Ten years, one month, and twenty-eight days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, first month, and twenty-eighth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and thirteen days since the Arrival.)
Beta II was a barren, dry planet with low gravity, covered in yellow-orange rocks with very little atmospheric moisture. The planet was located in the Beta system in the Korva sector of the Outer Rim, in the middle of a regional hyperspace route known as the Darancay Path.
It had once been a more hospitable world with a wetter atmosphere, colonized by the Republic, which made it a thriving port world.
But climate change caused the planet to dry out, and it was subsequently abandoned.
The inhabitants left, and a significant portion of the structures had long since been destroyed by the relentless weather.
During the height of the Clone Wars II, it was settled by smugglers, millennia after its climatic impoverishment.
Because its surface was often scoured by dust or sandstorms, the planet's caves and canyons were expanded and connected by tunnels for subterranean smugglers' habitation.
"A disgusting place," Moff Nivers grumbled, shielding his face from gusts of hot wind that carried fine grains of dust. "Only the dregs of society could live here."
"This planet is more suitable than any other for Twi'leks as a comfortable living zone," Grand Moff Ferrus countered. "Beta II, with its underground tunnels and mostly desiccated surface, largely resembles Ryloth—and the first groups of settlers agreed with that."
"And how many Twi'leks live here?" Moff Jarnek asked with interest, eyeing the passersby.
"Approximately six hundred and forty thousand," Ferrus said. "Today there will be a few more than yesterday."
They stood on a large covered rooftop protruding from the government building built by construction droids for the local governor.
From there, an excellent view opened onto the restored spaceport, where work was bustling without pause—several convoys of transports had arrived in orbit at once.
Both cargo and passenger.
Some under the protection of regular fleet ships, others under the Defense Forces controlled by the Grand Moff.
And right now, one such ship was coming in to land.
But it was not descending over the spaceport, but directly over a huge, perfect square.
Nine square kilometers of area—the central parade ground on Beta II, which also doubled as the main square of the first and so far only city on the planet's surface.
The reason why absolutely all the 'original' Moffs and Grand Moffs of the Dominion had gathered on Beta II at that moment was not mentioned by Ferrus.
And yet, it was quite a group.
'Interesting,' one might say.
For starters, among the six sentients present on the rooftop, three currently held or had held the position of 'Grand Moff.'
These included Ferrus himself, Lynch Hauser, and Nigel Nivers.
And three—Vensel, Brinkkan, and Jarnek—were merely Moffs.
But in reality, the ratio of Grand Moffs to Moffs among these five was fundamentally different.
Frankly, Ferrus didn't understand the logic Grand Admiral Thrawn used in pulling Nivers from the 'unreliable' pool and granting him authority as Moff of the Korva sector, and Brinkkan as Moff of the Mieru'kar sector, but he agreed with the appointments of Jarnek to the Quelli sector and Vensel to the Kanz sector.
Brinkkan had previously governed the Tragan sector, and he hadn't done a particularly bad job.
The appointment was, in fact, logical.
He knew the work, he knew the territory.
Judging by the fact that the local government had greeted his appointment with some enthusiasm, he was clearly in the right place.
Counter-intelligence had checked him inside and out—the man was clean before the law, and his past—fleeing the Cluster when everyone and their grandmother started running things there—was not really such a flight.
After Endor, when destructive forces appeared in Tragan, the Moff held control over the territory as long as he could.
As much as one could with a single Procursator.
When army garrisons began to show disobedience, Brinkkan did everything he could to fix the situation.
On a damaged ship, he set out for the Imperial Center for help.
His Procurator was requisitioned by the Central Committee of Grand Moffs, Brinkkan and his concerns were brushed aside, and he was hinted that no one cared about that poorly studied Tragan anyway.
The Moff had been in Republic captivity for about five years, and his release allowed him to return to the 'roster.'
Nivers was also a shady character.
Neither of them represented any serious political force.
Unlike Moff Vensel, who possessed not only excellent civilian but also military experience (which was logically taken into account when appointing him head of one of the most turbulent yet largest sectors on the northwestern border of the Dominion's core worlds), or Jarnek, who had devoured not just a rancor but also a sarlacc in administrative matters, though a simple-hearted man, Nivers and Brinkkan 'didn't fit in' at all.
Jarnek had been in his post for no time at all and had already built bridges with nearly all planetary governments in Quelli.
As far as Ferrus knew, even the Dathomirian witch clans had no objection to negotiating with him on substantive matters.
And negotiating with those ladies was not just difficult—it was practically impossible.
Furthermore, there were other arguments against that pair justifying their unsuitability.
But Thrawn, without stepping out of the shadows, had appointed precisely them.
And precisely to two adjacent sectors in the north and northeast of the core.
Felix could think whatever he wanted about this venture, but there was no doubt that it was done not just for the sake of sending someone to new territories.
If Thrawn did something incomprehensible to others, it was undoubtedly with a future goal in mind.
It was part of some plan still hidden from observers.
Finally, the assembled group saw the ship coming in to land.
"What a relic," Nivers snorted.
