The gravitational center of mass of the galactic capital reached out to the "Reptavian" with invisible, grasping claws as it approached Coruscant.
The motley, multi-colored chaos of hyperspace whipped and twisted, the jumble of lights stretching into distinct stellar trails with a roar that the Admiral felt not through his ears, but through the barely perceptible trembling of the deck beneath his feet; and then they were once again surrounded by the familiar panorama of stars.
The light-tunnel finally collapsed, and the First Fleet, led by its flagship, found itself in orbit of the planet.
The grand spectacle of the galaxy's most famous planet had once resembled a vast technogenic sphere, carved with glowing canyons, the mesmerizing light-pattern of a city that never slept painted across the dark void.
But now, Coruscant looked more like a tomb than ever before.
Its lights barely glowed, and through the thin atmospheric haze, numerous blazing craters were visible — evidence of starships crashing onto the planet or the aftermath of orbital strikes from Grand Moff Ardus Kaine's fleet, whose flagship had been detected at a considerable distance.
"Reaper" the source of headaches and superstitious fear for the New Republic's military command.
The Super Star Destroyer that had breached the planet's defenses after a massive attack by the Pentastar Alignment's heavy cruisers exhausted itself against the self-sacrifice of the officers and enlisted men of the fleet's defending starships covering the capital.
A short distance away, the local star shone, offering warmth to everyone who fell within its rays.
The Admiral automatically glanced toward Centax-II.
Once representing enormous strategic value, the moon still bore on its surface the mangled ruins of the military base destroyed by the treacherous and ruthless ramming strike of the star cruiser "Home One" with Admiral Ackbar on board.
A strike that Grand Admiral Thrawn had demonstrated during his attack on the New Republic's capital, succinctly and clearly outlining his intentions — to eliminate the New Republic.
Right there, where the last two orbital defense stations, controlling the space above the part of the Upper Levels occupied by Republican forces, were supposed to be located.
But no one saw the expected picture.
Only an ocean of debris and two Imperial-class Star Destroyers, licking their numerous wounds and showing extensive hull damage.
An outside observer might have thought the ships had been blasted with a kinetic shotgun, and the numerous breaches were the result of precision hits from projectiles the size of an airspeeder.
But Admiral Duplex had devoted far too much time to fleet service to make a fool of himself and fail to recognize breaches caused by low-yield proton torpedoes designed for small craft deployment.
"Raise shields," he ordered. "'Reptavian' and two strike frigates will move towards the enemy ships. Groups 'Alpha' and 'Beta' are to disperse to the left and right flanks respectively. Launch starfighters — one squadron for the defense of each ship in the detachment. All batteries, open fire on the nearest Star Destroyer. Target is 'Priority One.' Transports — follow the flagship; prepare to descend on my order."
Numerous enemy starships held position in orbit — and it was from them, both battered and intact, that the transport convoy was to be protected by the ships of the 'Alpha' and 'Beta' detachments.
Soon a deadly firefight would erupt there, one the New Republic could not win — the enemy had concentrated around two dozen Star Destroyers and no fewer than a hundred heavy cruisers in the system.
And the "Reaper."
Lacking comparable forces, Admiral Duplex cannot win, no matter how much one particular Bothan and his circle might dream of it.
The New Republic's First Fleet is effectively destroyed, and the fifty ships that Argentis has brought here are essentially the dry residue of its former power.
Losing these ships in a completely unnecessary, exhausting battle is foolish and wasteful on the part of the military command.
Now, when the New Republic is forced to defend itself on dozens of fronts, every cruiser, every frigate plays its role.
Of course, he will exert as much effort as possible to inflict maximum damage on the enemy, but miracles do not happen.
At least, not in his hands.
Ejecting streams of golden-crimson turbolaser fire from its forward cannons, the "Reptavian" spat long plumes from its main engines, preparing to close for a dogfight.
On the tactical monitor screen before Argentis's eyes, control columns of numbers flickered, signaling that a course for approach had been set.
Additional crimson lightning appeared to the left and right — both Mk-II strike frigates had entered the fight with minimal delay.
The order relayed to the flagship's escort ships regarding target selection had been executed flawlessly.
Now the artillery of three mighty New Republic starships was tearing into the hull of the Imperial Star Destroyer.
The hull specifically.
Because the crimson hurricane of turbolaser fire had, with its very first hits, literally licked the enemy command bridge clean of its sensor cluster spheres and deflector field generators.
