Ten years, one month, and thirteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, first month, and thirteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Seven months and thirty-third day since the Arrival.)
The orbital shipyards on the planet Vosteltig in the Oplovis sector weren't impressive in scale compared to what I had seen on Sluis Van.
I think those who had ever visited the shipyards of Kuat, Fondor, Foerost, Rendili, Dac, Sullust, or Corellia would consider them downright tiny.
A dozen autonomous stations with three small, unpressurized bays designed for starships no longer than six hundred meters, a small number of orbital storage stations, barges, and port ships.
An extremely inefficient design, since the Mon Calamari orbital docks, for instance, had fully pressurized bays for large starships and therefore didn't require technical personnel to work in spacesuits.
And that sped up the process.
The problem was that those docks were busy now.
And delivering them to every shipyard in the Dominion was also wrong.
The orbital docks captured at Sluis Van, along with Type 1 and Type 2 orbital repair workshops, were the exclusive property of the Dominion's armed forces.
And they were distributed between Tangrene and the Karthakk system.
That is, in exclusive territories, protected and defended by the regular fleet under maximum security.
Exactly where numerous specialists were employed who could be trusted not only because of the most thorough background checks, but also because they already had enormous experience in performing this kind of operation.
Only repeatedly verified and re-verified sentients worked there, carrying out the numerous modernization programs of shipbuilder Ryan Zion.
As long as we had time to complete repairs on all the starships damaged in the last campaign's battle, we needed to use it.
Especially since they would be finished by the end of the current month.
And that would be a qualitative breakthrough in equipping the regular fleet with modern technology.
One of the orbital shipyards of the planet Vosteltig.
Once upon a time, this place could build and service starships larger than a heavy cruiser, both civilian and military, of course, but those days were hopelessly gone.
The Galactic Empire had once maintained a fairly high level of security in the system and at the shipyards, which had faded into oblivion after the Republic captured the sector.
During the conquest of the sector, the New Republic had significantly destroyed the local ship repair and shipbuilding industry, resulting in many local specialists losing their jobs.
They found work at other shipyards.
Mostly Republic ones.
And Coruscant itself, despite controlling the sector for a considerable time, made no effort whatsoever to mitigate the damage inflicted.
Of course, to assume that the large shipyards were deliberately destroyed so that competent specialists with a high level of professionalism would leave this territory, where the New Republic didn't even keep a large number of major ships, would be the height of cynicism. However, the idea shouldn't be dismissed so easily.
Nor should the circumstance of why the New Republic was even interested in such a small shipyard.
The issue here isn't even that the Oplovis sector could have become a springboard for advancing deeper into the New Territories — the sectors in the north of the galaxy controlled by the Imperial Remnants.
The reason the New Republic attacked the sector, and the shipyards first and foremost, lay in the Republicans' strategic interests.
And it was related to a list known as "Cracken's Most Wanted."
I had already had the pleasure of reviewing the personal files of each of the fifty sentients listed there, a list directly related to the New Republic's security.
Moreover, several targets, like Accomplice X1, Lon Donell, had even been eliminated.
He was of no value for cloning — just a gray mediocrity carrying out X1's orders.
So, it could be said we lost nothing from him being shot while trying to capture him by Captain Mor.
But another name aroused considerable interest.
Not only from me, but also from General Cracken, who was languishing in the catacombs of a special prison.
He would have to stay there for a very long time — along with the other important prisoners.
Because that part of the plan hadn't yet played out.
Hmm... just think about it, there was quite a lot in common...
"Dorn's presence at the Imperial shipyards is sufficient to neutralize all the advantages our research and development have brought us over the past two years."
That was the exact personal comment General Airen Cracken made regarding a Sluissi engineer named Ten Dorn, who had defected from the Rebel Alliance several years earlier.
And he didn't go off into obscurity somewhere, but straight to the shipyards of Vosteltig.
Cracken noted the threat posed by the Sluissi's knowledge of New Republic military technology and the engineer's presence at an Imperial facility. Due to the security of the shipyards, the New Republic had not made any attempt to apprehend Dorn by that time.
But then, they did strike.
And they ravaged the shipyards.
However, they never found the Sluissi.
Nor did they lift the bounty on his head.
That is, at the very least, General Cracken assumed Ten Dorn had survived and was in hiding.
The danger of a single engineer to the New Republic's strategic initiative was explained as follows.
Ten Dorn was a Sluissi who had worked on Admiral Gial Ackbar's "Shantipole Project."