"I disagree," Hauser said, raising a monocular to his eyes. "That's not just a Pelta—it's a modernized starship."
A modernized Pelta-class frigate.
"Correct, Moff Hauser," Ferrus agreed. "This is the Imperial modernization project for the Republic Pelta. Not a cargo ship, not a medical ship, but a command starship."
"Three triple-barreled light turbolasers, six twin heavy laser cannons, four launch tubes," Moff Vensel said slowly. "I take it the engines have also been optimized?"
"Yes, these starships have Corellian engines," Ferrus said. "We received about a hundred such Peltas, first modernized by the Empire at the Corellian shipyards, and then by the Republic at the SoroSuub shipyards. The latter essentially just optimized the systems and significantly reduced the required crew."
"I'll venture to guess there's a hangar on board," Vensel continued. "I used to have some like that in my squadron."
"Yes, there's a flight deck for six craft," Ferrus confirmed. "Useful for covering the ship from attack while it moves from the starting point to the regular fleet escort zone."
"Are you saying these starships are used outside the Dominion?" Moff Hauser asked.
"For transporting small cargo and passengers between the periphery and the core," Felix explained.
"And what are these starships carrying?" Jarnek inquired, continuing to watch with curiosity as the Pelta descended onto the landing pad, while Defense Forces soldiers approached from various directions.
"That's exactly why we're here, gentlemen," Felix explained. "I suggest we go down and see for ourselves."
The journey to the central square didn't take long—about ten minutes at most.
But by the time all six were on the parade ground, orderly rows of sentients were already standing in front of the Pelta.
"What's this supposed to be?" Hauser scowled.
"Slaves," Jarnek rasped.
"Grand Moff, is this some kind of joke?" Vensel asked, looking at Ferrus with displeasure.
"A perfectly normal attitude toward non-humans," Nivers declared, his gaze brightening. "Twi'leks in slave collars—perfectly suitable labor for developing new territories in the Outer Rim."
"That's right, gentlemen," Ferrus said. "Your eyes don't deceive you—these are slaves purchased by our agents at slave markets. This particular batch was acquired in Hutt Space."
"How many are here?" Brinkkan asked with interest. "Three hundred?"
"Modernized Peltas can carry up to five hundred passengers," Ferrus explained. "The passenger quarters have been expanded by reducing the crew to two hundred people and two companies of security stormtroopers."
"I thought Dominion law directly prohibited the use of slave labor," Hauser continued. "What kind of game are you playing, Ferrus?"
"And does the regular fleet and Vice Admiral Pellaeon know about this illegality?" Jarnek added.
"The regular fleet handles the transport and escort of such convoys from Trogan, where the slave filtration base is located, to the core," Ferrus explained.
"What hypocrisy," Vensel spat, turning away from Felix. "Excuse me, Grand Moff, but this is not why I joined the Dominion. Using slaves is low and inhumane."
"Stop the hypocrisy, Vensel," Nivers advised. "The Empire for two and a half decades, and the Old Republic for millennia, turned a blind eye to the exploitation of sentients by sentients. 'Contract workers,' 'it's consistent with the national traditions of the peoples,' and other excuses worked for tens of thousands of years. Why should the Dominion act differently?"
"The population on the fringes isn't that large," Brinkkan supported him, "to be able to settle all habitable planets and secure the extraction of necessary resources…"
Felix listened to the growing argument, not taking his eyes off the Twi'leks assembled on the parade ground.
Men and women, old people and children.
Individuals and entire families.
Emaciated and muscular, short and tall.
There were slaves for every taste.
Five hundred sentients acquired by his agents with forged documents for the needs of some obscure government on the southern fringes.
The Dominion's budget had cost exactly fifty thousand credits to acquire these slaves.
According to the seller's documents, this group of slaves was categorized as 'general laborers.'
None of them had any significant qualifications or skills. No warriors, no dancers—the two main categories of voluntary slave export for which Ryloth was famous.
One could only wonder how many of these sentients had sold themselves into slavery voluntarily, and how many had been captured and forcibly separated from their families and loved ones.
"Grand Moff, sir," a man in a simple work jumpsuit approached him.
He wore a helmet, his face covered by a light mask to protect it from the sand.
"Captain Steben," Felix smiled at the corner of his lips. "Every time I look, you're being sent from one corner of the Dominion to another."
"It's the job," the counter-intelligence officer spread his hands. "Now I've been escorting this slave convoy."
"And what do you have to say?" the Grand Moff asked, noticing out of the corner of his eye that his five companions (he had grown used to ignoring the guards in their red-and-black armor) had stopped their argument and were listening to their conversation.
"About thirty of them need medical treatment as soon as possible—there are chronic illnesses," he said. "Other than that… cooks, herbalists, children… I have no idea who even needs slaves like these."
"At the very least—us," Ferrus declared. "And by default, such 'non-specialized' groups are bought for any menial work. Under normal circumstances, they'd end up in mines or quarries for industrialists greedy for credits."
"Not a happy life they have," Steben commented, gesturing at the planetary governor and several officials hurrying toward them. "Ah, local government has arrived."
