Ten years, one month, and thirty-one days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, first month, and thirty-first day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and sixteen days since the Arrival.)
Torin Inek sat in the audience chamber, pretending he was absolutely not interested in the fact that the backlight on the wall chronometer indicated a hopeless delay.
The Caridan ambassador was late.
Already by two hours.
But Furgan didn't seem the least bit bothered.
Just as he wasn't bothered by the fact that the audience scheduled for the day of his arrival had been missed for the third time.
Because that filthy animal simply kept refusing to show up.
And at the moment, the term "animal" fully suited the ambassador's person in both the literal and figurative sense.
First — figuratively, because this sentient simply could not maintain proper etiquette.
Which, for diplomats, was absolutely mandatory, after all.
Back in the Empire's day, there was a joke that diplomats aren't born, they aren't made — such slippery, two-faced, disgusting types are bred in special genetic laboratories.
Just to spite whoever they'd have to deal with.
"Lieutenant Mac" cast a glance toward the window, beyond which night now reigned unchallenged.
At such a late hour, the most sensible people were already peacefully asleep in their quarters.
Only through the slightly open shutters could one hear the measured, perfectly timed heavy footsteps.
"'At any time of day or night, / And in any weather, / There's always that sergeant, / Who on the parade ground drills the stormtrooper's ass...'"
Who invented this vulgar little rhyme and under what circumstances — that's ancient history now.
But judging by the imprecise rhyme, it had clearly been composed in some dialect far from Basic and later translated into the language understood by practically all sentients.
In any case, literary imprecision didn't diminish the fact that the quatrain's content absolutely accurately reflected the daily life of the Stormtrooper Corps.
"At any time of day or night..."
And so it was now. Clad in snow-white armor, the neat blocks of troopers — whose brains contained nothing but the desire to obey orders and fulfill their duty to the last — never stopped their training.
And not only on the parade ground visible from this window.
On every flat surface where marching was possible, stormtroopers were drilling.
This would continue until the "nexu watch" a few hours before dawn, when sleep is deepest.
At that time, the stormtroopers would be taken to the firing ranges, and until sunrise, the exhausted soldiers would devote themselves to the valiant task of destroying targets with blaster rifles.
Then — a break for breakfast and tactical training sessions.
This course was not designed for the weak.
It was a trial that allowed the identifying of the most resilient, the most effective troopers from the general mass — those capable of continuing combat operations under conditions of sleep deprivation, fatigue, and total emotional exhaustion.
Several months of such training — and the most combat-capable stormtroopers would be separated from the main mass to be transferred to special units — commandos, special forces, specific Stormtrooper Corps specializations...
Once upon a time, he himself had gone through it.
Well — not quite.
During the time he'd watched this exhaustion of recruits, over a day and a half, the instructors hadn't executed a single trooper.
Back when he was undergoing training, the first one to break under the trials was shot by the instructor in front of the formation.
And subsequent stormtrooper units marched straight over the bodies of the fallen, from whom the armor had been stripped during the time it took one company block to arrive at the new training location.
There were no fewer than fifty corpses at any of the exercise sites.
Such cruelty, on the other hand, allowed the immediate weeding out of whiners and weaklings — they were either killed by the instructors or died during training exercises, unable to withstand the strain.
Only those capable of transforming into living weapons remained in the Stormtrooper Corps.
Finally, with a pompous announcement from the duty officer and the trumpet blare of fanfares, the doors to the conference room swung open.
Torin turned to the duty officer, who had been listing Furgan's regalia for two minutes, not stopping at the fact that he was merely an imperial ambassador who had managed to seize power on a strategically important planet.
The agent's chronometer helpfully reminded him that the ambassador had deigned to appear three hours later than the time he himself had set.
Good thing he'd bothered to come at all.
And this after such a huge bribe?!
Oh, something extremely interesting was happening on Carida.
Furgan turned out to be a humanoid with a barrel-shaped torso equipped with spindle-like limbs that served as arms and legs.
Eyes on his square face bulged upward and outward, exactly like bird's wings. Despite the Emperor's well-known prejudice against humanoids, the Caridans had somehow managed to ingratiate themselves deeply into his trust, since Palpatine had placed his largest military training complex not just anywhere, but precisely on Carida.
"'Dealing with Caridans means always being on your guard. You'll undoubtedly get what you paid for. But it's advisable to check the purchase, because they will definitely mess with you in some small way.'"
That was a well-known and widespread opinion among the galaxy's inhabitants about the natives of Carida.
From what Torin knew and had managed to learn about these sentients, there was another, no less important postulate.
Caridan society was built around a commercial culture led by an active market.
They were widely known for their skills in appraisal and exchange. As well as deceit and fraud — if it was profitable for them.
To make a Caridan work honestly during a deal, according to the terms of the agreement, you had to interest them sufficiently not to try to profit from a single transaction.
Ambassador Furgan.
"Lieutenant Mac," Furgan began. "You wanted to discuss some details with me? Please be brief, I have many things to do." He collapsed into a chair, crossing his little arms over his barrel-shaped torso, which in the international language of body gestures unambiguously indicated hostility.
