Ten years, two months, and six days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, second month, and sixth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and twenty-six days since the Arrival.)
After Han's arguments went around for the third time, General Garm Bel Iblis finally stopped his verbal flow by raising his hand.
"Yes, I understood your concerns the first time, Han," he commented, addressing his subordinate. "Still, I'd bet that a preemptive strike won't do us any good."
"Too bad I don't share that assumption," Han growled, glancing at the commander of the Galactic Traveler, who, tired of waiting for his superiors to agree, swore quietly in Devronian and left the comm room. "Scouts confirm that there are large Black Sun forces in the Thanium Worlds. Ten Kaloth-class battlecruisers — that's no joke. Not to mention three dozen Interceptor IV-class frigates, starfighters, landing forces... Sir, this force is practically equal in strength to what I have at the moment! If they all pile on together, either we'll all die here or we'll bathe in blood!"
"Yes, on the surface it looks that way," Bel Iblis thoughtfully twisted his mustache. "But for some reason, I think there's something else going on here."
Han looked at his interlocutor in surprise.
"Then for what purpose is an entire pirate military fleet assembled at our doorstep? Thrawn thinned out that lot pretty well, and they stopped gathering in large groups a couple of months ago. At least in the north and east of the galaxy."
"I don't know what's behind it yet," the general said, frowning. "But let's look at the facts. If the target is Lianna, why hasn't the attack happened yet? Why wait for Alliance ships to arrive?"
"I could pop over there and ask them," Han said nervously. "I'm sure they'll be eloquent. And more inclined to talk than when our scouts met them — two never came back."
"You shouldn't have sent them there at all," Bel Iblis stated. "It could be seen as a provocation."
"Sir," Han gritted his teeth. "My job is to protect these borders. Defend Lianna at any cost. Am I just supposed to sit and wait for a turbolaser rain to fall on my men?"
"Mon Mothma is hoping for a diplomatic solution," the Supreme Commander of the Alliance stated. "We sent a diplomatic note to the government of the Thanium Worlds requesting clarification of what is happening on their territory..."
Han thought he had misheard.
"Sir, are you serious?" he clarified.
"More than ever," Bel Iblis sighed.
"We actually contacted the government of the Thanium Worlds to ask them whether they are consolidating pirates, mercenaries, and other scum on their territory?" Han asked, not believing his ears.
"That's the decision of the Alliance Leader. Before solving a problem by force of arms, one should file a note of protest and express concern."
"Sounds like a mockery," Han stated.
"Such are the rules of interplanetary diplomacy."
"Oh, well, if our diplomats will stand in formation alongside my fighters, then no problem!"
"Han, calm down!"
"We have clear information that they plan to capture Lianna and..."
"That information came from Karrde," Bel Iblis noted softly, giving up and moving from formal arguments to more or less real ones. Such, in fact, was the nature of compatriots. They only start admitting when something smells of tibanna.
"Like most of the rest," Han reminded him. "And don't even think that in the past, it was precisely thanks to that information that we won and got out of crisis situations. Especially during the secession from the New Republic a few months ago."
"The information needs verification," Bel Iblis looked away. "It's dangerous to blindly trust private intelligence."
"Then why do we need it at all if we don't trust it?" Solo began to get angry.
"Let's not take offense, Han," Bel Iblis suggested. "We already have experience with blindly trusting Karrde."
"Positive..."
"I wouldn't say that dozens of camouflaged, explosive-laden asteroids falling on the Upper Level of Coruscant is a positive experience," Han's compatriot snorted.
"Oh," Solo grimaced. "So that's it. I was wondering why we're distancing ourselves from that guy."
"We're just being cautious," Garm Bel Iblis corrected his compatriot. "The Alliance's position is still shaky, and we can't just afford to make mistakes."
"Just as we can't afford to underestimate the threat!"
"Exactly," Bel Iblis smiled tiredly. "The situation with Kessel clearly demonstrates that. We thought that after Thrawn's death, Pellaeon would sit quieter than a stellar wind, but it turns out he conducted a military operation right under our noses to seize a source of strategic raw materials."
"Shall we file a protest with him?" Han scoffed. "I'm sure he couldn't care less."
"If the Dominion maintained any contact with us, we might have been able to get through to Pellaeon," Bel Iblis shared 'inside information'. "But Moff Hauser, assistant to Grand Moff Ferrus, who controls the planets of the Dominion's periphery, when meeting our representative on Makem Te, advised him to get out of Dominion territory quickly."
"Oh, so we tried to negotiate with them?" Han was surprised. The Dominion was the same Empire, just presented in different colors and under a different sauce.
"We are trying to negotiate with all galactic states, including the Dominion."
"And with Imperial Space?" Han didn't believe it.
"With them, as with the Alignment — no longer," Bel Iblis said. "As of yesterday."
"Interesting, why?" Solo wondered.
"We sent our envoys to them," General Bel Iblis reluctantly admitted. "Yesterday morning, courier droids delivered their bodies and heads. Separately."
"Damn it!" Han swore elaborately.
"Absolutely agree," Bel Iblis nodded. "Brutal and bloody. In the spirit of the old Empire. But at least now we understand that the conflict can't be resolved through negotiations. It feels as if the enemy is confident in victory and not inclined to negotiate. Most likely it's because they have reserves from the Deep Core and Palpatine."