"What kind of circus is this?" came Nivers's voice, who had also seen the representatives of the planetary government.
"The situation is getting more and more interesting," Moff Hauser summarized.
"Grand Moff," the planetary governor, barely catching his breath, greeted Felix as he ran up, trying to steady his breathing. "I thought the ceremony was scheduled for noon."
"A quarter of an hour doesn't matter," Felix said. "Besides, a dust storm is starting—we need to get the sentients off the parade ground quickly, but the speech must still take place, despite the uncomfortable conditions."
"This is for them, right?" the governor glanced sideways at the civilian authority for some new sectors standing a couple of meters behind Ferrus.
"Better to show once than explain a hundred times," the Grand Moff agreed, pulling a portable microphone from his pocket. "Well, it's not the first time…"
Tapping his finger on the voice amplifier, he looked at the Twi'leks, who, also noticing the presence of their kin, were beginning to realize that the promise given to them on the ship would apparently be kept.
"My name is Felix Ferrus, I am the Grand Moff of the Dominion, governing the core worlds," the organizer of this entire event introduced himself. "I welcome you to Beta II."
Simultaneously with his words, Defense Forces soldiers began to mingle with the crowd, performing their routine function.
The garrison on the planet was small, so one could be sure that each of these soldiers had performed such tricks hundreds of times before.
The Twi'leks, first with fear and then with distrust, watched as the slave collars were removed from them.
"You were all bought out of slavery using Dominion treasury funds," Ferrus continued, gesturing toward the officials standing beside him. "As was the local government, in fact. As is every Twi'lek living on Beta II. Your people's diaspora considered this planet — despite its lower gravity compared to Ryloth — more suitable for the Twi'lek diaspora. That's why you were brought here immediately after the screening procedures. From now on, and for as long as you remain on Dominion territory, you are Dominion residents, entitled to all the rights and responsibilities available to you. Which means — no slavery and no forced labor. If you want to eat — find work. There's plenty of it in the metropolis, and on the periphery as well. Even in this Twi'lek colony, there are more job openings in various fields than we can currently afford to fill." The Twi'lek governor standing nearby nodded in affirmation. "The migration service will issue identification documents for each of you and provide detailed information about what you can expect and how to go about it in your current circumstances. But don't expect an easy life. The Dominion provides no welfare benefits for residents — only for citizens. The methods for obtaining citizenship will also be explained to you. The simplest one is enlistment in the armed forces. First — service in the Defense Forces, then, if you prove yourself — in the regular fleet."
"Aliens in the military?" Nivers hissed. "What kind of heresy is this?!"
"The Dominion doesn't tolerate parasites either," Ferrus stated. "Money was paid for each of you — and you yourselves agreed to be bought out of slavery. However it may sound, each of you cost the budget one hundred credits. Every man, woman, elder, or child. Those funds were taken from the expenditure line allocated specifically for buying Twi'leks out of slavery. Whether you repay that money to the budget, thereby repaying your debt to the state and showing consciousness in the understanding that your relatives and acquaintances can also be bought out with these funds in the future — that's up to you. I'll only say this: you, along with ten other groups arriving on Beta II today, were bought out using funds from your own compatriots. Some were looking for a specific relative, friend, or loved one; others simply wanted fewer of their kin to remain enslaved by the Hutts or other traders."
"So why are you buying us out instead of offering relocation to those who are starving on Ryloth?" a shout came from the crowd.
"Governor, the floor is yours." Ferrus handed the microphone to the Twi'lek who ruled the planet.
Clearing his throat, the governor spoke:
"Work is being done in this direction," he stated. "The biggest problem is that Ryloth is an ally of the Alliance, and before that — of the New Republic. At the official level, they boycott participation in our resettlement policy. In fact, nearly three-quarters of those living in this colony are emigrants from Ryloth. But that won't solve the problem of our kin living in slavery..."
"Some liberation!" another voice rang out. "From one piece of rock to another!"
"Now it's your turn to answer, Grand Moff," the governor of Beta II said with a smile, returning the microphone.
"This world is nothing more than a Twi'lek enclave in the Dominion," Felix explained. "There are identical ones for Wookiees, Zabrak, Zeltron, Togruta..."
"A reservation, you mean?!" another former slave asked with displeasure and caution.
"A home away from home, where your own kin will help you adapt to the realities of the Dominion, dispel existing myths, and offer advice," Ferrus explained. "There are no restrictions on freedom of movement for Dominion residents, except for specially protected zones — those are military territories. If you want to move to another world — no one's stopping you."
"What about the oppression of other races by humans?" a young Twi'lek woman in the front row asked.
She looked about thirty, maybe a little older, and a couple of children were hiding behind her legs — obviously hers.
You didn't need to be a xenobiology expert to see that both of them, a boy and a girl, were malnourished.
It was harder to tell with the mother — she was wearing some kind of faded robe that had once been a dress, or something similar.
"There is no oppression," Ferrus answered calmly, pulling several nutrition bars from his pocket.
The governor, seeing this, looked at Felix warily.