The effect of the Republicans' surprise appearance and the Imperials' carelessness was the key to Argentis tilting the balance of the upcoming confrontation in his favor.
Deprived of its shields, the first enemy Star Destroyer snarled furiously back, but its turbolasers merely splashed against the "Republic's" deflector fields.
They are strong, but would be even stronger if the SEAL technology could be applied to them.
In that case, survivability, and consequently the combat effectiveness of the Republican Star Destroyer, could have been increased.
But what the Rendili people don't have, they don't have.
Still, it's very good as it is.
TIE fighters emerged from the depths of the Star Destroyer, streaking towards the Republican starships.
Half the squadron of "Crossfire" fighters screening the "Reptavian" rushed to intercept.
Yes, they are pathetically few, but Argentus had gathered the best of the best pilots on his ship.
From among those whom Thrawn's aces hadn't killed.
The second Star Destroyer, which had fared slightly better than its comrade, began maneuvering.
Supporting its companion with fire from its turbolasers and ion cannons, it slowly moved to meet the "Reptavian."
The enemy commander's intention to shield the damaged ship with his own, allowing it to fire under ideal conditions, was obvious.
But it was not in Admiral Duplex's plans to allow the enemy to execute such a maneuver.
"Escort — switch fire to the second Star Destroyer," he ordered. "Take the 'Reptavian' down one echelon. Gunners, prepare to fire on 'Priority Two.'"
The strike frigates had already begun executing a two-sided attack maneuver, approaching the second Star Destroyer from left and right simultaneously, harassing its deflectors as they moved.
The "Republic" itself, having "dived," took a position where it had a much better chance of achieving a practically instantaneous victory.
"Artillery — fire on 'Priority Two,'" the Zeltron ordered.
While the commander of the first Star Destroyer was figuring out what was happening and reacting to the maneuver, the Republican flagship struck its solar plexus.
The enemy ship's armor shuddered from the powerful blow — and the main hangar was transformed into a branch of hell.
"Continue firing on the hangar," said Argentis.
The enemy vessel opened fire on the "Republic's" upper hemisphere, but its broadside guns were clearly insufficient to penetrate the Republican Star Destroyer's defenses.
The underside of the first Star Destroyer, still moving forward and lifting its stern to cover the hangar, had already been turned into a sieve.
Flames gushed from the breaches, along with small debris mixed with human bodies.
The enemy was trying to position itself bow-first toward the "Reptavian" to implement the classic Imperial Destroyer attack pattern, mobilizing all its turreted turbolasers to inflict maximum damage.
"Prepare to turn," Argentis ordered. "Deviation from course — ten degrees to starboard."
The "Republic," once again bow-to-bow with its opponent, began a counter-course divergence.
This maneuver primarily allowed the ship to escape the fire of the enemy Destroyer's port-side turbolasers, but made it vulnerable to its broadside artillery.
"Pitch up seven degrees," Admiral Duplex commanded, watching his Destroyer's shields steadily sag under the enemy artillery fire. "Port rotation — six percent."
The Republican Star Destroyer practically converged broadside to broadside with its opponent.
Only twenty-seven units separated them when the "Reptavian" began its roll along its axis.
A ship over a kilometer long turned its upper hemisphere toward its opponent's starboard side and, holding that position, opened up with sustained fire from every gun that could reach the Imperial Star Destroyer.
Streams of golden-crimson fire immediately annihilated the Alignment ship's side-mounted turret batteries, and then, once the destroyers had drawn level, the moment of resolution came.
Ion artillery bathed the destroyer's superstructure in white-blue charges, sending lightning flickering across the entire hull while the internal illumination steadily died.
The enemy destroyer pushed its speed to maximum, realizing it was teetering on the edge of destruction.
Breaking free from the clinch, it could calmly close with the Republican supply train and begin a massacre there, even in whatever state it currently found itself.
"Activate tractor beams," came the order from the First Fleet's commander. "All fighters in our escort — switch to engaging enemy starfighters."
The last six pilots obeyed the order and joined the dogfight with TIE fighters flaring up nearby.
Meanwhile, the two large starships, having drawn level with each other, locked together on the initiative of one of them, binding their fates inextricably.
Yes, the Imperial was bigger, more massive, and its engines had already built up greater speed than the Republican ship possessed.
But suddenly it turned out that the Reptavian had engines too — whose vector of thrust ran directly opposite the Imperial Star Destroyer's orientation.
