Ten years, two months, and eighteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, second month, and eighteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and three days since the Arrival.)
"Pure sabbacc," the lieutenant said, not without pleasure and a triumphant expression, laying his cards on the table.
The other players watched the lucky bastard with undisguised irritation; the total value of his cards equaled the proverbial twenty-three.
Not even "minus twenty-three," which would have meant a simple "sabbacc," which in the hierarchy of winning hands was valued slightly below "pure sabbacc," but rather "plus twenty-three."
"Eight," "nine," "six," "ten," "eleven" with that hand, it added up to "forty-two."
If that had been all the cards thrown down, he would have been laughed at, and the pot would have gone to the senior artilleryman, who had "twenty-two" in his hand — the combination closest to the coveted number.
But the battery commander also had cards with negative values in his hand.
The Star, which had a value of "minus seventeen."
And the Queen of Air and Darkness, which gave the coveted "minus two."
Total — "plus forty-two" and "minus nineteen."
Which was exactly the coveted "twenty-three."
"Pure sabbacc."
"Third time in a row," the senior artilleryman said with a sour face, watching the lieutenant, pleased with himself and a thousand credit profit, rake the winnings to his side of the table. "You're damn lucky, Commander."
"Serve as long as I have in the Patrol Fleet, Sergeant," the battery commander chuckled. "When you spend months wasting time aboard some junk heap like our Guarlara, you'll learn to play sabbacc way better than me."
"Uh-huh," the sergeant grunted, noisily pushing his chair back from the table. A tone sounded from his belt, and he glanced at his comlink. "I don't feel like continuing the game anymore."
The other participants watched the gun commander, who had lost his salary for several weeks to the last credit, walk away, chuckling amongst themselves.
A rookie who thought he was a sabbacc master had just lost all his money, running into the commander of the third battery.
The lieutenant commanding the third turbolaser battery was extremely lucky, charming, possessed enviable charisma — and that was just what could be said about him after a few hours of acquaintance in a comfortable, non-combat setting.
But in reality, everyone thought he was a cheat.
Only no one could prove it.
And for baseless accusations, the burly lieutenant, who looked like a shaved Wookiee, could just as easily break a jaw.
An upper one, at that.
And more than once.
So there hadn't been anyone willing to tangle with him over large sums for a long time.
Nevertheless, it was necessary to pass the time while drifting on patrol along the backwaters of the Bosph Sector, maintaining the blockade set up by the Corporate Sector fleet.
And sabbacc was as good a gambling game as any.
The Guarlara — a Venator-class Star Destroyer, one of the numerous starships of that class in service with the Corporate Sector fleet.
Like two dozen of its brethren, this starship had a rich service record, having fought in the Clone Wars and taken part in the Battle of Coruscant against the ships of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
Later, when the Galactic Empire shed the old "skin" of the Republic and began actively rearming, many starships — the legacy of the Old Republic — were sold off or given to governments loyal to the Empire.
The Corporate Sector, guided by its timeless principle, "Buy old junk, but cheaper and in bulk," was very grateful for what it received from the Empire: a number of famed Venators and decommissioned Acclamators. As recently as twenty years ago, these starships were considered the most advanced in the Corporate Sector fleet, supplementing numerous Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, forming a formidable force sufficient to leisurely scatter pirates and hunt smugglers throughout all systems of the sector.
They were first purchased from the Old Republic and assigned to defensive units due to their poor performance characteristics.
But when the Imperial modifications of these starships, with reduced crews and small air wings, saw the light of day, the "corporates" once again got down on their knees with outstretched hands before Coruscant and received more modern types of Dreadnoughts in large numbers.
Naturally — having generously lubricated their request with cash infusions into the Imperial budget and the pockets of lobbyists.
The Corporate Sector fleet remained a collection of obsolete equipment until they were reinforced by over five hundred Victory-I-class Star Destroyers, also gifted from the powerful shoulder of Coruscant to its satellites.
"The boys in brown" that was the contemptuous nickname ordinary citizens gave to Corporate Sector Security Force personnel — and their naval colleagues were simply delighted with such ships.
Considering that the CorpSec didn't engage in military action — neither full-scale nor prolonged local conflicts — these starships allowed them to control their security and guard deals and shipments throughout the galaxy.
At present, the Corporate Sector was blockading all known hyperspace routes leading from the Hydian Way to the Bosph Sector, which was under the control of the "corporates'" allies but had recently become a problematic investment.
The mining corporation "Kabul Industries" had unexpectedly stopped metal shipments to the Corporate Sector.
The "boys in brown" forces stationed inside the sector had stopped responding, which significantly unnerved the command and the Board of the Corporate Sector.
Everyone in the Patrol Fleet knew, or at least suspected, that it would all end in a full-scale invasion soon — the disruption of over two dozen shipments in large and small convoy caravans was unacceptable to everyone.
The Guarlara, like a number of other Venators from the blockade forces, was currently patrolling "unofficial" hyperspace routes — smuggler loopholes, not as favorable for travel as the well-trodden and well-known ones.