Well, yes — having high-calorie bars from soldier's field rations in a Grand Moff's pocket didn't quite fit the image.
What had they expected?
With his work schedule, even getting a hot meal was only possible in flight, and not always at that.
But the bars...
Well, yes — not particularly tasty, but healthy and nutritious.
"In the Dominion, everyone is equal," he said, squatting down and offering the treats to the children. "If you don't commit crimes and don't disturb public order — no one will persecute you. And even in that case — criminal prosecution doesn't happen because of your race, gender, or anything else. Break the law — and you'll answer just like all other residents and citizens."
Contrary to his expectation, the children weren't tempted by the bars. They watched him with hunted, frightened eyes.
Awkward.
"Sorry, they're frightened," the woman said guiltily. "Our master — he was human, and not very kind..."
"You are your own masters now," Ferrus stated.
Unsure what to do with the bars, he handed them to the woman, hoping it wouldn't cause any resentment among the others.
"A dust storm is starting," he said, gesturing toward the building behind him. "Tables have been set up in the government building for everyone, and medical staff and other services will be working."
"What if our rights are violated?" another new voice from the crowd. "What if someone wants to drag us back into slavery? Space is vast — you can't catch every pirate and slaver!"
"And Imperial officials don't like aliens either!" someone from the earlier hecklers added.
"That's why counterintelligence is here," the Grand Moff explained, pointing at Captain Steben. "Any unlawful action against you based on race — that's their concern. And as for pirates..." He looked up at the sky, which was being covered by clouds. "They'll be very unhappy to run into our regular fleet specialists."
Glancing at the Moffs, he saw three pairs of approving looks and two wary ones.
He'd need to mention this to Thrawn.
Something was brewing.
Something was happening.
But who was going to tell the Grand Moff what the Supreme Commander had in mind?
* * *
When the communications officer's voice rang out on the bridge of the Relentless, announcing an incoming transmission from the Chimaera, Commodore Alexander Mor was ready for the upcoming conversation.
"Route it to the encryption department booth," he ordered, tearing himself away from the alluring, almost hypnotic spectacle unfolding beyond the viewports of his Star Destroyer.
And, it must be said, the spectacle was truly incredible.
It wasn't every day you found yourself on the threshold of a cataclysm, one step away from absolute death, looking it in the eye and feeling the breath it was blowing on you.
Alexander had never told anyone, and he did everything in his power to ensure none of his subordinates even suspected anything of the sort, but the sight of the Maw Cluster terrified him down to his bones.
Nearly the entire space within the Kessel sector (let alone the system of the same name) was filled with the gaseous Maw Nebula.
The Maw cluster of black holes (the person naming astronomical objects in these parts wasn't particularly blessed with vocabulary) tirelessly fed on all the matter it could reach, like bottomless gullets.
The accretion disks struck him with their terrifying and incomprehensibly destructive beauty.
Science had yet to reach the point of understanding the nature of black holes and discovering what lurked within that black, impenetrable gullet, like a cataract obscuring the light of distant stars.
Only the halos of the nebula's absorbed gases made it possible to visually determine where this eternally hungry pack of maws was located.
The most mysterious (or one of the most) phenomenon in the galaxy — the Maw cluster of black holes.
Beautiful.
Terrible.
Unknown.
A black hole in the Maw Cluster.
Nevertheless, such was his mission — to blockade the Kessel system and control the restoration work on the correctional facility, clearing debris and rebuilding what had been destroyed.
The Dominion had come here and had no intention of leaving.
The arrival of five heavy cruisers of the Avenger type and two Immobilizer 418s — the Tori Catcher and the Bastion — escorting a convoy of supplies and construction equipment, spoke for itself.
In addition to the three Victory IIIs already under his command, this made for a fairly formidable force.
Mor had spent a considerable amount of time mapping out the system patrol, distributing sectors of responsibility so that not a single soul could slip into or out of the system.
What was happening on Kessel had to remain a secret from anyone connected to this system.
Working with the new ships — the Victorys and the Avengers — was an absolute pleasure.
Fast, maneuverable, sufficiently armed and shielded, crewed by clones from the Dreadnoughts lost at Sluis Van, these ships were more suited than any others for operating far from the Dominion regular fleet's bases.
The latter currently possessed only five dozen Dreadnoughts, some of which were the remnants of the Katana Fleet 'luxury,' while others were former Imperial ships.
Captured by the Republic by some unknown means and repaired at the SoroSuub shipyards on Sullust, they had become an addition to the Dominion fleet, partially closing the gap that had opened after the loss of the bulk of the Katana Fleet ships.
Having undergone Imperial upgrades, these ships were slightly faster than the Dreadnoughts used by the regular fleet the previous year, had hangars for one squadron of fighters, but at the same time required a crew of five to seven thousand.
Not new ships, but sturdy and sufficiently capable of defense.
That's why they — the Dreadnoughts remaining with the Dominion — had been converted into stationary ships and distributed to key worlds of the state, where they were to stand watch.
In defense, speed wasn't the main thing — it was enough to simply have the necessary number of guns.
