Ten years and twenty-six days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year and twenty-sixth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Seven months and eleven days since the Arrival.)
Captain Dobramu lay on his bunk with complete indifference and a feeling of deep disappointment, his hands behind his head.
He stared at the ceiling of his prison cell, utterly apathetic to everything around him.
Nothing remained inside him except the realization that he had been deceived once again.
This time, by the very man for whom he had deceived and betrayed Grand Admiral Thrawn.
A member of the Dark Side Elite, Kam Solusar, had promised him honor and glory in exchange for sabotaging the defense systems of the Dominion's home territory.
And the young officer, along with his entire crew, had spent all their time and influence convincing other young Revanites serving on the Dominion's last cruisers to abandon Thrawn.
They fled to Vjun, just as Solusar had said.
Akrey had believed that from there, their triumphant march across the galaxy as part of Emperor Palpatine's fleet would begin.
But instead, the starship crews were relocated to a planet…
To the brig.
Where, most likely, they still were.
Akrey himself had been locked in the star destroyer's guardhouse and then transported somewhere.
One day dragged into another.
Dozens of different investigators and interrogators visited him — all equally indifferent to his fate.
They beat him, broke him, tortured him, tried to catch him in his words, provoked him.
Solusar personally turned him inside out several times with the infamous Force, trying to uncover the true motivations that had driven the young officer to act as he did.
And they always left with the same result.
Akrey stood his ground — he was loyal to the Emperor and his cause.
He had considered Thrawn the heir and continuer of the Empire's work, but when he realized that wasn't the case, he began cooperating with Solusar.
But no one seemed to listen.
Time and again, down to the smallest detail, he recounted what he had done while serving under Thrawn — how he had gathered data on the size of his fleet, the defensive perimeters of peripheral planets, the camouflaged asteroids along the hyperlane routes of the home territory…
Instead of the promised reward, he had fallen into the gears of counterintelligence.
And now he was indifferent to his own fate.
His faith in the Emperor had not wavered for a single moment.
Only in the fact that he himself had expected too much from a simple betrayal.
Although — can you betray someone who betrayed the Emperor first?
A debatable question.
And utterly irrelevant at this moment.
Did he regret being subjected to such brutal treatment for doing exactly what he had been told?
No. He couldn't care less.
Akrey believed in the New Order, and that sooner or later, the truth would prevail.
He had done everything to destroy the traitorous Remnant — the Dominion.
And surely, once everything was sorted out, once they were convinced of his loyalty to the Emperor, he would be released.
So Akrey stared indifferently at the ceiling.
He was just waiting.
The interrogations, along with the regular visits, had ended several weeks ago, and since then, he had been alone in his cell.
Food was brought — he ate.
He also slept and performed all necessary actions to keep himself in shape.
Training exercises — for his body.
Reciting passages from tactical manuals out loud — to keep his mind sharp.
There was no other way — he would simply go mad in solitary confinement.
Several times, the guards granted his request — they brought him a datapad without a comm module and chips with manuals from the Military Academy.
The captain himself couldn't even imagine who had to approve that transfer, but it clearly wasn't the head of the prison block.
While no one needed him, Akrey continued his self-education.
The Imperial manuals he had scorned during basic training turned out to be quite interesting reading (in the absence of alternatives).
They contained analyses of battles and campaigns, technical descriptions of various ship classes of the Imperial Navy.
So, little by little, Captain Dobramu was killing time, indifferent to everything and favored by the indifference of those around him.
But today, everything changed.
As he was mentally visualizing the deployment of the Death Squadron ships at the Battle of Hoth, the metal door of his cell slid open on its own.
Dobramu cast a single glance at the man who entered and instantly shot up from his bunk, snapping to attention.
"Lord Solusar," he greeted the member of the Dark Side Elite calmly.
Kam Solusar.
"Captain Dobramu," a slight smile appeared on the face of the man, who was dressed in simple, almost civilian clothing. "The guards say you haven't lost your spirit or succumbed to despair while your review was underway."
"I kept myself busy," Akrey replied. "You said the Emperor needed talented commanders. I've done everything in my power," he gestured to the datapad and chips lying nearby, "to live up to what you told me on behalf of the Emperor."