"Maybe," Han agreed. "But that's clearly no reason to ignore the rising tension right under our nose. Knowing the old madman, one might think he intends to rough us up with someone else's hands before attacking with his own forces."
"Perhaps," Bel Iblis nodded. "But diplomacy is paramount. The ability to negotiate without rattling weapons — that is what fundamentally distinguishes us from the Imperials."
"Sir, can we skip the ideological slogans?" Han inquired. "I'm not one of those guys who needs motivational speeches. I'd like more ships and personnel."
"Those Star Destroyers captured at Lantilles will be transferred to you," his immediate commander refreshed Solo's memory. "Our freighters with K-wings for your fleet should arrive in a few hours, and I've separately sent five MC80a star cruisers from my own reserve to strengthen your positions. Sorry, Han, but I have no more ships for you. Need to wait."
"I understand," Han persisted. "But the situation frankly makes me nervous. Striking Lianna before reinforcements arrive is the best option the enemy has."
"I don't need tactical breakdowns either," his compatriot returned the barb. "I know the situation on the fronts perfectly well. Unfortunately, we are forced to proceed from a defensive posture for now. We'll build up our armed forces — then we'll think about how to eliminate problems before they become our big problems."
'Just hope it's not too late,' Han thought.
"Understood, sir," he sighed, realizing he couldn't get permission for a preemptive strike. "But if these aren't even pirates but forces of the Thanium Worlds, then in the upcoming negotiations with House Tion, we could gain an additional advantage by disarming Thanium beforehand."
"Or we can strengthen our position if we can turn them to our side and thereby show our goodwill, not aggression or helplessness," said Bel Iblis. "Mon Mothma actively promotes the position that the Alliance is not the New Republic. Such theses have brought us many supporters. Perhaps the government of the Thanium Worlds will also agree to join us voluntarily, despite having conducted a separate secession from the New Republic in the past."
"Again, big politics shakes its passes before our eyes," Han said disappointedly. "And the military will have to clean up later anyway."
"Such is our lot, Han," Bel Iblis stated. "We must show the galaxy that our strategy is defense, not attack. And that we cannot be blamed in the future for what Thrawn was able to do under a false flag against the New Republic, organizing attacks on convoys across the galaxy."
"Sometimes I regret that that guy wasn't on our side," Han admitted. "I don't know how, but he managed to be several steps ahead of all his opponents."
"Which didn't save him from death," Bel Iblis reminded.
"Uh-huh," Han agreed. "Any word from Luke, Wedge, and the others?"
"Absolutely nothing," Bel Iblis admitted. "Our allies in the New Republic say that the Dominion conducted an exchange of the remaining prisoners from the last campaign. But neither Skywalker, nor Antilles, nor Madine, nor any other high-ranking officers who were captured but not executed are among them. They haven't shown up themselves either..."
"Interesting, maybe they managed to escape?"
"Then I think they would have come to us," Bel Iblis speculated. "Fey'lya has an extremely negative attitude towards any high-ranking military personnel who end up in captivity. So they definitely wouldn't return to the New Republic voluntarily. I don't think they, like Skywalker, just disappeared somewhere. Willingly or not — it's all a big mystery right now."
"The Dominion could clarify the situation," Han sighed.
"Yes," Bel Iblis agreed. "If they wanted to talk to us, they would certainly clarify. Unfortunately, that is far from the case."
"Rumor has it they found common ground with the New Republic," Han recalled one of his conversations with Lando. "Karrde once noted that the New Republic's budget hadn't suffered at all from them exchanging prisoners with the Dominion. And we all know they didn't return those POWs for free."
"If that's a hint at the arrangements between Pellaeon and Fey'lya, then we lean towards the same conclusion," Bel Iblis said in a lowered voice. "Unfortunately, we cannot establish contact with either side. And we certainly don't expect that any of them will answer our questions."
"Are our well-wishers in the New Republic silent too?" Han asked.
Frankly, he couldn't care less about any behind-the-scenes games.
But the experience of clashes with the Dominion and the latest news about Kessel told him not to underestimate the protégés of the late Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Everything inside him tightened into a knot.
Some members of the Alliance Government, including Bel Iblis himself, feared Thrawn so much that they didn't believe he could have died.
What happened on Kessel only fueled the conspiracy theorists.
As for Han himself, he didn't know what to believe more — the absurdity that Thrawn could have cheated death, or that he had competent "heirs" in the Dominion.
It was like not knowing which to fear more.
"So we're waiting again," Solo said unsatisfied. "Sitting and waiting for things to get worse."
"Unfortunately. I'm not thrilled either about having to sit under Lantilles and defend. But a counteroffensive without reserves is death. That's why we got by with just observers in D'Astan, even though the desire to annex that sector to the Alliance was great. Keeping the Dominion's direct route hot is wonderful. But unfortunately, we don't have the resources for that. Stretched communications are death for us and millions of our military."
"Waiting for Kaine to repair his 'Reaper' and unleash it on us or the Republic — that's death," Han said irritably. "Not just for us, millions of military, but for the entire Alliance."
"By the time it comes out of repair, we'll already have first-class reserves," Bel Iblis stated. "Han, I'd love to chat more, but business calls."
"Yes, I understand," Solo spread his hands. "I'll go attend to my general duties. Sit in a big chair with a view of space and wait."
Bel Iblis smirked.
"We all hope that Leia can do what we all couldn't," he voiced the aspirations of the Alliance government.