The added mass and opposing acceleration forces first slowed the Imperial ship, practically stopping it in place, and then the two vessels began to rotate slowly around a common center.
"Increase emergency start engine power," ordered Admiral Duplex, watching as the second destroyer's fire concentrated on his ship's lower shield.
The hull's lateral acceleration carried the starship out of the kill zone, allowing the Reptavian to shield itself behind the first Alignment destroyer's hull — while continuing to maul that triangular ship, reducing to tiny droplets of molten metal and clouds of debris everything that fell in the Republican guns' path.
"Reduce lower deflector power, transfer energy to the upper," he added. The underside defense could be sacrificed since it was currently on the non-engaged side.
But the upper hemisphere was still taking salvos from enemy gunners until the Republican cannoneers brought it to final silence.
The fight became a beating.
The Reptavian crushed its opponent, literally destroying it from within.
Breaches in the hull multiplied and widened, deepened and spread across ever-larger areas of the Pentastar Alignment Star Destroyer's interior compartments.
After another salvo, the light in the enemy ship's viewports went out, plunging the vessel into darkness.
From bow to stern all at once, the starship turned from a combat-effective unit into dead weight that had nothing left to oppose its enemy with.
"Cease fire," Argentis ordered.
He looked at the battlefield and saw that one of two assault frigates had been knocked out, while the second, on its last legs, continued to fight off a superior enemy — battered though that enemy was.
"Reduce main engine power, increase start engines," the admiral ordered. "Adjust orbit so we're on a straight line with the second destroyer."
Saving the assault frigates was impossible — one had just exploded, and the second had taken a breach near its reactor and ceased resistance.
The Imperial Star Destroyer set about tearing its opponent apart, and after a couple of minutes, picking vulnerable spots for attack, turned the ship into a miniature supernova.
From a distance of forty units, the Reptavian could do nothing to help the crews, but it could avenge them.
Which is exactly what it was doing at that moment, spinning the enemy Star Destroyer around itself.
Yes, it wasn't fighter speed, but the residual energy would be more than enough for what he had planned.
After completing three full rotations around its axis, the Republican Star Destroyer, obeying a carefully timed release, let go of its opponent, sending the multi-ton enemy behemoth on its final voyage.
Thanks to the absence of resistance in vacuum, the first destroyer shot toward its target like an arrowhead.
"Transports — immediate landing," Duplex commanded. "Reptavian — set course for the second destroyer. All guns — fire."
The second destroyer's commander saw the threat but could do nothing to prevent the collision.
Residual radiation from the nearby detonation of two Republican ships jammed the scanners, and the approaching dead hulk, spilling its guts in flight, was detected too late by the surviving destroyer's crew.
Course correction only softened the monstrous impact, not avoided it.
But that proved just enough to end the confrontation.
The first destroyer's solar ionization reactor missed the second Alignment ship's hull by a mere five meters.
Formidable armor, colliding with material of equivalent quality and density, deformed on both vessels.
But for the second destroyer, the broadside strike resulted only in significant damage to its structural frame, hull plating, and extensive decompressions.
For the second, though...
Reactor fuel does not tolerate such treatment, whatever its state of matter.
The artificial star that Raith Sienar had ignited for the galaxy's peoples bloomed in Coruscant's orbit, destroying both Alignment starships in a tandem flash as the reactors exploded one after another.
"Destroyed," someone on the Reptavian's bridge said with admiration in their voice.
Argentis, recovering from his astonishment, coughed into his fist to hide his reaction.
"Close approach order canceled. Set orbital course and prepare to cover the transports," he said in a firm voice.
The crew slowly came back to life after what they had seen, taking up their assigned tasks with enthusiasm.
The commander of the New Republic Defense Forces' First Fleet himself stepped closer to the main viewport, hoping none of the crew would notice his astonished face as he stared at the disintegrating remains of two Star Destroyers.
And all he had wanted was to make the second Alignment vessel evade the first so he could get on its tail and shoot it to pieces...
Truly — military luck reveals itself to the bold at the most unexpected times.
* * *
From above, a magnificent view opened onto the advancing ranks of Imperial stormtroopers.
The men in white armor, broken into squads, were sweeping building after building, shooting without mercy or regret anyone who tried to offer any resistance.
The planet that the New Republic was abandoning, pulling its units back to zones near the Imperial Palace, was experiencing shock and awe — mass executions and shootings of wounded and surrendered Republican fighters cut off from the main forces by mobile stormtrooper groups.
