafar. Even if half of them could be safely repaired — that was already a victory.
Who could resist such a gift from fate?
"Consider the sample yours," I promised, mentally calculating how long that would take.