In all the time Corran Horn had served in the Corellian Security Force, it had never once occurred to him that he would be sneaking onto his home planet like a hardened criminal.
Despite Sarapin's proximity to Corellia, Corran didn't make a beeline straight for home.
Perfectly aware that since the Imperial era, his name had been near the top of the wanted list of the pro-Imperial Corellian regime (second only in 'fame' to Han Solo, Wedge Antilles, and Bel Iblis), he had to take care to alter his appearance and obtain a fake identification.
Fortunately, having a father-in-law like Booster Terrick had, over the years of his marriage, taught him the tricks and connections of the other side of the law.
The very side he had once despised and actively fought against.
He picked his first and last name while skimming through the few records of the Jedi that Luke Skywalker had given him after their joint 'adventure' on Jomark.
Once upon a time, the Jedi Order had a guy named Keiran Halcyon.
Given that Corran's grandfather, Nejaa, had borne the same surname, it wasn't out of the question that Keiran was his direct ancestor.
Unfortunately, no one could likely tell him for sure.
Except Rostek Horn.
The man Corran himself had considered his biological grandfather for most of his life. And, to give credit where it's due, Rostek truly was the kind of man Horn Jr. would have wanted as his grandfather.
And now, having cleared customs control with forged documents, Corran could finally breathe in the air of Coronet — the capital of Corellia.
For the first time in years.
The fake IDs, manufactured on Imperial equipment and of the highest quality, had been provided by, oddly enough, Talon Karrde.
Almost at the first request, the moment he reached out.
Yes, in exchange for his services and keeping Corran's survival and intentions secret, Karrde demanded a certain number of credits, as well as satisfying his curiosity about what happened on Sarapin.
A perfectly reasonable price for perfect forged documents.
Especially considering that the New Republic had likely received data on the destruction of Wedge's fleet after the investigation into what happened in the Sarapin system.
Perfectly aware that command would not allow him to rush off in pursuit to save his wife, and certainly would oppose him handing over Jedi data (if any existed, of course) to Thrawn to end all their troubles, he was in no hurry to reveal his survival.
At least not until he had a plan to extract Mirax and Booster while simultaneously luring Thrawn into a trap from which he would never escape.
How to do that, given that secret information was leaking straight from the Imperial Palace, Corran had no idea.
Yet.
But, together with his grandfather, he'd definitely come up with something.
The method of infiltrating Corellia was incredibly and ridiculously simple.
Karrde had simply added him to the crew manifest of one of his ships.
Smugglers, no doubt, but skilled ones — they'd bribed a patrol with a clever payoff and sweet-talked customs.
And then their paths diverged.
Karrde's people went to do their business, while Corran, slinging a backpack with clothes and gear over his shoulder, rented a room for a few days near Coronet's main street — Treasure Ship Row.
He'd worked here before — the CorSec building was not far from his hotel.
But no matter how long he watched his former colleagues, he didn't recognize a single one of those now wearing the familiar uniform.
Not a familiar face, not a familiar name.
The Diktat — Corellia's ruling regime — had not only transformed the Corellian Security Force into the Public Order Service, changed the traditional bright green and black uniform to a darker, Imperial-style garment, but also thrown out the door anyone who had in any way opposed the rampant lawlessness.
CorSec no longer investigated crimes or hunted villains. No, they had become something between a nuisance for every other merchant and a patrol ensuring the public order.
Even the main street had transformed from a place flooded with lamplight into some seedy back alley.
Visually, of course, it had become brighter, cleaner. Many establishments where the most desperate hotheads could find entertainment to suit any taste had closed down or been repurposed into something 'civilized.'
But it all looked cheap, ostentatious, unnatural for Corellia.
No, even before, passersby could get unlucky, but only when they wandered into such thickets that even CorSec usually wouldn't venture without support from an assault squad.
Now, you could practically be robbed right on the street, and the POS would just ask for its cut…
And if the city center was like this, Horn would hardly risk going to the outskirts without reliable cover. Preferably including an AT-AT or a battalion of repulsor tanks.
The old Corellia that Corran knew was dead.
And the Diktat clearly had no intention of reviving it, obviously deriving some benefit from the situation that had developed.
After a day and a half of preparation, Corran finally made up his mind.
He caught an airspeeder, quickly explained to the taxi driver where he needed to go, and, despite the stench in the cabin, reluctantly noted that there was at least one pleasant change on Treasure Ship Row.