And strong shields.
The latter the Dreadnoughts possessed in quantities that some modern ships envied.
As far as Alexander knew, the Dominion currently had about fifty ships of this type left — their own and trophies.
And all of them had been transferred to the Self-Defense Forces.
Only a skeleton crew of old hands remained on them; the rest of the personnel had been replaced by conscripts who needed to gain experience in military science.
Doing this on outdated ships, covered by Corellian frigates and corvettes, was a better start than many career officers of the regular fleet had.
Most of them had to begin their careers serving on the backwaters of the galaxy, far from the capital.
Only years of hard work led to the high command deigning to transfer them to more modern starships.
The Defense Force Fleet had, in principle, turned into a sort of warehouse for the Dominion's non-liquid antiques.
Marauders, Consulars, Carracks (although the latter weren't that bad), Dreadnoughts...
All this, and much else besides, guarded the metropolis, while the regular fleet and its first-rate crews stood watch on the periphery or at the borders.
The Kessel system had become one such border.
Mor had time to think about all this before he reached the encryption compartment on autopilot.
Without further ado, they gave him a private booth — since the signal was going through hundreds of relays, the latest encryption system was being used, encoding all communications between Dominion ships and stations.
A hologram of Grand Admiral Thrawn appeared before him, periodically flickering with interference.
No matter how many relay satellites he had deployed throughout the system, a stable signal was still impossible.
"Sir," Commodore Mor nodded formally to the Supreme Commander, folding his hands on the table as if he were back in school.
In truth, he was just tired of all this.
Three days on his feet — and only staring into the abyss of the black hole helped him stay at peak performance.
But now, weariness was inconveniently taking its toll.
"Commodore," Thrawn greeted him with the same gesture. "How is the mission I entrusted to you progressing?"
"We're making headway, sir," Alexander assured him. "The system is fully blockaded. The newly arrived interdictor cruisers have sealed off all known escape routes. Patrols on corvettes and small craft are sweeping every sector of the system repeatedly, but there's no trace of the ship Corran Horn and his family could have escaped on."
"An escape pod?" the Grand Admiral inquired.
"Not the slightest indication that one even exists," Alexander shook his head. "We've identified every piece of debris — none of it could belong to the Chimaera."
"The beacon in the pod isn't transmitting any signals either?"
"No, sir," the Commodore replied. "We reconstructed the pod's entire route up to the signal loss, then plotted trajectories and began searching. No traces. I suspect Booster Terrik and his daughter eventually found the tracking device and destroyed it."
"Possibly," Thrawn stated. "But it's doubtful. Are the searches on the Garrison Moon and Kessel still ongoing?"
"Ground teams are working around the clock," Alexander confirmed. "No trace of Horn's ship, escape pod, or fighter. As if he vanished."
"Material objects don't simply disappear, Commodore," Thrawn reminded him.
"I know, sir," Alexander confirmed. "We're working on two key theories. First — that Horn used a cloaking field and is still in the system, waiting for us to tire of searching. Second — that his ship was destroyed, but he and his family managed to survive. And we still haven't found the wreckage."
"Which is unlikely, given the reconnaissance sweeps of Kessel and the Garrison Moon," Thrawn narrowed his eyes.
"That's impossible, sir," Mor confirmed. "Unless Horn used a fighter to tow an escape pod to Kessel or the Moon and is now hiding in the tunnels, with the ships concealed from detection. Currently, search parties of stormtroopers and droids are combing the surfaces of both planetoids and the tunnels on the Moon. If they're there, we'll find them."
"I hope so," Thrawn said. "How productive is the restoration of Kessel?"
Now this was a much more substantive conversation.
"The administrative buildings of the Correctional Facility have been restored, and work is underway to reestablish and improve the defensive line," Alexander said. "Given the circumstances — namely the destruction of one of the atmosphere generators — I'd like to discuss with you, sir, the feasibility of using this equipment on Kessel in principle."
"Elaborate," the Grand Admiral said, showing interest.
"The atmosphere generators on Kessel are needed not so much to produce a breathable environment for sentients, but rather for ore processing and separating spice from rock," Mor explained, having spent many sleepless nights to understand this issue. "The low gravity on Kessel means the atmosphere isn't retained and escapes into vacuum. In fact, given that everyone on the planetoid moves around with oxygen masks, breathing on the planet without special equipment is barely possible and carries serious health risks. Not to mention that this kind of production leads to increased wear on equipment that, on the open market, could cost as much as one or two brand-new Imperial Star Destroyers."
"Your suggestions?" Thrawn asked.
"At the moment, the Langhesi who were sent here are studying the physiology of the two captured energy spiders," Alexander reported. "Primarily, we're interested in their behavior and life functions in an environment where the atmosphere becomes breathable for humans without masks."
"It was assumed that droids would handle the spice mining on Kessel directly, and the sentient factor would be completely eliminated," Thrawn reminded his interlocutor.