With that, he voiced his justified doubts — whether Solusar, when he spoke to him in the past, had actually been advancing the Emperor's opinion and design, rather than his own.
The Dark Side Elite member simply shrugged.
"Come," he ordered, heading out of the cell. "You'll understand everything soon enough."
He didn't need to say it twice.
Akrey grabbed his uniform jacket, quickly tidied himself up in the corridor, and followed Solusar without question through the hallways of the star destroyer that had been his prison of late.
The people they encountered — soldiers and officers, specialists and stormtroopers — paid him no attention whatsoever.
As if he were invisible to them.
Then again, that might well be the case.
He didn't know these people and had absolutely nothing to do with them.
And they with him.
Reaching the main hangar, Solusar and Dobramu boarded a shuttle, which, as the captain realized from the vibration of the deck, immediately departed the destroyer.
Where exactly the ship was headed was hard to tell — the viewports were blocked, and Akrey was eventually shown into a tiny cabin, more like a holding cell for important prisoners.
A cramped cubbyhole with a small bed.
Half an hour after he'd boarded the ship, he was let out again.
And once more, he found himself in a hangar…
But this time, it was truly enormous.
Yes, it was built as an enlarged version of the standard Imperial-class flight deck, but many times bigger and more expansive.
This suggested he had been brought aboard a starship of the latest design.
Or perhaps one of the "super"-class warships, which were considered almost completely destroyed by the Rebel Alliance.
Here, Akrey noticed that he was no longer accompanied by just Solusar, but also by a squad of stormtroopers.
Long marches through even longer corridors followed.
Akrey remained silent for a whole hour before he finally couldn't hold back and asked:
"What starship is this?"
"Standard," Solusar replied indifferently. "Super-class. Firepower and specs almost identical to the Executor. But more elegant than the legacy of Vader's flagship."
Running through the options in his head, Akrey found the right one…
If his guess was correct, he was most likely already in the Deep Core, where Emperor Palpatine's forces were concentrated.
And if this giant was also here, it was clear why only one ship of this type had been detected and destroyed by the rebels.
The Steel Dragons had been withdrawn to the Deep Core and had been serving the Emperor all this time!
He didn't dare ask any more questions, reasoning fairly that if they hadn't killed him outright, then perhaps his lucky star had decided to give him the gift he deserved?
Their lengthy journey led both men and their escort (and for Akrey, a convoy as well) to the entrance of the ship's bridge.
Through the open blast doors, Captain Dobramu could hear a characteristic crackling and flashes of light that could only be caused by electrical charges.
It seemed repair work was being done on the bridge without disconnecting the high-voltage power cables…
And then he heard a scream.
A primal, guttural scream, a testament to the unrestrained suffering and pain tormenting a living man.
He slowed his pace slightly and cast a glance at Solusar walking beside him.
But the latter's face showed absolutely nothing — the Dark Side Elite member continued walking toward the bridge entrance as if nothing were happening.
Finally, they went inside.
Dobramu saw before him the vast bridge of a starship, its crew members sitting at their battle stations with hunted, terror-filled eyes.
Their gazes were fixed on the central platform, where the body of a gray-haired man in an Imperial uniform convulsed in electrical discharges.
And before him, in black robes with an impossibly high standing collar, his golden-red hair neatly swept back, stood the one whose very appearance ignited within Akrey a reverent awe — the admiration of a man who had devoted his life to serving the ideals that this specific person embodied.
The Emperor Palpatine, reborn in a clone body.
He was significantly younger than the version Akrey remembered from holovids.
Slightly pale skin, shadows beneath deep-set eyes…
In which blazed the gleam of white-blue lightning erupting from the Emperor's fingertips.
A contemptuous, yet triumphant smile of complete control over the situation played on his lips.
And the Sovereign Protectors standing behind him — the best of the best Imperial Guards — watched impassively as the officer's body, smoking from evaporated moisture, convulsed one last time under the blows of the man-made electrical storm.
It jerked and went still.
Silence fell over the bridge.