This was necessary to reconnoiter all possible paths for attacking the sector, to strike with all forces at once against the Bosph worlds.
As soon as the Guarlara verified the safety of this route, she would report it to the flagship and, simultaneously with other ships, strike the nearest target.
First — orbital bombardment and destruction of all the rust buckets present in orbit of the chosen world.
Then — landing ground forces, supported by squadrons whose pilots had been idle for months in the Guarlara's hangars.
The "boys in brown," even if they were inferior in training even to New Republic fighters and certainly to Imperial soldiers (let alone stormtroopers), would be more than enough to give the local natives a good scare.
Created as the primary element of executive power in the Corporate Sector and the main means of protecting the interests of large companies and corporations within the sector from encroachments by other large industrial and economic organizations of the galaxy that were not part of their economic space, the "boys in brown" served as police forces, ground troops, customs, and recently had been frequently deployed for boarding pirate ships and any vessel that a Corporate Sector Security Force officer deemed suspicious.
The "boys in brown," whom they had repeatedly tried to pass off as Imperial stormtroopers by dressing them in appropriate gear, would have their fun with the locals — and not a single native would dare speak out against Corporate Sector authority again.
Cruel, interpreting laws to their own advantage, the CorpSec Security Force operatives had not earned their contemptuous nickname, which had practically become the norm in conversations about them, for nothing.
Without their presence being heard, of course.
Operatives would often open fire on a crowd just to catch a single criminal. Because of their brutality during arrests and torture during interrogations, most ordinary citizens preferred to have nothing to do with them under any circumstances.
They were always harsh, regardless of the crowd's mood, and for dispersing demonstrations, they didn't shy away from any means, from blasters set to stun to flamethrowers and even grenade launchers. Those unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of the CorpSec police could end up in one of the galaxy's harshest prisons — Star Dead End.
Although until recently the "boys in brown" were mostly equipped with obsolete models of armor and weapons that were falling out of use in the galaxy's leading armies, for their region and especially for Outer Rim worlds, such weaponry and equipment could be considered modern and sufficiently advanced.
With the formation of the Dominion right next to CorpSec, the Board of the Corporate Sector had become seriously concerned with rearmament issues.
Now a considerable portion of their units, especially assault units, had gear from the Clone Wars era in their arsenals.
Morally obsolete, decommissioned by the Empire, but still effective and deadly.
Specific units — the assault forces — were armed with disintegrators and repeaters, the advantages of which the now-defunct Zann Consortium had proven to the entire galaxy.
So now the Corporate Sector Security Force and fleet represented a fairly decent combat force.
And the assault on the planets of the Bosph Sector would be a true test of their strength.
Which they would, of course, pass with flying colors.
Of course, the Security Force also had some models of ships and ground vehicles of their own design. But for now, they were supplied to elite units — along with the most successful examples of Zann Consortium equipment.
The second hand of sabbacc was ending when the speakers above the players' heads erupted with the voice of the Guarlara's commander.
"Battle stations! Everyone to your posts!"
It took a few seconds to realize what was happening.
Then the confusion gave way to energetic sprints to battle stations throughout the ship.
"What's going on?" asked the cheating lieutenant, arriving at the battery command post.
"Ships exited hyperspace," his deputy explained. "First one, now two starships. On course towards us. Looks like they were flying in tandem, and now they've separated."
"Well, that's probably our supply convoy with the landing force and combat vehicles," the battery commander winced, calculating that he'd been robbed of another triumph and profit because of some nonsense.
"The bridge thought so too," the deputy agreed. "But the ships are moving without an active transponder. Not responding to hails. And our freighters aren't supposed to arrive for another hour — at the end of the patrol. Until the starships are in range of our sensors, we'll just be stewing and bored at our posts. Probably a couple of smugglers hauling goods into Bosph and shipping our metals out for sale."
"That's true," the lieutenant frowned. "Well, nothing — we'll give them a good working over with the turbolasers and get back to being bored."
He switched his comlink to contact the gun commanders.
"Third battery — attention all. Fire only on my command. Start with rapid ranging, then, if necessary — switch to maximum power."
The Clone Wars-era turbolasers that the Guarlara was still armed with had as many as seven firing modes, which was usually enough to deal with a small pirate band.
Considering they were probably dealing with armed freighters, it wouldn't take long to finish them off.
"All batteries — attention," the ship commander's voice came from the intercom. "Targets identified. An Interdictor-class Star Destroyer and a Crusader-class corvette. We're launching our air wing. Be ready to strike at any moment."
"Aren't Crusaders Zann Consortium ships?" the lieutenant asked stupidly. "Looks like we're not the only ones collecting once-glorified junk. Oh, I can feel interesting times ahead."
"Did the ship commander just joke, or what?" the deputy battery commander looked at the lieutenant. "We're going up against an Interdictor?"
Considering that even the latter carry four gravity well generators, and their armament and air wing are an order of magnitude inferior to even the weakest Imperial-class, even one such starship is far stronger than a ship like the Guarlara.
