Ten years and twenty days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or year forty-five, day twenty after the Great Resynchronization.
(Seven months and five days since the Arrival.)
The interstellar void, like a soft blanket for an infant, cradled the Star Destroyer as it glided silently toward its intended target.
The only things breaking the darkness in this corner of the galaxy were the starship's running lights, twinkling steadily in the surrounding gloom.
The nearest stars were hundreds of light-years away, but the Chimaera's course did not include visiting those celestial bodies.
The starship moved along a trajectory plotted by the navigator on the specific orders of those on the bridge.
The Star Destroyer had visited the Skaross star system in the Morshdine sector for anything but idle curiosity.
Plowing through thousands of kilometers of minefields, escorted by a dozen turbolasers from Golan-type defense stations scattered throughout the system, carefully maneuvering between massive asteroids that served as cheap versions of firing points currently undergoing repairs, it moved toward its goal.
Mechanics and droids were cutting passages inside the rocks and setting up necessary communications, while turbolaser barbettes and missile launcher mounts were being installed on the surface.
But without a doubt, the "jewel" in this uninhabited system — where the Dominion's Regular Fleet had once defeated the First Division of the New Republic Defense Forces' Fourth Fleet — was a far more significant and colossal structure.
Recently, a massive, albeit heavily battered by turbolasers, missiles, and internal explosions, former inhabited sphere had been stationed here — once belonging to Emperor Palpatine's personal assassin, Ennix Devian.
And now this enormous metallic spherical structure, measuring one hundred and twenty kilometers in diameter, served as the headquarters of the Regular Fleet of the state known as the Dominion.
Although outwardly, this object could not be called something that matched the status of a headquarters.
A significant portion of the hull plating was either destroyed, deformed, or covered with scorch marks from an ancient battle.
A trained eye could easily determine that the station also had enormous internal problems with its contents.
Once, it had housed makeshift shipyards, production bays, and machines that supplied the countless factories with everything they needed.
Now, most of that equipment had been dismantled and distributed among the shipyards and planets supplying Dominion industries with necessary machinery.
The headquarters was still being rebuilt, preparing to become not just a formal but an actual headquarters.
However, the Chimaera was not heading toward the massive wounded sphere.
Nor even toward the three enormous disc-shaped orbital assembly facilities placed in high orbit of the dead and uninhabited planets of the Skaross system, which were producing a never-ending stream of TIE-series starfighters used by the Dominion.
The Star Destroyer was moving toward the boundaries of the star system.
There, away from prying eyes, the headquarters had set up a testing range for small starfighters undergoing their final acceptance trials before being sent into the holds of waiting Star Destroyers — ships ready to depart on state defense missions in the system.
The Supreme Commander of the Dominion stood at the main viewport of the legendary ship.
He gazed into the void of space and, indifferent to the opinions of those around him, straightened the snow-white gloves on his hands without looking.
Although the entire galaxy considered him dead, this Chiss was more alive than many whose heartbeats were officially recorded.
Captain Tschel, one of the few young officers who had diligently performed their duties over the past six months and been rewarded for it, walked slowly along the central platform.
He clenched his fingers — firmly but not too tightly, trying not to betray his nervousness — around a datapad containing operational summaries he intended to deliver to the Supreme Commander.
His young eyes, honed by experience, bored into everything happening aboard the ship.
Young subordinates — the vast majority of whom were barely more than recent replacements transferred to the Regular Fleet from the Home Defense Forces — cheerfully winked at each other, clearly excited that their first voyage — from the Tangrene shipyards to the Skaross system — was being accompanied by the Grand Admiral himself.
And this did not particularly please the young commander.
The man stopped when his gaze caught something that should not have been happening at a combat post.
"Ensign Mittel," he addressed the officer responsible for the training and operation of the tractor beam operators.
The young man, one of the few veterans remaining aboard after the refit, snapped to attention, rising from behind his console with a personal datapad clutched in his hands.
"Sir?" he blinked.
"Why are there unauthorized devices at a combat post?" the young commander pointed a finger at the datapad.
The presence of such a device during a watch was a serious breach of security regulations.
And the officers of the corresponding division aboard the Destroyer could ask a great many unpleasant questions.
To everyone — from the ensign himself to the ship's commander.
And they would be absolutely right: a subordinate's mistake was a failure of the entire unit's command chain.
"Sir, I'm studying the headquarters' recommendations on counter-tactics for 'splitting targets,'" the man said sheepishly. "Intelligence reports that in combat with the Empire, the New Republic often uses anti-capture tactics — they launch torpedoes that lock on..."
"I don't need explanations, Ensign," Tschel cut him off. "The information was conveyed to the crew before departure. You came on watch two hours ago. You had time to study the documents during self-study hours during the transit."
"Yes, sir," the ensign wilted. "I wanted to combine it with practice, to drill response time at the console..."
"Admirable intentions," the ship's commander agreed. "But they are devalued by violating security protocols. Two extra duty shifts after your watch. I'm giving you a formal reprimand. The datapad!"