The crew watched without blinking as the lifeless, burned, and disfigured body lay before them, ravaged by discharges of irresistible energy.
Akrey, however, could not tear his eyes from Palpatine's face.
At the triumph in his eyes, at the undisguised smile of utter satisfaction from the sight of the dead man…
Then the Emperor's raised hands made a barely perceptible gesture. With a characteristic wet sound, spraying everything except the Emperor himself with a torrent of bloody splatter, the mutilated body burst into pieces that flew in all directions across the bridge.
"You have failed me for the last time, Captain," Emperor Palpatine's voice rang out as firmly and unshakably as Akrey remembered from holo-recordings.
Solusar moved forward unceremoniously, paying absolutely no attention to the fact that he had to walk across a deck flooded with blood and strewn with bits of entrails.
Captain Dobramu had no choice but to follow the Dark Side Elite member.
"My Lord," Solusar said, stopping a few steps from the Emperor. Without ceremony and without the slightest sign of disgust at the bloody shreds, he dropped to one knee, bowing his head under the Emperor's gaze. "Your will has been done. Captain Dobramu has been brought."
The Emperor's will?!
Palpatine himself had ordered him brought here?!
A superstitious and reverent thrill ran through Akrey as Palpatine's attentive, merciless eyes turned their focus on him.
And then the durasteel he had seen there was replaced by something almost paternal kindness and care.
A benevolent smile appeared on the Emperor's face — so sharply contrasting with what had just happened before the captain's own eyes that his knees buckled without any conscious intention.
Akrey didn't even notice the pain in his knee joints as he dropped from a standing position onto the deck plating on those same knees.
He felt the wetness, the strangeness of kneeling in blood and human remains, how the substance soaked through his uniform and stained the skin of his legs.
But he remained there, looking straight ahead, directly into the Emperor's eyes, unable to look away, even knowing he shouldn't do this.
It was improper toward his master, before whom he ought to bow both knees and head.
But Akrey could not find the inner will to do so.
All his conscious effort could manage was to gaze into the Emperor's face and thank everything that had saved this great man's life.
"Captain Dobramu," the Emperor addressed him gently, paternally. "I've heard about you…"
Heard about him?!
The Emperor?
About Akrey?!
O mighty forces of the hyperdrive, had Solusar truly not lied when he said the Emperor himself was issuing orders to the officer?!
What an honor — to carry out the Emperor's assignments, to be the object of his attention.
Even for a moment, even for a fraction of an instant — the Emperor, a man of immeasurable power, a man with countless thoughts and concerns, had thought of him.
It meant he considered him, an ordinary commander of an ordinary light cruiser, so exceptional as to turn his attention upon him…
"Thank you, Emperor," Akrey said, barely audibly. "Allow me to express my joy that you are alive, and that I have been granted the immense honor of seeing you in person."
The smile never left Palpatine's face.
"You have served well, Captain," he said. "You gathered data on the Dominion's defenses and the planets that support it…"
In truth, Akrey hadn't acted alone.
He had secured the support of the commanders of medium cruisers that escorted supply convoys, getting them to map out the placement of defensive formations.
And later, he had compiled it all.
"You brought me an entire squadron of medium cruisers, crewed by men loyal to me," Palpatine continued. "And you endured all the time my sluggish investigators needed to confirm your sincerity and loyalty. You impressed me — unlike those other cruiser commanders who arrived with you. You don't waste time. You don't whine for mercy, set conditions, or throw hysterics…"
Akrey felt disgust toward those medium cruiser commanders who had done exactly that.
"Your diligent service to the Empire must be rewarded," Palpatine declared.
He looked around as if nothing had happened, clearly admiring the addition of red tones to the decor.
"Serving you is the greatest reward I could ever hope for," Akrey said.
"Not the only one," Palpatine snorted. "You have done much to expose the treachery of that filthy monster Thrawn, who wormed his way into my trust and dared to carve out sectors that belong to me for himself. In that arena, you have accomplished far more than my own agents. I am confident that your future service will continue to bring me nothing but satisfaction when I review its results. Rise, Admiral!"