"He has more human features than ordinary Caridans," Torin noted. "Genetic intervention or plastic surgery?"
"Quite right, Ambassador," the agent addressed the Caridan in a calm tone, demonstrating his confidence in the proceedings and the steadfastness of his position. "As you may already know, I have arrived to purchase stormtroopers on your planet."
Furgan paid no attention to his words, yawning wearily.
He undoubtedly knew that no matter how the negotiations ended, he personally was already the winner — he certainly wouldn't be returning the bribe.
"Well, excellent, Lieutenant, where shall we begin?"
"To start with," Torin emphasized the last word, "we need ten divisions of stormtroopers."
"Ten legions," Furgan said in a bored tone. "Do you people in your Tion Hegemony still use the outdated classification of military units? The times when 'legion' and 'brigade' were synonymous are long in the past."
Oh, sure, go ahead and teach a soldier how to fight, you lazy ass...
"I'm from the Allied Tion sector, Ambassador," he corrected, not giving vent to his irritation. "The Tion Hegemony is our extremely unreliable neighbor with a pro-Republic stance. Which, as you understand, doesn't suit us at all. Just like the fact that the New Republic enclave called the 'Alliance' has absorbed Lianna along with the production lines of the Sienar Corporation."
"Santhe," the ambassador corrected his interlocutor. "The Santhes have been running things there for many years."
"And this fact saddens us no less," declared "Lieutenant Mac." "I would even say — more, considering that an agreement for collective defense in exchange for TIE series products was concluded between Moff Gronn and Lianna."
"I've heard something like that before," Furgan said with a bored air, but his eyes betrayed an intense interest in drawing out the envoy. "Just like how you didn't come to Lianna's aid when the New Republic fleet showed up there."
"We've heard those vile slanderous rumors too," Torin said, carefully demonstrating barely restrained irritation. "But the fact is, we sent the core of our forces — ten Star Destroyers — to attack the New Republic. And our ships fell into a trap, running into yet another rebel fleet. We lost our best forces and now have to rebuild them quickly to prevent an attack on us."
"It seems you still have some Destroyers left," Furgan said dreamily, squinting as if trying to get a better look at the lieutenant.
"Yes, we have a few more ships," Mac agreed.
"Whereas Carida has nothing larger than a Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser," he said meaningfully. "The Vendetta, if you've heard of it..."
Torin knew everything about that ship that could be found in the Ubiqtorate archives.
"I've heard only the best things about it," he said diplomatically, displaying feigned ignorance masked as diplomatic neutrality.
"Well, naturally," Furgan chuckled, interlacing his fingers. "So, ten legions... We have such forces, of course. There are almost six million people on the planet — all of them trained or in the process of being trained soldiers and specialized personnel of the Stormtrooper Corps and the armed forces of the Galactic Empire."
Now this was extremely interesting information.
Because officially, the population of Carida was twenty-five million sentients.
The percentage ratio of people kept here exclusively as military force versus the local population was classified data.
Such figures weren't even in the Ubiqtorate databases.
This was likely done to conceal the true number of fighters being prepared on the planet.
Still, Torin doubted the ambassador was telling him the truth.
In rough numbers, one stormtrooper legion was just under ten thousand soldiers and officers. Nine thousand eight hundred thirteen men, to be precise. And that was exclusively stormtrooper forces and their officers — armored divisions and support forces were never included in the Stormtrooper Corps' staffing or numbers.
Except for the 501st Legion, which was and remained an exception — but there, the army personnel from the Blizzard and Rancor units had such merits and such coordination with the fighters of Thrawn's Fist that no one would dare separate them.
In other words, "Lieutenant Mac," on behalf of Moff Gronn, intended to obtain just under a hundred thousand trained stormtroopers.
Given the quality of training on Carida — that was a tsunami that could easily crush any resistance in any corner of the galaxy.
With a few exceptions.
"In that case, the loyal sons of the Empire can help each other, can't they?" "Lieutenant Mac" clarified.
"Perhaps," Furgan replied evasively. "If you have something to pay me with, of course."
"Of course," Torin smiled contentedly. "I assume the duty officer who met me on the landing pad passed along the modest gift that Moff Gronn placed at your disposal?"
A smile played on Furgan's lips.
"Excellent gifts," he declared. "But if you brought the same amount with you, it won't cover even one legion."
Torin did everything to keep the full spectrum of emotions he was currently feeling from showing on his face.
"And how much do you want from Moff Gronn for ten legions of stormtroopers?" the intelligence agent inquired.
"Ten million per legion."
Total — one hundred million.
A little over one million per thousand soldiers.
"Quite expensive," Torin noted.
"Well, Carida provides its clients with the best product in a stormtrooper shell," the ambassador smiled lecherously. "Where else in the galaxy can you obtain such an excellent military force, trained to fight according to the best Imperial canons of military science?"
"I think there are still old stormtroopers left in the Imperial Remnants," Torin said meaningfully.