"As always — our family is on the front lines, deciding the fates of opponents of governmental revelry and lawlessness," Han summed up. "Well, it was good talking to you, sir."
"As was I, Han."
When the holoprojector went dark, the Corellian dropped his face onto his hands folded on the terminal and sat in complete silence for several seconds, gathering his raging thoughts.
Still not finding a common denominator for them, Han abruptly rose from his seat and headed out of the comm room.
He wandered down the corridor towards the hangar, absently greeting crew members who saluted him due to his rank and position.
In the hangar, he noticed Chewbacca, who was making final preparations on the Millennium Falcon before launch.
Greeting his friend warmly, Han listened to his low growl.
"Yeah, Chewie," he said disappointedly. "Of course, nobody would listen to me. Karrde was right — they don't trust him. They'll double-check his information until they're blue in the face. Just hope it's not too late by then."
The Wookiee growled another angry phrase.
"I know, pal," Han forced a smile. "I trust that you'll do everything to protect Leia and Lando. If not for you two, I wouldn't have sent her to the Tion Hegemony."
Aboard his ship, which was increasingly less a simple freighter and more something else, Han found his wife in the lounge, reviewing data crystals once again.
"If you keep staring at that deck like that, one day it'll say to you, 'That's not the deck you're looking for!'" he joked, sitting down beside his wife and putting an arm around her.
Leia, recognizing the altered quote from Obi-Wan Kenobi — a story her brother had told about how they'd left Tatooine before meeting Han himself — smiled and kissed him.
"I just can't shake the anxiety," she admitted. "Nervousness before negotiations is normal. But something tells me this won't go as planned."
"You, Chewie, and Lando all have distress beacons," Han reminded his wife, pulling her closer. "If any one of them goes off, I'll be in the Tion Hegemony with my entire arsenal."
"Bel Iblis, I take it, wasn't willing to listen to Karrde's arguments?" Leia asked.
"From my conversation with him, I gathered that after Coruscant, Bel Iblis doesn't want to take his word for it," Han lamented. "They check and double-check everything he brings the Alliance on a silver platter. And besides, we simply don't have the reserves to both attack the pirates and leave Lianna under protection. Maybe when the captured destroyers arrive, I'll still manage to pay them a courtesy visit and bring them to heel."
"You won't," Leia sighed with resignation.
"Is that the Force telling you?" Han tensed.
He'd long since learned to trust his gifted wife's premonitions and didn't try to argue with her reasoning — she wasn't a trained gifted like her brother.
"Experience," his wife dispelled his assumption. "And the Force also says something's wrong. Mon Mothma treasures her position that 'the Alliance is not the New Republic' so much that she'll squeeze every last drop out of this case. The conclusions, I think, you can draw for yourself."
"Uh-huh," Han nodded. "And I don't like them."
"Nobody does," Leia admitted. "I don't like these negotiations with the Tion Hegemony either."
"Then call them off," Han declared. "Tell Mon Mothma to find someone else."
"Unfortunately, that's not an option," his wife said. "We don't have that many diplomats. And the work never gets any lighter."
Han remembered Bel Iblis's words about executed envoys and decided to stay silent.
"I agree that we need to strengthen our territories," he said. "The Empire, the Alignment... and somewhere out there Palpatine in the Deep Core. Those aren't the neighbors I'd want to live in the same house with."
"What scares me most is Luke's disappearance," Leia whispered. "He wouldn't vanish of his own free will so easily, without telling anyone anything."
"A cold-blooded killing isn't the kind of experience you want to share with loved ones," Han tried to rationalize. "I think the kid will stay quiet for a while, think things over, and come back."
"I'm afraid Thrawn's words about Palpatine wanting to capture Luke might turn out to be true," Leia stated. "Along with his other warnings."
"Even so, your brother is tougher than quadanium steel," Solo assured her, pulling her close. "Whatever Palpatine cooks up, if he's captured Luke, he won't get what he wants."
"If Luke is with him, he's clearly planning to turn him to the Dark Side of the Force," Leia said confidently. "I think the events of the last few months could have shaken his self-confidence."
"No," Han said firmly. "Luke went up against the Death Star one-on-one. He fought the Ssi-Ruuk, the Nagai, the Tof, and a bunch of Palpatine's servants. He fought your father and didn't give in to Palpatine. If he really is a prisoner, he won't surrender to the Emperor's mercy."
"Yeah, probably," Leia whispered.
"Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Han pulled away from his wife to look her in the eyes. "We've got to believe we'll win, like always. Being a pessimist in our time isn't right."
"And being a realist is dangerous for the psyche," Leia smiled. "Yes, you're right. We need to believe in our victory."
Han hugged his wife without saying anything in response.
Because there was nothing to say.
Faith in their own strength was all they had left.
That's how we'll win...
They sat like that until the Falcon took off.
Watching through the atmospheric field as his ship jumped to lightspeed, heading for negotiations, Han heard someone call out to him.
Turning, Solo was surprised to see the commander of the Galactic Traveler hurrying toward him.
"Sir," the sentient spoke anxiously. "You asked me to let you know when the freighters with the bombers arrive."
So they'd sat with Leia here for several hours.
"Yes. What's the matter?" The flagship's commander wouldn't have sought him out personally over some trifle. "Are they late?"
"The transports have arrived, sir," the officer licked his dry lips. "Six are missing. Contact with them has been lost."