You could catch an air-taxi here without waiting even a couple of minutes.
In the past he remembered, it had taken much more precious time.
And money.
Already approaching the location of his Grandfather's house, Corran recalled the tricks the old man had used to exchange messages with his grandson, even if rarely.
They'd had to choose their words and even the background of the holo-message so carefully, in order not to compromise either himself or Rostek, that at times it felt like being in a spy holo-thriller.
When the airspeeder stopped, a single glance at the high fence blocking the entire street where he grew up was enough for Corran to understand: Treasure Ship Row wasn't the only thing that had changed.
Corran's father's house had been next to his grandfather's dwelling, but there had never been a solid fence, twice the height of a man, surrounding the entire neighborhood.
Nor locked automatic gates capable of withstanding a tank cannon blast.
"Is this the right place?" Corran inquired grimly.
The driver — a nervous Ithorian — nodded confidently in response and pointed to a communication panel built into the gate.
Corran picked up the wired comlink from its cradle:
"Good evening."
A prim tone, bordering on a grumble, answered him:
"Director Horn's Estate."
Oh, is that how it is.
An estate?
A Director?
Could Grandfather be leading what was left of CorSec?
"I'd like to speak with Rostek Horn."
"Director Horn has given orders not to be disturbed."
Corran cast a glance through the gate's bars, trying to make out the houses hidden behind such a majestic wall in the twilight, but couldn't see a thing.
At least not the houses he remembered.
His father's and grandfather's homes were gone.
Instead, he could make out a huge house, sprawling in width and depth, built to the most modern design. Metal and transparisteel glinted in the rays of artificial light, harmonizing with the dark green of the hills.
Such a house was the least suitable thing for this once cozy place.
"I understand that, but could you inform him that his good old friend has arrived?"
Calling himself by his real name, or even indicating the degree of kinship, would be the height of stupidity.
The Diktat had sentenced Corran (and Solo, Bel Iblis, Antilles, and other Corellians fighting or having fought on the side of the New Republic) to death.
Taking risks now would be foolish.
"Does this 'good old friend' have a surname?" the voice from the comlink asked with a smirk.
"Halcyon," Horn Jr. introduced himself quickly, using a false name. "Keiran Halcyon."
"Wait."
The driver remained sullenly silent, adding even darker tones to the palette of his mood.
Finally, after a couple of minutes, the gates began to open, and soon the speeder stopped at the mansion's front door.
Paying the driver with the money Karrde had lent him, Corran was left alone.
Now he could properly examine his grandfather's abode.
The old house had been modest, two-storied, and made of wood, surrounded by a beautiful garden that his grandfather had doted on, pouring all his free money and free time into it.
The house Corran saw before him far exceeded the old one in area and was even a floor higher.
But the garden was gone — and that was an alarming sign.
Grandfather would never have voluntarily given it up.
Building a new house — yes, why not, if you have the credits.
A short, wiry old man with a greenish tint to his skin came out the front door. Dressed in a black uniform with white buttons and gloves, he didn't hide his suspicious gaze, then stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.
As soon as Corran crossed the threshold and the heavy transparisteel door closed behind him, the old man spoke again in the same voice 'Rogue Leader' had heard from the comlink.
"Director Horn is expecting you in the garden. Leave your things here."
Without giving him a chance to speak, the old man briskly strode forward.
His steps echoed loudly against the decorative stone from which the CorSec emblem was laid on the floor.
The same emblem he had worn on his uniform during his service, not the disgrace the POS had now.
Corran made a considerable effort to walk the corridor without stepping on the emblem.
Perhaps old CorSec no longer existed, but this Corellian's respect for the work he had dedicated his life to had not disappeared.
It took some time, but eventually, they reached a spacious veranda.
It was so large that one could not only comfortably find shelter from the scorching Corellian sun but also live there if desired.
Beyond it began a path leading to a fountain surrounded by an amphitheater of flower beds.
And standing there was Rostek Horn.
Gaunt, bearing an inexplicable air of aristocratic manners, Corran's grandfather could boast hair that was gray, but far from the stage of falling out or thinning.
His gray eyes never stopped moving, constantly assessing everything around him. And Corran remembered just how different those eyes could be.
For him, they always expressed love; for those who had served under Rostek Horn's command, they could be colder than Hoth.
Like the old man who had led him here, his grandfather was even thinner than Horn remembered from their last meeting.
