It had all worked out.
They'd used the control codes for the drillers, hoping they could outplay the grand admiral.
And in the end...
Han tried not to look at the hull of the mangled Star Cruiser — one of the few lucky enough not to explode, but instead to be transformed into a grotesque, twisted, deformed, disfigured, melted, gutted piece of metal from the internal detonations.
That ship had been attacked by plasma drills among the last.
Judging by how shattered its bow section was, and the gaping hole through its center that a heavy cruiser could easily fly through, only a few enemy boarding drillers had latched onto it.
It looked like only two.
The ships kept exploding.
The Millennium Falcon passed hull-to-hull with another Star Cruiser — an MC80b this time.
Another of the flagships hadn't been destroyed either, and together with the other "lucky" ones, it was now blindly staggering in different directions, colliding with no way to avoid it.
And from the hull breaches of all seven ships that had survived the detonation so far, flames were billowing.
Not a single indication that anyone had survived.
The Corellian checked the scanners.
Out of more than one hundred and fifty Star Cruisers, they had only a dozen battered Mon Calamari-built vessels left.
Yes, they'd hurt Thrawn.
They'd destroyed several Star Destroyers.
Plenty of light forces and heavy cruisers that had taken part in the attack had gone to meet their ancestors too.
But what the New Republic had left here, right now...
It couldn't win — Bel Iblis was right.
Retreat and regroup were absolutely necessary.
Solo obediently pointed the ship in the indicated direction.
They needed time to escape.
The Star Destroyers' scanners went quiet for a while, because the sheer number of explosions and the electromagnetic radiation from the detonated Star Cruiser reactors had created a temporary cocoon around the space where the Fourth Fleet's ships were located, impenetrable to sensors.
General Iblis intended to use that very effect to slip right under the nose of the Dominion regular fleet.
Abandoning Sluis Van to Thrawn's plunder.
They'd lost the battle.
Again.
But maybe a miracle would happen, as it often did, and the war could still be won?
Oh, please...
Leia and Lando stared blankly ahead.
Han understood their pain.
Because of one wrong decision, hundreds of thousands of sentients had died.
Soldiers who had given their lives for justice and democracy, only to become victims of their own leaders' cunning and deception.
The comm logs remained.
Thrawn had surely recorded everything and would soon publish the details of his latest triumph on the HoloNet.
In detail.
"Master Solo," came C-3PO's voice from the cockpit entrance. "I consider it my duty to inform you that the long-range communications systems are operational..."
"Thrawn shut down the jamming," Han nodded mechanically, continuing to fly the Falcon so that it used one of the Star Cruisers' hulls as cover from the Star Destroyers, along with the rest of the fleet's remnants fleeing the position.
"I'll contact Winter and Chewie," Leia said hollowly, rising from her seat and staring somewhere through Han with an absent gaze. "They need to leave Coruscant as fast as possible."
Han nodded silently.
Whether this was another trap from the grand admiral, or just a coincidence (yeah, right!), there would always be people who'd want to pin all the blame — or possibly even accusations of aiding the enemy — on Han, Lando, and Leia.
And under these circumstances, it would be foolish to leave the children where they could be reached easily and effortlessly.
"We'll meet them on Kashyyyk," Han said.
"Why there?" Leia asked weakly.
"Because Wookiees don't do double standards," Lando said. "Chewie promised to protect your children and your family. The Wookiee guards did the same. Even if Fey'lya declares us all criminals, there's a good chance they'll at least let us refuel and lie low on Kashyyyk before the Bothans blow up the Senate with accusations against us."
So Calrissian understood too — they wouldn't be welcome on Coruscant.
Sure, expecting arrest for a tactical miscalculation was probably an exaggeration, but not under conditions where an election campaign for head of state was about to begin, and everything possible would be used to drag a competitor through the mud.
And the only one who might support them was Mon Mothma.
Who had already taken on too much before, and a slippery Bothan would not let her forget it.
Postponing reprisals for losing an entire fleet would be political suicide.
Han believed in Mon Mothma's good sense, but not that the candidate for head of the New Republic, Advisor Mothma, would support them and wouldn't stoop to accusations and a high-profile trial.
"We can kiss our return to the New Republic goodbye," Han said. "At least until we get proof that the fleet's destruction wasn't our fault."
"No one will care by then anyway," Leia declared. "The Bothans will use the uproar over what happened here to seize power. Mon Mothma will lose the election if she doesn't blacken us and Bel Iblis, declaring us all criminals who should be tried for this."
"That sounds insane," Calrissian said.
"Too much was riding on victory at Sluis Van," Leia said, pursing her lips. "Mon Mothma won't want to yield the head of state position to Fey'lya. There are already enough unresolved issues with him and the Bothan intrigues, and now that our support would only weaken her position..."
"Enough politics," Han said sharply. "First priority is getting the kids off Coruscant. Then we dig in somewhere we can think straight. I don't know how things will go from here, but we need to drop off the radar. We'll sort everything out, get Wedge, Madine, Luke, find intel on this operation, or get hold of something stronger than our certainty that this whole thing is a massive setup — then we'll make contact."