Tschel reached out, leaning over the railing of the platform.
"Yes, sir," the young officer said glumly, handing his personal portable computer to the commander. "Aye, sir."
"Return to your duties," the Star Destroyer commander stated, continuing on his way.
He caught sight of another officer.
This time, a middle-aged man, though dressed in a Fleet officer's uniform and with sleeve chevrons indicating membership in the Chimaera's crew, his unit patch revealed who he really was.
"Check it for leaks," Tschel ordered, handing the confiscated device to the counter-intelligence officer.
"It will be done, Commander," the man replied.
Judging by the fact that he was on the bridge and had not yet taken any measures, Ensign Mittel was clearly not working for the Dominion's enemies. The counter-intelligence officer had likely already prepared a report to the ship's commander about the breach but had not filed it, as there was no immediate threat from his department, and a report on the violation could wait until the watch change.
Tschel did not approve of this approach.
It was better to nip inappropriate behavior in his subordinates immediately than to deal with the consequences after the idea that it was "allowed" had already taken root in the crew's minds. After all, they hadn't been punished right away, had they?
It was strange that Mittel had committed such a violation — he was a veteran and knew this was not tolerated.
"Grand Admiral, the operational summaries," Tschel said, saluting and discreetly handing the Supreme Commander a working datapad.
"Thank you, Captain," Thrawn said quietly, taking the device and touching his code cylinder to the receiving slot.
For a few seconds, he studied the former executive officer of the Star Destroyer with an appraising gaze, then took the device and began examining the information reflected on its screen.
The Grand Admiral's face showed no emotion, but Tschel understood that Thrawn was clearly in no hurry to finish reviewing the information.
Therefore, what had been sent from headquarters was more than serious information, demanding his full attention.
It seemed the watch standers could feel the Grand Admiral's mood.
At any rate, the familiar background noise from behind — evidence of crew activity and busyness — became distinctly quieter at that moment.
More subdued.
"As I expected," the Grand Admiral intoned, having finished studying the data from the device.
He removed his code cylinder — the screen instantly locked — and handed the datapad back to Tschel.
"What are your orders, sir?" the young Star Destroyer commander asked eagerly.
Tschel could not wait to set out on another campaign, like he had just half a month ago.
To lead an armada into enemy territory and engage in battle, crushing the foe...
Every single member of the crew was waiting for that!
Wasn't that why the Chimaera had been made combat-ready in such a short time?
True, she was not yet a "Triumph," but the numerous changes throughout the ship made during the medium refit already indicated that the Star Destroyer was about to become one of the most elite in the entire fleet.
But for now, the additional turbolaser artillery had not yet appeared on the legendary starship.
Except for point-defense laser cannons and additional power generators, coupled with automation systems, the Destroyer had not undergone significant changes.
Well, except that the shield generators were finally tucked away under the armor, and the sensor arrays and hypercomm equipment had been dispersed to secluded corners.
"The last orders have not been countermanded, Captain," Thrawn stated. "Your mission continues."
Tschel almost groaned, realizing there would be no campaign.
"Training" that was where the Chimaera would be sent as soon as she received the necessary craft to fill her air wing.
That, in fact, was why she was moving toward the testing range — squadrons were undergoing combat integration simultaneously with trials.
And, perhaps, the gunners, mechanics, and pilots were the best thing currently aboard the most famous ship of the Dominion.
Because they were clones of their originals, who had been transferred... Well, it could be considered a clear promotion.
"Yes, sir," Tschel sighed, catching himself pressing his lips together in disappointment.
"Needlessly," Thrawn said unexpectedly.
"What, excuse me, sir?" the young commander started.
"You are trying excessively hard, quite needlessly, Captain," the Grand Admiral stated.
"I am working to make my crew the best in the fleet again, sir!" the former executive officer explained.
"And you will achieve instead the destruction of the Star Destroyer and everyone aboard," Thrawn continued just as calmly. "Hast will not lead to anything good."
"But it should help the crew adapt faster to a combat environment!" the captain insisted stubbornly.
"Really?" the Grand Admiral favored him with a burning gaze.
"Yes, sir, it is written in the accelerated training course for fleet personnel," Tschel said convincingly.
"That is true," the Supreme Commander agreed. "As is the fact that such a course is intended for graduates of the military Academy who have completed a full course of study and training. Your crew is not manned by such competent personnel. They differ little from conscripts, which is what you yourself were just six months ago."
Tschel realized he had overlooked this small but important detail, and looked away sheepishly.
"My fault, sir," he said.
"There is nothing wrong with admitting your mistakes, Captain," Thrawn stated. "You are one of our most competent and well-prepared young officers. Your brilliantly passed qualification exams — both theoretical and practical — indicate your competence in a combat environment, as well as your readiness to command a ship. But do not demand that the crew be the best here and now — remember that you also needed time and a considerable amount of practical work to become one of the first graduates of the Fleet Academy and receive command of a Star Destroyer. Zeal in service is admirable. But do not overstep the bounds of what is permissible."