But his movements showed that Rostek Horn had no intention of giving up any ground in the matter of his mobility.
But the biggest surprise was that his grandfather was wearing a dress uniform.
He'd retired, after all, promising to step away from business and tend only to his garden.
But you can't dig in the dirt in clothes like that.
No, his grandfather had returned to service. And he was working in the garden.
But not as a gardener anymore.
Suddenly Corran realized he didn't see the tenderness in his grandfather's gray eyes that had always been there when they met.
Even the old man who had led him here stopped dead, sticking out his arm to block the way forward.
"He didn't recognize me," Corran realized.
Well, he could pat himself on the back for his miraculous disguise — if even his grandfather hadn't seen through it, then those loafers from the BSO didn't stand a chance.
"We haven't seen each other in a long time, Director."
"To be precise — we've never seen each other at all." Rostek didn't move a millimeter, remaining as still as a rock.
"On the contrary," Corran assured him. "In the past, I spent a lot of time in this house. More precisely, in the one that stood on this spot. I understand I might have distracted you from important matters, but in this house I was always told to listen to my inner voice. And it led me here."
That was exactly what his father and Rostek himself had told him.
Without directly revealing that his "inner voice" was actually connected to the Force.
Rostek Horn narrowed his eyes, and then understanding and recognition flickered in them.
"You're free, Tosruk," he said. "This man truly is familiar to me. The boy grew up and became a man; he's hard to recognize now."
The old attendant lowered his arm and, without the least embarrassment at Corran's presence, declared:
"I didn't notice any special equipment on him."
"That's unnecessary," his grandfather said in a commanding tone. "The Halcyons have never been feared in this house. And they never will be from now on."
"Yes, sir."
"You're dismissed, Tosruk," Rostek Horn ordered, and the old guide instantly retreated.
With a pounding heart, Corran made the whole way to his grandfather, fighting the urge to rush over to him at a run.
They hadn't seen each other for far too long, and far too much was at stake.
Corran was already taking a risk by using the family name of his Jedi grandfather, but as he had understood even while growing up, the Empire in the Corellian Sector had not only gotten rid of the Jedi but had done everything to ensure not even a mention of them remained.
Whoever might take an interest in the surname "Halcyon" would have to work hard to figure out who it actually belonged to.
Stopping a meter from his grandfather, Corran extended his hand in greeting, but his grandfather, without a word, pulled him into a tight embrace, only letting go when his grandson began to feel a slight shortage of oxygen in his lungs.
Immediately after, Rostek pulled back and looked at Corran with love in his eyes.
"Sith take you, I'm so glad the rumors about your unit being destroyed turned out to be false, but you shouldn't be within a hundred parsecs of the sector borders!"
"I had to see you," Corran said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yes, the 'Rogues' are dead. Only Wedge and I are left. But he's a prisoner, and I need your help to get him out."
A promising smile appeared on Rostek Horn's face.
"And to punish that fire-eyed demon who's been drinking your blood for the last year and a half?"
"He's been latched on for almost six months now, and you can't pry him off without a lot of blood," Corran played along with the joke. "Actually… He's the one who ordered me to come here."
Rostek Horn's face became a stone carving.
"Ordered?" he asked in a low voice. "It seems to me that this Grand Admiral Thrawn is taking too much upon himself."
"The worst part is that he also manages to carry everything he takes," Corran said grimly.
"Come," his grandfather nodded toward the greenhouse, barely visible through the thicket of plants. "I want to show you some of my achievements in horticulture."
Only after they were both inside the greenhouse, where the overhead lights came on, and his grandfather, having shed his uniform, sat down in a chair next to the plant genetic engineering equipment, did he speak again.
"Tell me," he said. "It's safe here — I clean up thoroughly, and no weeds or pests survive unless I want them to. Don't worry," he winked, "the foreign listening devices got on my nerves, so I had to get rid of them. And they're in no hurry to install new ones."
And Corran told him.
From beginning to end, concealing not a single detail.
About Thrawn's attacks on convoys, about Isard, about the search for Mirax and Booster that led him to the insane Jedi clone, about killing that clone, about hunting the Imperial ace pilot…
He poured out everything he had heard from others and everything he had deduced.
Throughout all this, Rostek Horn remained silent, but at the mention of the greenhouse, his features sharpened.
"And so I ended up on Corellia," Corran summarized his detailed account.
His grandfather sat in gloomy silence for a few seconds, looking only at the benches lined with trays of seedlings they had passed to reach this corner of the greenhouse.