"Let me remind you, everything you just said is several criminal offenses," Lando stated, but without enthusiasm.
"I don't care," Han said. "Right now the main thing is getting the kids and friends off Coruscant. Directly or through someone else's crooked hands, but Fey'lya won't hesitate to use us as expendable resources for his campaign. And the kids — that's what will definitely flush us out of any hole."
"If he so much as lays a finger on my children, I'll burn him alive like Luke did Darth Vader," Leia's voice was raw with fury.
For a moment, Han thought his wife's irises were glowing amber, and the air in the cockpit crackled with electricity...
But Leia left the bridge, and the spell broke.
It was a spell, right?
* * *
Grand Moff Kaine's hologram was silent for a long time, then Ardus burst into loud applause.
"Bravo, Thrawn," the man said. "This... this is something. I'm speechless. One operation, and practically an entire fleet ceases to exist. Star Destroyers, cruisers, escort carriers, light forces... You've stripped the New Republic of up to a quarter of their armed forces in one blow."
I regarded the hologram with a calm look.
"That was the plan." but there was something else in the plan that even Kaine didn't know about. "The New Republic is now effectively unable to project its influence into the southern sectors of the galaxy. It will take them considerable time to regroup their remaining forces in order to allocate ships to re-establish control over that part of the galaxy."
"They'll pull ships from other fleets to reinforce the southern group," Kaine agreed.
"Most likely, they will soon commit a number of additional rash acts regarding regroupment, which will leave the Core Worlds without adequate protection," I continued.
"They need to react quickly to the destruction and capture of so many starships," Kaine said thoughtfully. "The First Fleet is the closest that could reach the Sluis sector the fastest."
"Several sector fleets are already moving toward Sluis Van," I noted. "General Iblis contacted them during his retreat from the system. They'll arrive in the system shortly."
"And you'll destroy them too?" Kaine narrowed his eyes.
"No," I countered. "That doesn't align with my objectives. Nor does it fall within the scope of our agreement, Ardus."
"I understand," he agreed. "I couldn't ask for more at this moment. You've already done far too much. I'll order the fleet to prepare for an attack on Coruscant."
"I recommend waiting at least a week," I said. "The defeat and political maneuvering within the New Republic will partially slow down the regroupment process. Conquering Coruscant and the Core Worlds in this situation could be costly."
"My ships are ready," Kaine stated. "Including the Dragons. The rabble from various factions who flocked to me after their leaders were destroyed are itching for battle. And I need to get rid of them quickly, before the events we've discussed occur."
"In that case, I wish you victory in your endeavors," I said.
"And you as well," Kaine replied. "If you decide to sell me, or trade for valuable resources or technology, even a few of your new Star Destroyers — I'm open to discussion."
"I'll keep that in mind," I replied.
The hologram dissolved, leaving behind only the fading light of the projector.
Naturally, there could be no question of exchanging starships.
The Dominion's war economy had strengthened enough to independently establish production of the necessary equipment.
Yes, not on an industrial scale like in Imperial Space or the Pentastar Alignment, but most of the ships captured at Sluis Van didn't need major repairs.
The critically important systems on the starships could be restored operationally.
Right now the bigger issue was crewing these ships and conducting training.
But again, that was just a matter of time.
The main thing was that all assigned strategic objectives, as well as the agreements, had been fulfilled.
I had received every single Imperial-design ship the New Republic had held at Sluis Van without exception.
And they were in near-operational condition.
I had lost a significant number of heavy cruisers, but I had both the means and the way to replace them — the number of Vindicator-class heavy cruisers captured at Sluis Van was practically equal to my losses.
The cloning facilities would quite quickly crew the ships — at least the cruisers — with personnel.
And once we repaired and activated the faction-x1's cloning "prototypes," the rate of "duplicates" arriving would be even higher.
Besides, there were other places to acquire cloning cylinders, but that was a matter for another day, not even tomorrow.
Not to mention that, in the wake of the victory over the Fourth Fleet, there was always a chance that personnel from the defense fleet might want to transfer to more modern ships.
So, the Dominion now possessed ships equal in number and combat power to a sector fleet from the Imperial era.
It would take time to get the ships in order, to recruit crews, but that wasn't a big problem.
The borders were sealed, and all that remained was to return without losses.
But there was no problem with that either — the regular fleet would leave via the same regional routes it had arrived on.
As soon as the final part of Operation Crimson Dawn concluded, and the Star Destroyers that hadn't participated in the battle — which had been busy disabling Sluis Van's orbital defense stations on the other side of the orbit — finished mounting the hyperdrive units.
And immediately after that, the Sluissi homeworld's defenses would cease to be anything at all.
Kaine and I had concluded all our dealings.
I had gotten from him what he wanted.
He had gotten from me the destruction of an entire sector fleet, the regrouping of Republic fleets, and the weakening of their forces in light of the defeat.