"I understand, sir," Tschel licked his lips. "But... I served under Vice Admiral Pellaeon. And I was confident that with an intensive training course, I could instill the knowledge I had acquired in my subordinates."
"That will inevitably happen," Thrawn agreed. "But before you demand flawless obedience to your orders from the crew, remember how many extra duty shifts you yourself had to serve. For not immediately understanding the intent of the orders Pellaeon gave you."
"Yes, sir," Tschel said tightly.
The expansion of the Dominion fleet to truly vast proportions had caused the military service's social elevator to operate at full capacity.
The Dominion Armed Forces Staff had organized the recall of the best specialists from ships to conduct training at command courses, intending to later assign them to the bridges of new starships.
Tschel and more than two dozen lieutenants and commanders from among the executive officers on Star Destroyers had been luckier — they had proven themselves throughout Thrawn's campaign, Operation Crimson Dawn.
But only he alone had been honored with becoming the full-fledged "master" of a Star Destroyer's bridge.
The other young officers had to be content with corvettes, or in rare cases, cruisers.
For a long time, Tschel could not believe his luck — jumping over the service requirement, receiving not just the opportunity to command the Chimaera, but also skipping ranks.
It was rumored that Vice Admiral Pellaeon himself, who headed the Regular Fleet Staff of the Dominion Armed Forces, had put in a good word for him.
But Tschel seriously doubted that.
And to ask directly...
"Sir, may I ask a question?" he decided.
"Go ahead, Captain," Thrawn replied.
"There are rumors that Vice Admiral Pellaeon lobbied for my promotion and assignment to the Chimaera's bridge only because he didn't want the ship commanded by someone 'from outside,'" Tschel blurted out. "That I was destined to be commander of a screening corvette for the Chimaera, but in that case..."
Thrawn gestured for him to stop.
The young officer complied.
"As I have already said — you are a worthy officer in your proper place," the Grand Admiral said. "There are no patronage from higher-ranking officials in the Dominion — the penalty for that is, at best, lifetime hard labor in the mines. You were chosen because you are considered fit for this position. However, if you are unsure of yourself and believe your place is on the bridge of a corvette, that can easily be remedied."
"No, sir, I don't think that," Tschel flushed.
"In that case, stop using rumors as your sole source of information," the Grand Admiral advised. "And engage your brain. Imagine for a second that Vice Admiral Pellaeon, the Chief of Staff of the Regular Fleet, the man who put maximum effort into making the Chimaera the best Star Destroyer in the fleet and whose crew passed through the crucible of a dozen battles and became the donor for clones of almost every type of fleet specialist, risked his career and his life so that his former ship would be commanded by a 'Chimaera man' rather than an outside officer."
"As you already mentioned, it's impossible," Tschel himself repeated Grand Admiral Thrawn's words. "It's only rumors."
"Correct," the Supreme Commander nodded in agreement. "But we both know that rumors have a habit of creeping into officers' minds and taking root. There's only one way to fight them—prove through action that they are groundless. Draw your conclusion—what would be better for you and for Pellaeon? For you to push for immediate completion of combat integration and head into battle, where you'll almost certainly die along with your crew and ship, or to show yourself in the best light, using all the time allotted for training to properly prepare your crew to face the enemy, and thereby prove through action that the rumors about your "patronage" appointment are nothing more than distortion of the facts."
For several seconds, the young Star Destroyer commander digested the information given to him, then nodded affirmatively.
"You're right, sir," he declared. "I won't rush, and I'll make sure the crew is prepared within the time we have, and won't disgrace the honor of our predecessors, won't allow the Chimaera to be defeated in the coming battles according to the assigned combat objectives."
"Commendable," agreed Thrawn, casting a glance at the adjutant standing nearby, on the opposite side of the bridge from the gray-skinned bodyguard Rukh. "Since we've come to an understanding about thorough personnel training, would you be so kind as to report the current authorized strength and composition of the air wing on your guard Star Destroyer of the Dominion regular fleet?"
Despite the almost total replacement of command, officer, and crew—from veterans of the previous campaign to recruits—the Chimaera retained its designation as a guard ship.
And the Dominion crest—a golden "gear" inscribed in a circle—continued to adorn the upper and lower hull plating of the ship, thereby emphasizing the Star Destroyer's status.
And even the ship's aviation received its own designation—the Scimitar Air Wing, under the command of Major Tomax Bren, well known to Tschel.
"One squadron of TIE Avengers "Grey Wing," four squadrons of TIE Interceptors, one squadron of Scimitar assault bombers, one squadron of Xg-1 assault gunboats, and two pairs of ARC-170-Dominion reconnaissance craft," rattled off the young commander.
To accommodate all this "wealth," they had to sacrifice the spaciousness of the main hangar.
Now there was practically no empty space left to receive shuttles and launches on the spacious deck of the main hangar bay—now the Xg-1 assault gunboats were stationed there.