"If I set aside your personal story, I know about as much about Thrawn as you do," his grandfather said. "He really was exiled to the Unknown Regions for cartography. But there was something shady about it. First he took down the rebel Grand Admiral Zaarin, and he clearly shouldn't have fallen out of favor. So I think he disappeared from sight and databases for a reason."
"So we're fighting someone like the Emperor's super-general?" Corran clarified.
"Are you familiar with the term 'Delayed Retribution'?" Rostek asked.
Corran nodded affirmatively.
"That's how I would characterize this Thrawn. The Emperor clearly tried to keep him alive, so the more truthful story is probably that this whole 'exile' is nothing but a show. If the conqueror of Zaarin had himself started plotting against Palpatine, he would have disappeared the moment the Emperor found out about it."
"Maybe the Emperor didn't want to lose such a strategist and just shoved him out of the way," Corran suggested.
"No one would spare the life of even the most brilliant commander if he intended to scheme against the throne," Rostek countered.
And Corran had to admit he was right.
"What interests me much more is the information about the Jedi legacy he mentioned," Corran confessed.
"You do understand that you can't go along with someone who's taken hostages?" his grandfather clarified.
"That's exactly why I'm here. I need advice on how to beat him."
Rostek Horn was silent for a while, thinking over what had been said, so Corran decided to ask about more personal matters.
"What happened to the old house?" he asked.
"I gathered a lot of dirt on various influential figures," his grandfather said. "Politicians, businessmen, Imperials… When the BSO replaced CorSec, I was already retired and couldn't influence real affairs. But some of the powerful thought my archives could seriously harm them. For some reason, they decided the archive was in my house. Or in your father's house. One not-so-fine day, one after another, both houses burned to the ground."
Despite his grandfather's calm voice, Corran sensed a mockery of his opponents' stupidity in his tone.
"But it turned out the dossiers were in almost every computer network, and the number of copies exceeded all conceivable limits. Some of the kompromat started reaching those behind the fires. Couriers delivered it. Along with flowers that could only be seen in my greenhouse. The hint was understood correctly. Officially — for outstanding impeccable service at CorSec, and also to preserve my flowers, which had become truly priceless in a short time — the government bought up all the land in the area and built this house for me. Free of charge. There were so many surveillance and tracking devices that it got tiring to pick them out. Tosruk and my other servants regularly report to various agencies. But that doesn't bother me — my people are loyal only to me, and the government gets only the information I deem necessary. Part of my archives went to the appropriate authorities, which allowed various tyrants to surround themselves with people they could easily manipulate or intimidate with blackmail."
"That's unpleasant," Corran admitted.
"It is what it is, but we're talking about survival," his grandfather said. "I intended to get rid of all this after retirement, but their actions just keep me from stepping away."
A mocking smile appeared on the younger Horn's lips.
"They picked the wrong Corellian to mess with."
"I don't care about their assessment," Rostek Horn emphasized. "The archive allows me to control many. Sometimes they receive flowers from me with notes. And that keeps them from doing anything rash. Like joining your Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"Is the Diktat seriously considering such dangerous prospects?" Corran was horrified.
The New Republic has an advantage over its enemies while the largest shipbuilding corporations in the galaxy are on their side. The Imperials have only a handful of full-fledged shipyards.
And under those conditions, Thrawn has been terrorizing the galaxy for six months already.
And what would happen if the production capacity of a giant like the Corellian Engineering Corporation ended up on his side?
The New Republic could be buried immediately.
"Let's just say they shelved that initiative," his grandfather chuckled. "Though it cost me considerable effort. The Diktat is so convinced that Thrawn is the future Emperor that they even turned a blind eye to him stealing ships right from under their noses."
"So it's a fact," Corran stated. "We suspected him of stealing Corellian ships because of the increase in his fleet, but there's a difference between guesses and having proof."
"The Diktat has even less proof than you," his grandfather declared. "We only know that our ships are disappearing — in significant numbers. And then we see their tracking beacons stop working near the borders of the Imperial Remnants. Nothing points to Thrawn."
"If the Diktat and the Dominion unite, it will be a disaster," Corran said.