Consequently, he was now in a position to attack the Core Worlds and capture them before Orinda or Palpatine could.
Had I made the right choice, handing the heart of the galaxy over to the Alignment to be ravaged, rather than to Imperial Space, as in the events I knew?
Yes, correct.
Because this way, Kaine would weaken his forces in a bloody struggle for territory, and Palpatine would not sweep through those sectors with his merciless punitive sword.
And, above all, Orinda would not be involved in the consequences of my actions.
They had weakened their southern borders by sending a group to capture the Lusankya and lost it at Brentaal IV.
As soon as news reached them that the New Republic was even weaker, the Imperial Ruling Council would certainly want to get in on the carve-up.
This would bring them into conflict with the Alignment's fighters, ensuring confrontation and distrust between them.
And that was the key to a future open conflict.
Let my enemies fight among themselves, while the Dominion meanwhile put its own military industry on track and expanded its armed forces.
"Sir," Pellaeon appeared beside my chair. "Incoming call on the private frequency."
"I take it Corran Horn has decided to make contact," I commented. "Put him through. I'm quite curious to hear what he might offer, given the circumstances of what happened at the Horn estate."
A few seconds later, a hologram of the mentioned Corellian appeared before me.
"Captain Horn," I greeted the man. "You took your time getting in touch."
"Actually, I was in a hurry," Horn snorted. "For some reason, I couldn't reach you for a long time."
Of course.
"Indeed, how could I forget. The long-range communication systems were jammed during the military operation in the Sluis Van system."
If my interlocutor was at all surprised by what was said, he did everything not to show it.
"So, to what do I owe your call?" I inquired. "Ready to make the exchange? Information for your relatives and acquaintances..."
A delicate moment.
I needed to determine from Horn's reaction to my provocative words whether he had figured out who was behind the estate's destruction or not yet.
He must have understood the root cause. The question was whether he had worked it out by now or not.
"Don't play games with me, Thrawn," Horn stated. "My grandfather's estate was attacked. You already have the data."
"An interesting assumption," I stated.
Now we'd find out what he actually knew.
"It's a fact!" the Corellian declared. "Your mercenaries killed my grandfather, burned down his house, his greenhouse..."
"My condolences to hear that." I hate lying and making excuses, but due to Mara Jade's unauthorized actions, I had to improvise. "However, what makes you think I did it? Lately, my interest has been in Sluis Van, not Corellia."
"Obviously, it wasn't you personally acting in Coronet, but your operatives, on your orders!" Judging by his expression, the Corellian was genuinely furious.
Given his past and his impressive track record in field work, such a man was not prone to making baseless accusations.
But he still hadn't said anything that could even vaguely resemble proof of my involvement.
And that was no accident.
Horn didn't know anything for certain.
He suspected (or maybe the Force had whispered to him), but the last of the Halcyon line had no direct evidence.
So he had resorted to an operative's game — provocation.
Well, this style of manipulating an opponent was familiar to me too.
"My agents have more pressing matters than doing work on Corellia," I noted mildly. "But in any case, I'll pass along your flattering remarks about their omnipresence."
"Don't play dumb, Thrawn!" Horn declared. "The location and the information that only you knew about, hinting at my grandfather's greenhouse, have been destroyed. No one except you and him knew what was there..."
And again, that might have worked if Jade hadn't told me she herself had overheard the grandfather's explanations about his genetic loopholes in the plants.
A flimsy, made-up piece of evidence.
"Well, I don't think I should deny the obvious," I stated. "The role of your grandfather's greenhouse in preserving the Jedi legacy was indeed known to me. Sentients like him never do anything without reason. Horticulture is undoubtedly a wonderful way to pass the time, but under conditions where the Diktat had already taken measures to destroy his home, hoping to get rid of your grandfather and the results of his field work, it's not hard to guess that he kept the information of interest exactly where no one would look. And the only place the Diktat didn't search and couldn't destroy was his greenhouse."
"There, you've slipped up," Horn smiled broadly. "I never said anything about a grandfather's archive of kompromat."
Well...
And that might have worked too, but...