They had performed excellently in the operation against the New Republic fleet at Lianna and the associated battles, and, no less importantly, it was they who deserved credit for destroying most of the Republican aviation and kamikaze ships during the Battle of Sluis Van.
The Chimaera's guard status stipulated replacing standard TIE bombers with Scimitars, while "regular" Star Destroyers were equipped with the former type of machines.
Despite the expanded production of Scimitars and assault gunboats, they were still insufficient to equip every single Star Destroyer, and therefore the command found this particular solution.
Also, guard ships were allocated Raider-III corvettes for escort and cover, replacing the Corellian CR90 corvettes and DP20 frigates transferred to the Defense Fleet.
Equipped with laser turrets for anti-air coverage, just like the Crusader-II corvettes assigned by establishment to "regular" destroyers and other ships of the regular fleet, the Raider-III corvettes perfectly complemented the Imperial I and Imperial II Star Destroyers, covering them with an additional anti-missile shield.
But even these were not so many at the moment—the keel-laying of new ships had taken place not long ago, and their rapid commissioning could not be expected.
Spacecraft of this type were primarily intended for use in pairs with the Triple-project destroyers, as well as for delivering special forces and assault commando units to operational areas.
And considering that the first and second modifications of the Raiders didn't take well in the Dominion regular fleet, and all six available units were quickly upgraded to the triple variant, the modification number was often even omitted in common usage.
The Raider-III assigned to the Chimaera was currently absent, as was the ship's air wing.
Why that was—unclear.
Grand Admiral Thrawn, who continued to keep his flag on the Chimaera despite the presence of the combat-ready Super Star Destroyer Guardian, officially listed as the flagship of all Dominion Armed Forces, also did not explain the reason for the corvette's absence.
And Tschel, of course, did not inquire about this matter, understanding that there is information that even the commanders of the Supreme Commander's flagship ships should not know.
There were many theories about this, but the most plausible one was that the crew of the Guardian, assembled from many ships of the Dominion regular fleet, needed to be properly bonded together.
Yes, they had already participated in the battle against Moff Gronn's Star Destroyers, but that was nothing more than a light stroll.
True combat integration requires spending a great deal of time on training.
Most likely, this is exactly what Captain Pellaeon is currently doing—the only known clone of Vice Admiral Gilad Pellaeon.
And the Grand Admiral, to not waste time, decided to "tighten the screws" on the Chimaera's crew.
By the Hutt, that's even an honor—Thrawn himself is participating in the training of the Star Destroyer's crew.
This time must be used to the fullest to get as many valuable instructions and remarks as possible.
"And it is precisely these small craft that you listed that we are now heading to retrieve," stated the Grand Admiral.
"Yes, sir," confirmed Tschel, glancing at the tactical monitor on the bridge.
At the edge of the Star Destroyer's scanner range, signatures of approaching air wing groups had already appeared.
Separated into squadrons, the small spacecraft were rapidly approaching the destroyer…
And the vectors of approach they selected did not please Tschel.
"Grand Admiral?" the destroyer's captain said quietly. "The aviation is approaching us on attack vectors."
It took considerable effort to say that.
Yes, he could be mistaken, but…
No, he was not mistaken!
Their aviation was indeed approaching the Chimaera with the clear intention to attack!
And as the commander of a Dominion Star Destroyer, he was obliged to voice his opinion to the senior officer.
Right or wrong—he was obliged.
The junior in rank conveys information to the senior officer.
It was so under the Empire, and it remained so after the revision of the Armed Forces regulations of the Dominion.
"Thank you," said Thrawn, looking at the tactical monitor. "That's correct. The Chimaera is under attack."
After these words, the Grand Admiral slowly turned and lowered himself into the chair placed in the middle of the central platform, casting a fiery glance at the commander of his flagship destroyer.
"That wasn't part of the exercise program," Tschel noted.
But he already understood that part of the information had simply been concealed from him.
Thrawn was not on the ship without reason.
He was clearly here not to chat and give advice.
He was evaluating.
And now the fledgling captain of the Star Destroyer must apply all his skills and knowledge to confirm that very high assessment that allowed him to stand out from the crowd.
But he didn't have much experience as a ship commander.
And now, by asking this simple question, he was simply buying time to run through all the known data in his head and formulate a decision.
"That's correct, Captain," agreed Thrawn, casting a glance at Lieutenant Colonel Tierce sitting at the adjacent console, his adjutant. "The exercise program has suddenly changed. That happens on the battlefield—plans change and operational intervention is necessary."
Now it was clear.
Lieutenant Colonel Tierce had changed the exercise program on the orders of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Why else would he climb into the duplicate console?
"Understood, sir," Tschel clipped out, turning on his heels toward the "pit." —Crew! All compartments stand to! Battle stations. Raise deflectors, activate defensive positions. Seal the hangars, prepare for combat.
And the Grand Admiral again turned to look out the viewport.
The first thing he noticed on the faces of his subordinates was fear.