"The sensible residents of the sector understand that better than anyone," his grandfather agreed. "But that doesn't stop tens of thousands of Corellians from moving to the Dominion. They abandon their businesses here, sell them at bargain prices, and relocate with entire families. Many young Corellians who grew up with their brains washed by COMPNOR see him as a fighter against rebels, and the New Republic's lack of victories only reinforces their confidence in his triumph. As far as we know, he started with a small task force, and now he has fifteen sectors under control and plenty of systems, each turned into a fortress world. Our homegrown military practically lives on holorecordings of his battles, trying to learn something new. Every victory of Thrawn's on Corellia turns into a holiday. Treasure Ship Row becomes a place of mass celebration, and the Diktat uses these spontaneous festivities to deepen the rift between Corellians and the New Republic."
"Great Force," Corran exclaimed. "A few more victories, and Thrawn might just fly into Corellia's orbit, smile, and the sector falls into his Dominion's pocket!"
"It's not all that bad, grandson," Rostek corrected him. "For now, my like-minded associates and I manage to restrain the hotheads in power. They reject the people's initiatives to join, which leads to protests. The army disperses them. Sometimes too brutally, and then I send flowers with kompromat for publication. People lose their posts, the discontented leave the sector with curses, but we manage to maintain peace. Still, we've already lost about seven to ten million Corellians. Young, hot-blooded, and promising. Technicians, engineers, pilots, military, just daredevils — all flock to Thrawn. Simply because the Diktat, after declaring independence, started implanting the idea that 'Corellia is better than the New Republic' in the citizens' minds. But they didn't dare to openly confront."
"And they fell into the trap of populism," Corran understood. "First they stirred up the people, then realized it was too late to back down. And people started fleeing to the Dominion to vent their hatred of the New Republic."
"That's not the only problem," his grandfather said seriously. "Thrawn has established a strict militaristic order in the Dominion. Punishment follows crime without fail. He unites the discontented with the New Republic's policies, which doesn't really want to meddle in border affairs. And Thrawn — does want to. And what's most unfortunate — he can. And even more unfortunate — he does. Have you been following the currency exchange rates on the InterGalactic Banking Clan's markets?"
"That issue passed me by," Corran admitted. "I never paid attention to it before, and certainly not now."
"My acquaintances living outside the Corellian Sector have noticed some interesting things. Hundreds of transport ships go to the Dominion. Machine tools, equipment, spare parts, technologies… This guy doesn't just pretend to care about the people — he actually solves their problems. Not long ago, the BSO caught some pirates. Former Cavrilhu. They told us that Thrawn's destroyers swept through their bases, wiping out everyone involved in their trade. If there's a place safer from crime than the Dominion, I haven't seen it. Quick investigations, harsh sentences. For criminals, there's not much alternative there: get killed during capture, get sentenced to hard labor, or execution. Thrawn uses criminals to rebuild entire worlds. He has only fifteen sectors, but Dominion goods are wildly popular. And all this positively affects the stability of the Dominion's aurodium credit. And the more stable the currency, the stronger the state's position. And the more attractive it is for settlers."
"After hearing your words, you can't help wondering if I'm on the right side," Corran grumbled.
"You are," his grandfather assured him. "Whatever Thrawn does in his Dominion, it's still the same Empire. The peoples live as Thrawn tells them to. Of course, it suits them — who would think about freedoms when you have everything? In the end, no one cares about the form of government if their needs are met by the government."
"And now, with my help, Thrawn wants to organize his own Jedi Order," Corran thought sadly.
"As far as I know, right now he's wiping out Republic task forces in the Thanium Sector," his grandfather declared. "The New Republic's operation to capture Lianna is on the verge of collapse. The ships led by the Lusankya are mopping the floor with local vessels. But the second wave of landing forces definitely won't reach the Republic. The Red Star has killed everyone there. Or will finish them off soon."
"How long have you known about this?" Corran darkened.
"I have a couple of friends in the Lianna defense force command," Rostek said. "They report that the Republic troops are storming the planet and also smashing the orbital group. At the same time, Thrawn's ships attacked the vessels that were ready to move to the planet and support the attack. Corran, there's a massacre there that's terrifying to imagine."
"Well, Thrawn certainly knows how to organize mass bloodshed," Corran agreed. "I don't know what had to happen for us to attack a neutral world."
"The defeat of Admiral Duplex's group, the destruction of Antilles' fleet, and a long string of failures," his grandfather supplied. "Politicians can have a million reasons and a few in reserve. But because of their 'spectacular' actions, entirely different people die."