"If you draw such conclusions from a single speech, it's no wonder the Imperials managed to pin a crime on you that you didn't commit," I continued patiently, playing on Corellian pride. "I know for a fact that after your real grandfather's death, a Caamasi who was his friend visited Rostek Horn and handed over the deceased's belongings for safekeeping. I also know that during the purges of Corellian Jedi, the Empire couldn't find a single one of them, let alone come across any data on Jedi knowledge, which the Green Jedi certainly must have had. You may not know this, but the Corellian Jedi operated autonomously from the rest of the Order. Consequently, they had to train the next generation themselves. The operation to find Jedi and their legacy, including the information they possessed, in the Corellian sector was commanded by your grandfather, Rostek Horn. And CorSec's best operative found nothing—despite having good relations with the Corellian Jedi. I concluded that Rostek Horn had deliberately gotten rid of that data. Given that he took up with a woman who, according to local rumors, was a Jedi's wife—though that fact wasn't documented—I concluded that Rostek Horn was deliberately shielding Jedi from the purge. And preserving their legacy. Probably in memory of a friend, whose wife he married and whose son he adopted. That son was seen more than once with a medallion, the kind Corellian Jedi usually gave to loved ones when they attained the rank of Jedi Master. So I concluded that since your father had such a medallion, he was very close to a Jedi. Given the well-known tendency of Corellian Jedi to train their own children and relatives, I again found confirmation that Rostek Horn was deeply connected to the Jedi. Assemble these pieces, weigh the probability of coincidence, the obvious scrubbing of data about your family, add the fact that your grandfather—Rostek Horn—wasn't touched even when the Emperor came to power, despite discrepancies between documents and eyewitness accounts, and you'll understand that this Corellian, who advanced extremely quickly under the Empire despite being unable to find a single Jedi and bring him to justice, had leverage over the sector government, and possibly over influential people in the Empire. That's how I reached the conclusion that your grandfather very likely cleaned up data about his friendship with a Jedi, married his wife, adopted her child, and was also a significant figure who stood in many people's way but couldn't be removed. Add to that your adventures on Coruscant, when you escaped from the Lusankya and stumbled upon a Jedi exhibit at the Galactic Museum, then received guidance from Skywalker about your connection to the owner of that lightsaber. All of this together forms a rather curious picture, from which any sentient being not lacking intelligence can draw conclusions. And it's to test those conclusions that I sent you to your homeworld."
Corran Horn's hologram was silent for a moment, then he said slowly:
"In other words, you sent me to verify information based on your own inferences. Inferences drawn from intelligence data."
"Including that," I agreed. "I have no need to risk my agents, given the Diktat's unwillingness to cooperate with the Dominion, and send them to Corellia to get what you could bring me, having solid motivation. So if you're sure that what happened is the result of my intervention, I'm afraid I have to disappoint you."
The mention of the Diktat's non-cooperation with the Dominion—that's the "icing on the cake" needed to add even more doubt to his hypotheses about my involvement.
Mara Jade, posing as a Republic mercenary, had told Horn that the Diktat had let her work on Corellia in exchange for kompromat.
She'd also taken steps to plant the idea in the Corellian's mind that the corvettes and frigates from the Corellian sector weren't being stolen by Niles Ferrier's clones, but were being transferred to the Dominion under some secret agreement between the governments.
A direct denial of that fact, coming from me emphasizing the lack of any deal with the Diktat, should make Horn doubt his inner conviction about my involvement even more.
Shifting all the "blame" onto the New Republic and the Diktat—an ideal way to create enemies for both factions.
"And you think I'll hand over the information," Horn said slowly, in turn provoking me to be candid.
"There's nothing left to expect from you," I declared. "You said yourself your grandfather's greenhouse was destroyed. Given his passion for gardening, I'm sure the Jedi data and any kompromat, if they existed, are gone. You have nothing to offer me. And nothing to trade for your comrades and relatives…"
"You're wrong," Horn stated. "I have the data."
"Is that so?" I was surprised.
This time I didn't even have to feign surprise.
Either Horn was lying to me, or his grandfather had an extra hiding place.
I'm betting on the latter.
I recall in the book I, Jedi, Horn found his real grandfather Nejaa Halcyon's belongings, hidden by Rostek Horn under a manure pile…
But there was no Jedi information or kompromat there.
Maybe my influence on the galaxy had made old Horn make another copy of his archives and hide it there?
Or else the younger Horn was trying to trick me.
"Yes," the man raised his hand, showing me data chips styled as energy cells. "My grandfather covered his bases by making copies of his data. If you need them, it's time we met."
He wasn't exactly worried about his family and loved ones in my captivity.
It reeked of a trap.
"I assume you've already reviewed this data," I said. "So no offense, but I want to know what we're talking about."
"It's information on Jedi training techniques," Horn stated. "What you asked me to find."
I already had similar data, and specialized analysts were working on decoding it.
"Your grandfather's kompromat, I assume you have that too," I suggested.
I couldn't let him understand that my plans were limited to small gains.
That would lead to premature questions about who actually attacked his grandfather's estate.
I needed Horn as an alternative enemy for the New Republic and the Jedi Order.
"We agreed on Jedi knowledge," Horn cut in. "You get it, and I get my people back."
"Yes, that was the deal," I agreed. "Was."
"What do you mean?" Corran tensed.
"Only that you've just piqued my interest in your grandfather's kompromat," I declared, continuing my role-playing. "I think you'll bring your grandfather's kompromat to the meeting as well. Then the exchange will happen."
"Or I can send our deal to a Hutt and keep everything for myself," Horn offered an alternative.
"In that case, nothing stops me from sending your relatives and loved ones to breathe vacuum," I said.
"I don't give a damn—" Horn cut himself off.
And that slip told me a lot.
Almost everything I wanted to know was contained in that unfinished sentence.