They, like him, had not expected that instead of watching the small craft maneuvers, they would immediately shift to repelling an attack.
But under the unblinking gaze of the Star Destroyer commander, the young crew came to life.
With some bustle and excessively loud reports from junior officers on the bridge to their seniors, the watch standers took their positions according to the battle schedule and switched directly to operational mode.
Orders rolled onward, from one battle station to another, from deck to deck, migrating from one compartment to the next…
As the young ship commander had assumed—all the small craft assigned to the Chimaera were coming in to attack.
Tschel, raising a comlink to his lips, quietly dictated instructions to the ship's gunners.
They would have to fend off the attack using only turbolasers, lasers, and ion cannons.
Given that the aviation was grouped by type, it became clear that this was an extremely simple attack.
From their own pilots.
Well then, let's begin.
"Ion cannons—barrage fire on the interceptors," ordered Tschel, realizing that if they fired laser cannons or turbolasers at those machines, they would clearly be obliterated.
"Turbolasers, ion cannons, and anti-aircraft batteries—set to minimum allowed power range," continued the Chimaera's commander.
This was precisely a "training" power setting for the guns—they caused no damage and couldn't penetrate deflectors.
One threshold higher, and the turbolasers would start burning the machines to cinders.
Actually, that exact setting, combined with a high rate of fire, as intended by the Galactic Empire Armed Forces command, was used on the Mark IIs to repel enemy starfighter attacks.
A tactic used even during the Clone Wars.
The Avengers were coming in from the bow.
The line of deflector-shielded machines, in a proper striking wedge, was pouring fire onto the Star Destroyer's deflectors.
At furious speeds, they came in for a demonstrative attack.
As soon as the machines entered the kill zone, they split into two numerically equal groups, making a rapid dash toward the Chimaera's turret artillery.
At the same time, the interceptor squadrons attacked from both sides, and also sped toward the destroyer's bridge.
The Scimitars and assault gunboats were just now settling onto their attack course.
The absence of a rapid dash from the former indicated that the air raid defense program was set to repel an attack by ordinary bombers not equipped with PLAE.
Well then, it becomes a little easier.
"Targets are tracked and locked," reported the senior gunner. "Ready to repel attack."
"Open fire," commanded Tschel.
And immediately the turret turbolasers and side ion cannons belched green-blue flame, instantly licking away up to a third of the simulated enemy machines.
But instead of freezing into drifting statues, most of the stricken interceptors continued their movement.
Tschel was momentarily confused, not understanding how standard TIE Interceptors could survive a shot from even a low-power ion cannon.
After all, they didn't have…
Noting that the machines did still drop out after the second or third hit, the Chimaera's commander looked at the Grand Admiral.
"The TIE Interceptors are equipped with deflector shields?" he clarified, wanting to check his hunch.
"Yes," Thrawn did not conceal. "Low-powered, but at the same time they allow our pilots to survive the first hits. Congratulations, this fact did not catch you off guard. Captain Kalian of the Steel Aurora failed the test."
"Increase ion cannon power by two points," ordered Tschel.
Yes, that would reduce the rate of fire, but when dealing with nimble interceptors, there might not be a second shot.
Especially if…
"Missile attack!" reported from the pit.
"Laser artillery, switch to engaging the projectiles!" barked Tschel.
So he was not mistaken here either.
It seemed Grand Admiral Thrawn had decided to mass-produce an extremely rare and significantly more expensive modification of the TIE Interceptor compared to what existed just a month ago.
With deflector shields and launchers for shaped-charge missiles.
Now it was clear why they were attacking from such a great distance—a dozen units out.
For the interceptor pilots, this was also a test.
A test of their ability to use improved equipment.
It was quite possible that such interceptors didn't yet exist anywhere else in the fleet, and the Chimaera was the first destroyer to be equipped with them.
Yes, Thrawn had mentioned Kalian, but Tschel knew the commander of the Steel Aurora personally—young commanders tend to stay in a shared information space.
And that Victory-class had received standard interceptors for its air wing.
Perhaps precisely because they couldn't handle the test assignment.
But the Chimaera's gunners were showing themselves in the best possible light, exerting maximum effort to handle the missile attack.
Long scarlet beams of plasma literally burned the missiles, preventing them from reaching the Star Destroyer's close perimeter.
The training munitions burned up on contact with the plasma.
Even though no one had told Tschel that the munitions were training rounds, he guessed it from seeing that they didn't explode upon interception.
Therefore, there was no warhead in them.
It took more than ten minutes to repel sixty-seven percent of the missiles and shoot down eighty-three percent of the attackers.
"Tractor beam operators, capture the downed enemy machines," Tschel declared. "Ship's security, report to the main hangar to take the downed enemy pilots prisoner."
"Doesn't it bother you that these are your own pilots, Captain?" inquired Thrawn.