And this project, as it turned out, was directly linked to the development of the A/SF-01 B-wing starfighter, with full access to the Verpine shipyard facilities in the Roche asteroid field.
In other words, the Sluissi could provide exhaustive information on the project's design merits and flaws.
And, apparently, since the "wishbones" were no longer as dangerous to the Imperials as they were right after their introduction, Ten Dorn had indeed shared his information with Imperial representatives.
But creating the "wishbone" wasn't the Sluissi's only achievement.
Dorn had worked on a device known as a "shear plane," which would render tractor beams ineffective.
But before a prototype of such a starship could be built, something terrible happened for the New Republic.
After several clashes with Imperial forces, Dorn reconsidered his position toward the Alliance to Restore the Republic and defected to the Empire.
More specifically — to the money-flinging Admiral Drommel.
Now deceased.
Ten Dorn left the Vosteltig shipyards shortly before the military campaign to conquer the sector by the New Republic began.
But even after we established authority over the sector, he didn't return to his workplace either.
So he remained on an unofficial wanted list, but now under "our" intelligence services.
Apart from whether the Sluissi possessed any vital information for destroying the Alliance or the New Republic, a promising sentient shouldn't be so easily dismissed.
Especially one with pro-Imperial leanings.
After the capture of Santhe Technologies' industry and all the technical data from the corporation's headquarters archive, it was no wonder our specialists found plenty of interesting and even promising things for the Dominion.
Including what had been developed directly for Palpatine's army, which suffered from a shortage of small aircraft.
To be honest, there were so many projects started and never finished by the Liannans that, once again, we lacked specialists who could not only study and copy the results of their work, but also creatively rethink, develop, and improve them.
And so Intelligence, long-suffering and overloaded with tasks from head to toe, never stopped working, including in the field of finding specialists who could advance scientific thought not only in large shipbuilding but also in fighters.
Technically retrofitting TIE Interceptors with weak deflector shields and launchers for cumulative missiles wasn't just not progress — it was a direct use of existing, long-tested Imperial developments obtained from Lianna.
They made our interceptors more dangerous and extended pilots' lives.
But that wasn't progress.
It was outright stagnation.
We rejoiced that the Lianna plan succeeded and a considerable number of technical personnel relocated to the Dominion.
But these weren't leaders as such, but junior and mid-level technical staff, competent only in production cycle matters, not development.
Apparently, the chief engineers and developers of Santhe Technologies, like the shipbuilders and major specialists from Kuat Drive Yards, had gone to Byss.
Whether willingly or not, that question was no longer relevant.
I stood at the main viewport of the Chimaera's bridge, looking at dozens of ribbed hulls of the Raider III-class corvettes being produced at the Vosteltig shipyards.
Thirty ships, production of which would be completed by the end of this month.
After which they would be transferred, after military acceptance, to the regular Dominion fleet.
As soon as they finished passing all types of trials.
And the shipyards would begin production of the next batch of these starships, to methodically, step by step, replace the CR90 corvettes and DP20 frigates in the regular fleet as screening, escort, and long-range reconnaissance raider starships.
And the Corellian ships, of which we had accumulated quite a number over the past six months, would be transferred to the Defense Forces, along with a significant portion of the light forces captured by Rear Admiral Dorja in the Battle of Sullust.
Yeah...
So much needed to be put in order, and there was neither the time nor the sentient resources for it.
And the economy was barely breathing, forcing us to dip into "Sa'Nalaor's auredium nest egg" more and more often to support one construction project or another, or the settlement of new worlds.
But today, I had arrived in the Vosteltig system not to admire what was happening at the shipyards.
"Sir," Captain Tschel approached me. "Captain Demmings has arrived aboard the Chimaera."
"Is he alone?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir," the Chimaera's commander replied. "Not counting the Lambda shuttle pilots from the Motivator."
"Good, we'll wait for him here," I decided.
"Perhaps we should take him into custody now?" Captain Tschel suggested. "Since he's been relieved of command of the Star Destroyer, we should put cuffs on him and bring him here under guard."
"That's not necessary," I rejected the suggestion, looking at the Star Destroyer named Motivator, frozen in geostationary orbit a few dozen lengths from my flagship.
"Sir, but if Demmings is a traitor, he shouldn't be walking around the Chimaera's decks!" Tschel insisted. "It's not safe and..."
