The incomparable ratio of used to free space of the enormous station, resembling a Death Star gnawed by a giant monster — once an inhabited sphere, now the headquarters of the Dominion Regular Fleet — frankly weighed down with its mass and uncertainty.
As did the realization that in the spacious conference hall chosen by Gilad for a meeting with all the rear admirals, commodores, unit commanders of the Regular Fleet, as well as the Grand Moff and his clones responsible for the functioning of the Dominion Defense Fleet, representatives of the ground forces command, and many other senior officers, he simply had nowhere to hide from the wary and frankly irritated eyes.
He sat at the head of a separate table, watching the aforementioned guests take their seats in chairs arranged amphitheatrically right before him, looming over his consciousness and conscience.
Gilad sensed the calm of the rear admirals sitting to his right: Shohashi, Dorja, I-Gor.
He was also not unfamiliar with the slight nervousness felt by the Grand Moff Ferrus seated to his left, toying with a code cylinder, expertly spinning it between his fingers.
But frankly, what weighed on him was the massive empty chair between him and Ferrus.
An exact copy of the very chair that had been occupied on the bridge of the Chimaera — which was under repair, like most of the Regular Fleet's starships.
The place that was allocated at such meetings (according to protocol) to Grand Admiral Thrawn.
But as it happened, at the first general assembly of commanders and senior officers of the Dominion, this chair remained empty.
No one had draped it with a dark shroud, as had been done with Palpatine's throne in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant.
No one insisted that Gilad, as Thrawn's direct successor, take that place and chair the meeting.
The wound of loss was too fresh.
And it would be perceived very wrongly by those present in the hall, especially considering that all the time it took the Regular Fleet with its numerous prizes to reach their home bases, the commanders of ships and units had been kept in ignorance of what had happened on the bridge of the Chimaera.
Now they felt, to some extent, deceived, insulted, slighted...
The man (well, not a man, but a Chiss) who had recruited them into service had now perished.
Killed by the treacherous Republicans at the zenith of his glory and power.
And Gilad had hidden all this from them.
He had not allowed them to turn three sectoral fleets of the New Republic into burning wreckage drifting in space.
He had pulled them all back to the home territory, and now, effectively, was setting them against each other.
Commanders directly loyal to the Dominion sitting before him — half.
They are calm, watching the unfolding events with silent indifference.
They wait for information to be conveyed to them.
But there are just as many who are not shy about speaking directly — they demand answers.
They want to know why they were kept in the dark about the Grand Admiral's fate.
They want to know what considerations dictated the retreat.
They want to understand — does Gilad have a PLAN.
Because without a clear idea of how to lead the fleet, the Dominion, what policies — internal and external — to build, Pellaeon is not a leader, not a commander, not a war leader.
Just condensation on the cooling pipes of the ship's head.
"Thank you all for gathering," Gilad coughed into his fist, feeling hundreds of eyes on him.
Every gaze was individual, but uniformly unfriendly.
The sole Vice Admiral took large gulps of water from a crystal-clear glass, then returned the nearly empty (when had he even managed that?!) container to the edge of the table.
"I think you all already know what happened aboard the Chimera," the Vice Admiral began, but was interrupted by Captain Reder rising to his feet.
"Sir, I apologize, but why did we learn about everything that happened directly from an official Dominion press release, rather than as is proper — from the junior flag officer immediately after assuming command?"
Der, may the sarlacc take you, you picked a fine time to clown around, Gilad thought angrily.
Direct insubordination, which demanded a response.
No one and nothing had the right to interrupt a superior officer, unless it was regarding urgent and critically important matters concerning the safety of subordinates and entrusted property.
"Sit down, Captain Reder," Vice Admiral Shohashi ordered in an icy tone. "Interrupting the commanding officer is — at minimum — impolite. At maximum — strictly punishable."
"I offer my apologies, Vice Admiral Shohashi, but I…"
"Not to me," Eric declared.
Der, chewing his lips, gave a barely perceptible nod.
"I ask your forgiveness, Vice Admiral Pellaeon," he said. "I am guilty by every point of the Charter. Please understand — this question troubles every one of us. I am ready to accept my deserved punishment, but I ask command to clarify the situation that occurred at Sluis Van."