"We are under attack, sir," Tschel countered. "Formally, they could be wearing any uniform. We'll check who they are, interrogate them, and draw up a plan to improve the air group's training. Since my gunners are shooting them down so easily, there's clearly a miscalculation somewhere in the "flyboys'" training. Together, we'll eliminate it. After all, the exercise plan didn't provide for this, so I'm raising the stakes in the confrontation."
"Commendable," stated Thrawn. "In that case, I would advise your gunners to increase the power of their laser and ion cannons. The Scimitars and assault gunboats will attack you with live ammunition. Including the use of PLAE."
The young commander felt his forehead beading with sweat.
"I think you already understand, Captain Tschel," Thrawn said quietly, "that in battle, the stakes are raised not only unilaterally."
Tschel silently nodded in agreement and cast a warning-pleading glance at the senior gunner.
The latter merely spread his hands, as if to say, "I'll do all I can."
Ten minutes later, after being "destroyed" three times by the Scimitars, the Chimaera finally went adrift and sent out shuttles to search for and retrieve its own downed pilots.
* * *
Luke Skywalker came to from the cold.
His mind quickly opened to reality and, through the Force, concluded that he was still in the same cell aboard the same starship that had retrieved him after the bombardment of the Chimaera's bridge during the Battle of Sluis Van, which had occurred…
…some number of days ago.
Locked up, with his hands and feet bound in shock cuffs.
Weak but painful artificial lightning shocks struck his bare skin.
This didn't cause pain as such, but at the same time it prevented him from concentrating on the Force.
And the metal brackets holding him in place lying on the cot, strapping his shins, thighs, torso, arms, and even his neck, didn't allow him to move much at all.
All Luke could do was lift his hands slightly.
But only to ascertain the fact that his right hand prosthetic was disabled, and all he could do was gaze at the dark walls and outlines of the room where he was being held.
"Awake," he heard a male voice, clearly displeased with that stated fact.
For the first time in so long, he learned something about his captor, whom he had not only not seen but not even heard until now.
A figure in dark clothing approached, and now Luke could make out that it was a middle-aged man.
Slightly lean, with short stubble and a dull gaze, he looked at Luke as if at an inanimate object.
"Who are you?" the young Jedi rasped out.
His throat was parched, his lips cracked.
He couldn't comprehend how, over the elapsed time, he hadn't died of hunger or dehydration.
Though he didn't know the exact time spent in captivity, he understood clearly that he had been in this state for more than one day.
And most likely even more than a week.
"You'll find out soon," the jailer said promisingly.
He turned around, and only now Luke noticed that behind the man, a small droid was hovering in the air, holding in its manipulators a huge plastic container with clear contents.
Without going into details, the captor approached the head of Luke's bed and began doing something there.
The Jedi tried as best he could to twist around or squint to see what was happening.
But his angle of view was insufficient to understand anything.
The only thing he managed to notice was that the stranger took a full container from the droid's hands, having first returned an empty one to it a few seconds earlier.
Where and how he had managed to empty the bottle so quickly, given that even the rubber stopper and metal seal on the neck of the container were not torn off, only broken around the edge, Luke didn't know.
The man and the droid, in complete silence, ignoring the young Jedi's questions, left the compartment.
For a moment, Luke managed to see a small fragment of the corridor, and then the metal door slid into place, leaving Skywalker in darkness and solitude.
After some time, he felt himself starting to drift off to sleep.
And this despite the fact that his body had first felt some invigoration…
As he sank into sleep, Luke concluded that he knew the reason he hadn't died yet.
The jailer was pumping him with drugs to sustain his vital functions, but at the same time depriving him of consciousness so the Jedi couldn't cause him trouble.
Before his eyes finally closed, Luke thought with longing that this time R2-D2 would definitely not rescue him.
* * *
Well then…
For the first time, it could be said that the new crew of the Chimaera did not "die" with a crushing score.
Tschel acts quite competently, but still rigidly and within the framework of the instructions he has studied.
Operational command and independent planning are still far off, but no one expects a miracle.
Military genius is something elusive.
It can come on its own, or it can be the result of long-term consolidation of theoretical knowledge during practical exercises.
Tschel is a symbol of the Dominion's young officer corps.
The guy is clearly trying, but he overexerts.
Although, it must be admitted, he adapts quite quickly.
Pellaeon, by contrast, is more ossified in this regard due to age and weak initiative.
Tschel is not afraid to take risks, but he is afraid of suffering defeat.
The very fact that he knows the materiel well does him credit.
The live rounds fired at the Chimaera were destroyed by the gunners—that's good.
Not all—that's bad, of course.
They had to use the munitions' self-destruct systems, but Major Bren controlled the situation quite clearly.
The exercises concluded with simulated attacks by the Scimitars after they used PLAE and closed to short range.
A "killer move" against which there are not many ways to defend, actually.
But at least Tschel passed the minimum check—he is truly a capable young man, an officer who doesn't lose his head.
I think, over time, continuing his education, starting with small simple operations and gradually increasing the level of "difficulty," he will gain the necessary experience and "harden."