Watching the stormtroopers' bustle near a small diner that the enemy had turned into a firing point bristling with numerous weapon barrels in every direction, Agent Cross allowed himself a crooked smile.
He was on the top floor of a residential complex behind Imperial lines, having taken over some senator's penthouse after the building had been swept by stormtroopers from top to bottom.
In all his life, he had seen something like the current cleansing of Coruscant only three times.
The first — the Separatist droid raid on the planet to capture the Supreme Chancellor in the final stage of the Clone Wars. A huge number of sentients died back then.
The droids spared no one, nor did they have such an order.
They killed everyone indiscriminately.
The second — the Rebel Alliance's assault on the Imperial Center just a few years ago. Nothing stopped them then. Like butchers, they plowed through masses of people in their path. Just as the Imperial stormtroopers were doing now.
With the sole exception that billions of residents were on Coruscant's streets and in its key buildings at that time.
Not the pitiful few million who had remained on the planet after Grand Admiral Thrawn struck it, blockading it with invisible asteroids.
Jahan looked away for a moment, catching the corner of his eye on several figures standing in a dark corner of the penthouse.
Even without their black-red armor, the guards looked imposing, clad in gear that didn't reduce their combat effectiveness and prevented identification.
These sentients never showed their faces, always staying in sealed helmets.
They weren't much for eloquence, and honestly, the agent had no great desire to chat with hybrids of a battle tank and a medium-sized rancor.
Glancing at the soldiers, Jahan sighed. Despite being the head of all Dominion operations here on Coruscant, he couldn't shake the thought that these ten guards, if given the order, would cut his throat with relative ease and go about their business.
So he had to be extremely cautious, balancing both personal ambitions and command orders in his activities.
Fortunately, at the moment, they aligned.
Thrawn had given the order — find Cronal.
The man who had headed Imperial Intelligence under the name "Agent Blackhole" and was responsible for the death of his unborn child.
Of course, from a formal standpoint, the decision to end the life within herself had been made directly by Ellie to become an Imperial agent.
But two men had pushed her toward that decision.
He, Jahan Cross, who had prophesied a future among intelligence operatives for the girl, and Cronal, who had made it clear there was no place for pregnant women in the academy.
And now Jahan intended to follow Blackhole's trail, find him, and gut him like a tauntaun.
Feeling ill from the rush of memories, Jahan leaned against the cold railing of the penthouse, continuing to watch through the polarized transparisteel as the stormtroopers went about their work.
In this part of the city, there weren't that many of them, but even the battalion sweeping this block was too many to go poking around at his target.
Even though the guard commander promised to deal with the enemy stormtroopers quickly, quietly, and above all, with certainty, breaking through their ranks to the objective.
The deep interrogation sector — located, as absurd as it sounded, deep beneath the Upper Level structures.
In normal circumstances, it would take considerable time to reach it using standard routes, password coordination, and clearance levels.
But now, the New Republic and the Pentastar Alignment had significantly simplified his task, having plowed up a lion's share of Coruscant's Upper Level structures over the course of their nearly month-long battle.
Thousands of buildings destroyed, reduced to ruins or thoroughly incinerated by precision orbital strikes.
The Republicans, still using the Imperial city defense systems with turbolasers mounted on the upper floors of buildings, surely thought the attackers would have a very hard time suppressing those firing points.
After all, you had to destroy such a small target that could also bite back — from the surface all the way to low orbit.
The Reaper had solved that tactical problem in a few days.
It simply bombed the skyscrapers without bothering with aimed fire at the firing points.
When had the Imperials ever cared about civilian casualties?
Just recall the massacre they inflicted on civilian ships in Coruscant's orbit.
In the very first hours of their invasion, the Reaper and its escort had destroyed absolutely every starship carrying civilians who planned to return to Coruscant after leaving it following Grand Admiral Thrawn's asteroid blockade several months earlier.
"Sir," came a quiet voice in the comm headset. "You're being called."
Jahan stepped away from the polarized penthouse railing and went inside.
This had once been a place with spacious rooms and expensive furniture.
Now it was a kind of barracks where two dozen Dominion guards were waiting out the time.
And also their command post, arsenal, infirmary, and much more — including a communications center through which the various groups scattered across Coruscant could stay in touch.
Jahan was using the planet's redundant emergency services communication network for this, which hadn't been used for several years due to being unnecessary — the main line was reliable enough that no one had bothered with the backup since the New Republic's attack on the Imperial Center.