"Captain Tschel," I did something I usually didn't allow myself to do. I interrupted another sentient's speech. This wasn't a "quirk" or even an "imagined culture of communication." It was banal respect for the interlocutor and subordinate. Cutting off the flow of a thought was an indicator of a commander's absolute disregard for his subordinate's opinion. What trust and unflinching execution of orders could there be if a superior officer considered it normal to ignore a junior? It was a destructive management style that only exacerbated misunderstanding between dialogue participants and led to open confrontation and unconscious sabotage of the commander's orders by the "unheard" subordinate. — It's premature to draw conclusions about Captain Demmings's guilt.
"But he let the escort frigate escape!"
"Don't jump to conclusions, Captain," I advised. "Treason is a serious accusation. One that requires evidence."
"But you have it, since you relieved Demmings of command of the Motivator!"
"You think so?" I raised an eyebrow, looking into the face of the now-embarrassed Tschel. "It has always seemed to me that a commander has the right to relieve a ship's captain or any other officer subordinate to him of command during an official investigation. Which is exactly what's happening now."
Tschel, averting his eyes, looked at Rukh, sitting in the corner, almost submerged in the shadow of the bulkhead, at the stormtroopers and guards standing patiently and impassively guarding the bridge.
After Sluis Van, the old Imperial practice of stationing stormtroopers in critical parts of a military ship had been reinstated at Gilad Pellaeon's insistence.
And I had nothing against it, as there were rational reasons for it.
Now, I just had to wait until the relieved captain of the Motivator arrived on the bridge for the "debriefing."
Internally, I was running through the information from his personal file, which I had requested from headquarters.
After the Battle of Yavin, then-Commander Demmings had served in the Outer Rim, mainly as an adjutant to Lord Darth Vader and captain of the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Vengeance.
On the latter, the Dark Lord of the Sith had kept his flag for some time until he received a new starship.
In this capacity, Demmings had played a notable role in the hunt for the elusive Rebel fleet and the final pacification of the resource-rich planet Jabim.
The latter was known for a massive and bloody battle during the Clone Wars that dragged on for months, where Republic forces, achieving none of their objectives, withdrew from the rainy world, having suffered colossal losses in personnel and attached equipment.
During the reign of the Galactic Empire, Jabim also became a site of Imperial expansion and a military campaign that led to significant casualties and an orbital bombardment ordered by Darth Vader.
Now, the planet, having exhausted its mineral resources, steadfastly pursued a policy of neutrality in the galactic conflict, responding with equal aggression to any attempts to conquer or subjugate it.
Returning to Captain Demmings, it should be noted that he also had a hand in resolving a conflict situation in the Happich sector on the planet Tiss'sharl.
After which, at Vader's insistence, the captain served for some time as the Imperial representative in the sector due to certain tragic circumstances that had left the position vacant.
Later, when the Empire began to crumble and Grand Moff Zsinj declared himself a warlord, the fleet of the Happich sector remained loyal to him.
And Captain Demmings fled the Vengeance and served Admiral Drommel in the Oplovis sector.
Where he was appointed commander of one of the Star Destroyers, which was later destroyed in battle with the Republicans, captured, and spent about a year in a Republic prison.
After which he escaped, along with part of his crew.
He responded to a recruitment offer and received command of the only Neutron Star-class vessel in the Dominion.
He unwaveringly carried out the orders of Moff Ferrus while that ship served as his flagship, and after the Metropolitan Defense Fleet was formed and Felix received command of a Proclamator-class Star Destroyer, he requested a transfer to the regular fleet.
The Neutron Star, having become, after all modernizations, a generally passable ship (but unjustifiably expensive to rebuild, so we wanted nothing more to do with that type of starship), now served as a screening vessel for the Grand Moff's flagship.
Because, frankly speaking, the Proclamator-class Star Destroyer was quite weak for repelling attacks by fighters and small craft.
And there wasn't enough "room for maneuver" to properly modernize it — even Shipbuilder Zion had searched and searched but hadn't found any.
Translation:
The Motivator was an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer that came under our control during the hunt for an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer. Like many other Imperial-class ships of the Ennix Devian and X1 factions, it had been assembled from wreckage at the shipyard in the Barpine system of the Venin sector.
The original Star Destroyer had been part of Darth Vader's Death Squadron, but was lost when it crashed on the planet Kothlis a year before the Battle of Endor.
Simply put, it was another "junk" destroyer. Like all other starships assembled at the Barpine shipyards, it was originally slated for conversion into an Interdictor.
But after capturing the required number of Star Destroyers of the latter type at Sluis Van, work in that direction was halted.