And his service will become an exemplary model for other young specialists.
So, although not in every respect, the unplanned exercises were carried out.
Right now, the Chimaera is gathering its downed pilots, and while the technicians are "reviving" the battered equipment, I have time to go through the latest data provided by intelligence.
"Come in, Grodin," absorbed in rereading a report, I gestured for Tierce to take a seat opposite my desk.
The guardsman, who also served as my adjutant and permanent operations duty officer, silently lowered himself onto the couch, casting a glance at the motionless white-and-blue R2-series astromech droid standing nearby.
Very well known in certain circles.
Reprogrammed, rebuilt, upgraded to the latest technology.
An artificial personality is, of course, good.
Perhaps even "wonderful."
But the little rebel with an attachment to specific beings as a prisoner aboard the Chimaera did not suit me.
It was assumed that he would be returned along with Skywalker, but then, when the young Jedi's "antics" on Ossus became known, a more interesting way to use him appeared.
And no, no one was going to give him to Horn regardless.
I needed motivation for the Corellian, and mentioning Skywalker during negotiations was also supposed to spur potential informants to report to their patrons that I had such a prisoner.
This allowed me to uncover a good dozen more of Palpatine's spies among the Imperials not loyal to the Dominion.
Only one small task remained—to provoke Skywalker into "my" murder and thereby unequivocally and irrevocably turn this man into a problem for his own former comrades.
Based on what I know about the circumstances of the Chimaera's bridge being shelled, an invisible ship was involved—one with an advanced, clearly stygium-based optical and sensor camouflage system.
And that's far from cheap work.
It's undoubtedly Palpatine's doing.
Whether that's true or not will become clear after the madman reveals himself or sends young Skywalker at the vanguard of his own invasion forces.
Actually, that's why, in my deep conviction, this droid is no longer of any use to Skywalker.
But it's quite capable and has very rare modules that you can't even find on the black market.
Therefore, after the software "lobotomy" performed by Mr. Ghent's clones along with Dominion specialists, that "bucket on wheels" will never serve the Skywalker family again.
But to me—yes.
Same personality, but his motivation is already different.
As is the priority in executing orders based on the loyalty matrix.
But no one removed the beacon inside him just in case.
Who knows what surprises this droid might spring?
Or to whom it might have to be given, for example...
"Has the meeting place with Horn been selected?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir," Tierce replied. "Our operational teams have already prepared everything necessary to set up proper conditions."
"Good," I approved. "Pass the coordinates of the meeting place to Captain Tszhel as soon as the work on the air wing is complete."
"Will be done, sir."
"Now let's move on to the situation on the fronts," I declared, leaning back in my chair. "Kaine is attacking in the Core Worlds, and predictably, it's not happening quickly at all."
"He's met serious resistance," Tierce confirmed. "Losses in starships and personnel are far higher than projected. Anaxis and Coruscant have yet to be taken. Same with Empress Teta and Foerost—they are surrounded, with a slow grinding of their defenses. The reinforcements being brought in suggest that by the end of the month, the defense of these planets will collapse, after which the offensive will slow for a while and require additional resources to resume."
As predicted, the Grand Moff chose not to heed my advice about "waiting" before the attack.
Well, that's his business.
This outcome suits me more than fine.
Kaine and the Imperial Remnants attacking the Core Worlds, the Colonies, and the Inner and Mid Rims of the galaxy—these are not Palpatine's forces.
This is a prologue to the main campaign.
As Kaine planned to use the radical Imperials in the first wave of the offensive announced by Palpatine, to preserve the crews and military units loyal to him.
I'm sure Palpatine is following the same tactic, and therefore he will first wear down the troops that didn't join him and chose to serve local warlords.
And only then will he move his own forces, allowing his predecessors to exhaust the New Republic.
The exact reason for choosing this operational move is not known, but I suspect it's again a policy of "waiting it out."
And, without a doubt, simultaneously, the construction of superweapon prototypes is ongoing, along with the buildup of systems and weapons stockpiles.
Which, beyond any doubt, is not the best outcome.
The bloodied Remnants will not be able to oppose the New Republic or Palpatine's forces in any form.
And therefore, it can already be said that locally, after Palpatine's still-hypothetical death, the "leadership" will not be exactly the same as what started this war.
The fact that the Core Worlds are still holding out is, of course, good—for the New Republic.
But it was assumed they would be defending directly against Palpatine's forces, not the Remnants.
"Judging by the reports, a certain trend is emerging," I said. "The most fortified worlds are being targeted by the Pentastar Alignment forces, while Imperial Space is storming their complete opposites."
"Such a pattern cannot be coincidental," Tierce declared. "Given the comparable strength of the Alignment and the Empire, the latter clearly prefers territorial expansion, while Kaine is focused on capturing and holding fortified zones."
"It's unlikely that this is their own initiative," I said. "Especially on Kaine's part. He fears a major defeat the most, which is most likely precisely in this kind of battle. I suspect the targets are being passed to him directly from Byss."