Akrey, thinking he must have misheard, nevertheless obeyed the Emperor's command.
What did it matter if the Emperor had made a mistake?
He was beyond reproach…
"The previous commander of this star dreadnaught failed me. He was unable to unite the ship's crews and turn them into a real combat unit," Palpatine explained, extending his hand toward the nearest Protector. "I trust that your competence and dedication to carrying out orders will not cause me any trouble. And what you have witnessed should serve as a reminder of how unwise it is to fail me."
With these words, the Emperor moved his right hand aside, into which one of his guards had placed a rectangular plaque with multicolored cubes.
Akrey watched with awe and reverence as the metal plaque — adorned with five red cubes in the top row and the same number, also red, in the bottom row — was attached with a small but broad pin that easily pierced the dense fabric of his tunic…
With his next gesture, the Emperor handed Akrey a single code cylinder.
Which he, too, had received from the nearest Sovereign Protector.
"I hereby promote you to the rank of Admiral, former Captain Dobramu," Emperor Palpatine proclaimed in a ringing voice, looking encouragingly at the young officer kneeling before him.
"Thank you, Emperor," was all Akrey could manage.
"I am entrusting you with command of the Javelin task force," Palpatine continued. "Its previous commander…"
The red-haired man with a slight smirk looked at the pieces of human flesh scattered across the bridge.
"…didn't make the cut," he found the right words. "His flagship is now yours, and the squadron's ships as well. You will have some time to get up to speed and turn this rabble," Palpatine looked with contempt at the bridge watch members, who were barely trembling from fear, "into a combat-ready unit. After that, you will prove your loyalty to me by carrying out a mission crucial and important for my entire new Empire."
"I will do whatever you command, my Lord," assured Akrey, still stunned by such rapid career advancement.
"Woo-oo-onderful," Palpatine's face spread into a satisfied smile. He took a step and placed his mighty hand — in the durasteel grip of which he held the entire galaxy — on Akrey's shoulder. "Kam Solusar will help you settle into your new role and will lead your ground forces. Lately, there have been so many incompetent fools around me that need to be dealt with before my new Empire can be reborn."
After this, the Emperor slowly walked away, not even noticing that his heavy cloak was dragging through the bloody shreds, leaving crimson trails behind him.
That was all that remained of those who failed the Emperor — only blood and bits of entrails, crushed beneath his boot.
Akrey dared not move until the Emperor and his guard had left the bridge.
"It's all over, Admiral," he heard Solusar's voice, full of faint mockery. "Great deeds await us."
"Y-yes," Dobramu stammered, clutching the code cylinder and command plaque in his hand. "Just… what exactly have I been given command of?"
"Twenty Star Destroyers and a Vengeance-class Super Star Destroyer," Solusar said rather matter-of-factly. "That is the Javelin task force, named after the formation's flagship."
"So this is… the Javelin?" Dobramu surveyed the blood-soaked bridge, where no one had even tried to move, afraid of angering their new commander.
"Precisely, Admiral," Solusar confirmed. "If you need time to get settled, then…"
"No," Akrey said hoarsely. "I'm fine."
Which wasn't entirely true.
He was still shocked and disoriented.
He'd already had a suspicion, based on Solusar's words, that he had ended up aboard a Vengeance-class Super Star Destroyer after leaving the shuttle.
But the meeting with the Emperor — which, despite all his zeal, he hadn't been prepared for and had been caught off guard by what happened…
The first ship of that series had been commanded by the infamous Imperial Inquisitor Jerec, and that starship had been lost several years ago due to rebel actions.
As Solusar had said, the Vengeance class was a reworking of the standard Executor-class Super Star Destroyer design.
The Vengeance-class Star Dreadnaught.
Its length was also nineteen kilometers from bow to stern, and the ship's "height" reached the size of some corvette — a hundred and fifty meters from the top deck to the hold.
Unlike the Executor, the hull of the Vengeance-class starships had a sleek construction, narrower than standard Super Star Destroyers; almost sword-like compared to the dagger shape typical of the descendants of Vader's flagship.
The ship's bridge was spacious, but it also covered a large part of the command tower, unlike most other classes of Kuat Drive Yards warships.