Fortunately, no critical modifications had been made. From the moment the modernization order was given until its cancellation, the workers on Tangrene had only managed to put the destroyers' structure in order, eliminating numerous flaws from shoddy construction.
Considering that the ship's crew had also been formed through a "mixing" process — rotating original crew members with clones of the best specialists from other starships — it was decided to return the vessel to service as a line ship.
In fact, participation in the trap for the stolen escort frigate was the first combat mission for both the Motivator itself and its crew, not to mention the commander, who had led the vessel up to that point but only with a limited contingent of subordinates.
So the reasons why Captain Demmings, who was supposed to take position in the Happich sector, had "arrived late" to the interception point needed to be sorted out.
Proceeding from the position that the Jensaarai can indeed detect "sleeping agents" by the "vague internal threat" emanating from a person, then Demmings cannot be classified as that kind of threat to the Dominion.
He is also not a clone — his DNA is in order.
But it is still too early to write him off as a potential enemy.
A person can be recruited in various ways — cloning is not the only method.
One can simply bribe, intimidate, and so on.
Can the Jensaarai detect that?
I don't think so.
There is a certain hypothesis, and in conversation with Captain Demmings I will either confirm it or refute it.
This was connected to the commander's assignment to the Happich sector back in Darth Vader's time.
So for now, it was not worth jumping to conclusions.
I could have sent the captain to the counterintelligence meat grinder, and that would have become known very quickly.
If he is guilty, then the entire fleet would know.
And then the investigation would be justified.
If not, then it would shake faith both in me and in the Dominion's system of investigation and punishment.
"Grand Admiral, Captain Demmings reporting as ordered!" I heard a young but well-trained voice behind me.
Turning around, I looked at a middle-aged man who had just crossed the threshold of forty.
High forehead, sharp features, straight nose.
In his posture and demeanor, one could read the ability to keep himself under control and not panic.
Intelligent, quick-witted, calculating.
His uniform was neat, freshly pressed, without the slightest stain or extra wrinkle.
Tailored exactly to his body, not a single stray hair or loose thread.
His bearing was excellent; his boots and belt buckle were polished so brightly they could have rivaled the lighting panels.
Clean-shaven, regulation haircut.
The epitome of a neat freak.
Even the standard-issue holster, required for constant wear of the service blaster — which had been confiscated by the Motivator's security officers due to his suspension pending investigation — was in pristine condition.
Not a speck of dust, not a sign of wear.
At a parade, such an officer would have been placed at the end of the formation closest to the audience or observers to create the perfect picture.
There was clearly something unnatural here.
Yes, a person — especially a military officer, a commander — should and must be a model of behavior and appearance for his subordinates.
But after all, every perfectionist must have limits to their "correctness."
Otherwise, it starts to smell like a mental disorder.
According to the data from the comprehensive medical examination that every military member undergoes before signing a contract to serve in the regular fleet, the captain's psyche was normal.
No disorders, no manias.
Just a slight anxiety.
And now I see a picture-perfect man before me — not for no reason.
"At ease, Captain," I said in a calm tone, noting that one of the guards had positioned himself like a silent shadow behind Demmings, remaining outside his field of vision but in a state of readiness to strike if needed. "For future reference, there is no need to create a perfect picture in my eyes to give the impression of an infallible officer. The background is irrelevant to me; its impact is within the norms of regulations. The figure is more important."
Demmings seemed to deflate a bit, stopping his rigid attention stance.
Even wrinkles appeared on his uniform.
Now, that was another matter.
Now there was a real chance to talk to a man, not the mask he had come to hide behind.
Commander of the ISD-I Motivator, Captain Demmings.
"I hear you, sir," said the commander of the Motivator.
"Excellent, Captain," I replied, turning my back to the commander of the Star Destroyer adjacent to the Chimaera.
The distance between us was just over a meter.
A perfect opportunity to strike me in the back and eliminate the Supreme Commander of the Dominion.
Embedded agents of the Zann Consortium undoubtedly had such an order, regardless of who, how, under what circumstances, and when they were recruited.
A minute passed, but nothing changed.
In the dim reflection on the transparisteel, Demmings' figure did not even stir, did not look around, did not move from the spot.
He simply stood, breathed, and waited.
Even Captain Tschel, standing nearby, pretending to be interested in the data on the tactical console, showed more emotion than the commander of the Motivator.
Well, time to begin.
"Approach, Captain," I ordered.