Corellian individualism, the loss of a loved one, the skillfully woven intrigues around him—all of it had borne fruit.
Corran Horn had begun his transformation from a hero of the Rebel Alliance and New Republic, a loving family man, into a selfish person who had severed his ties with the past.
The bet had paid off.
"Set the time and place," he added quickly. "Mirax, Booster, Iella, Wedge, and Skywalker must be there. And it has to happen ASAP."
"They'll be there, of course," I agreed, "but don't overestimate your own importance or that data in my plans. I could just as easily send a few bounty hunters after your soul and obtain the information another way. The transfer will happen as soon as the Dominion resolves a few delicate issues with the New Republic."
"Speaking of which," Horn suddenly sneered. "You captured the Lusankya, didn't you?"
"We've discussed that," I reminded him. "Don't think that if you ask me for a Super Star Destroyer, I'll agree."
"I don't need that flying wreck," Horn snapped. "General Madina commanded the operation on that ship. I need him along with the other prisoners. I know you wouldn't kill such an important hostage, let alone trade him. Since you mentioned Sluis Van, it means you have Imperial ships that were there at your disposal. The Republic has nothing to trade for that man."
"Then allow me to inquire what you're willing to offer in exchange for such a valuable hostage?" I asked, intrigued.
It seemed this guy was really planning something very, very unkind toward his former allies.
"An alliance between the Corellian sector and the Dominion, after I remove from power those who are leading my homeland toward crisis and stagnation," Corran Horn replied quite clearly.
And that was not at all what I wanted to hear from him.
At least, not at this moment.
Ambition is good.
Idiocy is bad.
Considering your interlocutor an idiot is criminal.
Seems it's time to teach another Corellian a lesson.
I felt like an elementary school teacher.
"Well then," I said, looking through the central viewport at the Dominion regular fleet's starships, then at the few nearby sentients. "An intriguing offer. We'll discuss the details when we meet."
* * *
When Gilad approached the Grand Admiral, he was thoughtfully gazing at the battered regular Dominion fleet, which had clearly emerged victorious from the most brutal battle in recent years.
He seemed so immersed in his thoughts that he was missing the key point.
Yes, the New Republic starships were still exploding.
Yes, the Fourth Fleet had ceased to exist as an armed formation capable of independent action or carrying out tasks requiring capital ships.
But the job wasn't done yet.
Suddenly the Grand Admiral raised his head.
"Have you already given the order to recall pilots to their ships and dispatch rescue parties?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon was still waiting for the Grand Admiral to take the datapad with operational data from his hands.
Thrawn nodded.
"Order a regrouping of our forces and then a withdrawal."
"Uh… withdrawal, sir?" Pellaeon repeated cautiously; he felt like a complete fool.
He had expected a different order.
At the very least, an order for the Star Destroyer formations to finish off what was left of Garm Bel Iblis's fleet!
Even the Republicans were exchanging glances, not understanding what he meant.
Thrawn looked at the Vice Admiral with a slight smile.
"You didn't think we'd chase after Bel Iblis's starships, did you?" he asked.
"Actually, that's exactly what I thought, sir," Gilad admitted. "We could destroy them right now!"
"No need, Vice Admiral," Thrawn added, casting a glance toward the Corellian pair, who were suspiciously exchanging looks, obviously reacting to what they had seen and heard in the Grand Admiral's presence recently. "All objectives of the current operation have been achieved. We have everything we wanted. That includes destroying the enemy fleet, capturing a vast number of warships from the New Republic, demolishing the defenses of Sluis Van, and humiliating the heroes of the New Republic by effectively turning them into executioners for their own military. The objectives are complete. There's no need to waste time turning a good battle outcome into an excellent one. Let our enemies wallow in grief, experience despair and panic. Besides, Bel Iblis, Admiral Duplex, and General Solo have proven they can oppose an enemy not only with their vaunted luck but also tactical thinking. Those who survived this operation will become suitable cadres for the New Republic to fight Palpatine's armadas. We won't finish them off. Especially since reinforcements summoned by Solo and Bel Iblis will soon arrive—we don't need to wait for them. Let them savor the sight of defeat and ask their questions to those who deserve them."
Pellaeon feigned protest, feeling his blood, fizzing with battle frenzy and searing adrenaline, demand a spectacular annihilation of the remnants, but deep down he admitted Thrawn was right.
"Demolished the defenses of Sluis Van?" Luke Skywalker repeated. "But you only knocked out a few orbital defense stations!"
The Grand Admiral's smile remained, but it turned searingly cold as he carefully lifted the ysalamiri, handed it to Gilad, and swiveled his chair to face the Jedi, leaving the chair's back between himself and Pellaeon.