"And here I was thinking fate had been taking a break from punching me in the gut," Han growled, glancing at the spot where the Falcon had jumped. "Turns out she was just taking a breather."
He could only hope that the disappearance of the bombers' freighters had nothing to do with Leia's mission.
"Sir, all ships are in battle positions," the watch officer reported to Kalian.
The commander of the Steel Aurora nodded affirmatively.
"Begin," Kalian pulled out a personal comlink from his pocket. "Comms officer, call Captain Fulik on the Binder."
"Will do, Captain."
* * *
The Binder — an Interdictor-class Star Destroyer attached to the Victory division that the young commander of the Steel Aurora had been assigned to lead.
The unit consisted of, in addition to his own ship, the Bellicose, Retribution, and Striving.
All of them were veteran ships of the Dominion regular fleet.
Experienced crews had been through many battles and proven their combat cohesion.
It was no wonder Grand Admiral Thrawn had sent them to the rear of territories currently controlled by the Alliance.
Even though the crews, diluted with fresh recruits from the metropolitan Defense Forces, had to be well "drilled" with training alarms while they took circuitous routes to get here, Kalian was confident in his unit's effectiveness.
Just as he was confident that Thrawn had placed him in command of these five ships for a reason, while Vice Admiral I-Gor was busy with something else after that memorable meeting aboard the Chimaera.
Perhaps this was a second chance to test Kalian's suitability for commanding something larger than a single Victory-III, which was his Steel Aurora.
To his right, a new white-and-blue hologram appeared above the projector plate.
"At your service, Commander."
Kalian looked at the portly man who was pretending his pride wasn't stung at all.
In Imperial times, any ship based on an Imperial-class Star Destroyer would have become the squadron flagship over a Victory. Now it was the exact opposite.
An Interdictor subordinate to a Victory.
Especially since Fulik had more seniority than Kalian.
But if the young officer understood anything about Grand Admiral Thrawn's actions, it was that age and authority held no value for him.
Only real combat experience.
And among all the unit commanders, that was prevalent only on the commander of the Steel Aurora.
That probably rankled Fulik.
But to the credit of the Binder's commander, he never voiced anything except the need to step up military operations to destroy the New Republic.
His motives were understandable — his friend, Commander Darran, had died at the Battle of Sluis Van.
Revanchism fueled all the fighters who hailed from the Ciutric Hegemony.
Darran was beloved and had earned legitimate authority among his countrymen.
So today, thank the excellent work of intelligence, they would have a chance for revenge.
"Deploy the Gravity Well Generators along the assigned vectors, Captain," he said. "Fire sector — along vector five-six. We'll cover the other directions."
"The crew of the Binder has been ready for a long time, Captain. They're just waiting for orders," Fulik looked at someone outside the camera frame. "Activate the gravity trawl."
The next moment, four red cones appeared on the tactical terminal, indicating the deployment of artificial gravity fields projected by the Binder.
Now, in the middle of the Perlemian Trade Route, a "shadow" had appeared in hyperspace — roughly equivalent to the one cast by a planet of respectable size.
Any ship moving through this zone would automatically drop into realspace to avoid smearing itself against the astronomical object casting that "shadow."
The hyperdrive safeties would activate, and the target would pop out into realspace.
And there, five Dominion ships would greet it.
Kalian placed the Steel Aurora and the Bellicose in one group, and the Retribution and Striving opposite.
The Binder, living up to its name, positioned itself to the side.
If an observer had been floating in the middle of this cosmic void and taken a position ten or twenty echelons above the five destroyers, they would have noted that Captain Kalian had deployed his ships like a two-pronged fork, with the lone Interdictor serving as the "handle."
And the four Victory-III models, arranged perpendicular to the Binder's bow projection, noses facing each other, were the "prongs" inside which the trawler's vectors were aligned.
Well, today the Binder would perform both roles that military doctrine assigned to ships equipped with Gravity Well Generators.
Prevent the enemy from escaping into a hyperspace jump.
And pull them out of hyperspace.
But in reverse order.
And the "prongs," along with the Binder's own guns, would grind up anything that fell into this trap.
"Prepare missiles for launch," Kalian ordered the ships in his battle group. "Aim turbolasers at the engagement zone according to fire distribution vectors. On scanners!"
"Yes, sir!" the corresponding officer acknowledged.
"Watch the readings carefully! I want to know the identifications of these ships! Record all transponder codes!"
More accurately, it wasn't him, but the Grand Admiral.
But Kalian himself wanted to know why his unit had spent so much time in interstellar void under radio silence until Thrawn had contacted them a day ago and given the order to begin the operation.
And judging by how many holograms had been on that "conference," it looked like almost the entire regular fleet had gone "hunting."
He'd still like to know why...
"Sir," he heard Captain Fulik's voice. "May I activate the long-range communications jammer?"
Kalian closed his eyes for a second, mentally cursed himself for the oversight, then pulled himself together and looked at the hologram.
"Thank you for the reminder, Captain Fulik. Do it."
Throughout Grand Admiral Thrawn's last campaign, the regular fleet had only one ship capable of jamming long-range communications.
That was the Eternal Wrath, the Binder's sister ship.
With an old but thoroughly modernized jammer installed on it, that Interdictor could completely block data transmission beyond the average star system.