"There are," the ambassador agreed. "Roughly one, maybe five percent of the total number. Currently, most stormtroopers in any Remnant are conscripts that they're trying to mold into something resembling real soldiers. Hence the failures on the fronts — the newly-minted stormtroopers can't accomplish the tasks that Imperial soldiers of the old school would flawlessly execute without batting an eye."
True enough.
But the price...
It was enormous.
Torin had never bothered to learn how much it cost to train and equip one stormtrooper.
But he knew that sum was far less than what the Galactic Republic spent on acquiring a single clone soldier on Kamino.
But a thousand credits for one fighter!?
"I hope this cost includes the stormtroopers' weapons and equipment?" "Lieutenant Mac" clarified.
"For an additional four thousand credits, you can get that too," Ambassador Furgan smiled mockingly.
It got even "more fun."
Four thousand for weapons and equipment, plus a thousand for the fighter — total five thousand credits.
Multiply by nine thousand eight hundred thirteen men (counting not just soldiers but officers), and you get forty-four million five hundred sixty-five thousand credits per legion.
It wasn't hard to calculate what was needed for ten.
"So, for ten fully equipped and armed legions, you want almost four hundred and forty-six million credits," Torin felt his voice waver. "That's... expensive. Moff Gronn was working on the assumption that one legion would cost us one to two million fully equipped — with weapons and gear."
That was exactly the rumor circulating in the Imperial Remnants and documented in the Ubiqtorate databases as the price Carida demanded to part with one legion of stormtroopers.
After Endor, when the Empire shattered, Carida answered to Coruscant for a while — until it was lost to the Empire.
The New Republic's galaxy-wide campaign, which crushed or pushed the Empire to the fringes a year before Grand Admiral Thrawn's counteroffensive began last year, allowed the Caridans to turn their debt to the Empire into a profitable business.
Stormtroopers were needed by all Imperials, so the Caridans, knowing that no Remnant had enough strength to conquer Carida, switched exclusively to market agreements.
As long as the warlords had the means to acquire stormtroopers and Orinda couldn't directly influence Carida, people like Ambassador Furgan had their pockets stuffed full.
"Do you take us for fools here?" Furgan chuckled. "Stormtrooper armor and weapons, standard issue, cost Carida a pretty penny in today's reality. The price I named is essentially the cost price."
"Armor costs two thousand credits. An E-11 blaster rifle — a thousand. An SE-14r blaster pistol — five hundred. Two baradium thermal detonators — another five hundred credits. Total — four thousand credits. Not five."
"I take it the stormtrooper legions are equipped to Imperial standards?" Torin ventured.
"You mean, do they have heavy weapons, repeaters, launchers, and so on?" the Caridan clarified.
"That's exactly what's considered standard legion equipment," the Dominion agent said.
"Was considered," Furgan corrected. "For an additional fee, you can purchase all the heavy weapons you need from us..."
"That would be excessively expensive," Inek noted.
"Then don't buy them," the Caridan shrugged. "In any case, the offer is valid only for a short time. Carida has five and a half million stormtroopers at its disposal. As soon as the Imperial Space ships break through to our system, they will requisition whoever they deem necessary for the further campaign. And for the next six months — provided we are given the necessary number of cadets, of course — the opportunity to acquire glorious stormtroopers will be exhausted."
And he spoke that last phrase with obvious, though well-concealed, disgust.
It didn't take Torin long to understand what was happening in the office.
Furgan was a merchant.
He intended to sell the goods that officials from Orinda intended to take from him for free.
Now everything fell into place.
Furgan and the Caridans had prospered by selling stormtroopers to the Empire.
As long as Orinda couldn't come here and restore order by force, Furgan could set whatever terms he wanted.
The Imperial Ruling Council would never risk sending a fleet strong enough to conquer the Carida system, because there was a high risk of what happened at Brentaal IV — the New Republic destroyed a huge number of Imperial Space warships.
To break through to Carida and restore order, Orinda needed to conquer all the worlds and hyperspace routes that lay between them.
And they had only done that now, when Thrawn last year had practically reduced two of the four fleets the New Republic possessed to atoms.
And now Furgan, just like his minions, understood a simple truth: the Imperial Ruling Council wouldn't bother with negotiations and spending money on acquiring stormtroopers.
They would simply take them.
Because in the event of an assault, no defensive fortifications could save Carida now.
Even if Orinda lost one squadron in orbit, they would send another — fortunately, they already had the logistics routes.
The question was something else...
"You have almost six million stormtroopers and instructors," Torin stated, weighing the ambassador's words. "Surely in all the years of war with the rebels since the Battle of Endor, the Remnants haven't bought them all?"
"Why, they did," Furgan said, his mood souring. "They bought. Or traded for recruits — one legion of trained stormtroopers for three legions of conscripts. But year after year, the quality of recruits got worse, while the quality of our soldiers didn't decline. So we moved away from that kind of relationship and just sold the fighters. But we held firm on our demands, even when we did small favors for Orinda, sending them several regiments a year."