"One way or another, I'll soon have to return with the data that Nejaa Halcyon left behind," Corran said sadly. "According to Thrawn, I should search in the greenhouse…"
"And that frightens me seriously," his grandfather said. "In this world, there is only one person — me, who knows that such a legacy really exists. And how my flowers are connected to it."
"I would also like to be enlightened," Corran admitted.
"Everything in its time," his grandfather promised, rising from his chair. "I'll have a room prepared for you. You'll stay here tonight, and in the morning we'll start solving your problem."
Corran wanted to object, but remembered in time that arguing with Rostek wasn't worth it.
That was exactly why he had come here — to get advice.
And his grandfather had given it.
All that remained was to wait out the night and meet him in the morning.
* * *
When Moff Gronn's fleet was pulled out of hyperspace, neither its size, composition, nor the history of each starship was a mystery to me.
The captured databases of the Ubiqtorate and a copy of the database from the Imperial Palace truly grant great knowledge of the enemy.
But let's proceed in order.
The first in line were four Victory-class Star Destroyers.
The Zeplin had participated in Grand Admiral Zaarin's rebellion.
That ship had been preparing to defect to the Rebel Alliance. The Empire tracked it down, boarded it, destroyed the entire crew, and brought it back into the Imperial fold.
The Skeletor, on the other hand, had been under Mitth'raw'nuruodo's command during his hunt for Zaarin.
The Protector was known for being sent by command to destroy a Mon Calamari star cruiser in the Sallust system shortly before the Battle of Endor, but it failed its mission. It participated in the Battle of Endor, escaped capture, and was considered lost to the Empire. But in the end, it turned out to be serving Moff Gronn. Interesting career "swings."
The Dominator had been used by the Imperials in some "NOVA" project, but no details were found beyond Lianna being involved.
The six ships moving in the second row were Imperial-class Star Destroyers.
Of various classes, but still.
The Immortal was a Mark II, famous for hunting the Tantive IV — Princess Leia's legendary ship. With mixed success, it had hunted the corvette to prevent data transfer to the Rebel Alliance, but in the end, Darth Vader accomplished that over Tatooine.
The ship also had several other notable operations against the rebels to its "credit," quite successful ones, it must be noted.
The other five Star Destroyers were Mark I's, but that didn't make their histories any less interesting.
The Tyranny — practically an unknown ship for this period. However, thanks to future knowledge, I know that about ten years from now, in the events I know, this ship would be used by the impostor Flim, who posed as the late Grand Admiral Thrawn.
The Emperor had participated in a major operation against Rebel Alliance agents. But it's better known for joining Grand Admiral Demetrius Zaarin's forces a year before the Battle of Yavin.
A similar "trace" was in the service record of the Star Destroyer Thunderer.
But the destroyer Garret had once served under Darth Vader himself during the Sith Lord's hunt for another Imperial defector, Admiral Harkov.
That commander had decided to defect to the enemy shortly after the Battle of Hoth, but was discovered, captured, and executed by the Sith Lord.
And finally, the last one.
The Grey Wolf.
I'd like to dwell on this ship's history in more detail.
This Star Destroyer had been specifically used during the punitive campaign against Ali Tarrak and Nami in response to their theft of the TIE Defender technology. The criminal forces — three Carrack-class light cruisers and two Strike-class medium cruisers — were attacked and called to account.
An important milestone in this ship's history was that it once carried the ace pilot Marek Stele as a crew member.
At present, the fate of this pilot, whose name also appeared on the list of the Emperor's Hands, is unknown.
There is information that he served under Baron Fel for a time, but whether he is in the Empire of the Hand or not is unclear.
The latest available data indicated he served one of the Imperial Remnants, but checking that lead turned up nothing.
And finally, something interesting.
It was the Grey Wolf that Mitth'raw'nuruodo used as his flagship for hunting Demetrius Zaarin. This destroyer destroyed the traitor's flagship, the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Glory.
So — five out of ten ships that Moff Gronn was leading to Lianna's aid were in one way or another connected to Zaarin's rebellion. Coincidence?
I think not.
I'm more inclined to believe that Moff Gronn was sent "crippled pilots" into service back in the Imperial days: those who had in some way tarnished their honor.
The Grey Wolf seemingly doesn't fit this category, but if we recall that Mitth'raw'nuruodo was quickly forgotten once the Emperor sent him to the Unknown Regions for reconnaissance and annexation of new territories, I can assume that the former flagship of the newly minted Grand Admiral was removed from sight, out of mind.