"I remember that, sir, but simply converting the entire industry to droids is practically impossible," Alexander objected. "The spice mined here — glitzerstim — is very sensitive to light waves and particles. That's why it's mined in darkness. Furthermore, the substance is quite fragile, and droids would damage a significant amount of it, mixing it with rock during extraction."
"Are you saying we won't be able to do without sentient labor on Kessel?" It was hard to read emotion on Thrawn's face, but Alexander was certain the Grand Admiral was displeased with the statement in principle.
"I've studied the issue, and I have to say that sentients and spice mining is a very dangerous combination," Alexander explained. "A considerable number of miners became addicts, participants in smuggling operations, and other schemes. So yes, droids are undoubtedly needed. But not standard miners — much more expensive models. Even they, however, would be damaged when encountering energy spiders. And they would need repairs. Furthermore, operators and supervisors would need to descend into the mines for inspection. This solution — using expensive droids, possibly even androids — needs to be calculated by economists. I'm not strong in that area, but based on preliminary estimates, the cost of extraction would increase by an order of magnitude, or more."
"Which would, accordingly, reduce the profit from spice sales," Thrawn stroked his chin.
"And increase the number of people wanting to take Kessel from us," Alexander added. "Unfortunately, science hasn't yet invented a hyperdrive large enough to move this planetoid into the metropolis, where it would be under the constant protection of the regular fleet and deep within our territories."
"Hmm..." Thrawn said, as if considering some initiative. "Let's return to discussing the fate of the atmosphere generators."
"Yes, right," Mor caught himself. "My proposal is to build a dome over the Correctional Center, which would become a base location for personnel controlling and servicing the mining workforce in the shafts. A few generators would be enough to continuously supply the closed system with an air mixture, without forcing outdated equipment to work to failure."
"And it would also allow creating an atmosphere under the 'dome,' eliminating the need for constant mask-wearing," the Grand Admiral grasped the essence of the proposal.
"Furthermore, perhaps not immediately, but it would give us the opportunity to pump breathing mixture into the shafts, so there would be no need to work in masks or look for 'pockets' of breathable air inside," Alexander continued. "But the latter — only after coordinating the work with biologists. If the spiders reduce production or change their behavior due to the increased oxygen and other gas levels in the atmosphere, it will also affect product output."
"Your proposal means some of the atmosphere generators would simply be unnecessary," Thrawn noted.
"They're the same type of installations, and I'd suggest selecting those that can be brought, through cannibalization and repair, to a state where they'll function for a sufficiently long time," Alexander shared his idea. "According to the technicians' calculations, from the available installations we can assemble four fully functional atmosphere generators. Two would be sufficient for the colony on Kessel to operate. One working, the other a backup generator."
"Where do you propose sending the other two?" the Grand Admiral inquired.
"To the Garrison Moon, sir," Mor explained. "At present, this abandoned Imperial facility was significantly damaged during the campaign against the rebels. We can restore it, but, as with the settlement on Kessel, I'd propose creating a closed life-support cycle there and expanding the base from a garrison of one legion of soldiers to a full fleet base, given the strategic importance of the overall system. The asteroid's structure and numerous natural tunnels and caves would allow us to do this much faster than by laying them with construction equipment. Just like on Kessel, the atmosphere generators would run on ore processing, and it would be loaded by droids right there to eliminate smuggling on Kessel itself. This way, we separate the flows of raw ore — its processing would be carried out directly at both facilities, but shipping would only be from the Garrison Moon. Any attempts at smuggling or illegal product export would be stopped right there."
"This plan needs to be thoroughly thought through, Commodore," Thrawn stated. "But your proposal to create a fleet base is sound and timely, given the circumstances. Send me your ideas and be prepared to repel an attack on your fleet in the near future."
"My men are ready, sir," Alexander reported with no small hint of pride. "The approaches to the system are under secure control. As soon as the enemy appears here, we'll meet them with everything we have."
"Commendable," Thrawn said. "Several thousand TIE droids are being placed under your command. They'll be delivered on the next supply convoy. You'll have a real opportunity to test your tactical theories about pilot-and-droid pairings in combat conditions. Use the escort forces for defense as well."
"It will be done, sir," Alexander saluted, trying not to show his excitement.
Well, finally — he'd be given a chance to try out new fighter combat tactics.
"And one last thing, Commodore," the Grand Admiral brought him back from his daydreams. "Pay close attention to the black holes of the Maw Cluster. Every possible area near the black holes must be inspected and assessed."
"For what purpose, sir?" Alexander tensed.
"Consider the probability that Corran Horn and his family are not hiding from you and your people," Thrawn advised. "It is possible that they ended up inside a black hole."
"In that case, gravity and tidal forces would have destroyed them," Alexander stated confidently.
"As always happens in such situations," the Grand Admiral agreed with his subordinate's reasoning. "But, you see, Commodore, there is a nuance..."
* * *
In the distant past, even before Torin himself was born, and even before his far-off ancestors appeared in the plans of his even more distant ancestors, this planet, located in the Colonies Region near the Perlemian Trade Route, had the prefix "Ord."
Defensive-observation outpost.