Demmings obeyed without question.
Drawing level with me on the left, standing opposite the strut that divided the transparisteel into trapezoidal segments, he stared somewhere forward and downward, as if the answer to all questions and the solution to all problems in the galaxy were written on the polarization control panel.
Well, let's begin.
* * *
"Can you add anything to your report, Captain Demmings?" Thrawn inquired quietly.
Too quietly, in Captain Tschel's opinion.
The commander of the Chimaera, who had become all ears, barely managed to distinguish the question, filtering the Grand Admiral's voice from the noise of the terminal's cooling system.
In Tschel's opinion, if he were in Thrawn's place, he would have already flayed the scoundrel who failed to carry out an order.
But all that was left for him was to stand silently in front of the panel and pretend that the data on loading supplies aboard the Chimaera contained something far more interesting than the conversation between Thrawn and Demmings.
He had to suppress the desire to either shoot the idiot Demmings or tear his head off.
The moron deserved no less.
And this was a representative of those few officers drilled by decades of service in the Imperial Starfleet?
Compared to the tough but understanding Shohashi, the determined Dorr, the relentless Mor, the understanding Abyss, Stormaer who "trophies" everything not secured by welding, electromagnets, and the laws of existence, or the "good-natured" Brandei, Demmings was worse than any of the young commanders who had completed accelerated courses and served under Thrawn's command for a few months.
Demmings failed to carry out the order!
He was simply incompetent, if not a traitor!
Such a man should be kicked off the bridge of a Star Destroyer, put on a patrol ship with a crew of a few men, and sent to orbit the most remote and godforsaken garrison!
And even then, it's not certain he would gain any sense!
How could this man ever command the Project Retribution when Darth Vader himself was on board?!
"No, sir," Demmings said tensely. "The failure to carry out your order and the failure to reach the interception point at the appointed time are entirely and exclusively my fault."
"I am aware of that," said the Grand Admiral, looking at the officer standing beside him.
Thrawn held his gaze for a second longer than necessary and then turned back to the viewport.
"Can you give a reason why you should not, following your suspension from command, be sent for review to military counterintelligence with a subsequent dishonorable discharge?"
A barely audible groan escaped Demmings' lips, and his figure began to slouch, as if a weight had fallen on his shoulders.
"No, sir," the captain of the Motivator repeated even more quietly. "I only ask you to note that I wrote the report of my resignation from command of the Motivator immediately after the destroyer set course for the objective with a delay. My executive officer did everything to mitigate the time gap. The failure is entirely and completely my fault."
For the next few minutes, the only sound on the bridge of the Chimaera was the whispering of the watch standers behind Tschel.
So quiet, so insignificant, that only the seasoned ear of the destroyer's commander could catch that his subordinates, sitting at their control panels, were also observing the events on the central platform.
This was wrong.
Tschel turned and swept his subordinates with a heavy gaze, one he had learned while serving as senior officer on the Chimaera under Gilad Pellaeon.
They immediately stopped their nonsense and buried themselves in their monitors.
Then, satisfied, the captain stared at his colleague.
Demmings stood with a stone face.
Tschel's imagination failed him: he could not conceive of the punishment Thrawn would pronounce.
Darth Vader, according to the stories of those who served under him, would not have deigned even to a conversation or an "agonizing silence of deliberation."
He would have choked him for criminal negligence right there on the bridge.
But Thrawn...
You could count on the fingers of one hand all the instances when the Grand Admiral executed subordinates in similar situations.
Much more often, he devised some kind of elaborate punishment.
Which, by the way, spread through the fleet at lightspeed, and interestingly, always found reflection in the actions of officers toward their erring subordinates.
Colonel Astarion, who now heads the DSB, the Dominion's counterintelligence, was forced by the Grand Admiral to perform an exercise of "bending and straightening the arms in a lying position" for inappropriate behavior.
As soon as this became known in the fleet, the typically army punishment spread so widely that last year, in a matter of months, aboard every ship — regardless of how many young personnel it had — absolutely everyone achieved the physical fitness required by Imperial standards.
And as for how this affected relations between commanders and subordinates... words cannot describe it.
Captain Mor, who had shown unnecessary zeal and allowed heavy losses during the attack on the planet Xa Fel and the capture of Kuat hyperdrive engines, was forced by the Grand Admiral to practice tactical mastery, sending him his own thoughts on tactics.
And supposedly they didn't even go anywhere, weren't used anywhere.