Now, such equipment — likely purchased on the galactic black market — had been installed on every active Interdictor in the regular fleet without exception.
And it had probably cost a fortune.
"Communications jammed," Fulik reported.
"Five targets arriving!" the grav-acoustic operator announced.
"Battle stations!" Kalian barked. "Prepare for combat!"
Their target emerged exactly into the set trap.
The enemy group consisted of five MC80a Star Cruisers.
And credit where due, the enemy quickly realized their situation stank of big trouble.
Five ships, each capable of standing up to a Victory-I or Victory-II Star Destroyer on equal terms.
There were also enough to guarantee the destruction of an Imperial-class.
The difference was that now they were up against four Victory-III project ships, each equal to an Imperial Star Destroyer.
And thanks to the launch tubes — even superior.
"Distance to target — forty units!"
"Target locked in warheads!"
"Launch tubes twenty-one through forty — fire!" Kalian ordered.
Twenty anti-ship missiles, guided by their seeker-head programs, streaked toward the nearest Alliance Star Cruiser from the Steel Aurora.
The enemy responded with a salvo of their turbolasers.
The mighty Dominion ship's deflectors easily absorbed the streams of destructive energy.
"Begin maneuvering!" Kalian ordered, seeing the empty launch tubes reloading. "Turn right — ninety degrees."
Staying in place, the Steel Aurora, along with the other three Victory-IIIs, began a turn to the right, firing their bow launch tubes at their white-and-brown opponents.
A tactic perfected since the Battle of Hast.
While the bow launchers reloaded, the stationary Victory-class Star Destroyer would rotate its hull and fire missiles from the side launchers at the target.
"Launchers forty-one through sixty locked on target!"
Kalian watched as the first salvo raked the Star Cruiser's hull, leaving holes, fire flashes, and fireworks at the impact points.
Not all projectiles reached the target — the enemy was firing a barrage, joined by their pilots who had managed to launch their fighters as the chaos began.
"Fire!"
"Firing!"
"Turn left — ninety degrees!"
Now the ship was resuming its original position — bow facing the enemy's flank.
"Bow launchers reloaded and ready!"
"Target coordinates entered!"
The eight-gun turbolaser turrets mounted on the Victory-IIIs began a green storm of deadly fire straight at the enemy.
The Binder, holding the enemy in its invisible gravity nets, also exchanged fire with the Alliance Star Cruiser attacking it.
"Fire bow launchers!"
And again two dozen halos of missile engine exhaust lit up the Steel Aurora's bow.
"Enemy fighters approaching the outer defense perimeter of the Aurora!"
"Launch our interceptors!" Kalian ordered immediately. "Turn left — ninety degrees!"
And again, presenting the flank for a missile salvo.
The Mon Calamari Star Cruiser had already turned its bow toward them and was charging forward with all power, unleashing a fiery hell on the Steel Aurora with its turbolasers.
Kalian's gunners locked onto the enemy, concentrating all their starboard firepower on the narrow "bow section" of the adversary.
Heavy turbolasers punched through the bow deflector shields and burned long black streaks into the armor.
By this point, the Steel Aurora had already fired its fifth salvo, resuming its initial spatial position.
And the damage inflicted on the enemy starship was now visible.
Through the hull breaches, along with superheated air, small debris and bodies were sucked out.
His ship's gunners had concentrated fire on the bridge and upper deck, turning the Star Cruiser's bow into a shapeless pile of expensive scrap metal.
When the fifth salvo, reinforced by the combined turbolaser fire of the Steel Aurora, reached the target, Kalian's opponent turned from a warship with a brave crew into a drifting dead hulk with a trail of molten metal pieces.
The sixth salvo simply tore off the ship's bow up to the "fins" one could call it decapitation.
A shapeless heap of scrap metal drifted by inertia, with a few weapon blisters trying to return fire.
Well, credit to the Mon Calamari — they knew how to build ships.
Energy redundancy, based on numerous generators placed under the armor, allowed them to continue fighting even with the main power plant knocked out.
But by now, it was no longer funny.
"Turbolasers — fire on the wreck," Kalian ordered. "Launch tubes — fire on the nearest enemy."
There were only two of those left.
The Star Cruiser that had been attacking the Binder and its counterpart engaged by the Bellicose.
The latter was still resisting the Victory-III's fire, but now it was receiving additional anti-ship missiles the size of a starfighter.
The deflectors, along with the hull, collapsed in seconds; the structure couldn't take it, and another Star Cruiser turned into mounds of dead metal.
Watching the detonation of his first vanquished enemy, Kalian shifted his gaze to the Binder.
The enemy was maneuvering desperately and still holding up relatively well.
Which made sense, given that any of the Victories participating in the battle outmatched the Interdictor in artillery salvo weight.
"Bellicose — support Retribution and Striving," Kalian ordered.
"Message sent, sir!"
"Set course for the Binder," the commander of the Steel Aurora ordered.
He had nothing against Fulik handling the enemy on his own, but in a situation where you were operating behind enemy lines, that was very dangerous.
At the very least, because prolonged operation of the Gravity Well Generators might eventually pull completely unwanted "guests" out of hyperspace.
The first salvo of anti-ship missiles melted the enemy ship's engine cluster.
The detonation collapsed the aft deflectors.
Then Captain Kalian's destroyer sent a storm of ion and turbolaser fire after the Mon Calamari-made ship, which had lost its speed.