He'd had to work hard to get it operational, but it was worth it.
Agent Cross looked at the holographic projection of the planet, where lights slowly blinked at the deployment locations of Dominion Intelligence's combat squads.
For the most part, they consisted of clones of the late Dominion hero Molo Himron, but who would identify them under sealed armor? And in the event of death or heavy injury in battle, the armor had a self-destruct system. A baradium charge the size of a thumb would leave not only no traces for body identification but not even pieces of equipment.
A logical precaution when operating deep behind enemy lines with clone forces.
The existence of the latter was a secret to everyone except certain categories of the Dominion's population.
It wouldn't stay secret long — eventually the enemy would start asking questions about why Dominion stormtroopers carried their dead off the battlefield.
But let command worry about that.
Jahan himself found the use of clones useful.
He knew Himron only by hearsay, but what his clones did... that was something else.
Reconnaissance and saboteurs, provocateurs and demolitionists... It seemed these guys could do anything they were ordered.
Sometimes Cross even wondered how he would react when he met one of his own clones.
And that they existed somewhere, he had no doubt.
"On the line," Jahan said, connecting his comlink to the encryption system.
"Surprises are ready," Afar's voice came through.
The Zygerrian commanded one of the forward sabotage squads, tasked with mining certain objects whose demolition was necessary for the continued operation of the whole group and for implementing Cross's own plans.
"Five-minute readiness," he ordered.
Meaning the forward squads had exactly three hundred seconds to get clear of the blast zones and the area that would soon be cordoned off by Pentastar Alignment stormtroopers.
Though Jahan himself doubted that these men in white armor actually belonged to Kaine.
The latter's ground forces had entirely different gear.
Stormtroopers existed, yes, but if you added up all the data on their numbers coming from numerous observers and spy droids, it turned out there were no fewer than three hundred thousand "men in white" on the planet.
Which was roughly six times more than the known figures Jahan had on the number of stormtroopers in the Alignment.
Either Kaine was blowing smoke, or he had far more stormtroopers under his command than he had shown in the past.
When the agreed time ran out, Agent Cross took a remote control from the table and activated the device.
All that remained was to send the signal to the detonators.
A small black piece of plastic, packed with electronics, settled familiarly into his right palm. Colored lights began to blink.
A small button on the remote's side panel was no different from the others, but if his thumb pressed it, it would unleash fire and pain, clearing away a considerable number of enemies standing between him and his target.
"Are the squads ready?" he asked the guard commander.
The man nodded briefly.
Though Jahan could have verified it himself if he'd looked around at the armored fighters of the main squad, loaded with weapons from head to toe, not to mention their capacious tactical backpacks.
After he pressed the button, no one would return to the penthouse.
"Traps activated?" he asked another question.
And again only an affirmative nod.
The guards were men of few words but obedient.
That was good.
Well, time to act.
Without the slightest hesitation, Jahan pressed the detonator activation key.
Despite the dwelling's good soundproofing, the roar of detonations and destruction reached him through the open penthouse door.
He walked to the window and used a monocular to examine what was happening a few kilometers away.
In the buildings neighboring the blast sites, windows were blown out.
Transparisteel shards had turned into deadly shrapnel, sweeping through the stormtrooper ranks and increasing the number of wounded and killed.
Several skyscrapers damaged by orbital bombardment couldn't take it and collapsed with their full mass, burying an entire battalion advancing just south of the Dominion position.
Other buildings also came down, causing collapses and blockages along the Alignment troops' line of advance.
Roads and bridge spans used by stormtroopers and armored vehicles exploded. Snow-white armor and gray hulls of combat machines fell like ash and snow during volcanic eruptions on frozen planets.
The demolition of several buildings completely buried not only Alignment soldiers quartered inside but also destroyed temporary headquarters and collapsed fortifications.
The Alignment forces' advance toward the New Republic garrison's evacuation points was broken.
Thousands of casualties and hundreds of mangled and twisted combat vehicles, including massive walkers, now filled the streets across all the blocks surrounding the Imperial Palace.
He was using the New Republic's mobile reconnaissance-sabotage unit tactics — the same ones the garrison used to slow the enemy while abandoning one defensive line and retreating to another.
But on a much larger scale.
"Stormtroopers from adjoining sectors are moving toward the sabotage sites," Afar reported. "I'm tracking the withdrawal of up to two-thirds of personnel and armored vehicles. The roads are clear."