Furthermore, the starship and its sister-ships were unique in that they lacked the standard wedge-shaped command bridge tower in the style used by the Kuatis.
Instead, the command bridge was located on a small square ridge near the ship's stern.
As far as Dobramu knew, a similar bridge arrangement was found on the Praetor Mark II-class Star Destroyers.
Also a Kuat Drive Yards design.
This type of starship — the Vengeance, naturally, not the Praetor — had an engine group consisting of three main engines, two secondary engines on the sides of the ship, and six auxiliary engines grouped around the main ones.
Its armament was similar to that of the Executor, but due to a more advantageous arrangement of firing points and sloped hull armor, the Vengeance represented a far more dangerous opponent.
And it would undoubtedly destroy any Executor in a one-on-one fight.
Akrey walked to the central viewport of the bridge and looked at what was happening outside this spacious room.
Dozens of super-class starships — several Executors, at least two Vengeances, enormous giants under construction, incomparable in their sheer massiveness, hundreds of Imperial Star Destroyers and starships of similar classes.
And he was only seeing a small part of the orbital space of a planet, which, judging by the beauties of the surrounding cosmos teeming with nebulae and accretion disks, was located somewhere in the Deep Core.
So it was all true, and this was no delusion.
"Attention, bridge crew!" Dobramu barked, spinning on his heels. "Get this bridge into proper order. Senior specialists, prepare reports on your departments. Executive officer, contact the commanders of the Star Destroyers assigned to us and summon them for a briefing in three hours. By that time, I want to know the status of my task force," even though, in essence, he was commanding an entire fleet.
A deathly silence fell over the bridge.
The watch specialists glanced at him with hunted expressions, as if they had soiled themselves and were afraid to move, lest they betray their shame to everyone around.
"Get moving!" Dobramu roared as he headed out. "Or you'll follow your former incompetent commander!"
The hunted little men scurried into action.
Watching them, Akrey realized that, along with the position of formation commander, he wouldn't miss the chance to personally command the Javelin itself.
He very much wanted to see the faces of Thrawn's hangers-on and that rebel scum when he burned their ships and planets with the fire of his magnificent star dreadnaught.
Yes, he had been absolutely right in his suspicions.
All the interrogations and hardships had been worth it for him to finally receive the reward he deserved.
* * *
The obvious had to be admitted.
The sight of former Imperial servicemen, now prisoners in the spice mines of Kessel, was disheartening.
Compared to the stormtroopers of the 501st Legion — who formed an impassable wall around the spacious parade ground in the center of the correctional facility — and the army soldiers who had crawled out of the hatches of their armored vehicles… it was what they called "chalk and cheese."
Even the dregs — the surviving mercenary units and rescued pilots of the Kessel fleet — even they look much more presentable.
Clad in pitiful rags, torn or threadbare, incredibly thin, exhausted by hard labor, the Imperials tried to perk up a little, seeing that at least in terms of uniform, they were surrounded by brothers-in-arms.
But as soon as any of them noticed the golden "cogs" on the stormtroopers' pauldrons, sighs of relief gave way to gloom.
"Your people did good work, General Kaine," I informed the ground forces commander.
He merely nodded silently in acknowledgment of the praise.
The thing is, the territory of the correctional center had been practically destroyed and littered with debris.
To make room somewhere for the people and other sentients being evacuated from the tunnels, they cleared a space in the center from rubble, dirt, fragments of equipment, and remains.
That's how we even learned that a parade ground had once been here.
"Well, I think it's time to begin," I said, heading down the shuttle's ramp to the street.
Unlike the other sentients present here who lacked sealed armor, I wasn't wearing a respirator — I stepped directly under the dome of the atmospheric shield built by the technicians specifically for this moment in time.
I waited a few seconds to let the stunned crowd get a full look at me.
Judging by the crush among the prisoners, Thrawn's appearance was familiar to most of them.
And the remains of the administrative building, on the roof of which my shuttle now stood, allowed them to see me from all sides.