"Every trick consists of three parts, Jedi Skywalker," Thrawn said quietly and very distinctly. "The attack on Sullust not only deprived you of the light forces that could have freed up ships from many sectors, but also stoked Sullustan discontent with New Republic policy, showing the entire galaxy that no one helping Coruscant was safe. The attack on Sluis Van not only destroyed the sector fleet, along with the Fourth Fleet's Star Cruisers, but also allowed the Dominion to seize hundreds of ships and construction-repair facilities to strengthen its own security. Han Solo, Leia Organa Solo, Lando Calrissian, and in all likelihood even General Garm Bel Iblis will never be able to wash off the label of executioners, because soon a recording of the battle will be uploaded to the HoloNet. Along with communication system data from the Millennium Falcon, which will show that despite suspicions of a trap, your relatives and friends deliberately risked the lives of their fellow citizens and soldiers, leading to their mass deaths…"
"But you lost your own troops and ships too!" Wedge Antilles declared.
"I'll replace the Dreadnaughts with Vindicators, the light forces I'll compensate with captured ships from Sullust, and the captured Star Destroyers and other vessels will increase the Dominion regular fleet's numbers by orders of magnitude."
"But it won't bring back the ones you sent into battle on plasma drills," Skywalker said.
"The loss of a few hundred battle droids I can live with," Thrawn stated.
Watching the blinking Jedi, Gilad couldn't help but stroke the ysalamiri's head with a smirk.
"You didn't think I'd send people into diversionary attacks using tech Lando Calrissian was familiar with, did you?" Thrawn clarified. "No, only battle droids were on those 'diggers.' We didn't lose a single person in that massacre. And given what we've gained, the combat casualties don't even amount to a tenth of the number of military personnel your relatives killed with a single signal broadcast. Not to mention the crews of the five Star Destroyers that rammed the fire-ships—those are also on your relatives' conscience. Frankly, Jedi Skywalker, I doubt your father destroyed as many sentients with his own hands in his entire life as your sister and her husband vaporized in one stroke."
The Jedi's face darkened.
"And lastly," Thrawn said, "while all the New Republic's attention was fixed on the ships and shipyards, our bombers destroyed all military and defensive installations on Sluis Van's surface, while a separate group of destroyers methodically knocked out and took control of the orbital defense stations on the defended side of the planet. They've all been fitted with hyperdrives now and are on their way to the Dominion. And nothing can stop them—or the captured ships. Because thanks to General Bel Iblis, the nearest armed ships from nearby sector fleets are racing here, not setting up ambushes on the routes. If I recall, your sister often said the Sullustans and Sluissi feared becoming victims of a Dominion attack. And now they have become that… because they were fulfilling military orders for Coruscant. I'm sure that within a few days, a week at most, the Sluissi will announce their withdrawal from the New Republic to avoid incurring the Dominion's wrath. Without functioning defense systems, they have no chance of repelling any serious siege. And the Sluissi clearly don't want to lose their independence again. The Battle of Sluis Van, the attack on Sullust—these are nails in the coffin lid of the New Republic, which is twitching inside. A few more strikes, and your quasi-democratic state will shatter into pieces that will fight among themselves. The Dominion will pick up everything that's left. I won't even need much intervention—you'll do it all yourselves. I just need to push specific systems into settling scores with each other and…"
"Now!" a shout came from right beside his ear.
A very familiar voice, I had to say…
Pellaeon had a bad feeling, and he feared those feelings were about to be justified.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gilad saw the guards spring into action, engaging Iella Wessiri.
The Vice Admiral was somewhat stunned as the ysalamiri vanished from his hand, soaring into the air in an arc…
With a characteristic crunch and the appalling sound of a wet slap against a solid object, the skull of the ysalamiri, held by the tail by Wedge Antilles, splattered across the deck plating.
"Luke! Go!" Antilles roared, throwing himself at Gilad.
Memories of hand-to-hand combat training flashed through his mind—skills he'd studied during his training and promptly forgotten after graduating from the military academy.
But here he had to thank that gray-skinned freak for refreshing them.
Gilad parried the blow aimed at his solar plexus fairly easily, then himself thrust an open palm toward the young New Republic general's face.
Antilles dodged, simultaneously sweeping Gilad's legs out from under him, sending him crashing onto the deck of the central platform.
His skull exploded with pain, and a vision of the battle on the command deck flashed before his eyes.
Somehow, Skywalker had gotten hold of his lightsaber.
And he was dealing with the guards fairly easily—one might even say nimbly.
He'd already decapitated two, precisely separating head from body without even damaging the cortosis-lined armor.
Iella Wessiri had grabbed the blasters of both dead guards and tossed one to Antilles.
"Don't move, uncle!" The tybanna-scented barrel of the guard's standard-issue weapon pressed right under Pellaeon's eye. "So much as twitch and I'll smear your Imperial brains all over this deck."
The battle alarm was wailing, triggered by someone on watch.
The air filled with shots.
But Skywalker stood like a monolith in the path of the fire, deflecting every bolt.
His emerald blade flared, spun, and hissed as blaster bolts hit it.
And each time they ricocheted back, injuring the specialists.
Antilles roughly grabbed Gilad by the tunic, shoving him forward as a living shield.
As far as Pellaeon could tell, Wessiri—who had lost her left hand to someone's vibroblade and taken a terrible wound to the abdomen—held her blaster aimed at the Grand Admiral's head.