Now it was even clearer.
That was why there were so many stormtroopers on the planet that the likes of Zsinj, the Teradocs, or any of the other non-aligned warlords hadn't acquired.
They hadn't spent money — they had taken stormtroopers from Carida and given them recruits.
Furgan had agreed to that scheme hoping the conflict would continue and stormtroopers would keep being bought up by the Remnants.
But things turned out differently.
Zsinj was defeated.
Some of the warlords dissolved into the Outer Rim or remote sectors.
The strongest had gone to Palpatine in the Deep Core.
The Pentastar Alignment pursued its own independent policy and made up the shortfall in stormtroopers with its own armed forces.
The Ciutric Hegemony had also relied on recruits.
Other Remnants weren't particularly involved in conflicts and were conserving their strength.
And Carida was left alone with Orinda.
When Grand Admiral Thrawn, acting with Carida's permission and approval, demanded stormtrooper forces from the Military Academy, Furgan simply refused.
And Orinda couldn't do anything about it — such a situation could never be resolved with words alone.
But now the Caridans risked losing their "feeding trough."
They had spent enormous sums training these soldiers from useless recruits, and in the end, Orinda would simply take them.
Or wipe the Caridans off the face of the planet and take what remained.
Unlikely, given the technology of drilling and subordination, that the stormtroopers on Carida, upon learning they were in the hands of Orinda's opponents, wouldn't turn against the Caridans.
The Imperial Ruling Council would only need to declare Furgan and his gang enemies of the Empire — and the stormtroopers on the planet would commit genocide, presenting the planet and all its resources on a silver platter.
Furgan wanted to take the last big score and was desperately trying to make money.
Perhaps to buy a fleet or hire mercenaries to force Orinda into a compromise on the requisition issue.
And this short conversation had given Torin far more information than he had expected.
"Well," he said. "Your demands are clear, Ambassador. The problem is that Moff provided me with a far more modest sum of money than what you've stated..."
"In that case," Furgan said, his mood souring and irritation rising simultaneously, "the negotiations are over. Good day, Lieutenant."
The Ambassador rose from behind his desk, nearly shifting it with his imposing belly.
"One moment, Ambassador," Torin drew his attention. "I think I can speak with the Moff and discuss allocating additional funds. Perhaps our contribution to Carida's cause will be what you want. Name the number of stormtroopers you can sell us. I mean the maximum possible."
Furgan, after thinking for a second, bared his teeth in a grin, anticipating the continuation of the deal on his terms.
* * *
Is there anything more boring in life than carrying out an order whose meaning you don't understand, and command isn't in a hurry to clarify?
Especially when you're aboard an assault carrier Star Destroyer in the middle of open space near the borders of sectors that are conditionally considered enemy territory.
And any inconvenient encounter with the enemy would mean the complete failure of an entire deep reconnaissance mission.
The Colicoid Swarm was practically right under the enemy's nose, hiding from Zygerrian ships in the Chorlian sector.
What intelligence had only suspected was far worse than it might have seemed from the outside.
The Zygerrian slaving empire hadn't just raised its head — it was reviving completely and utterly.
Step by step, system by system, the Zygerrian ships kept capturing more and more new territories.
Currently, Chorlian was effectively under their direct control, but knowing this people as he did, Captain Irv assumed they wouldn't stop there.
The targets in nearby sectors were too tempting.
But the task of the Colicoid Swarm wasn't to oppose the slavers.
At least not now.
At the moment, they had to do what Grand Admiral's orders prescribed.
Be in the Chorlian sector.
Launch reconnaissance drones.
Collect information on the systems in the sector and the disposition of the enemy fleet, and especially — the slave camps.
And all this — instead of scouring the galaxy for abandoned Separatist factories!
Thrawn clearly suspected they were playing a double game, so he kept them where they couldn't just up and leave, leaving only memories behind.
Irv had already pondered secretly buying a small, battered civilian ship so he could send Irv to check out a few likely targets, but he was afraid the Grand Admiral would find out.
Not to mention that without active participation in battles, the Colicoid Swarm and its crew didn't have enough money to spend on anything beyond necessary post-battle repairs and purchasing required weapons, equipment, and supplies.
Despite the fact that Irv and Vane were "free privateers" in reality, there wasn't much difference between their position and the actions of someone like Tyberos, whose Destroyer was part of the auxiliary forces.
Aboard the Colicoid Swarm, all these "auxiliary forces" had already been dubbed "forces that won't be missed."
Former privateers, mercenaries, pirates who had been lured by Thrawn's calls to make a good profit hunting ships across the galaxy last year found themselves tied to the Dominion by the blood of their own comrades.
And now, even if they went into "free sailing," they'd find that without the Dominion's protection and influence, they'd have swarms of hostile "brothers in arms" on their tail.
But far worse would be if Thrawn himself or his attack dog Shohashi, who had eaten a rancor's worth of pirates, took them on.
Compared to the "Butcher of Atoa," even the fame of the late Sair Yonka paled.