Exchanging fire with one was outright stupidity.
All hope rested solely on the air wing, which on CorpSec Venators numbered around twenty squadrons.
Yes, these were obsolete Clone Wars-era V-19 Torrents, but still combat-capable and dangerous ships.
And even though many of them were already over thirty years old and had come into service along with the ships transferred by the Empire, they could still cause problems for the enemy.
Especially when attacking in large numbers.
V-19 Torrent light starfighter.
"I don't like this," the lieutenant hissed. "The only ones who could have ships like that nearby are the Dominion. But we didn't stray into their territory, right?"
"How should I know?" the deputy shrugged.
Both commanders kept their eyes fixed on the tactical monitor, which gave a picture of what was happening in the system.
The lieutenant cursed filthily when he realized what the wide red cone meant, in the center of which the Guarlara, now turning onto a reverse course, found itself — the Dominionites had activated their gravity well generators.
Now the only way to get out of here was if they could destroy all four projectors.
Or trick the Interdictor's crew.
Or if a miracle happened...
Suddenly, bursting with whistling and crackling static, the intercoms throughout the starship started speaking in a completely different voice.
"Star Destroyer Guarlara, this is the commander of the Star Destroyer Spectral, Regular Dominion Fleet," the battery officers exchanged glances. It seemed they hadn't been mistaken — this was definitely the Dominion. And they weren't joking, since they'd gone to the trouble of hacking the Guarlara's shipboard broadcast network. "The Bosph Sector is territory under the protectorate of the Dominion. Violation of the state border is prosecutable. Immediately shut down your engines, shields, weapons, and prepare to receive a prize crew. If you do not comply, you will be attacked and boarded."
"Well, I'll be damned," the lieutenant whistled. "Things could get..."
"Uh-huh," the deputy battery commander grunted. "I knew it wasn't for nothing that the problems in Bosph started. Now we've got real problems."
"Don't lose your nerve," the lieutenant grinned wryly. "Right now both destroyer commanders will talk, remind the Dominionites that there's no official record of their sector joining anywhere, that what happened is a misunderstanding, and that there was no deliberate border violation. Our commander will negotiate a retreat, contact the main blockade forces, and we'll give these vague Imperials a proper answer."
"Yeah, sure, they'll just let us go like that," the deputy sneered. "And I suppose they activated the gravity well generator just for that. Dream on! The Dominionites already said they want to send a prize party. Not an inspection team, not a negotiation group, but a..."
"Don't be a pessimist!" the battery commander said sharply and categorically, cutting off his timid subordinate. "The Corporate Sector has enough ships for two whole sector fleets of the Empire, if not more! And almost half of them are cruisers and destroyers. No one in their right mind would pick a fight with us over some miners in a sector."
At that very moment, the Guarlara's commander's voice sounded:
"Star Destroyer Spectral, we apologize for the border violation and will leave the sector immediately," the lieutenant glanced triumphantly at his deputy, saluting the correctness of his version. "We are recalling our fighters and turning onto a reverse course. We apologize for any inconvenience caused."
And indeed, it could be noted that the Guarlara increased its rate of turn, not wanting to tangle with a superior opponent.
"Star Destroyer Guarlara," the voice of the Dominion Star Destroyer commander came again. "Comply with the demands. Shut down your engines, shields, weaponry, go to drift, and prepare to receive a prize party. Attempts to leave the sector will be regarded as hostile actions on your part."
The lieutenant blinked in fright.
His subordinate, though pleased to have been proven right, still showed no joy.
A battle was coming — and they clearly wouldn't win it.
"Spectral, you are displaying aggression," the Guarlara's commander said with a hint of hysteria in his voice. "We will immediately report your actions to the nearest Corporate Sector fleet command. Be prepared for the most unpleasant consequences!"
The next moment, new markers appeared on the tactical monitor, having virtuously arrived in the space immediately surrounding the Guarlara.
The lieutenant swore again.
Two Vindicator-class heavy cruisers, accompanied by Crusader-class corvettes, emerged from hyperspace fifty units from the Venator, unambiguously opening fire with their turbolasers across the Guarlara's course.
"This is your final warning," the commander of the Spectral declared. "If you refuse to comply…"
"Go to a Hutt!" squealed the commander of the Guarlara, proving what was already known about him. "Dozens of our ships will be here any minute, then we'll see who does what to whom!"
The man had no self-control and no command talent whatsoever.
He had clearly gotten his post through a hefty bribe, lacking any military leadership skills.
"They won't come," a voice sounded behind both officers.
Turning around, they saw the sergeant who had recently lost his gambling standing at the entrance to the command center.
A blaster was in his hands, aimed at the lieutenant and his subordinate.
"What's going on, Sergeant?" the battery's deputy commander asked fearfully.
"The Spectral should already be jamming long-range communications," the gun commander commented on the question. "No one will hear you, and no one will come to help."
"Lower your weapon," the battery commander demanded slowly. "If you're this upset with me about losing at sabbacc…"
"This has nothing to do with that," the sergeant assured him. "Shut down the computer targeting and tracking systems," he demanded.