"Apologies accepted," Pellaeon stated. "Sit down. Explanations will come. But a little later."
"Thank you," Reder replied dryly, returning to his seat next to Captain Pryl, who looked at her put-down colleague with a slightly mocking glance.
"At the moment, I want to thank everyone for participating in the execution of Operation Crimson Dawn," Gilad said. "The goals and objectives set before us by the Grand Admiral have been fully achieved. We got what we wanted. Our immediate task is to transition to defending the Dominion's borders, as well as strict control over what happens inside the metropolis and on the periphery. Open military action is not planned. Ships will be repaired and re-crewed in the near future, after which we will move to comprehensive assistance to Grand Moff Ferrus in stabilizing the internal political situation in our state. I demand that each of you conduct explanatory work with your subordinates and remind them that the Oath they took was aimed at protecting the citizens and sovereignty of the Dominion, not serving Grand Admiral Thrawn personally. Frankly, I am more than confident that Thrawn selected each of you to serve a more significant purpose than just one brilliant sentient. Even one such as our Supreme Commander. I hope that none of you will show cowardice and try to desert the Dominion. I warn you right now — everyone who does this will be destroyed. Wherever they may be. Wherever they may flee. I assure you that the treachery of the New Republic, which is currently accumulating its forces despite its territorial collapse, will not be ignored. As soon as we strengthen our rear and normalize the operation of all the trophies we've obtained, and strengthen the economy, we will strike back. Questions?"
Of course there were.
Everyone had them.
"Sir," Captain Abyss rose from his seat. "The Dominion is isolated from the main part of the HoloNet. Some crew members cannot contact their relatives on other planets."
"The matter is being worked out," Pellaeon stated. "At the moment, we have established strict filtering of both migrants and message traffic. The enemy continues to observe us, and communication means are tied to the HoloNet. We cannot allow them to cause us any damage whatsoever. Operations to return the relatives of Dominion citizens to planets under our control are ongoing and will be completed in the coming weeks."
"Won't the closed borders lead to economic stagnation?" Captain Stormaer inquired. "We imported a lot from abroad. Including equipment — from the D'Astan sector, where a civil war is currently raging."
"We have the necessary reserves of durability and everything we need," Grand Moff Ferrus stated, understanding the question was addressed mostly to him. "Furthermore, trade continues — both within the Dominion and with many neutral worlds and sectors. Contracts are being fulfilled; export and import have not been significantly disrupted."
"What will our policy be regarding the actions of the Imperial Remnants and their war with the New Republic?" asked Commodore Mor.
A good question…
To which Gilad did not yet know the answer.
"An excellent question, Commodore Mor," came a well-modulated voice from the entrance to the conference room.
Its overtones sent chills down the spine.
Gilad, just like all those present with mute expressions on their faces, symbolizing the state of shock they had experienced, silently watched as the sentient moved from the entrance to the table.
As he sat down in the chair that belonged to him, while behind its high backrest his adjutant — Lieutenant Colonel Tierce — and the gray-skinned assassin-bodyguard Rukh took their places.
And the seat in the front row was taken by…
Himself.
Pellaeon looked at a slightly younger version of himself, bearing captain's insignia on his chest.
And on his shoulder — a patch with the ship's name.
"Super Star Destroyer Guardian."
"So then," Grand Admiral Thrawn spoke, sweeping his fiery gaze across those present, inspiring reverent awe and confidence in the future. "Thank you for organizing the meeting, Vice Admiral. Well, I think everyone has already understood that the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. You most likely have a question: 'For what purpose have I gathered you all here?' Well, prepare to hear the answers…"
And the commanders of ships, regular fleet formations, the Grand Moff and his clones, commanders of ground forces, as well as other invitees, sat in silence and listened.
With shocked faces they heeded the calm and simple speech of the non-human who had deceived not only death, but the entire galaxy.
And Gilad, struggling to hold back tears, cast an attentive glance at Thrawn, understanding what a mountain of responsibility had just fallen from his shoulders.
Because the Grand Admiral had a PLAN.
"A new campaign, called 'Cleansing Flame,' begins today, commanders," the Grand Admiral declared, immersing himself in the routine of defining tasks for everyone present.