Especially after the whole galaxy learned that Thrawn, in last year's battle at Rugos, hadn't just torn apart Booster Terrik's crew, but had crushed the infamous Yonka himself, ending the life of the Outer Rim's terror of pirates.
So, all that remained was to keep following orders and figure out how to conduct their own affairs under the guise of completing missions received from the Grand Admiral himself.
Whom the galaxy considered a dead man.
Except that even "dead," he acted no worse than most "living" commanders.
That the ship was clearly bristling with numerous "beacons" was obvious — you didn't need to be a Jedi to figure that out.
But what was the probability that one or another of the few cutthroats aboard was spying for the Dominion?
Knowing Thrawn — extremely high.
So they had to obey orders and...
No active actions.
At least — until now.
"Sir," a V-1 droned from the grav-acoustics station. "Registering arrival..."
"Vector?" Irv perked up.
"Sixth, sir."
"Battle stations," Irv ordered. "Launch the Vultures, charge the cannons and launchers! Begin maneuvering..."
"You forgot the deflectors," Aut-O chimed in.
Irv didn't answer.
Starting the engines and deflectors in such a situation would inevitably reduce the ship's speed, which was so crucial at this moment, and achieving maximum velocity would be impossible because deflectors traditionally consumed a considerable amount of reactor power.
And speed was paramount now.
Because their mission had to remain secret — Thrawn had particularly emphasized that in his order.
Whoever flew into this deserted system — they wouldn't leave alive and wouldn't report the presence of an entire Star Destroyer right under the Zygerrians' noses.
"One ship has emerged from hyperspace," the droid reported, but Irv could already see through the viewport the massive shape that had appeared, gleaming with a gray hull.
"Stand down from battle stations," he ordered. "They're ours."
"Confirmation received," the V-1 reported. "Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Stormhawk. They're hailing us."
"So what does Captain Astorias want here?" Irv grumbled, approaching the holographic communicator.
The hologram that appeared showed the captain the very Dominion officer he had just named.
"Captain Irv," Astorias said, and at the same time, the commander of the Colicoid Swarm noted that markers for transport ships had appeared on the tactical display near the Star Destroyer. "Prepare to receive additional cargo and a new assignment."
"And whose order is that?" Irv inquired, knowing perfectly well what the answer would be.
"From headquarters," Morgot stated evasively. "I think names would be superfluous here."
"I'll agree with that," Irv sighed. "Large cargo?"
"Compact, but enough to fill the entire sector," the commander of the Stormhawk said impassively. "Also, the Guardsmen will deliver your modified command orders."
"Understood," Irv replied automatically. "My flight deck is yours."
The hologram dissolved, and the commander of the Colicoid Swarm cast a glance at the snoring Vane, whom even the battle stations alarm hadn't pulled from the realm of sleep and dreams.
"Rhetorical question, Aut-O," Irv said slowly, looking at the mechanical head mounted in his armrest. "But give me theories on why Thrawn decided to move his Star Destroyer, full of Morrt project Buzz Droids, through enemy-controlled sectors."
"One Destroyer?" the tactical super-droid inquired in a grating voice. "Don't talk nonsense, Captain Irv. Fleet maneuvers have begun. We've located the Zygerrian positions. Now Thrawn wants to understand where their ships are moving. Once that task is completed, our ships will deliver the main blow."
"If only we knew where, when, and with what forces," Irv lamented.
"I think the orders will tell us everything we need to know," the super-tactician offered a plausible assumption. "But I'm not sure we're going to like those orders."
* * *
After "Bravo-One" finished reporting on Ambassador Furgan's position, I sat in silence for a few seconds, pondering the situation.
Four hundred and forty-six million credits (not Republic credits, of course) in exchange for ten legions of stormtroopers, armed with the minimum possible weaponry.
Effectively — shock infantry, nothing more.
"Did you identify Kyp Durron's brother?" I clarified.
"Your slicer droid, R7, found a match in the portrait, genetic, and recruitment databases," Torin said. "His identification number is twenty-one twelve; he's part of one of the legions that underwent long-term training on Carida. According to the files — he's in the group that required additional training and processing. Two years instead of six months."
Plus another six years of continuous drilling.
Lucky break that the changes in unfolding events hadn't affected him and the legion hadn't been "sold" to some warlord.
"Can we arrange for the stormtrooper in which Zet Durron serves to be among those acquired?" I asked.
"I'll do everything possible," the agent replied.
"Now back to the main issue," I summarized. "Half a billion for ten legions."
"Exactly, sir," the scout replied. "Furgan is squeezing the last he can get before Orinda asserts its claim over Carida, having broken through to the planet through Republican territories. The Imperial Ruling Council won't forgive his willfulness in light of recent events."
Which suggests Furgan is also working a bribe option to save his own skin.
If he didn't know about Palpatine's revival, he wouldn't be acting so brazenly, setting himself against Orinda.
Consequently, he views the actions of Imperial Space from a highly pragmatic standpoint.
And that is a matter of military power and resources.