People said it was just Thrawn's whim to occupy an overly ambitious and narcissistic captain with unnecessary work to "let off steam."
But no — it turned out that these theoretical notes were incorporated into the training curriculum of cadets in the Dominion's fleet and pilot academies.
Yes, in a certain edition, with comments and remarks from the Grand Admiral himself, but...
Just imagine!
When was the last time a tactics textbook was published in the Empire, not by a theorist who had last been on a bridge as a cadet, but by a combat officer?!
Well, twenty or thirty years ago, after the Clone Wars.
Captain Mor is still lecturing cadets while his ship sits at the Tangrene shipyards for a second month.
However, if you think about it, the commanders of all the guard Star Destroyers with whom Thrawn began his campaign six months ago are now in the Academies, giving lectures and passing on experience.
Those who joined Thrawn in the "second wave" that is, after the Dominion was formed — now serve.
Tschel snapped out of his thoughts when he saw the Grand Admiral look at Captain Demmings again.
The Noghri bodyguard Rukh, who was in the shadow of the nearest bulkhead, stopped twirling his black dagger in his hands and silently rose to his feet, as if ready to strike.
The Noghri's dark eyes glinted mercilessly.
And that was the only thing that gave him away, shattering his flawless camouflage in the shadows.
It had taken Tschel several weeks to learn to distinguish the Noghri in the dark, while Demmings — who was on the Chimaera for the first time and had never seen Rukh or any other member of his species in action before — only now realized that someone was in the shadows.
"Is the Project Retribution in the Happich sector?" the Grand Admiral asked just as quietly.
Tschel understood that the conversation had turned to Demmings' former ship, which had remained in service in that part of the galaxy.
"Yes, sir," the commander of the Motivator's voice suddenly wavered and came out hoarse.
"What did they use to get to you, Demmings?" Thrawn asked.
The eyes of the Motivator's commander widened, as if he saw a black hole right in front of him.
Tschel blinked, realizing that no immediate answer came.
Instead, the guard approached another half meter and stood behind the officer at arm's length.
With a vibroblade ready to strike, one sliding motion of which would be enough to pierce Demmings through, pinning a bleeding corpse to the stanchion.
"The crew," it seemed all the air had been let out of the Motivator's commander, like from an air cushion.
"Explain," Thrawn demanded.
"A few years ago, at the insistence of Darth Vader, I became the Imperial representative on the planet Tiss'sharl in the Happich sector," said Captain Demmings. "It was a nominal Moff position in the sector, since the population was absolutely loyal to the Empire and direct governance wasn't required. On Tiss'sharl lives a reptilian race, the Tiss'shars. They are known for predatory business practices, and their world is a theater for corporations. Political assassinations, much like tricks and cunning in business to secure favorable terms, alongside fulfilling already concluded agreements — that is the norm of life, an unbreakable rule for them."
"That is precisely why the Moff was killed, whose place you took in the sector," Thrawn said, displaying his erudition.
"We couldn't prove anything, but the suspicion remained," Demmings nodded. "My appointment was seen by them as a way to improve the corporations' position, but they were wrong. Not only did I turn the entire planet upside down, found the killers, and called the perpetrators to account, but I also executed the masterminds of my predecessor's murder — some members of the Tiss'sharl League. Which greatly displeased the rest. When I left the sector, I followed Admiral Drommel's offer to become one of his commanders in order to maintain the Empire's influence in the Happich sector. But Drommel couldn't even hold Oplovis. I was captured, lost contact with the Project Retribution. After becoming part of the Dominion, I tried many times to contact the Project Retribution and win them over to your side, but I couldn't get in touch with any of my former subordinates."
"And when you received the order to set course for the interception, they contacted you," the Grand Admiral said, as if it were self-evident.
"Exactly so," the man confirmed. "The League told me that the Project Retribution was in their hands, and if I continued moving toward the borders of the Happich sector, they would execute the crew. I agreed."
"And thereby virtually sabotaged the operation to intercept the escort frigate stolen from the Dominion," the Grand Admiral continued.
"The objective of the assignment was not communicated to me, only the coordinates and instructions for deploying the gravity trawl on the Svyazushchiy," Demmings said quietly.
Tschel calculated in his mind that that was actually the case.
The reason for all this — the dispatch of Star Destroyers paired with minesweeper cruisers or Interdictors — was not communicated to the detachment commanders.
There was no point in it.
A commander should carry out the order passed down to him, not try to learn more than he is supposed to know.