"I think you all know me, or at least have heard of me," I said. "For the rest, I'll introduce myself. I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. Supreme Commander and ruler of the Dominion. Perhaps some of you have heard that in the last six months, with a small fleet, I have managed to capture or permanently destroy a quarter of the New Republic's space Defense Forces…"
"We also heard you died!" a cry came from one of the prisoners somewhere in the middle of the crowd. "That's not Thrawn, it's a puppet…!"
The next instant he fell with a hole in his head.
"Interrupting is impolite," I warned the crowd, which reacted rather indifferently to their comrade's death. Well, on Kessel, someone went missing every day — the local energy spiders love to feast on living sentients. "And sometimes, as in the case of disobeying an order, it's lethal. That's the first rule you need to hear. There are others, and quite a lot of them. A little later, you will be told all of them, as well as what you need to know."
After a short pause, I continued:
"The Dominion did not free you for nothing. We're not playing at nobility — Kessel is ours now, and it's up to you whether you'll continue working in the mines or choose a different option."
The situation practically demanded that the appropriate question be asked now.
But, strangely enough, the gathering remained in dead silence.
"So, the options," I said. "First. You stay here, on Kessel. And your fate from now on depends on the Dominion's decision. None of you will ever return to positions in the garrison, guard, or administration of the correctional facility. One riot has already proven your complete inability to protect the facility entrusted to you. Since you can't even handle such a small matter, then don't take someone else's place. There will be no mercy or leniency. No chance of escape, either. Don't count on your friends or employers coming for you. Kessel has gathered the biggest scum of the galaxy — and that applies to all of you, regardless of what uniform you used to wear.
The former Imperials clearly hadn't expected the very first proposed option to be so harsh.
And now they waited warily for what came next.
"Second," I continued without delay. "Those who wish can enlist in the service of the Dominion. We do not support the New Order, which means a Human, a Duros, a Verpine, a Twi'lek, a Rodian, and all other races are equal in rights. If you want to work for the good of the Dominion — you have those rights. The laws, on the whole, remain Imperial, but they are aimed at the well-being of citizens. At this moment, you are nothing. The right to become a citizen of the Dominion must be earned — military service for the benefit of the state will help you with that. You won't get into the regular forces — that right must be earned. You will go to special units for those like you — those who have been given a second chance to escape their current situation. I need soldiers to operate where the appearance of the Dominion's aurodium cog is undesirable. I am offering you the chance to become those soldiers. It won't be easy — you'll be going to hell. And there you will fight, atoning for your past crimes and earning yourself a chance at a new life. You will receive a salary — higher than under the Empire, but lower than in the Dominion. The foundation I need is soldiers, which most of you are. I know there are also pilots — I have fighters for you too. War awaits you, and at its end — a chance at Dominion citizenship and a new start. Without dying in the mines, mining glitzerstim. Six months in the auxiliary forces — and you get citizenship. If you want, you can return to a peaceful life as a law-abiding citizen. If you want, you can become contract soldiers in your own units, fighting for the Dominion's interests where our troops aren't present. The choice will be yours — but only after six months of a ruthless, danger-filled life on the front lines, where your life depends only on your military skills and ability to kill the enemy."
The crowd began to whisper quietly.
What am I saying — even among the army troops, the same "stirrings" had started.
Because such an offer had never been discussed or been the subject of gossip.
Forming military units from prisoners — something new for this galaxy.
Well, being in the role of an innovator is nothing new for me.
I need additional units that I can deploy to the conflict zone without attracting attention.
Ruthless prisoners with nothing to lose — an extra opportunity to conserve my own forces.
If it works on Kessel, I can give the same speech to other Dominion prisoners.
The metropolitan area has many races of low technical level, which were previously used as "cannon fodder" on the battlefield.
They are utterly loyal to the Dominion and will serve as a restraining force for the prisoners, should they attempt to run or betray.
And the fact that such "individuals" will exist, even if they express agreement now, is beyond doubt.