Ground troops mean nothing in the galaxy without means of transport — combat starships.
The number of which with Orinda is rapidly decreasing.
Consequently, it is far more pragmatic for Furgan to obtain more money, bribe the councilors to avoid repression (probably putting someone else at risk) and continue commanding Carida and the Military Academy, fully understanding that Imperial Space's strike is effective only as long as they are on the offensive.
If they stop — the New Republic and the Alliance will bring up their forces and crush them in a counterattack.
Whether Furgan understands this or his instructors explain it to him — it doesn't matter.
A question of price.
"Did the ambassador make any remarks regarding the works of art presented to him as gifts?" I inquired.
"No, sir."
Consequently, he did not recognize them.
Excellent.
"You mentioned that the number of legions that Furgan is willing to 'sell' is more than ten. What is their exact number?"
"Fifty-one, sir," replied Agent Inek.
Just over half a million fighters.
Out of five and a half million stormtroopers and five hundred thousand instructors and other personnel of the Military Academy.
And what exactly determines this number?
Good question.
One that echoes the fact that in Imperial times, the garrison of Carida consisted of... fifty-one legions of stormtroopers.
That is, Furgan is ready to sell his garrison to 'Moff Gronn', while Orinda lays claim to five million stormtroopers.
That is, without exaggeration, five hundred and ten legions of death machines.
Even if they are only barely comparable to those 'old' stormtroopers left over from the time of the Galactic Empire, the New Republic, the Alliance, and others face extremely bloody ground battles.
The only question is how Furgan intends to explain the disappearance of fifty-one legions.
Four hundred and forty-six million for ten legions.
In total, fifty-one legions are 'for sale'.
By the most modest estimates, it comes to two billion three hundred thousand.
This is a truly colossal figure.
But these are fifty-one fully equipped legions of stormtroopers that can solve a number of our problems at once.
Of course I understood that ten legions were no more than a 'teaser' and that future expenditures would be incomparably larger, but that they would be this colossal...
But this is my chance to implement, all at once instead of gradually, several directions of strategic plans.
This includes weakening the offensive capabilities of Imperial Space as a whole.
Furgan may think he can refuse Orinda the legions he intends to sell, but I know for certain that Palpatine and his supporters will not care about the opinion of the Caridan.
For the successful development of the offensive, they will take from their territory all resources they can reach. Which means one thing — if powerful enemy barriers lie between them and the galactic periphery, they will not be able to pull reinforcements from the depths of the sectors that lack sufficient strength to strike the enemy from the rear.
This, in particular, concerns the 'Imperial Molotovs'.
Excellent.
But the scale of the operation to purchase such a huge number of stormtroopers systematically increases the problems as well.
Everything has consequences.
A surgically precise operation to finally separate Carida from the Empire and turn it into a separate fragment could lead to interested parties too quickly discovering the Dominion's direct involvement in this whole affair.
And this, in turn, will to a considerable extent cause the Dominion to come under attack sooner than could have been assumed.
Consequently, the later Imperial Space, and along with it Palpatine, learn that the Dominion is involved in everything happening on Carida, the better.
Thus, one has to state the obvious.
Plans regarding the confrontation with the 'Zann Consortium' will have to be adjusted.
And to intervene in Imperial Space's offensive in such a way that traces do not lead to the Dominion.
"We are participating in the acquisition of fifty-one legions on Carida," I said, touching the workstation and typing the necessary command on the keyboard into the encrypted communication compartment. "Begin settlement with Ambassador Furgan using the valuables that were given to you on the shuttle. Three billion credits have been transferred to the account of the shell company you know in Hutt Space. Transport ships will arrive to load the legions and whatever amount of weapons you manage to purchase."
"Yes, sir," Inek saluted. "I'm starting work."
* * *
Leonia Tavira ran her tongue over her lips when her eyes met the hologram of Captain Tyberos.
The commander of the 'Black Pearl' pulled his mask aside, behind which the small insatiable woman could not witness his reaction to her actions firsthand.
But the expression on the face of Chief Engineer Nick Reyes, sitting in a chair opposite a small round table in the Moff's office, told her a lot.
Like Captain Vivant, commander of the 'Endurance', a flagship Star Destroyer among those stationed in the Karthakk system, he preferred to look away and pretend not to have noticed anything.
Leonia pouted, scanning the attendees of the meeting initiated by order of the Grand Admiral.
Relaxed, or wary; calm, or somewhat distracted.
And only she radiated a certain feminine mania at the sight of the object of her adoration.
Who was so far from her and so unattainable that the woman literally could not contain herself.
She coped with this uncontrollable feeling only thanks to the Dominion Guardsmen.
A single glance at the unshakable guys in black-red or black-blue armor was enough for her to pull herself together and 'sober up' at the level of her own body's biochemistry.
"Let's begin," were the first words of Grand Admiral Thrawn, whose hologram appeared in the center of the projection plate. "Captain Irv, Tyberos — have you received orders for the further actions of your ships?"
"Yes, sir," answered Irv.