"What the Hutt do you think you're doing?" the lieutenant squealed. "Security Bureau will string you up in the most brutal way they know!"
"That's their problem," the sergeant shrugged. "I'll give you three seconds. Then I'll step over your corpses and do it myself. Three…"
"This is mutiny!" the battery's deputy commander whispered, taking a step back to draw his blaster from the holster lying on the control panel. "Lower your weapon, and we'll forget this incident."
"Two."
"You won't get away with this!" the lieutenant shouted, lunging forward.
He knew his chances of survival were slim — the crewman was a rookie, only recently transferred aboard the ship, clearly trained in hand-to-hand combat and weapons handling.
But it would give his deputy a chance to shoot the insolent bastard.
Without computer systems, the gunners wouldn't be able to hit the Death Star itself — and even that would require a huge stroke of luck.
They'd have to be shooting at point-blank range.
The first shot punched an extra hole in the lieutenant's skull, cutting the battery commander's charge short.
The second entered the neck of his deputy, who had already drawn his weapon from its holster and was ready to aim it at the mutineer.
Stepping over the bodies, the man approached the control panel and ran his fingers over the keyboard.
A short beep from the equipment signaled the shutdown of the automated systems.
Right at that moment, the Guarlara shuddered from the crossfire of a Star Destroyer, two heavy cruisers, and three corvettes.
From the Guarlara, white-blue turbolaser bolts streaked toward the nearest target.
There were only six of them, instead of the regulation eight for the port side.
There was a reason for that, too.
But their accuracy was nothing to envy — they didn't even come close to the Avenger.
"Batteries Two, Three, Four — why did you shut down the computer targeting systems?" the "sergeant" heard the furious voice of the Star Destroyer's senior artillery officer. "Battery One, why aren't you firing at all? What the Hutt is going on?! Starboard side — why are you silent?! Fire the anti-aircraft guns! Ships carrying boarding parties are approaching!"
The Dominion agent wearing Molo Himron's face didn't bother answering these purely rhetorical questions.
He already knew that other Dominion agents, clones of other operatives, had already completed their task — the Guarlara's main batteries were incapable of inflicting significant damage on Dominion ships.
Soon, this starship would stop obeying orders from the Corporate Sector altogether.
The Red Star Squadron had moved to active operations.
Checking the charge level in his blaster, the clone left the fire control center, leaving behind several tripwire mines for anyone who would come to investigate the silence of this compartment.
The agent himself continued his work alongside his colleagues, physically eliminating the Guarlara's gunners.
* * *
The Star Destroyer Sky of Coruscant was a Venator-class ship and, like many of its brethren, was living out its final days in the Corporate Sector fleet.
In the past, this ship had seen action in dozens of battles, but the peak of its military service was the operation to counter the attack on Bothawui during the Clone Wars.
Only a handful of ships similar to the Sky of Coruscant had successfully repelled the attack on the planet Kothlis, forcing the enemy to retreat in disarray, essentially fleeing in shame.
It had stood guard for the New Order for many long years until it was decommissioned, first sent to the periphery, and then — like many of its sister ships — it was destined for scrapping and melting down.
But instead, the starship fell into the hands of profiteers from the Corporate Sector and found a new lease on life there.
Its damaged systems were repaired, a crew was brought aboard, and its hangar was filled with V-19 Torrent light starfighters.
The ship was back in service and had since won a considerable number of battles, properly fulfilling its combat assignments, destroying increasingly bold pirates and smugglers time and again, defending the interests of the Corporate Sector.
And now it was here — on the western borders of the Bosph sector.
At the head of a powerful task force blockading the territory of miners who had gotten too big for their boots.
A mighty guardian in the midst of interstellar space, protecting an invisible road into the distant reaches.
The flagship of a formation of a dozen starships, crewed by sentients loyal to the Corporate Sector Directorate.
Predominantly humans, but as it happened, only humans were sufficiently loyal and advanced in this galaxy, filled with thousands of the most diverse — and not always pleasant to talk to — races.
The crew was frankly bored from idleness — after all, they were sentient beings, not the hypertrophically loyal, dedicated clones who had once served on this starship.
After the formation under Moff Harsh's command had left the sector, the Sky of Coruscant had been left at the starting point solely to monitor any suspicious activity in the region and report it to all nearby patrols.
Its crew — even the ship's captain — didn't know the coordinates Moff Harsh had jumped to, and so they spent their free time concocting various hypotheses about the former Imperial's mission.
Some said the man had gone to survey new mineral deposits.
Others said he'd found a long-hidden rebel base responsible for sabotaging the Kabul Industries mines a few years back.
Still others claimed the Moff had set off for a secret Imperial base to expropriate its contents for the Corporate Sector's needs.
One way or another, the Sky of Coruscant, accompanied by the ships of its formation, was here waiting for signals from a dozen patrols that were supposed to report that the routes into the sector's depths were clear and passable.