"Excellent," Agent Cross commented.
So everything was going according to plan.
The sabotage hadn't just slowed the Alignment's advance and thereby allowed as many Republicans to evacuate as possible — it had also weakened Kaine's military presence in the areas Jahan's men would need to cross to reach the deep interrogation sector.
"We're moving out," he ordered, watching the guards place the last charges in the penthouse. "Switch comm channel."
He hadn't used the emergency services comm line for nothing.
No military operation went without thorough work by the units responsible for communications.
Sooner or later, they would find this place, simply by analyzing all communication options.
By Jahan's estimate, that would take them no less than three hours.
That same amount of time would see additional forces at the sabotage sites, investigating what had happened and reinforcing the front line.
And then additional Alignment forces would be dispatched here — to check the hypothesis and eliminate the threat.
Demolition charges made of baradium and nergon-14, placed throughout the building and especially on its roof, would destroy the skyscraper the moment enemy fighters entered it.
And bury the whole area in debris, entombing not only the enemy soldiers but also the route to the deep interrogation sector for a long time.
The enemy's force reorganization would let the Dominion groups get well away, continuing to dig through the secret caches of Imperial Intelligence and the Imperial Security Bureau.
* * *
Sometimes it's even interesting — returning to those sectors where you've achieved certain victories.
But in the case of our current destination, it could be said that past success bypassed this place entirely.
The gravity of the black holes in the Maw Cluster pulled the Chimaera out of hyperspace, shattering the now-familiar stream of white-blue hyperspace light.
The Maw — Kessel's dangerous neighbor — I was seeing for the first time.
A huge whirlpool of matter being sucked into the unknown resembled hypnotic spirals.
Only, in the case of this vortex, you couldn't expect that the worst a magician would do was pick your pockets.
One careless move — and the ship's hull would begin to experience monstrous stresses, breaking apart under the influence of an irresistible force.
The Kessel Sector and the Maw Nebula.
Any sane pilot would stay far away from these places, because finding people willing to risk their ship and head wasn't easy to lure into these parts.
Well, that was the official version.
Smugglers and various sorts of rogues, as well as Republicans and even Imperials — not to mention other prominent galactic citizens — visited the Kessel system with perfectly acceptable safety.
And for completely different purposes.
The Empire brought criminals here and pursued its own interests in spice mining or building secret laboratories in the black hole's depths.
The New Republic, oddly enough, had also left its mark. But unlike the Imperials, their most famous visit was the opposite — to pick up the most hardened villains from here and deliver them to the heart of the Empire — Coruscant.
Smugglers and criminals came here for two reasons.
The first — against their will, to serve sentences.
The second — to smuggle out contraband spice.
The sight of the many gravitational maws of black holes, made visible by the absorbed ionized gas of the Maw Nebula, was both mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time.
The Maw Cluster (also known as the Maw).
The course of the Chimaera was plotted so that directly before its bow, in all its splendor, the white-blue star of the system, Kessa, opened up.
But the destroyer was already arcing, entering the orbital path of the system's most famous astronomical object.
The planet Karedda was an ice-covered world, devoid of atmosphere, and frankly hazardous for any intelligent life to exist upon.
It occupied the third orbital position from Kessa.
The first from the star was Senna, which, in contrast to Karedda, was a molten sphere rich in minerals…
Which could be mined if the logistical costs from such a remote region didn't outweigh potential profits.
But there's a nuance known to me, yet completely hidden from the eyes and minds of most of the galaxy.
The situation here is practically the same as on Nkllon, well, except that the level of stellar radiation is higher.
This adds another problem to being in the Kessel system—radiation is the enemy of modern sensors, so until you at least approach the ice planet Karedda, only ships miraculously near your destroyer might detect your presence.
And there aren't exactly many of those here.
And that plays into my hands.
However, I should think about that a little later.
As well as the potential development of the planet's deposits.
Yes, expensive, but again…
There's a nuance.
Finally, Kessel itself came into view—a kind of enormous ripe potato with pale tendrils of artificial atmosphere streaming into open space.
I had a classmate from Minsk.
I think if he ended up with me in this galaxy, he would definitely move here.
Because he loved, respected, and valued potatoes.
And in general, he was not a wasteful person, thrifty, but with a subtle inner nature.
And heavy fists.
You can laugh at stereotypes all you want, but Yuras took any jokes about Belarusians and potatoes as a national insult, uncompromisingly punched faces, and every weekend went to his dacha, where he worked from dawn to dusk on his cherished vegetable beds and characteristic bushes.