The thought flashed through his mind: "How the hell did this happen?"
Triumph marred by such a disgraceful defeat.
All in the "best traditions" of the Empire, damn it!
They'd messed up right at the end!
And those guards were worth a Hutt against a Jedi!
Skywalker had killed them all!
Without even taking a wound, while the entire watch was disabled and lying behind their consoles as cover.
Only the Grand Admiral sat in his command chair, watching the chaos on his flagship's bridge with an expression as if he saw this every day and nothing surprised him anymore.
"Cease fire," the Grand Admiral ordered.
His voice didn't change a single note—he maintained his composure even in this situation.
The watch crew, not taking their eyes off the figures frozen on the central platform, lowered their blasters—those who could still hold them.
The bastard Jedi, deflecting bolts, had seemed to aim specifically for the weapons or the hands holding them.
"Order your crew to surrender, Grand Admiral," Skywalker said, breathing heavily.
A chuckle came from Thrawn's direction.
But Gilad, with a standard blaster pressed into his back, wasn't in the mood for laughter.
And what was the commander laughing at, considering his vest protected his body but not the back of his head, which Wessiri was aiming at?
"Did I say something funny?" Skywalker raised his voice. "You've lost, Thrawn! Your Force-blocking lizard is dead. You're under a blaster. Your vice admiral too. We control the bridge."
"You can't even control your own puberty, Skywalker; the bridge of my flagship is far beyond you," Thrawn declared.
"That was rude," Wessiri hissed, pressing her blaster into the Grand Admiral's head with ferocity. "You'd better apologize to him."
"As you wish," the Grand Admiral said indifferently. "Jedi Skywalker, forgive me. I really am sorry that the first girl you kissed was your own sister."
Pellaeon couldn't help but snort with laughter.
Someone on watch laughed out loud.
"This isn't a destroyer capture; it's a circus," Gilad heard Wedge Antilles say.
"You're mistaken, General," Thrawn assured him in the same calm voice. "I moved the circus off this destroyer long ago. But three clowns with Republic mindsets remained."
"Enough!" Skywalker demanded. "We've tolerated your antics long enough! Give the order to lay down your arms and send all your ships to Coruscant, where you will disarm…"
"That won't happen," Thrawn declared.
Skywalker was clearly taken aback.
"But… we've captured you," the Jedi mumbled pitifully. "You can no longer block my Force…"
"Do you think I have only one such lizard?" Thrawn clarified. "Truly, even you, Skywalker, can't forget that you were accompanied by several Guardsmen with such creatures. While you were here practicing fencing and killing an innocent lizard, my Guardsmen have already taken new lizards and are about to arrive on the bridge. After which, your abilities will be suppressed, and you and your friends will be torn apart into a Republic flag. Not to mention that there are still several hundred stormtroopers aboard the Chimaera who will put holes in you the moment you step out of the bridge. And it won't even touch me. I think," he turned his head, looking at the ship's chronometer, "that will happen in about five minutes. So I'll still make it to dinner."
Skywalker began biting his lips, then commanded:
"Order the watch to leave the bridge."
The watchmen, having received consent from the Grand Admiral, reluctantly and warily headed for the exit, while Skywalker himself, tearing strips from his garment, began to tourniquet Wessiri's stump and bandage her leg wound, hiding behind the back of the chair of the Supreme Commander of the Dominion Armed Forces.
"At least one sensible thought," Thrawn declared, giving the appropriate order.
"This one stays," Wedge said, as Pellaeon stepped forward, automatically obeying Thrawn's order.
He yanked Gilad back by his uniform, but the Vice Admiral had already done what he wanted—he gave an order with a gesture.
The watch chief understood him immediately, and before leaving the bridge, entered the necessary command on the control panel.
And so the blast doors closed behind those who had no desire to leave, leaving Pellaeon to wrestle with the thought that everything happening was part of someone's diabolical plan.
The Grand Admiral, in turn, bestowed a burning glare upon the youngest general of the New Republic.
"It'll be worse for you," he warned.
Wessiri groaned.
Gilad glanced sideways and saw that she was literally bleeding out.
Even her face had turned pale.
"In about a minute, your resilient Corellian friend will bleed out and faint, which will free my hands," Thrawn continued. "As soon as her blaster is in my hands, I'll shoot General Antilles in the head before he can blink."
"I'll shoot faster," the Republic general assured.
"Yes, but you're a pilot, and pilots have the psychology of shooting to be sure," Thrawn continued reasoning. "You don't have actual marksmanship skills, so you'll shoot me in the body. I'm wearing a body armor under my tunic, so at worst I'll get a burn. But I won't miss. I'm not some Imperial warlord who's forgotten which end of the blaster to shoot from. Forty seconds left, after which you'll have an extra hole between your eyes."
"Luke, what are we going to do?!" Antilles asked quickly.
"I didn't look that far ahead!" the Jedi said bewildered. "I'm sure they'll start the assault soon."