And then, the two task forces would launch their attack and unite in the center of the sector, marking the triumph of the CorpSec Security Forces.
One group — the light forces — would sweep through the eastern fringes of the sector with fire and sword, pushing the enemy out of the territory, driving them toward the formation led by the Sky of Coruscant.
Bosph would be their first major, purely military victory in virtually the entire existence of the Corporate Sector since the fall of Warlord Zsinj, and they couldn't afford to fail.
They could talk all they wanted about fighting natives who could never come up with anything clever, but they shouldn't forget that the ground forces group on the planets of the sector had suddenly gone silent.
According to reports from a handful of scouts and hundreds of agents sent into the sector, it seemed the Bosphians had risen up in revolt overnight, led by Arista Kabul — the niece of the lawful director of Kabul Industries.
Therefore, in the opinion of the blockade fleet's commander, it was best to prepare for the coming attack rather than blindly assaulting.
The native opponents were clearly not as simple as the "boys in brown" might think.
They had some kind of intelligence, after all.
That was why the existence of the second task force, under the Sky of Coruscant's command, was being carefully concealed.
And it was made to seem as if only one blocking group existed — so the trap would work perfectly.
Victory in one prolonged battle, instead of lengthy mopping-up operations — such was the plan for conquering this part of the galaxy.
The attack on Bosph would be the prelude to the Corporate Sector's triumph across the entire galactic northeast.
And those who thought the Corporate Sector wasn't joining the struggle for galactic power because it was weak would be instantly convinced of its strength when dozens of CorpSec starships appeared in orbit above their planets.
All they had to do was wait for the right signal.
And the signal came.
But not the one the commander of the formation — consisting of one Venator-class Star Destroyer and a dozen Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers — had been expecting.
"Contact! A Star Destroyer has been detected, class Interdictor!" the gravity acoustics operator reported.
"Who the hell is that?" the formation commander looked at his subordinate in confusion.
"No idea, sir," the gravity acoustics operator admitted, a hint of fear appearing on his face. "Transponders are offline!"
"They're launching fighters!"
"TIE Interceptors and Xg-1 assault gunboats!"
It's the Empire, or the Dominion, the formation commander thought.
"All four gravity well projector vectors are active!" a warning came from the right pit of the bridge. "All ships in the formation are trapped!"
"We can't jump to hyperspace to get out of here," the senior artillery officer said. "We need to prepare for battle."
The formation commander was quick on the uptake.
"Get a message to the operation commander immediately! Tell them we're under attack!"
Probably, if the enemy knew the location and very existence of this formation, they knew more as well.
He needed to inform…
"Long-range communications are jammed! No one will hear us!" the communications section chief reported.
"Launch our fighters! Sound general quarters on all ships in the formation!" the commander ordered.
They could definitely handle just one Interdictor.
And then, as if in mockery of his thoughts, the gravity acoustics operator reported:
"More ships are emerging from hyperspace at the edge of the gravity trawl field!"
"Identify them!"
"Star Destroyers, sir! Imperial class!"
"Our ships are cut off from the system's exit vector!"
"The Star Destroyers are dropping support corvettes and launching starfighters!"
"Sir, the corvettes slung under the main hangar — those are Dominion Star Destroyers doing the carrying!" the senior artillery officer reported. "I read about this in the operational briefings."
Five Imperial-class and one Interdictor.
Six line ships and an equal number of fast corvettes.
Against eleven outdated ships.
The outcome of the battle was a foregone conclusion.
But they could still try their luck.
"We'll break out," the Star Destroyer captain said grimly. "Engines to maximum, bring the backup power sources online and…"
"Sir, another contact on the scanner!" the gravity acoustics operator said excitedly. "It's a Venator, sir! Looks like one of our scouts is back! They're in the enemy's rear!"
"They're opening the main hangar doors!"
"They're going to hit the enemy's rear with their entire air wing," the formation commander said in anticipation. "And we'll help them. Full speed ahead! Aim main batteries!"
But just a few minutes later, when the starships — six Star Destroyers and their support ships — opened fire on the enemy ships, the commander of the Sky of Coruscant realized his mistake.
Starfighters did launch from the hangar of the arriving Venator-class Star Destroyer.
But they were TIE fighters, which were virtually non-existent in the Corporate Sector's arsenal — certainly not in the Picket Fleet organizing the blockade of the Bosph sector.
They were only found among pro-Imperial Remnants.
"Sir, there's something big in the Venator's hangar," the scanner operator reported. "Registering a power buildup."
"Oh, no," the senior artillery officer winced. "That's an ion cannon. I read about this…"
And then the Star Destroyer named Dragon-I fired twice, and the Sky of Coruscant was plunged into darkness, continuing its motion by inertia, losing atmosphere through the unsealed hangars.
Meanwhile, the Red Star Squadron formation began exchanging fire with the Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers.
Actively pounding their shields with turbolasers and their hulls with ion cannons, the commander of the flagship Star Destroyer had no intention of wasting time waiting for the Dragon's main battery to recharge, intending to claim prizes with his own forces as well.