One could guess endlessly.
As well as ponder whether the crew on the ship is old or if Gronn replaced them with his own men.
"Is the Eternal Wrath blocking long-range transmissions?" I asked.
"Immediately after Moff Gronn's ships emerged from hyperspace," Captain Pellaeon confirmed.
"In that case, connect me with the Immortal," I ordered, noting that the enemy ships…
Pellaeon shot me a questioning look.
"Moff Gronn is vain beyond all measure," I explained. "Where else would he be but aboard the most renowned Star Destroyer, which also outranks the others in class?"
"We're being hailed!" an officer from the comm section reported. "The signal is going to the Eternal Wrath; they're relaying it to us."
Well, naturally.
We're in ambush.
In the most visible spot of this interstellar space, but still in ambush.
In the Thrawn Trilogy, Talon Karrde hid from the Chimaera's scanners when the Grand Admiral turned against him.
And Han Solo hid in plain sight on his Millennium Falcon when he magnetically attached to a Star Destroyer's hull.
Perfect tactics — why not use them, radically reimagined with creative flair?
"Connect them," I ordered. "Just the link for now. Holographic video on my command."
."..I don't know what you think you are, you Dominion dogs, but I won't let you interfere with me!" Moff Gronn's voice came through the speakers, practically spraying spittle. "Disable your gravity wells immediately, or I'll bring the full force of my invincible fleet down on you! I'm counting to five..."
"Voice channel," I commanded.
A miniature hologram appeared above the projection panel built into my chair's armrest — barely forty centimeters tall — showing a man in an Imperial uniform with a Moff's rank plaques.
The effect was spoiled only by the gaudy jewelry draped all over him and the fur cloak.
"I can't say I share your pain with arithmetic, Moff Gronn," I said, "but giving orders to my ships is beyond your authority."
"Thrawn!" the Moff recognized me instantly. "By all the wreckage of the Death Star, what's going on here?"
"A Dominion military operation," I explained calmly.
"On the border of the Lianna system and the Allied Tion sector?" Moff Gronn's voice was laced with suspicion.
"Yes," I replied. "Do you have any objections, Moff?"
"By the Hutt, yes!" the hologram exploded. "Lianna is under attack by the New Republic fleet. According to the latest intelligence, the Super Star Destroyer Lusankya is there. Lianna's defense fleet is practically wiped out. The enemy is capturing Golan-class defense stations. New Republic troopers have landed on the planet and stormed several facilities. Moff Victus is in a desperate situation! And here you are with your Interdictor and a dozen Acclamators, out hunting? Who are you looking for on the shortest route between Allied Tion and Lianna?"
"An excellent question, Moff," I praised. "And a timely one, above all. But first, I'd like to ask you why you and your subordinates didn't respond to my summons, broadcast across the galaxy via the HoloNet, to come and join the Dominion's armed forces?"
"What?" Gronn was taken aback. "By what Sith right do you allow yourself this, Thrawn? You're only the titular Supreme Commander of the Empire! I sent nearly all my Strike-class medium cruisers to your fleet just to keep you out of Allied Tion's affairs. By what right do you come here making demands of me?"
"For your information, Moff Gronn, the crews of those Strike-class medium cruisers deserted from the Dominion fleet some time ago and fled to an unknown destination," I said. "In light of this, I have a reasonable question — for what purpose and for what reason did you recall those ships from my fleet, given the agreements you yourself stated existed between me and the Imperial Remnants?"
"What nonsense!" Gronn roared. "Thrawn, have you lost your mind? I have no idea what you did with those ships! They never arrived at my position, and their fate is unknown to me. I'm rushing to Lianna's aid, leaving my own territories practically defenseless! Get out of my way, or I'll blow your toothpick fleet to pieces."
"In that case, Moff Gronn, I can only state one thing — the ships you transferred to me deserted on your orders," my calm voice affected the vain commander like a red rag to a bull. "No competent military officer would go on campaign leaving his territories unprotected. Either you're lying to me, or worse — you're incompetent, and your actions are jeopardizing the security of Imperial territory."
The expression on Gronn's face was more like a grimace of pain, contempt, surprise, and rage all at once.
"Stop buttering me up, Thrawn!" he snapped. "Don't waste my precious time!"
"Don't overestimate yourself, Moff Gronn," I advised. "I have a proposal. For the ships that deserted from those you transferred to me, you will immediately hand over under my control these ten ships at your disposal, which in your shortsightedness you are leading straight into a trap set by the forces attacking Lianna."