That is what the planets of the Old Republic were called at the dawn of its formation — strongholds of the young state for further expansion from the center toward the galaxy's arms.
Millennia passed, and for most such outposts, the prefix "ORD" became part of the name.
Others, like Carida, lost that prefix.
But this did not diminish the planet's importance for the galactic hegemon throughout all ages.
The Planet Carida.
Any self-respecting Imperial who had undergone training on Carida would recognize the planet's image the moment it came into his ship's viewport.
Agent Bravo-One felt a mild pang of nostalgia when the Lambda-class shuttle dropped out of hyperspace in the planet's orbit.
And everything else faded into the background.
A dangerous mission.
Defensive stations bristling with weapons.
Patrol ships and squadrons.
Thoughts raced through his mind about how much Carida had covered itself in glory in the past.
It was here that troops like "rocket troopers" first distinguished themselves — the predecessors of the soldiers who now fight with jetpacks on their backs.
That was more than ten thousand years ago, during the Pius Dea era.
Since then, Carida has been the site of dozens of battles — and every time, victory thundered here.
During the Clone Wars, the Separatists tried to blow up a Venator-class Star Destroyer filled with rhydonium to destroy the entire military high command of the Old Republic.
But they failed.
Of course, few people knew that at the very beginning of the Clone Wars, the Separatists did manage to give the Grand Army of the Republic a thorough thrashing here.
But those who knew history well preferred to remain silent — because this shameful episode in Carida's chronology occurred during Republican rule.
Now Carida, even situated far from other Imperial Remnants, even without a significant fleet, remained the same thorn in the side of the New Republic that they could neither spit out nor swallow.
Perhaps it was precisely Carida's glorious traditions and its impregnability, its unyielding nature, that led Grand Moff Tarkin to order the construction of the very best military institutions of the Empire here, perfectly complementing all the existing Old Republic military training centers on the planet.
Carida could boast a diverse landscape and climate zones.
There were tropics, a temperate zone, impassable cliffs, icy plains, deserts, and jungles full of carnivorous plants.
Under increased gravity, Carida made it possible to train absolutely any contingent of fighters — nature itself had created the necessary training grounds, and the gravity allowed testing soldiers' endurance, forging them into true death machines.
In addition, here on Carida, advanced military technologies were developed in various fields.
And most of them were so secret that the majority of the high command of the Galactic Empire had never even heard of them, despite their clearance levels.
But the general public knows Carida for a completely different reason.
It is here that the stormtrooper training program was implemented and continues to be developed, improved, and instilled in recruits.
The government of Carida did not officially join the semblance of the Empire that the Remnants are currently creating, but it happily provides them with its services for training stormtroopers.
On the planet's surface are millions of recruits and trained troops who will be loaded onto ships and transported to any point in the galaxy as soon as the forces of Imperial Space finally begin their "outward" offensive, instead of stubbornly and stupidly limiting themselves only to the worlds along the Perlemian Trade Route.
True, this won't happen soon — near Lantillis, the Empire was thoroughly beaten by the Systems Alliance troops.
It could have been called a rout, were it not for the fact that before their defeat, the Imperials practically annihilated one of the divisions of the New Republic's Second Fleet.
Having exchanged identification signals with the station "Valor" (the very one the Separatists had intended to ram with a rhydonium-packed Star Destroyer), the Lambda easily slipped inside the protected orbital perimeter.
The Station "Valor."
Casting a glance at the only remaining of Carida's two moons, Inek let out a furtive sigh.
Eighteen years ago, an overgrown idiot from a diplomatic family decided to "joke" and destroy Carida's emblem, which was etched on the surface of the Talisman Moon, using antimatter.
Only the fool underestimated the power of the reaction.
And just one gram of antimatter caused the Talisman Moon to cease to exist.
Along with the emblem.
And the little bastard, given the influential position of his father, was merely expelled from the Academy despite the fact that he wasn't much of a student anyway.
A clear example of how even the most serious problems were solved behind the scenes in the Galactic Empire.
Disgusting.
Torin grimaced — luckily, his men, clad in stormtrooper armor, didn't notice how their "lieutenant" turned away disdainfully from the main viewport, where the colorful patches of Carida's surface were already blooming.
The Dominion agent walked into the cabin, casting a glance at the young boy sitting in the seat, strapped in by the restraint harness.
"We're descending," he announced, seeing the frightened expression on Kyp Durron's face. "If you'd like, you can look out the side viewport at the Carida Military Academy."
"Y-yes, thank you," the boy said, stumbling slightly, running what were clearly sweaty hands over the fabric of his cadet trousers.
He obediently turned his head, and was able to enjoy the view of the monumental building on the landing pad of which the Lambda was touching down.
The Imperial Military Academy on Carida.
Neatly trimmed and maintained lawns, plants, paved paths.
Monumental building complexes sunk into the cliffs, carrying the predatory militaristic architectural style of the Empire.
Numerous figures in white armor and officer uniforms moving around the adjacent territory.
All of this — exactly what Carida was like in the days when the Galactic Empire flourished.
With the single exception that it rotted from the inside much faster than its predecessor, the Old Republic.