Their task was simple — and Demmings had just voiced it.
"Did the representatives of the League know that you specifically commanded the Motivator?" Thrawn asked.
Tschel was surprised by the question.
What was the point of knowing that?
What difference did it make whether they knew or not?
The commander of the Motivator had deliberately violated an order, as he stated in his own report of resignation from command.
The Chimaera's commander had not studied the document himself, but he knew for certain from the cryptographers that Demmings had stated everything verbatim regarding his contact with the League — which he had just recounted to Thrawn, obviously assuming the Grand Admiral had not read the report.
But as for the lizards — the Tiss'shars — taking the crew of the Project Retribution prisoner — that was something new.
"No, sir," Demmings replied. "As I stated in my report, it was a recorded message. The name and type of my ship were clearly inserted into an already prepared and dictated recording. But I didn't realize that immediately."
"What conclusions follow from this, Captain?" Thrawn inquired.
"That the Tiss'sharl League has no informants or spies who could know the exact contents of the order given to me," Demmings declared. "They didn't know where or specifically why I was moving. Their demand was general — a prohibition on moving into the sector. I assume that in the Quimar sector, which we crossed before Happich, there is either a listening post from which they obtained our identification data during message exchanges, or an observation station that spotted us as we approached its coverage area."
"You are thinking correctly," the Grand Admiral said approvingly. "Your opinion on the threat to the crew of the Project Retribution?"
"It is stated in my report, sir," Demmings reminded.
"I know," Thrawn nodded. "But now I want to hear your opinion."
"I think it was another trick of the Tiss'sharls, a routine matter for them," said the Motivator's commander. "They manipulate human emotions and attachments very easily. I think they didn't count on me specifically commanding the Motivator and that their demand would be fulfilled. Given that after the ship continued moving forward they never contacted us again, and nothing is known about reprisals against the crew of the Project Retribution, they had no backup plan. I am guilty of forgetting the innate treachery of the Tiss'shars and allowing myself to sabotage your operation. That is why I do not dispute the suspension and subsequent punishment, regardless of its severity."
"And what do you intend to do next?" Thrawn clarified. "After you are convicted for disobeying an order and cooperating with a potential enemy? Considering it was made known to the ship commanders that the sectors near CorpSec are hostile to us."
Judging by how Demmings' back tensed, he understood that his life as a Dominion officer would not last much longer.
"I will accept the punishment," he said firmly.
Thrawn was silent again, his demeanor giving no indication that the Motivator commander's words had affected him in any way.
Tschel, meanwhile, was inwardly tormented, wondering whether it was time to call in the mouse droids with cleaning function to scrub the blood off the deck or not...
"You will not return to the Motivator, Captain," said Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Nothing else was expected, really.
"In an hour, a strike force of destroyers with an escort will arrive in the system," Thrawn continued. Tschel frowned, realizing the punishment was taking too long with the preamble. "The commander of the Death's Head will take command of the Motivator and join our campaign. You will take his place on the bridge of the Death's Head. And you will also participate in the upcoming battle. Upon its conclusion, I will decide your further fate."
Tschel felt his jaw drop in a most unofficerly manner.
But he managed to compose himself before Thrawn gave him a brief glance.
The guard stepped back, just as silently, a couple of paces from Demmings, taking a position in a perfect short line alongside his faceless comrade in black-and-blue armor.
Demmings, no less stunned than Tschel, looked at Tschel, who was trying to shake off the inevitable illusion.
Then he returned his gaze to Thrawn.
The Grand Admiral, meanwhile, was smiling almost imperceptibly, looking through the transparisteel at the terminator line of the planet Vosteltig.
"The force has arrived, Captain," he said. "They are ahead of schedule, understanding that routine orders from the flagship are not sent directly to the addressees. Keep that in mind for the future, if you intend to keep your head on your shoulders and your name unsullied."
"I understand, sir," stammered the completely disoriented Demmings. "I will not let you down, Grand Admiral."
"I believe you," Thrawn responded. "You may go."
Demmings, having survived a fall and a rise, saluted, turned, and briskly walked toward the exit.
The farther he walked from his superiors, the more confident his step became and the straighter his back.
Only his gaze remained the same as that of a bantha that had miraculously escaped the jaws of a Tatooine krayt dragon.
* * *
"You do not approve of my actions, Captain."
Tschel blinked and suddenly saw directly in front of him hands clad in snow-white gloves, resting on the upper edge of the panel he had been staring at, trying to make sense of what had happened.