Next to it, a small, pale sphere—the Garrison Moon, which in the recent past concealed in its depths an entire garrison of Imperial troops overseeing order in Kessel's prison settlements.
And this place clearly needs significant security, because uprisings and rebellions against legitimate authority on Kessel are almost a monthly occurrence for prisoners who have nothing to lose here.
Planet Kessel.
For most of the galaxy, Kessel is nothing more than an Imperial maximum-security colony where the most hardened and vile scoundrels serve out their sentences for years.
The flip side of the coin is that the prisoners here aren't here for nothing.
And certainly not blissfully observing the mesmerizing beauty of the Maw, slowly devouring matter in the system.
Kessel is a ghost, a legend, a world of perdition, which in such illumination you might not even notice at first.
It's too small to retain its own atmosphere.
For this reason, giant generator factories were placed on its surface, tirelessly processing tons and tons of mineral raw materials, releasing oxygen and carbon dioxide.
Thanks to this, on Kessel it was still possible to manage without spacesuits, barely enough with simple breathing apparatus—oxygen masks and tanks.
And now, right before my eyes, another substantial portion of atmosphere was directly evaporating into space, trailing behind the small planetoid like the tail of a giant comet.
"Sir, we are entering the designated orbit," reported Captain Tschel.
"Any word from Corran Horn?" I inquired.
"Not a single one, sir," replied the commander of the Chimaera. "We're scanning all frequencies—nothing."
"Good," I ordered. "Contact our ARC-170 reconnaissance starfighters—have them make a flyby of the Garrison Moon. I want to know what condition it's in."
"Yes, sir. Launch the standby squadron?" Judging by his puzzled expression, Tschel was clearly troubled by my implication that we were walking straight into a trap.
"Launch them," I permitted. "If it makes you feel better—let them hold the outer defensive perimeter."
Saluting silently, Tschel left me and moved toward the watch officers, to whom he began quietly giving orders.
I returned to contemplating the celestial object toward which the Chimaera was heading.
Despite the fact that only prisoners are on the planet, Kessel… is extraordinarily important to the galaxy.
I would even say that this "little potato" holds the same strategic importance for the galaxy as Thyferra.
In the same year that Luke Skywalker trusted the Force and destroyed the work of billions of sentients in the Yavin system, the Imperials kept several massive communications satellites in orbit around Kessel to maintain control over the prisons on the surface of the ravaged planet.
They were also supposed to clear passage through the system and coordinate ship landings.
Each of these satellites was guarded by a Victory-class Star Destroyer, two Acclamator-class assault ships, two Tartan-class patrol cruisers, several squadrons of TIE fighters, TIE Interceptors, and bombers, and one squadron of elite ships—TIE Defenders.
After the Empire lost the Battle of Endor, the Imperial security forces on Kessel decided to abandon the planetoid on their own. The atmosphere factories were shut down, although the prisoners in Detention Center A, Detention Center B, and Detention Center C were forced to continue working in the thin air. Shortly after the liberation of Kashyyyk, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Lando Calrissian, and other Wookiee soldiers arrived on the planet and successfully restarted three atmosphere plants, freeing many of the Empire's slaves and prisoners in the process.
According to intelligence data, a revolt took place on Kessel several years ago.
But not at all like the ones before.
The staff of the Imperial Correctional Facility, led by prison administrator Morut Dul, rose up against the Imperial garrison, overthrowing the guards and taking control of the planet, appointing Arba Skynx as his second-in-command. After the revolt, Dul discovered a dead rancor in the prison, which had clearly not been fed. He regretted the rancor's death, as he had planned to feed the Imperials to it. Instead, he sent them to the mines, and tortured and froze the former warden in carbonite, putting him on display in his office.
Unfortunately, this was the last report from our agent, who had gone to the planet disguised as another smuggler intending to smuggle spice out from under the administration's nose.
He was, of course, caught, but he successfully infiltrated the prisoner population and learned a lot of interesting things, which he later passed on to us.
The silence said only one thing—he was killed.
He went silent days before Corran Horn contacted us with a proposal to meet.
So I decided to combine several tasks at once.
Kessel was the largest producer of spice and therefore a very turbulent place regarding smuggling.
After its formation, the Empire laid its hands on spice production and vigilantly controlled everything—naturally, except for what daring smugglers managed to snatch from under its nose, among whom Han Solo once counted himself.