The Star Cruiser's aft hemisphere drowned in fire flashes.
The subsequent salvo finally charred the stern and burned out the engines, turning the enemy ship into a helpless cripple drifting forward by inertia.
The Binder intensified its fire, pouring artillery fire across the entire forward hemisphere of the enemy.
Shields collapsed, all electronics shut down, escape pods scattered in all directions.
Kalian grunted.
Three out of five in twenty minutes — very fast.
"Fourth enemy Star Cruiser destroyed!" the watch officer reported.
"Change of orders," Kalian said into the comlink, addressing all ship commanders. "Interceptors — attack enemy small craft. Not one must escape. Dispatch rescue shuttles to capture enemy escape pods and downed pilots. No witnesses of our presence here must remain on the battlefield."
The last enemy ship managed to hit the Striving — one fighter succeeded in destroying the right deflector field generator projecting above the superstructure.
Well, regrettable — the ship lost equipment.
But not shields.
Now the enemy had a unique opportunity — to witness that Dominion ships were significantly different from Imperial ones.
On the latter, the two "spheres" above the superstructure housed not only deflector field generators but also long-range communications systems, sensors, and various antennas.
Destroying such a "ball" would threaten the ship with a loss of protection.
But not in the case of the "Threes," for whom these legacies of the past were nothing more than mounting points and locations for primary equipment.
Deflector field generators had long since, following the example of Mon Calamari ships, been hidden under armor.
Along with the deflector boost generator from the MC80a, installed on the Victory "Three" model.
The Striving's protection hadn't suffered at all.
Only the scanning systems.
And the enemy realized that very quickly.
But it wouldn't save them now.
"Captain Kalian to all ships — destroy."
The turbolasers of the Steel Aurora, along with those of the other five ships, alongside eight dozen anti-ship missiles, merged into a single storm of death that washed over the last Star Cruiser.
White-and-green all-destroying energy gnawed holes in the enemy ship's hull.
Hull plates, heated by the searing plasma, blistered like bubbles, tore apart like overripe boils, adorning the space around the ship with myriad debris and dead bodies.
The cannons continued to destroy bulkhead after bulkhead, compartment after compartment, when the time came for the anti-ship missile impact.
The remaining stiffeners, bulkheads, and decks were ripped apart by a series of explosions that merged into sequential detonations.
The starship was torn to pieces and deformed like crumpled paper.
Baradium warheads detonated, vaporizing metal and flesh, disfiguring and destroying everything in their path.
The slaughter of the fifth Mon Calamari Star Cruiser finally ceased when a fireball formed in its place, vaporizing the remains of the crew and the ship's skeleton.
"Execute final orders," Kalian said. "Save the survivors, destroy those trying to escape."
He paused for a second, then caught himself.
"Did we get their identifiers?"
"Yes, sir," the signals officers and cryptographers assured him. "All ships identified, their transponder signals recorded in the repeating cycle."
Excellent.
"Good work," he praised the crew. "Battle watch remain at their stations, shift to 'yellow' alert level. The rest are relieved. Rest. Captain Fulik," he looked at the Binder's commander. "Deactivate the Gravity Well Generators."
"Aye, sir," the Ciutric man responded eagerly. "Thank you for coming to the aid. My boys have plenty of motivation, but we're a bit short on weapons. Can't wait to get to the shipyard and become the Dominating. Then the real fun will start..."
"I'm sure it will be," Kalian nodded, not wanting to discuss the dream of all Interdictor commanders — to have their ships upgraded to the "Three" project.
He had enough that this half-hour battle had thoroughly drained him mentally.
And, praise the artillery and missiles, it was already over.
He had no doubt that everything would go perfectly and all traces would be cleaned up.
Only one thing remained.
The commander of the Steel Aurora walked over to the holographic projector and manually entered the encryption channel.
It took some time for the secure communications link to be established.
"Grand Admiral," he saluted at the sight of Thrawn's hologram. "The force entrusted to me has completed its assigned task. Five star cruisers from Lantilles were intercepted and destroyed. Their identification data has been recorded and recognized. The information provided by Agent 'Bravo-Three' has proven fully reliable."
"Excellent work, Captain," said Thrawn.
The holoprojector blinked with an indicator of a received file.
"You are being sent the coordinates of a temporary staging base behind enemy lines," the Supreme Commander informed him. "You and your men need rest before the next assignment. Use the time you are given wisely."
"Will do, sir," Kalian saluted the fading hologram.
Displaying the received information on the screen, the young commander of the Star Destroyer frowned.
"What kind of planet is Horn?" he voiced his genuine bewilderment out loud, but in a half-whisper so as not to provoke unnecessary questions from the crew. "And since when do we have a garrison, production bases, and a staging point there?"
He could only hope the base commandant would clarify these questions.
Although...
Knowing Thrawn, that was unlikely.
* * *
Moff Nivers's face was twisted with rage.
"Captain," he hissed venomously. "I think it's time I contacted your superiors."
"That's your business," Steben shrugged. "You have the right to appeal any of my actions that you deem subject to challenge through administrative procedure..."
Nivers literally exploded, a sharp contrast to the operative's calm.
"I am a Moff!"
"Thank you for the reminder, but I haven't forgotten your position..."
"I govern the Korva Sector!"
"I remember that too."
"What in the Hutt's name are you doing?!" Nivers bellowed.
"Working," Steben said calmly.