"The 'Black Pearl' is ready to move to the position specified in the orders," confirmed Tyberos.
Leonia felt her blood begin to boil.
Just hearing his voice and...
"Is the equipment loaded?" the Grand Admiral clarified.
"Yes, sir," both confirmed almost in unison. "Ships are at the agreed points and ready to begin the operation."
"In that case, proceed," ordered Thrawn.
And, to Tavira's disappointment, the two holograms disappeared, leaving her alone with the men she was not particularly happy to see.
Except perhaps the Grand Admiral himself...
A chill crept up Leonia's spine, and sweat instantly broke out on her forehead.
The fire in her blood died down as quickly as it had flared, because she instantly remembered a certain young lady with multicolored eyes...
And though Republican propaganda claims that the Iceheart is finally dead, Tavira's body refused to believe it.
And the fear sown by Armand Isard...
Well, it will stay with Leonia forever.
"Moff Tavira," she heard the quiet whisper of Chief Engineer Reyes.
The young woman snapped to attention, shaking her jet-black hair, in which she had painstakingly dyed the silver strands.
Her violet eyes fixed on the hologram of Grand Admiral Thrawn, who was watching her with no small interest.
As was Captain Vivant.
"What's the matter?" asked the young woman.
"The fact that you are with us already gives reason for optimism," Thrawn pronounced. "The situation in the Karthakk system."
"We continue to fulfill all assigned tasks at the optimal level," the woman stated. "Stygium mining proceeds according to plans; construction of factories, equipment, weapons, stations, hyperdrives — also at the planned level. The native population actively participates in expanding the production base and training in new specialties under the guidance of Captain Valiant's specialists and Chief Engineer Reyes."
"Public security?"
"We note a decrease in dissatisfaction among the local population due to the improved standard of living and the provision of work for both Maramere and the remaining settlers on Lok," answered Tavira.
"Are the crews of the captured mon-calamari ships manned with crews from the Mere?" Thrawn clarified.
"Only a third of the total volume," said Tavira. "The largest number of Mere go to serve on defense stations, patrol forces, and ground units. At present, we have more than two dozen MC80a 'Liberty' ships in storage under guard by battle droids and Wookiee commandos."
"What are the results of work with the Mere regarding their participation in battles outside the Karthakk system and sector?" inquired Thrawn.
"In the event of a direct external threat to their home, they are ready to participate in operations to attack the enemy," said Tavira. "Otherwise, they prefer to adhere to a policy of non-interference and non-participation. Assessment measures indicate that the offensive potential of the Mere does not compare to that available to Captain Vivant's forces."
"Good," to hear praise from Thrawn's lips was akin to the pleasure of consuming pure Glitzerstim. Without negative consequences, but with the same addictive effect.
Only, in the context of her last words, receiving a positive assessment from the Grand Admiral...
It was all strange.
"Chief Engineer Reyes, I want to hear your part of the report," the Supreme Commander stated his wishes.
"All five orbital docks transferred to us after the Battle of Sluis Van have been put into active operation, and that has borne fruit," said Reyes. "We recruited, trained, and put on a three-shift work schedule the personnel for each of these docks. As ordered, Captain Vivant's ships were sent for modernization under the 'Trio' project first."
"And what are the results of completing the assigned task?" asked the Grand Admiral.
More than a month had passed since the orbital docks arrived at Karthakk from Sluis Van.
Thanks to the presence of two large airtight dry docks, in which both construction and repair work was significantly accelerated compared to operations in open space, the speed of completing set tasks has increased several times.
"The 'Endurance', 'Swift Strike', 'Elegant Force', 'Fate Crucible', 'Messenger of Retribution', 'Striking Sword', 'Star Hammer', 'Shining Star', 'Medusa', 'Wyvern', and 'Griffin' have been brought into proper condition," reported Reyes. "The ships are repaired and modernized, all required equipment installed. At the beginning of the month, we conducted acceptance and combat trials, during which the crews demonstrated their ability to operate these ship types," Reyes stated.
"Moff Tavira," Thrawn addressed the only woman at the meeting. "What are the released crew members of the aforementioned ships doing?"
A timely question.
Especially considering that out of nearly two hundred thousand crew members of the ships that Rear Admiral Shohashi effectively saved during the Battle of Brentaal IV, only three-quarters were involved in manning new crews, it is no wonder that Thrawn is interested in the employment of personnel.
Never, under any circumstances, should a soldier or sailor, let alone an officer, be associated with idleness.
She had known this since long ago when she became Moff in place of her late husband.
And while commanding the 'Offensive', she saw what the crew becomes if the bonds of durasteel discipline are loosened for even a moment.
"By my decision, I assigned them to serve on ten MC80a ships," Tavira admitted. "To maintain constant combat readiness of the entire formation available in the system. A similar decision was made regarding the released part of the crews of the Star Destroyers that previously commanded Moff Gronn's ships. They are currently studying the structure of the third dozen star cruisers that are in the most non-combat-ready condition."
"Understood," said Thrawn. "Chief Engineer Reyes, continue your report."