For almost five years now, Kessel has been under the control of criminals, and the former Imperials—a considerable number, thousands—mine spice in the tunnels.
And spice… It's not just a drug, but also a key raw material or catalyst for many medicines.
The drug itself is expensive, and for a significant list of powerful medicines, it is vital.
Control over Kessel is a strategic victory that can provide both money and necessary resources.
But after the coup and the criminals' seizure of power, the planet—fortunately remote from busy routes—broke contact with most of the galaxy, and it's quite difficult to muster the strength and means to get here without suffering from one of the sides in galactic conflicts.
So no one stuck their nose in here to find out why Kessel refused to make contact under any pretext.
Well, it's time to find out what's really going on here.
Meanwhile, the Chimaera steadily approached Kessel, using maneuvering thrusters to enter a high orbit on the far side of the "potato" and prolong its incognito.
The radiation background continued to work in our favor.
The Chimaera over Kessel.
"The commander of the standby squadron reports seeing orbital beacons active," Tschel reported. "Also, five starships have been detected. Class identification is difficult due to radiation interference."
"Expected," I said.
"Moreover—it's all according to plan."
"I think it's time to introduce ourselves," I said, looking at the commander of my flagship. "Boost the communications equipment using extra power from the deflectors."
"Yes, sir." Tschel relayed the order to the watch officer.
He was silent for a few seconds, looking somewhere behind me, then added, on his own:
"Be ready to activate deflectors to full power. Battle stations drill. Crew to battle stations."
A reasonable precaution.
I approve.
"Begin, Captain," I ordered.
"Activate the transponder," Tschel commanded.
At that same moment, the Chimaera's identification signals broadcast across the vicinity in Galactic Basic, announcing the arrival of a Star Destroyer to all present.
And nothing happened.
At least we detect nothing.
"Sir," a watch officer approached Tschel. "The standby squadron reports that the detected ships are changing course, have left orbit, and are approaching the Chimaera at maximum speed."
"Were you able to identify them at least now?" Tschel asked impatiently, rubbing his right palm along the bottom edge of his tunic.
"They are five Carracks, sir."
Now that's interesting.
The Carrack-class light cruiser is designed for effective anti-starfighter combat.
And five such ships at once could, at a very inopportune time, significantly maul our air wing.
"Gunners, assign targets," he ordered.
Looking at me, the man inquired:
"Sir, permission?"
"Act at your discretion, Captain," I said, feeling the forgotten ysalamiri irritably dig its claws into my pants. Look at you, so spiteful! "Consider me absent. Officially, I'm dead anyway."
Tschel smiled nervously, then raised his comlink to his mouth:
"This is Captain Tschel of the Star Destroyer Chimaera, Dominion starfleet. We have arrived to meet with Corran Horn, and also to liberate Imperial prisoners of war from the Kessel mines. I ask Administrator Morut Dul to be reasonable, accept payment for the prisoners, and not subject his men on the Carracks to senseless death. In the event of an attack on my ship, you will all be destroyed. Wherever you are—in space or on the surface."
Silence.
And the light cruisers keep approaching and approaching…
"Looks like it's time to teach them a lesson," Tschel muttered, looking at me with hidden expectation of a comment.
But I see no point in that.
His ship—let him command.
"Have the Raider-class corvette exit the main hangar and take position in the lower hemisphere of the destroyer" modifications had been needed to station the standby squadron in the cargo hangar so its launch wouldn't interfere with the corvette held on magnetic clamps. "Air wing, launch. Scimitars, prepare to dash behind the enemy's stern and destroy them."
I remained silent, while Tschel bore his gaze into me.
"Sir," he finally broke. "Do you have any orders?"
"Not a single one," I replied calmly. This isn't a training flight. It's another test of competence. "But I have advice, Captain."
"What is it, sir?" Tschel asked with relief.
"Don't ask the enemy to agree to your terms when you're negotiating from a position of strength," I said. "That immediately destroys your reputation in the eyes of such rabble. The strong don't ask. They offer, or demand. In extreme cases, they take by force. But they don't ask."
"Understood, sir." Judging by his tone, that wasn't the answer Tschel had hoped for. And from his intonation, I realized it had dawned on him that he would have to fight this battle on his own. "What should I do now?"
Come on, Tschel, more composure.
I slowly turned my head, looked directly into the eyes of the young Star Destroyer commander, and then said:
"Destroy them, Captain. And prepare for a ground assault."