"Even a bantha could understand that!" Antilles hissed. "How are we going to get out?"
"We'll steal the Chimaera," the Jedi declared.
Gilad chuckled contentedly.
"What are you laughing at, old man?" Antilles jabbed him with his blaster.
"The Vice Admiral is trying not to laugh out loud because, by his gesture order, the watch chief transferred control from the bridge to the backup command post," Thrawn explained. "All you can do with the equipment in the combat bridge is grab the handles and toggle switches. But it won't change the Chimaera's course. And it won't delay the bridge assault."
"If they attack, you'll be killed," Skywalker warned.
"Is that so?" Thrawn clarified. "Kill me with your sword? An unarmed opponent who is completely at your mercy, unable to resist? Oh, how like your father. I recall, when freeing then–Supreme Chancellor Palpatine from the hands of the Separatist leader, Count Dooku, he cut off the latter's both hands, then executed him by beheading. What a worthy act for a keeper of peace and justice."
"Luke, he's sweet-talking us!" Antilles shouted. "Iella is weakening!"
Wessiri truly could barely stand now.
Skywalker was distracted by the hissing sound from the blast door—the capture team was burning through the magnetic lock.
Gilad met Thrawn's gaze just as Wessiri began to topple sideways.
Both officers moved simultaneously.
Gilad spun around, deflecting the weapon aside.
Thrawn, on the other hand, grabbed the one-armed agent by her blaster, yanked it toward himself, disarming her, and dove to the side away from the sweeping stroke of Skywalker's lightsaber.
Pellaeon raised his weapon to shoot Antilles, but Antilles kicked the blaster out of the Vice Admiral's hands, and the blaster shot went toward the viewport.
Antilles, younger and more agile, lunged at Gilad, dodging a counterstrike and closing his hands around the older officer's throat.
The sound of a shot reflected by a lightsaber cut through the ears.
Gilad grabbed Antilles's hands but couldn't break the grip.
Then he went for pressure points, pressing on the eyeballs, but the young Corellian didn't give up.
And didn't react to kicks and knees to his body.
Pellaeon began to choke.
Bloody circles appeared before his eyes, and even the moisture squirting from General Antilles's squeezed eyeballs didn't make the latter loosen his hold.
But the crimson blaster bolt that entered precisely into the temple—that did.
The grip loosened, and Gilad, with disgust, pushed the corpse away, rising.
"Wedge!!!" Skywalker's scream cut through the ears.
Gilad looked toward the source of the sound.
Skywalker stood half-turned, looking at the body of his comrade-in-arms.
He was only a couple of meters from Thrawn when the latter shot him in the head.
The Jedi only reacted to the second shot—he had nearly dodged the first, but the crimson lightning struck along the left side of his head, leaving a burned scar.
Thrawn fired, and Skywalker deflected the shots with a kind of frenzy and rage.
It seemed the very air trembled.
At some point, Skywalker got too close to Thrawn.
The emerald blade severed the right arm at mid-forearm.
The Chiss made no sound, and the Jedi, spinning around, plunged his weapon into the Grand Admiral's chest.
Roaring something profane and incoherent, Gilad grabbed a nearby blaster and shot at the Jedi.
He deflected the first shot, the second, the third.
In the next instant, a wave of invisible Force literally hurled Pellaeon toward the computer terminals, slamming him into one of them.
The Vice Admiral heard several ribs crack distinctly and collapsed to the deck plating, seeing Skywalker rush to the corpse of his friend.
The officer, in the next second, ignoring the pain, was beside the Grand Admiral.
Thrawn lay on the deck plating; the Grand Admiral's face expressed extraordinary calm.
He was still alive, but Gilad literally saw life leaving him.
His face was paling, and the fire in his eyes was fading.
In the center of the immaculate white tunic was a cut from a laser weapon.
Gilad's gaze darted around, hoping to find a first aid kit, but he couldn't manage to.
Thrawn noticed the captain's look and—to Pellaeon's astonishment—smiled.
"You must survive," he said hoarsely.
A weakening hand in a snow-white glove lifted from the floor and touched Pellaeon's chest.
"Fall back," the Grand Admiral ordered, and Gilad could not utter a word, feeling the words stuck in his throat. "This is not the end. The cylinder..."
To hell with all the code cylinders in the galaxy!
Where is the medkit?!
"Hold on," Gilad finally managed to force out. "A few seconds and the stormtroopers will be here. You will survive! You must not leave us!"
"I have..." Thrawn said in a weakening tone, "a different task... Now you are the commander. Preserve the fleet. Return to the Dominion. The cylinder. There you will understand... Everything... you will understand..."
The hand in the snow-white glove fell limply to the deck.
The Chiss's fiery gaze went out, his eyelids closing forever.
Only a faint smile on his lips lasted a little longer—for a moment.
But that too disappeared.
Grand Admiral Thrawn was dead.
And behind Vice Admiral Pellaeon, his killer was already raising a lightsaber to take another life.