* * *
The first wave of the main attack caught the main forces of the Picket Fleet, drifting through interstellar void on the eastern borders of the Bosph sector, completely by surprise.
There were no established hyperspace routes in this spot, and to get here, it would take at least three days' flight from the nearest inhabited system in the Bosph sector.
This place, serving as a base for accumulating and saturating the blocking forces with troops and supplies needed for the occupation of the planets, had turned into a battlefield without the knowledge of those who had chosen this patch of space as a temporary anchorage for their forces.
The enemy, whose affiliation was easily determined by the presence of a Bellator-class fast dreadnought, turned the "corporates'" own tactics against them.
The first to appear on the battlefield were two Immobilizer 418-class cruisers and an Interdictor-class Star Destroyer, emerging from hyperspace in such a way that the "corporate" ships found themselves at the center of an improvised triangle.
The Interdictor, forming one apex of the angle, was the first to deploy its gravity trawls.
The other starships followed its example.
What was strange was that, contrary to logic, they directed their invisible weapon not inward toward the "triangle," but only two of them did; the rest formed the "sides of the triangle."
Thus, the enemy not only delineated the boundaries for hyperspace jumps but also created an anomaly in the center of the "triangle" that prevented a micro-jump over short distances to any other echelon.
The global trap in which the "corporates" found themselves promised them nothing good.
Three Recusant-class light Star Destroyers, two Lucrehulk-class ships — one battle version and one cargo version — ten Dymell-class attack ships, and over a dozen Super Transport XI-class freighters carrying troops and armored vehicles.
And all these forces were suddenly attacked from three directions — the "sides of the triangle."
The Dominionites struck without warning, materializing from hyperspace in full force, which was almost a suicidal maneuver for such a large flotilla.
Recusant-class light destroyer.
Before the alarm sirens had even finished sounding on the bridges of the CorpSec starships, their crews discovered they were under fire from one Bellator and two Vindicator-class heavy cruisers on one side, two Imperial-class Star Destroyers and three Vindicators on another, and three more of the same Star Destroyers supported by an equal number of heavy cruisers on the third.
There was not the slightest doubt that the attack was led by the Bellator, identified as the Crimson Dawn.
This ship, spewing hundreds of turbolaser and ion cannon shots in all directions, moved through the "corporate" formation like a hot knife through butter, destroying everything in its path.
It held a course for both Lucrehulk ships, relentlessly pounding them with volleys of missiles.
The commander of the fast dreadnought surely understood that the sluggish Lucrehulk-class ships possessed impressive energy shields.
And their creators hadn't skimped on weaponry either.
But now, as the enemy literally tore chunks from the hulls of these large ships with their missiles — vessels that once flew under the identifiers of the Confederacy of Independent Systems — witnesses to the battle were no longer sure that these ships, built to order for the Trade Federation, truly deserved the glorious reputation ascribed to them.
The absolute dominance of the Bellator over its opponents was an indisputable fact.
And the starships trying to oppose it were merely prolonging the agony of the doomed vessels.
* * *
On the bridge of the Crimson Dawn, Rear Admiral Shohashi, leaning on his cane, turned his head toward the watch officer.
"Inform Red Dragon and Eviscerator that the Recusants are beginning a maneuver to break out."
"Aye, sir."
The three light destroyers, flaunting their battered hulls, to whose condition the fast dreadnought had contributed not the slightest effort, were indeed beginning to turn, trying to escape the trap.
They chose as their target that "side of the triangle" where, in their purely unprofessional opinion, the weakest parts of Shohashi's squadron were located.
Well, disappointment awaited them.
Both the Red Dragon and the Eviscerator, from keel to superstructure, were crewed by cloned crews of the best specialists in the entire regular Dominion fleet.
These starships were newcomers to the squadron, but during the forced inactivity in the sector, Eric had become convinced that the crews were indeed perfectly selected, formed, and trained.
And they were in no way inferior to the other teams of the armed forces attached to the Crimson Dawn.
Those who wished to break out of the trap through this detachment should be prepared to go through hell.
Eric didn't have very many Dragon ships under his command, and those he did have were early modifications.
That's why he sent them as part of raiding units to deal with the enemy patrols.
He wasn't interested in all the starships the enemy had sent to traverse the Bosph sector — only those the Dominion could actively use.
Therefore, most of the Picket Fleet's scouts would be destroyed.
Only the Venators, Acclamators, and Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers were to be captured.
These starships were needed by the Dominion and would be taken with minimal damage.
They would be repaired, modernized, and then transferred to the Defense Forces or the regular fleet.
The rest of the junk, like the Recusants falling apart before their eyes or the underdeveloped Dymells, were to be destroyed.
The Lucrehulks were a different story.
The Crimson Dawn could handle both, though not without problems, but according to data from agents planted in the Picket Fleet, the operation commander was aboard these starships — specifically on the battle modification.
This sentient, whose identity was unknown to anyone except the warship captains and whom none of the agents had ever seen in person, was to be captured, interrogated, and his knowledge would become a valuable addition for future operations.