The young captain forced himself to tear his gaze from the display and meet the gaze of eyes burning with red fire.
"He got off easy," he replied dryly, without going into details.
"Demmings is not a bad person in his own way," Thrawn said conciliatorily. "His main flaw is that his mind has become too 'rusty' and he acted out of inertia. But he had enough courage and understanding not to cast a shadow from his action — which will become grounds for investigation — onto the Star Destroyer's crew. In the near future, he will find the strength for self-healing and will do his utmost to prove to himself, to me, and to everyone around him that the choice to spare his life was the right one."
"That was an expensive lesson," Tschel grumbled. "We lost good pilots and our best commando squad in that fight."
Thrawn heard him.
"Yes," he agreed. "Casualties are inevitable. And those who died were hardly rookies."
"And the mission wasn't completed," Tschel reminded him.
"On the contrary," the Grand Admiral stated. "We intercepted a ship, acquired a valuable prisoner, and rescued the one we intended to save. And, unlike the freshly assembled crew of the Motivator, we suffered minimal losses. They, in turn, would have been bathed in blood."
Tschel grimaced in bewilderment.
"You actually gave him Harbid's Death's Head?" he asked again. "After disobeying orders?"
"You're observant, Captain," Thrawn noted. "Yes, that's correct — he's getting the Death's Head."
"Which you've crewed with clones," the Chimaera's commander continued.
"And again — correct," Thrawn confirmed. "The Death's Head's original crew is now on another Star Destroyer. I see no point in a rotation."
"I see," Tschel said slowly.
An unexpected turn of events.
"Sir, but if we suppose Demmings is lying, and he's actually a spy for our enemies, who sabotaged the order on purpose..."
Tschel fell silent, realizing he was treading on very thin ice.
One could cut oneself on that.
To death.
"Then he would have died on the spot," the Grand Admiral replied calmly. "Isn't that right, Saarai-kaar?"
Who?
And then Tschel caught himself realizing he had just committed two things unforgivable for the commander of a Star Destroyer.
First — he had jumped back several meters, almost performing a backflip.
Second — he was pointing a finger at the fragile-looking figure, covered from head to toe in a dark hooded cloak, beneath which armor was visible, bearing the face of a young woman.
What the...?!
"Yes, Grand Admiral," the armored figure reported in a voice that was anything but a young woman's. "This man told the truth. He is not a traitor. And he blames himself for cowardice and for his longing for his comrades on the ship he called Retribution."
"Interesting," Thrawn pressed his left thumb and forefinger to his chin, resting it against his right arm bent at the elbow in front of his stomach.
"Sir," Tschel said, pulling himself together and ignoring the quiet whispers behind him, addressing the Grand Admiral. "And... who is this, and how did they get on my ship?"
Apparently, only the stormtroopers, the guards, and the Grand Admiral's bodyguard showed no reaction to what had just happened on the flagship Star Destroyer's bridge.
"Arrived on one of the supply shuttles," Thrawn explained. "She is the leader of the Jensaarai Order. Becoming invisible to detection methods is one of their abilities. She is here to assist me in resolving several matters."
Tschel involuntarily ground his teeth.
"I understand, sir. But in the future, I would like to know who is arriving on my ship and when."
"I'll keep your wishes in mind, Captain," the Grand Admiral promised, piercing him with his burning gaze. "As the commander of my flagship, you are permitted more than other officers of the same rank and position. But lecturing me and setting conditions — that you are not."
Tschel felt his ears starting to redden like those of a cadet who'd been caught misbehaving, as if someone had yanked them with incredible force.
Thrawn silently returned to the center of the dais and lowered himself into the command chair, not even noticing that his guest had vanished into thin air again, which triggered a race of goosebumps along the Chimaera's commander's spine — from his neck to his tailbone.
The Grand Admiral swiveled the chair to face the central section of the shipyards.
"And now, Captain," the Supreme Commander said, "prepare my flagship for a strike on the Black Sun base. We depart as soon as the captains of the Motivator and the Death's Head set foot on their new bridges..."
"Yes, sir," Tschel saluted, turning sharply over his left shoulder to face his subordinates, who hadn't managed to shut up in time.
Surveying the discipline violators with the look of a hungry rancor that had stumbled upon a nest of small, fluffy, defenseless banthas, the Chimaera's commander unexpectedly recalled that he hadn't given anyone the order to drop and give him push-ups for a full two months now.
His subordinates had gotten soft.
Oh no, that won't do.