"No one will ever give you a chance like this," I continued. "Few leave Kessel after serving their sentence. Remains aren't even transported to relatives — everything is disposed of by spiders. There have been no mass escapes from Kessel in the past, and after we take control, there won't be any at all. You have a chance to remember what you put on the uniform and took up arms for. Not for the Empire or the New Order — for the protection of the population. I am offering you the same path to continue. You have five minutes for thought and discussion. If you have questions, ask them now."
This proposal fundamentally differed from what had previously been offered to other Imperials freed from captivity across the galaxy.
But there is a big difference between those here and those held as prisoners of war.
Here are those who couldn't even protect a prison and allowed both the correctional facility and the Garrison moon to be captured. Especially considering that the latter held only an Imperial garrison and a huge amount of military equipment.
On Kessel — only cargo and unarmed ships arrive from time to time.
The amount of small arms the guards had was too little to starve out the Garrison Moon.
The Imperials on Kessel's moon simply surrendered when the coup happened.
Without any prolonged standoffs or anything.
A decision made for unknown motives.
"And what if we agree at first, but then realize we don't need this war?" a voice came from the crowd.
"A shot to the head and a note in your personal file: 'deserter,'" I said. "The same will happen to you for any failure to follow an order or attempt to surrender. That's the second rule — no one runs. Third — no one engages in looting or abuses the local population. Fourth — targets are only military. But if a civilian wants to kill you — kill him first. No nobility — only combat effectiveness."
"Is there a fifth rule?" another new voice from the crowd.
"There is," I agreed. "If you become our servicemen, you won't be forgotten in case of injury or death. If you don't run from a spice spider, no one will even look at your personal file."
"And what positions are provided for moffs?" came another voice, utterly unpleasant.
I looked toward the source of the sound, seeing a small group of sentients who, by their very appearance, expressed complete disdain from the other prisoners.
Even from the former soldiers of the Imperial garrison on Kessel's natural satellite.
And these guys are despised by almost everyone.
Who could be worse than those who voluntarily surrendered to a numerically inferior, poorly armed enemy?
"State your names," I ordered.
"Moff Mazzer," the first gave his name.
A squat fat man with shifty eyes.
"Moff Thistleborn," the second said.
Average height, not young, but lively, with a gaze full of hope and selfish plans.
"Moff Dunhausen," the second introduced himself with a hint of superiority and self-confidence.
The complete opposite of the first: tall, thin as a rail, with a gaunt, wrinkled face.
One glance makes it clear that the latter is the obvious informal leader of the moff group.
Cunning and ruthless.
The question is — what are three moffs doing on Kessel?
"Sir," Lieutenant Colonel Tierce appeared at my right, holding out a datapad with text on the screen. "These three are former prominent members of the Central Committee of Grand Moffs."
Is that so?
Now everything is clear.
Now there are no more questions.
I knew about the existence of such a governing body in the Empire after Palpatine's death.
It once included the now-deceased Vilim Disra, whose death brought me fruitful and mutually beneficial relations with Ardus Kaine.
I learned about the activities of this self-proclaimed governing body after studying Imperial Intelligence data obtained following the capture of the real Isard and Sate Pestage.
The Central Committee of Grand Moffs was a faction that broke away from the Galactic Empire, formed in the fifth year after the Battle of Yavin by most of the Grand Moffs in an attempt to undermine Ysanne Isard's claims to power in the remaining Empire.
Breaking away from the weakened Imperial Ruling Council, the Committee used the story of a direct descendant of Palpatine — a three-eyed mutant — to consolidate power.
They found a mutant fitting the description — Trioculus — who had a direct connection to Kessel.
And, using the vague omens of various charlatans, rumors, and other unsubstantiated circumstances, they made Trioculus a nominal figure in their alliance.
Controlling him from the shadows.
The Committee organized the murder of Grand Admiral Rufaan Tigellinus.
They used Kessel as a base to advance Trioculus's claim to the Imperial throne.
But they failed — the leadership of the Central Committee of Grand Moffs was destroyed.
These three ended up in the mines; Trioculus, also guilty of the death of Grand Admiral Miltin Takel, is dead; Disra fled to Kaine…
How many strange and interesting stories are born and die on Kessel.
Take, for example, the prisoners found in the mines.