No wonder the New Republic had been circling this haven of military skill and invention from the very first moment of its existence.
According to intelligence data, Mon Mothma was considering the possibility of recruiting or otherwise restraining Carida as part of her long-term plans to weaken the Empire's military infrastructure.
To annex it in order to eliminate the problem of containment.
Because conquering Carida is unrealistic.
Just like Brintooin, where the famous "Imperial Hammers" had settled and turned an entire system into a branch of Carida.
At least — without colossal losses.
As a result, the New Republic succeeded in neither.
The feeble blockade the Republicans imposed on the system couldn't even prevent the Imperial Remnants from arriving here to "acquire" stormtroopers and military property.
And now, when Imperial Space is tens of parsecs from Carida's borders and pounding the New Republic's squadrons with all barrels, everything is clear anyway.
Carida, even if only formally belonging to the Empire, and even from time to time submitting to the Imperial Ruling Council, is not broken.
They boycotted Grand Admiral Thrawn's calls to join his armed forces, which could have solved the shortage of assault units overnight.
They pursue an independent policy and only "render services" to other Imperial Remnants.
Yes, Carida is just one planet — but it is more than a backwater Imperial world.
Carida is a symbol of power.
Whoever subjugates it will gain the respect of the other Imperial Remnants and will undoubtedly become the leader in uniting the scattered pieces of former greatness.
Torin walked down the ramp, squinting slightly from the light of the local star hitting his eyes.
"Welcome to Carida, Lieutenant Mac," greeted the officer on duty at the landing pad, addressing him by his alias. "How may we be of service to you and Moff Gronn, whose representative you claim to be?"
"Whose representative I am," Agent Inek corrected his interlocutor with the requisite hint of arrogance. "As always — the Empire needs Carida's help."
"What kind of help?" inquired the duty officer.
Who, apparently, also served as a referent for higher-ranking officials.
Well yes, Carida is not a place where you'll be greeted with gifts by sycophant diplomats.
There are certain criteria that the planet's leadership and the Academy use to determine their attitude toward guests.
Either you interest them immediately, or you are kicked out all the way to the system's borders.
"Cadet!" Torin barked, addressing Kyp Durron, who was trailing behind him under guard of four soldiers from the cover squad. "The case here! Quickly! Move!"
"Yes, yes, sir, Lieutenant," Durron didn't even need to pretend to be annoyed at such treatment.
He dragged the heavy case with all his might up the ramp, filled with something that the local government would clearly find interesting.
Inek noticed a momentary expression of utter contempt on the duty officer's face.
Oh yes, exactly that.
Despise us, such non-regimented, undisciplined types.
This only helps the "legend."
"A couple of weeks on Tarkin's Teeth and this cadet will learn to answer a superior officer in proper form," the duty officer said when his and Inek's eyes met.
"This weakling will die after the first fifty kilometers of a cross-country march," Torin scoffed, showing he was on the same wavelength as the duty officer. "And that's without the full gear required by the minimum training program."
Contempt for the weak, complete narrow-mindedness, and dark humor understood only by those who have been on Carida's training grounds.
"I see you trained here?" the duty officer smiled, clearly warming up to Torin.
"That's exactly why I pushed Moff Gronn to let me fly to you," Inek said. "These are troubled times. Every Imperial true to his duty must do everything to arm himself and be ready to fight the rebels. Moff Gronn," Torin shoved Kyp aside as he finally dragged the armored case over, "sends his best wishes to the magnificent masters of military science on Carida," a double click and the case's top opened, its contents glinting, reflecting light onto the duty officer's face. "And also expresses hope that Carida will help him restore his armed forces."
"And how much is here?" the duty officer looked skeptically at the auridium ingots.
His entire demeanor made it clear he had seen valuables in larger volumes.
"Three million," explained "Lieutenant Mac." "In the most valuable antiquities that were considered lost decades ago. A small token of attention for the ruler of Carida, Ambassador Furgan."
The duty officer's expression changed.
Three million is not just a token of attention.
It's a huge sum, enough to buy a used military corvette for personal disposal.
And it's a two-year income for the Ambassador himself in his post as head of Carida.
Not to mention that this is a hint that the "representatives of Moff Gronn" intend to spend many times more valuables on Carida's help.
"Impressive," said the duty officer, signaling to his accompanying stormtroopers that they could take the offering. "But the question remains. What specific help do you want from us?"
"Stormtroopers," explained "Lieutenant Mac." "We need a lot of stormtroopers. Ten, maybe more divisions. And no one in this galaxy can produce better training than Carida."
The duty officer's jaw literally dropped.
Every Imperial Remnant knows that Carida is not generous when it comes to pricing its services.
And a dozen divisions of stormtroopers... That's a huge sum.
"This will cost you a great deal," warned the Caridan.
"Moff Gronn has given me a large number of cases with valuable contents," Torin gave a sparse smile, understanding that the operation had begun.
And naive Kyp Durron doesn't even suspect that the task set before the Dominion's operatives is not limited to just finding and evacuating his brother.