At least, that was the official version for the boarding actions.
The real reason was entirely different.
The discrepancy between the declared and actual objectives was so great that if anyone had found out beforehand, it would have raised a huge number of questions among the senior officers.
Even despite their loyalty and faith in Shohashi, Thrawn, and their cause, the reasons why the enemy commander should avoid capture could not be explained by logic.
Just like any of the Grand Admiral's plans.
The transport version of the Lucrehulk carried the bulk of the enemy's heavy armored vehicles, and they were also of interest.
Especially the Juggernauts.
The Super Transports were ships with capacious holds that could also find a more respectable occupation than carrying enemy troops and light armored vehicles.
So now they were being surrounded by ships of a detachment under the command of the Imperious — the Tyrant and the Killer.
While the heavy cruisers held the blocking line and guarded the ships carrying the gravity projectors, the Star Destroyers did the main work — they knocked down shields and ruthlessly pummeled the enemy transports and starships with ion cannons.
And in the midst of all this chaos, a deadly struggle raged between the small craft of both sides.
His personal comlink beeped — just as the Red Dragon and the Eviscerator widened the distance between them, giving the Recusants the hopeful idea that three ships could slip past the two Star Destroyers by shooting at them.
In reality, it turned out quite differently.
As soon as one light destroyer found itself in the space between the Red Dragon and the Eviscerator, and the other two moved alongside the latter, the tactical incompetence of the commanders of these relics of the Clone Wars became apparent.
Not one of them, even with all their artillery, could match a broadside salvo from an Imperial-class Star Destroyer.
Not to mention the latter's protection, strengthened not with makeshift modifications but with Mon Calamari-made SEAL generators refined by Dominion engineers.
The "corporates" strained with all their might to destroy the domes on the superstructures, believing that this would disable the destroyers' deflectors.
Their starfighters — old Republic Torrents — died by the dozens as they recklessly attacked the superstructures, slaughtered by the anti-aircraft artillery and the fighter screens of the Dominion ships.
But the enemy "succeeded."
They managed to damage one dome on the Red Dragon and destroy another on the Eviscerator.
Under normal circumstances, this would have caused the ships' deflectors to lose their redundant power.
In practice, this only resulted in a brief loss of the main scanner systems.
Because on the Dominion's Imperial-class ships, the shield generators had long since been moved under the armor.
Along with the booster generators.
This foolish attack had only resulted in the enemy suffering heavy pilot casualties, taking dozens of hull breaches, and losing several engines on each of their ships.
All without inflicting any serious damage on either Star Destroyer.
Unlike the gunners of the Red Dragon and the Eviscerator.
The heavy turbolasers of both destroyers unrelentingly savaged the hulls of all three enemy light destroyers, punching through their armored plating once their deflector shields were gone.
The skin and bulkheads were holed, melted, cracked, and shattered, littering the space around the Dominion ships with a vast cloud of debris.
At one point, one of the Recusant-class ships simply broke in two — the gunners aboard the Crimson Dragon and the Ripper had severed its central spar, the structural beam connecting the forward section to the engine compartment, similar to escort ships of the Nebulon-B type.
The doomed vessel was finished off by artillery fire and proton torpedoes from the bombers.
The comlink chirped.
"Shohashi," Eric answered.
"The fleet special forces assault team has arrived in the hangar and boarded the transport," the unit commander reported. "We're only waiting for General Ventress."
"She's not with you?" Shohashi asked, surprised.
"No, sir. Awaiting her arrival."
Damn that witch, Eric thought, switching channels.
"General Ventress, where in the nine hells are you?" he demanded.
"My fighter has left the hangar, Rear Admiral," Lady Ventress informed him. "I'm heading toward the Lucrehulk\-class. Tell the boys in the stylish black armor not to dawdle."
Flighty bitch, Eric's thoughts ground out.
"Escadrilles and decoys will provide cover," Shohashi said warningly, gesturing to the flight controller to launch the old drone-piloted shuttles.
The Lucrehulk\-class possesses enough firepower that suppressing it takes considerable time.
But grinding it down battery by battery would take far too long.
That's why the assault team's landing will take place within a mass of numerous old Republic-era shuttles, which aren't particularly missed — especially when piloted by droids.
This will allow both ships carrying the special forces to reach the emergency airlocks of the Lucrehulk's core ship in relative safety and begin the assault from the central part of the vessel, "for a quicker capture of the commander."
In reality, this will only spook any intelligent being and drive them to flee the battlefield.
No matter how hard Eric tried, he still couldn't understand why Thrawn needed this.
Letting an enemy commander escape — one who will at least know about the Dominion's attack on Corporate Sector ships and has seen their tactics — is wrong.
It will lead to additional problems.
But so far, Thrawn has never been wrong.
This plan has a double bottom.
And even the phlegmatic Shohashi was burning with curiosity to find out what it was.
"Thank you for worrying about my safety, Rear Admiral," Ventress said with a chuckle. "I don't need an escort."
Eric frowned.
Why would that be?