So far, he had enjoyed working for counterintelligence.
But when it came to dealing with officials from a position of ordinary interaction — well, you might as well hang yourself.
Still, it was part of the job.
He needed to take things stoically.
"Then kindly explain to me why in the Hutt's name the Dominion Security Bureau has blocked access to several systems in the sector!"
The Moff's indignation was understandable, predictable.
"Classified information," Steben knew that this argument, in this specific situation and with this specific person, would definitely not work.
But he kept using it.
What could he do — it was the job.
"What 'classified information' in the Hutt's name!? You've blocked several trade routes!"
"I wonder, can a bureaucrat choke on his own spit?" Steben thought, watching the man spray that very liquid.
There were quite a few ways Nivers could die without outside intervention.
The question was just what would be faster — a heart attack, a stroke, choking, or his bloodshot eyes bursting?
"Don't exaggerate, Moff," Steben advised. "Counterintelligence isn't touching your precious trade routes."
"Is that so, you scoundrel?!" Nivers snapped.
"I give you my word — no picket lines or customs," the counterintelligence officer said with a friendly smile.
"Are you mocking me?"
"Never crossed my mind," the operative lied.
"I'm going to call the Grand Moff right now, and we'll see how you sing then, you bureaucrat!" Nivers threatened, reaching for the holoprojector. "You've gotten completely out of hand! Villains! How am I supposed to transport goods and equipment around the sector if you're blockading planets?!"
"You need to decide who you want to complain to," Steben advised. "Grand Moff Ferrus is certainly a prominent figure in the Triumvirate, but he's not my boss. He's only a civil administrator. Perhaps you've forgotten, but I report to Colonel Astarion..."
The Triumvirate — that's what they called the three most influential beings who governed the Dominion after Grand Admiral Thrawn's death.
The aforementioned Grand Moff Ferrus was responsible for the state's domestic policy and civil affairs.
Colonel Astarion — for law enforcement services and Dominion counterintelligence.
Vice Admiral Pellaeon — for the Armed Forces, intelligence, and foreign relations, remaining the Dominion's voice on the galactic stage.
And Nivers couldn't not know that Ferrus basically couldn't do anything to Steben — except maybe wag a finger.
Astarion could.
Wag a finger, punch him in the face, demote him, fire him, even send him in first in an attack.
In a situation with a subordinate's misconduct, the Colonel could use any of the above — both legal and illegal — methods of influence on the subordinate.
But there was a catch.
The Colonel knew.
And Nivers couldn't fail to understand that a simple operative wouldn't have taken such daring action as imposing a ban on visiting a star system without coordinating it with higher command.
Therefore, the Moff preferred only to threaten, menace, yell, and spray spit, but he understood that his bosses wouldn't intervene.
Because counterintelligence matters were not under the Grand Moff's control.
And with a very high probability, Felix Ferrus was aware of why the visit ban was imposed.
And the presence of a couple of interdictor cruisers and several Marauder-class corvettes (old but not useless) hinted that the counterintelligence actions were coordinated with the Armed Forces' headquarters.
"Scoundrel," Nivers sank into his chair, slamming the table as hard as he could. "You're behaving worse than pirates!"
"Maybe so, sir," the captain agreed diplomatically. "But my duty requires it. Access to the Galaanus system will not be opened. Until orders come from above."
"And what am I supposed to do?" Nivers began to calm down. "Your interdictors are pulling every ship that moves nearby out of hyperspace! Searches, inspections, interrogations of freighter crews! This is outright tyranny! Private contractors are refusing to use this route after just one trip!"
"Then abandon it," Steben shrugged.
"This route is twice as short as all the others!" Nivers started up again. "The shortest road in this part of the sector!"
Leading to the northeastern borders of the sector and the metropolis, the operative thought automatically.
"I can't help you, Moff," he spread his hands. "Service interests require keeping this system away from prying eyes."
"You could have warned me in advance!" Nivers grumbled aggressively. "I've just started setting up logistics in the sector, connecting the planets into a whole, and you're pouring sweetener into my tank. Right behind my back!"
"And again, I can only apologize," Steben said calmly. "It wasn't anticipated that the outlying systems would attract your attention. That's why counterintelligence chose them."
"Not just chose," Nivers hissed. "You've classified all information about the planets in the Galaanus system."
"That's true," Steben didn't contradict the facts.
"So why couldn't you have informed me in advance?!" Nivers flared up, jumping up again.
"Secrecy regime."
"Hutt-seat your secrecy!" the Moff roared. "We're doing the same thing! Turning this godforsaken region into a thriving province. Settling it! Building! Restoring order!"
"I understand," said Steben. "But our jobs are different. Yours is to make this sector better. Mine is to make it safer."
"And keep secrets," Nivers growled.
"Including that," the operative nodded.
"Do you have any idea how many logistics routes will have to be recalculated?" the Moff asked. "How much transport costs will go up? I'll have to revise the sector budget, allocate more money because freight rates will skyrocket!"
"I understand."
"If you understood, you'd have told me in advance where I shouldn't poke my nose and lay routes!" Nivers barked. "Even now, we've run into one problem. And I wouldn't be surprised if you've made a few more systems in the sector 'forbidden to visit without special permission.'"
"Maybe," Steben shrugged.
"Can you at least tell me — are there any more such systems in the sector or not?"
"Classified information."