"Have you lost your mind, Thrawn?" Gronn recoiled from the receiver. A second later he reappeared, his face twisted with barely contained fury. "You... you... you! Is this true?"
"Those are my intentions," I said, giving a barely perceptible nod.
Pellaeon understood the signal perfectly without any prompting. That's self-improvement.
"Don't give me that spin!" the Moff hissed. "Our scanners are registering a huge amount of debris in this area! I've identified several ships — they're mercenaries hired by Moff Victus to defend Lianna! And since there's no one else here but you..."
"Exactly right, Moff Gronn," I said. "The Dominion destroyed the mercenaries and pirates that Lianna paid for."
"Why, you... you... you... traitor!" my verbal opponent finally found the right word.
I glanced at the tactical monitor.
Excellent.
They'd reached a suitable point for attack.
"I'm merely keeping my word to Lady Santhe," I said. My words made Gronn wince. Clearly, he'd already been informed that the transmission was on an open frequency, and every crew member on every Star Destroyer knew exactly what we were discussing. "Her behavior and attitude are the reason Lianna is under siege right now. My ships are currently destroying the combat units and formations that have been blockading Lianna all this time. I promised Lady Santhe that one day the New Republic would come for her and take what she refused to sell to strengthen and consolidate my position in the war. By Imperial military law, Lady Santhe committed a war crime, and she is now reaping the fruits of her treachery. The era of private contractors dictating terms to the military is over. I have turned that page. And I warn you — if your destroyers approach the Eternal Wrath and its escort ships by even ten more units, I will be forced to attack, disable your vessels, and capture them for subsequent integration into the Dominion fleet. Anyone who opens fire on Dominion ships will be destroyed. I will board your ships with the troops waiting aboard the Acclamators and seize them. There will be no mercy. This is your only warning. Switch to my side, withdraw to point four-seven-seven, or die. There are no other options — staying on the sidelines isn't possible either. Your fleet contains ships that participated in my campaign against Grand Admiral Zaarin. If even one crew member present is a witness to those events, I think you understand what will happen to you if you reject my offer."
"You're taking too much upon yourself, Thrawn," Moff Gronn growled. "Your pathetic fleet of ten Acclamators and a single decent Star Destroyer is nothing compared to the might of ten first-class Star Destroyers under my command!"
I glanced at the tactical display and allowed myself a slight smile.
"You have serious problems with arithmetic, Moff Gronn," I said. The man tensed visibly, looking around. "The Gray Wolf has just made the right decision and left your formation."
"Sir, the Tyranny is following the Gray Wolf," Captain Pellaeon reported to me. "They're heading for point four-seven-seven."
"All fleet ships except the Dominator, the Garret, the Immortal, and the Defender have begun moving along the specified vector," the officer of the watch reported immediately.
"Gray Wolf commander speaking," a new male voice came over the open channel. "Grand Admiral Thrawn, sir, glad to serve under your command again!"
"Destroyer Tyranny hailing," another commanding tone. "Captain Nalgol to Grand Moff Thrawn. It's a great honor for me and my crew to serve you."
"Thunderer to Grand Admiral Thrawn," a low, well-trained commander's voice that would make an unprepared listener flinch. "We fully share your views on the stranglehold of corporations over the military."
"Emperor here," a calm, cold voice from that destroyer's commander, like a cold shower. "I have heard Grand Admiral Thrawn's arguments and find them just. Neither I nor my men will shed blood for Lianna and its interests."
"Zeplin is switching to the Dominion's side."
"Skeletor hailing," something like a sigh of relief. "Grand Admiral Thrawn, requesting permission to join the Dominion fleet. My apologies for not doing so sooner."
Six against four.
And now four Imperial-class and two Victory-class Star Destroyers were encircling two pairs of their counterparts, respectively.
They could argue all they wanted, but the outcome of this battle was predetermined.
Even without these starships switching to my side, the battle would have been won.
"Surrender, Moff Gronn," I advised. "Your subordinates made the right decision."
"Traitors!" the ruler of the Allied Tion sector bellowed. "I'll hang every last one of you! I'll have you all shot! Fire! Grind them to dust!"
But no one was listening to him anymore.
"All ships — fire ion cannons," I ordered.
War is war, but trophies come on schedule.
Especially since I have a few surprises for the enemy.