Which in turn suggests a very interesting fact.
If Kaine could still be counted among the "disloyal" due to creating his own state and renouncing the New Order, then Orinda is a direct continuation of Palpatine's Empire, run by his ardent supporters.
Consequently, it's most logical that Kaine is not acting of his own free will when going after the "hard" targets.
It's quite likely that, according to Palpatine's plan or that of someone close to him, the Grand Moff is not meant to live too long.
Such a development was anticipated by me and accounted for in the current strategy.
"Are our groups operating on Coruscant according to plan?" I clarified.
The Guardsman nodded affirmatively.
"Each group has reported in after passing customs and reaching the surface," Tierce confirmed. "The Republic garrison is mobilized, military facilities are under tight guard. They continue carrying out their assigned tasks."
And that's good.
The sacking of Coruscant lies ahead—and by that time, everything needed and of interest should be taken off the planet.
"Has the head of state already left the capital?" I inquired.
"Among the first. As soon as the First Fleet punched a safe corridor. Essentially, the senators and other political, legislative, and executive powers in the person of senior officials have left the planet. The defense is commanded by the military, who have orders to hold to the last."
Well, that was also anticipated.
"What are our observers in the D'Astan sector reporting?"
"Pro-Imperial and pro-Republican lobbyists have become active," Tierce replied readily. "The baroness's troops are still holding on, but without outside help, they will be swept away within a few months. The amount of disabled equipment is too high. Personnel losses are also extreme. On the side of the baroness's opponents, there are a large number of Hutt and other mercenaries, private organizations, including those with significant material and technical resources at their disposal. The baroness's supporters simply lack such a broad range of means to oppose them. Already, a large number of the sector's civilian and poorly trained population is fighting on her side."
I cannot afford to lose D'Astan.
But sending in reinforcements openly is also wrong.
The Dominion has isolated itself from the galaxy's problems, building up its internal power, economy, and defenses.
In fact, only those here know that I didn't die, and not even all of them.
To prevent such a leak, borders are kept locked, and communications are controlled.
Though rumors still circulate about who died on the Chimaera's bridge—the real me or a clone.
For now, I'm not rushing to debunk either myth—long-term strategy is what matters here.
One thing is clear—without our support, the baroness's clone will lose.
Judging by everything, her former allies in Hutt connections are working against her.
Therefore, given the plans to annex D'Astan to the Dominion, the safety of the current leadership must be ensured.
Moreover, our agents who captured Grappa the Hutt have not yet arrived. Our professionals have been sent to their rescue, and their arrival is expected shortly.
And only after clarifying a large list of questions directly from the Hutt himself will it become known how exactly to steer the conflict in the neighboring sector for the most favorable outcome.
"Well," I concluded. "A few local-level issues remain to be resolved, and then we can turn to the primary problems."
"Yes, sir."
"You're dismissed, Grodin," I ordered.
The lieutenant colonel rose from his seat and left my quarters.
After sitting for a while in silence and semi-darkness, I turned a code cylinder over in my hands for a long time.
The very one I had given to Pellaeon, containing detailed descriptions of the coming crises.
The very one that Tierce had taken from the vice admiral's safe during the Sluis Van operation and replaced with another—one with far more mundane instructions on distributing spoils between the core, the periphery, the Karthakk systems, Yalara, Horn, and Svekk.
The appearance of the clone, whose purpose was to give Pellaeon strength in the general battle of the entire Operation Crimson Dawn and push him to show initiative and tactical skill, essentially negated the need for the real backup.
Which had been critically necessary due to the incompatibility of the Chiss genotype with the cloning mechanisms of the Spaarti program.
A Chiss can be cloned.
It can be programmed using the GeNod program.
But for that, you need an autoclave from Kamino.
The very one, the only one, discovered in the depths of Mount Tantiss.
It took nearly half a year to figure this out, but even under those conditions, the clone turned out not to be the hardiest.
If Skywalker hadn't killed him, he would have died in a few years.
Now I understand why, in the events I know of, Mitth'raw'nuruodo grew the clone on Nirauan for a full time cycle—ten years—instead of producing it in the most obvious way.
I think I now understand how he created the clone of Major Tierce, implanting part of his own talents into it.
Growing clones via the Spaarti program and training via the GeNod program. Integrating one's own personality into another's...
Neither I nor the medics who worked on this issue could understand why the clones turn out clearly flawed, but the fact remains.
If you clone a Chiss—in any way—you get an extremely cynical, ruthless, arrogant being with progressive psychopathy.
I would even thank Skywalker for destroying the bastard, but of course, I won't do that yet.
First, all of them—the Dominion's enemies—will burn.
And we'll start small, perhaps.
Unlocking the data slate with operational summaries again, I delved into reading reports on the state of affairs in sectors near the "corporate" ones.
It's time to begin solving the Zann Consortium problem.
Since my death has convinced Palpatine to delay the attack on the Dominion, we need to make good use of all the time allotted to us.