I know for sure that among them are at least a couple of Jedi — one trained, and the other just learning this science, Kyp Durron.
A headache and a sea of trouble for the future New Jedi Order, which is currently aboard the Chimaera in the company of ysalamiri.
Not to mention that it was this boy, with only the rudiments of Force control, who managed to plot a safe course through the Maw Cluster to a base guarded by Admiral Natasi Daala.
The second Jedi is a woman who trained him.
Vima-Da-Boda.
A member of the old Jedi Order.
Also not an unknown "character."
Who left Kessel.
Yes, just like that — she's gone.
Where and how the old Jedi woman could have disappeared is unclear.
But even after all this time since the mines were emptied of workers and motion detectors and observation droids were deployed — not a single sign that she could have hidden deep in the mines.
"So that's how it is," I said slowly, lowering my gaze from the datapad and looking at the moffs again.
According to Imperial Intelligence data collected by Isard, this trio had no significant military force behind them.
All their activity boiled down to wanting to use the Central Committee's forces to subjugate various planets.
Dunhausen — Tatooine, on which he proposed building a new Imperial city, to gain personal control over the illegal income of the desert planet's shadow economy.
Thistleborn — proposed similar actions regarding Bespin, intending to subjugate Cloud City and its tibanna gas mining industry.
Mazzer, however… facilitated the death of Miltin Takel.
"So what cushy job do you have for us, Grand Admiral?" the last one spoke up. "We are moffs, we have power, knowledge, experience…"
"…And a list of the most severe crimes against Imperial servicemen," I cut him off.
The trio exchanged confused glances.
"Behind the feuds and incompetence of these sentients are hundreds of human lives that cry out for vengeance," I said. "There is no forgiveness for you, no right to a second chance."
Waving my hand, I watched as three precise shots from a sniper rifle made new holes in the sentients' heads.
"Using official position, assigned forces, and weapons to achieve personal goals is punishable by death," I explained to the stunned prisoners and their former guards. "That's the sixth mandatory rule you should hear from me today. You had time to make a decision. Five minutes are up. All who intend to join the Dominion and fight for it, to clear their name, for a chance to start a new life — move to the right. The rest — to the left."
For a long ten minutes, I watched as crowds of prisoners — Imperials and their former guards, criminals and mercenaries of the "Zann Consortium" mixed, determining their fate.
When the stirring ended and decisions were made, I could see four-fifths of the total number of those who had just stood before me in the right formation.
Among those remaining on the left, predictably, were fighters from the "Zann Consortium," some former prisoners, Morut Dul's henchmen…
Just over a thousand sentients decided to stay on Kessel.
The cream of the scum, ruthless thugs, murderers, rapists, saboteurs, terrorists, spice dealers…
"Well, the choice has been made," I said. "As already stated — don't expect leniency or mercy. Legion!"
The white barrier of stormtroopers moved.
With precise synchronization, the fighters of the 501st brought their weapons to combat readiness, aiming at the crowd on the left.
Several sentients, realizing what my words actually meant, rushed to the right formation.
The very one where sentients were staring in shock at what was about to happen.
Lieutenant Colonel Tierce gave the command, and the blasters of the 501st Legion opened fire in unison.
Crimson plasma bolts stung the fleeing prisoners who had decided they were above the unique offer.
Maybe they still thought they could establish their own order here, or start another uprising.
No, that won't happen.
Those who moved to the right column must also remember that their lives depend on their decisions.
The mass execution took only a minute and a half.
After that, cleanup groups, walking directly over the bodies, began "checking," finishing off those among the "left" who had somehow avoided a lethal shot.
"Dump the bodies into the mines," I ordered, returning to the ramp of my shuttle.
Kessel is ours.
And the Dominion won't leave here.
For a while, there will still be some trading in the stocks of spice and glitzerstim available in the drug dealers' warehouses on the market.
But then — that's it.
The Dominion does not recognize the right of sentients to self-destruction.
As long as spice is in our hands, it is exclusively a medical substance.
And the bodies of the "dissenters" will make excellent feed for the energy spiders, so that this substance will not run out until a less dangerous tactic for extracting this most valuable substance is developed.