"We are currently working on Moff Gronn's ships," Reyes admitted. "The internal work has been done and the ships have been moved out of the docks to free them for the third group of MC80s. Currently, aboard the 'Immortal', 'Tyranny', 'Grey Wolf', 'Emperor', 'Thunderer', 'Garette', 'Zelpin', 'Seltor', 'Dominator', and 'Protector', additional armament specified by the 'Trio' project is being installed."
"You were given a deadline to prepare all these twenty Star Destroyers within two months of repair work," recalled Thrawn. "In a little over four days, the allotted time expires. Will the work be completed?"
"Yes, sir," answered Reyes.
"Thus, Moff Tavira, in five days you will have forty combat-ready and fully manned star cruisers and Star Destroyers in your system," summarized Thrawn. "But not all fifty available: two dozen Star Destroyers and thirty MC80s of various modifications."
"Yes, sir," she agreed. "We could have done it faster, meeting the two-month deadline, but the problem was that an inadmissibly long time was required to form and train the necessary number of Mere. Without whom it was impossible to staff the repair crews."
"Objection not accepted, Moff Tavira," Thrawn cut off. "You had at your disposal the crews of twenty Star Destroyers — fully and partially manned. That is three hundred and fifty thousand people. By forming repair crews from just the watch technicians, you could have managed the assigned task and formed a full fleet by the expiring deadline, which I personally set for you before the Battle of Sluis Van."
Tavira unexpectedly met the eyes of the Grand Moff and guiltily averted her gaze.
"Such a gross violation of logistics and execution discipline must not happen again in the future," stated Thrawn. "Your next mistake will be fatal to your career and your life. No more warnings or announcements of penalties will be conveyed to you. Let me down one more time — and the sentence will be carried out immediately. Did you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," Leonia said barely audibly, feeling everything tighten inside her.
It didn't matter how or when she would be executed.
Whether the guards, the Noghri, or someone from the military would kill her — a fact remained a fact.
One more mistake — and she simply wouldn't see the next day.
Which meant only one option — to mobilize her resources to the maximum and comprehensively assess the tasks set before her.
"Captain Vivant and Chief Engineer Reyes," Thrawn said softly, "everything said before applies to you as well."
The men present at the meeting exchanged glances among themselves.
"Repair and maintenance of military equipment is not only the Moff's task," explained Thrawn. "But also the senior military officer on station and the chief engineer's. While the Moff might not have considered this fact, having only a nominally military-civilian position, you, Captain and Engineer, should have understood how to accelerate the completion of the assigned task. It is you who repair these ships. It is you who fight on them. A consumer attitude towards service is unacceptable."
All three sat with bowed heads.
If a minute ago they thought the 'blow' was only on the Moff, now righteous wrath might also fall on their heads.
"The degree of your guilt and the punishment will be announced by me after the completion of the inspection, which will be conducted by the new military commander of the group stationed in the Karthakk system," continued Thrawn.
Tavira raised her eyes, meeting Vivant's gaze.
When he first arrived, he said that his appointment as senior officer over all regular fleet ships in the system was temporary.
And that someone was to arrive who would lead this massive fist.
But so far, neither through her own military-civilian channels nor through purely military communication lines had she or Vivant received news that someone had been found to command twenty Star Destroyers modernized under the 'Trio' project.
"By the end of this month," continued Thrawn, and next to his hologram appeared a three-dimensional image of a middle-aged man with Commodore pips on his command bar, "a new military commander of the formation will arrive on Lok. By his arrival, all ships must be in combat-ready condition, manned, and have in their holds all necessary supplies and cargo to support their extended raids. Responsibility for failure to fulfill each of these points falls personally on each of you. That is all from me. Commodore," Thrawn assessed the hologram of the man next to him, "from this moment, the regular fleet forces in the Karthakk system are subordinate to you. If by the time of your arrival my order has not been carried out, take command of the Defense Forces, docks, repair and production clusters, and also head the military-civilian administration of the system."
"Yes, sir," answered the unnamed officer with a slightly trembling voice, looking with a stone face at the three sentients whose lives now depended directly on him and their own initiative.
"That is all from me," Thrawn's hologram dissolved.
In Tavira's office there was such a piercing silence that the operation of the holographic projector's cooling system sounded like the deafening roar of a guillotine.
"So," the Commodore cleared his throat and spoke. "Not exactly the appointment I expected, but orders are not discussed. The task is set and it must be completed. Especially since the Grand Admiral just hinted how you can do it and stay alive. Mobilize all crews except the duty watches — working outside one's specialty will be useful for broadening the crew members' horizons. I will personally inspect every ship, so I do not advise trying to cheat or be evasive. What the military acceptance misses, I and my specialists will certainly find. Take my word for it — it's not worth risking such things."
"Yes, sir," Vivant gave a sparing smile. "May I know your name, Commander?"
"Ah, yes, of course," the man turned his head to look at his own rank bars, from which he brushed a non-existent speck of dust. "Commodore Brandei at your service, colleagues."