"The plan stipulates—"
"No offense, Shohashi, but my fighter launched among the first squadrons," the Dathomirian witch told him. "I'm already close to the target."
Eric felt irritation rising.
"What's going on, Ventress?" he asked threateningly. "If you intend to betray the Dominion—"
A chuckle came from the other side.
"'Dominion above all,' Rear Admiral. Remember that?" she inquired.
"Like any loyal subject—"
"Then don't worry," she advised. "I have no intention of betraying anyone. But the circumstances of the attack have changed."
"How exactly?" Shohashi pressed.
"Significantly," Asajj stated in a serious tone. "With your ysalamiri blocking the Force, I didn't realize it right away. But now, away from them, I have no doubt about my feelings."
Eric remained silent, understanding the Dathomirian witch's implication.
"You'd be better off with the assault team," he said. "This is a massive ship, and finding the enemy—"
"I spent several years aboard ships like this, Rear Admiral," Ventress reminded him. "Alone, I'll do much better. Let the special forces follow the plan — I'm sure my opponent expects that. I'll give him a surprise instead."
Eric hesitated only a moment.
He couldn't let her ruin everything.
"Ventress, the enemy commander must—"
"No offense, Rear Admiral, but I know you too well not to sense the double bottom," the Dathomirian witch declared. "My improvisation will only add intrigue to this affair. Besides, a duel often comes with informative conversations. End transmission."
The comlink went silent.
Eric took a deep breath, holding it to calm himself.
He'd seen Ventress do this several times.
But he'd always thought these exercises were useless.
As it turned out — just a few repetitions were enough to calm down and get back to managing the battle.
But another thought joined his reflections on Grand Admiral Thrawn's plan.
Where did the 'Zann Consortium' get a Force-user of its own?
* * *
The program developed by Mr. Ghent works flawlessly, regardless of distance or the interference caused by the masking field.
He could have entrusted this conversation to the real Pellaeon, of course, but there's no need — Gilad has better things to do.
The hologram of my interlocutor materialized, revealing a strikingly surprised white-and-blue image of perhaps the most famous politician-Bothan in the entire galaxy.
"Vice Admiral Pellaeon," Borsk Fey'lya addressed my stand-in persona, squinting his eyes. "I didn't expect the Dominion to finally break its information isolation."
Quite ironic that last time we used this program to pass Pellaeon off as Borsk.
And now — to pass me off as Pellaeon in front of Borsk.
"And I didn't expect you to still keep the encrypted comlink that Iceheart gave you," I remarked, for the first time since arriving in this galaxy allowing myself an open smile. "That says something, doesn't it? For instance, how deeply what happened — how easily she led you into multiple traps — has stuck in your craw."
"Gloat all you want," the Bothan snorted. "I have more important matters to attend to."
"Of course," Pellaeon's hologram nodded.
Thanks to Mr. Pent's modifications, I could see Gilad's hologram the way my interlocutor saw it.
"In that case — farewell," Fey'lya stated.
"I have a business proposition, President Fey'lya," I declared.
"Is that so, Vice Admiral Pellaeon?" the Bothan looked at me with feigned boredom. "And what might it be?"
"I assume you've heard that Grand Moff Kaine is finishing repairs on his Reaper," I said.
"However, I don't think you should presume to know what I do or don't know," the President of the New Republic bristled.
"Nevertheless, it's true," I continued. "I'm sure you're strengthening your defenses near Balmorra, but given the shift in attack vectors from Imperial Space, you simply don't have enough line ships to reliably resist on all fronts of the Imperial offensive..."
"Where are you going with this, Pellaeon?" Fey'lya switched to a businesslike tone. "You're not saying all this for nothing."
"Naturally not," I declared. "I imagine you recall that last year, Grand Admiral Thrawn managed to capture a rather impressive number of star cruisers from the New Republic."
"As well as Star Destroyers and other vessels. Want to return them?"
"I want to offer you the chance to buy the star cruisers we have," I said.
The Bothan's eyes narrowed.
"Well, yes, what else would you expect from Imperials," Fey'lya commented with undisguised contempt. "All you can do is drink the blood of democratic foundations—"
"And steal the bones from the Bothan people's bowl," I sighed. "Shall we practice our rhetoric, or get to the point?"
"And what's the catch in your offer?" Fey'lya asked, the fur on his face bristling.
"The longer you fight the Imperials — the easier it is for the Dominion," I answered succinctly. "Besides, you saw the quality of our ships firsthand at Belnar."
"I thought as much — that wasn't the Alliance or the Mon Calamari intervening," Fey'lya said triumphantly.
"What can I say," I shrugged. "We needed to advertise the product. Now you know these ships are combat-capable enough to fight your enemies."
The New Republic's need for line ships is common knowledge.
So there's no doubt they'll accept the offer.
Only one question remains.
"And what is the price of your offer?" it took several long minutes of mutual jabs and verbal sparring before the Bothan finally "ripened to a substantive conversation."
"Oh," I allowed myself another smile. "You'll like it, without a doubt."