"Burn in the Abyss, Steben!" the Moff of the Korva Sector pleaded. "You can't do this! Can you just tell me which systems I shouldn't send ships to or count on their planets?"
"No, I can't."
"We're supposed to work together!"
"And we are!"
"What the hell?!" Nivers threw up his hands. "Why is it that in every other sector, counterintelligence works openly with the Moffs, while you've set up Imperial Palace secrets here?"
"It's the job," Steben shrugged. "And, if it's not a secret, in which sectors did counterintelligence officers meet the Moffs halfway and inform them about the existence of 'forbidden systems'?"
"In Mieru'kar, for example," Nivers fired back. "I literally talked to Brinkkan this morning. He advised me to contact the local DSB office to clarify the situation."
"How interesting," Steben narrowed his eyes. "Looks like I have colleagues who can't keep their mouths shut."
"No, you have colleagues who understand that, given budget constraints and sector development policies, we need to work together, not waste resources traveling for days to remote systems only to find angry fleet personnel who aren't happy about serving in the backwoods and arresting their own citizens trying to make a living as freighters!"
It sounded extremely convincing.
But in practice...
"So Moff Brinkkan is aware of the existence of 'forbidden worlds' in his territory?" Steben clarified.
"His DSB branch didn't make a secret of it," Nivers stated. "They just advised not to poke into a couple of systems. Hinted that they were protecting fleet secrets, and that was it! That's how you do joint work!"
More like, digging a pit, Steben thought.
."..Do you even understand that for a canceled voyage, I have to pay the full freight amount!? It's written in the contracts! 'Termination of transport due to circumstances beyond the freighter crew's control!'"
"I understand your pain and concerns about the budget, Moff, but I can't help," Steben declared. "Secrecy regime..."
"I'm not asking you to disclose what you're doing there!" the Moff said peaceably. "Just tell me where the road is closed, and that's it. I'll save money and time, and your picket squads won't be bothered for nothing. Do you enjoy dropping everything, flying to me, and listening to me yell all over the residence? What's more, with your secret secrets, you're violating your own secrecy! Do you think you can really make the crews keep quiet and not talk about being intercepted by the fleet and interrogated for two days? Like a Hutt's chance! I've already been told that a couple of crews are blabbing. Good thing the governors, at my request, shut them up by throwing them in the clink until they sober up! See what happens when work isn't coordinated in the same territory?!"
Steben put on a thoughtful expression.
"We-ell..." he drawled. "There's certainly some sense in that. Nobody wants extra work..."
"Exactly!"
"And we also didn't account for the crews of detained ships talking," Steben sighed. "We assumed, of course, that nobody in their right mind would even go there."
"It always turns out that way," Nivers said confidentially. "I, too, sent caravans and scouts with the best intentions. I thought I'd find new deposits, start development, and so on. And it turns out I spoiled your secrecy and still have to pay budget money for work not done!"
"Yes, I overdid it," Steben admitted. "Well, I don't think it will do much harm if I say..."
Interest appeared in Nivers's eyes.
"I think you'll only have to change this one route," he smiled. "Otherwise, the sector is free for travel."
"Phew," Nivers wiped droplets of sweat from his forehead with relief. "I guess I got off easy. One planet, then?"
"One system," the operative clarified. "There are two planets there."
"And have you scanned them?" Nivers inquired. "Is there anything valuable there? I could start mining there under your protection. That would only benefit the whole sector!"
"There's nothing of economic interest there," Steben declared. "Otherwise, we would have chosen a different system. The military is extremely particular about this — they don't want planets for their purposes that hold any interest for the population or civil authorities."
"Pity," the Moff sighed. "Well, thanks for that."
"Don't mention it," Steben smiled.
"I thought maybe I could optimize the work somewhere. But," he spread his hands, "nothing to be done. Military affairs take priority. Let them do whatever they're doing, I'll remove the route from the lists," the Moff continued voicing his thoughts aloud. "And it promised to be profitable and efficient. Wait a minute," the Moff frowned. "Which would be better: isolate the entire route from transport, or just the part that goes to the Galaanus system? I just don't want the military to cross paths with my carriers at all. Otherwise, they'll spot a couple of destroyers on course correction and the rumors will start. In Imperial times, do you know how many secret bases the rebels uncovered that way? Though, how would you know. You're so young..."
Steben mentally laughed.
"Better to do the whole thing," he recommended. "Transport of equipment and soldiers is conducted exactly along this route. We try to keep them from intersecting."
"I'll handle it," Nivers promised. "Military matters take priority. Let them fly and not be afraid — there won't be any civilian ships there at all anymore. Not a single one."
"Thank you for your help, Moff."
"Why couldn't you say that from the start," Nivers grumbled. "Just let me know if you decide to change location. The route is attractive, so if you don't need it, I'll gladly put civilian traffic on it."
"I'm afraid not in our lifetime, Moff," Steben declared. "As long as we need ships, armor, soldiers, and weapons, the base will remain there."
The Moff sighed resignedly.
"You guys clearly aren't going to make my life easier," he said. "Well, we'll work with what we've got. Good day, Captain."
Closing the door to the Moff's office behind him, Steben moved toward the exit with an impassive mask of a face.
He needed to urgently contact the Colonel and report everything he had heard and said.
Loquacious counterintelligence officers are disliked a priori, but the worst is when you learn about their talkativeness completely by accident.