Ten years, two months, and twenty-two days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, second month, and twenty-second day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and seven days since the Arrival.)
Kreb walked slowly along the deck plating of the upper-level balcony, from which the infamous "bar" upon which the TIE Avengers were mounted — ran across the width of the launch bay.
The man stared straight ahead, marching as if on parade.
He slipped his right hand into a glove, fastening the clasps securely, adding another element to his flight suit.
Then he repeated the same with his other hand.
As always before takeoff, he glanced at his ship.
The matte-black machine, honed to perfection, glinted in the artificial light of the launch bay.
No other color. Not a single unnecessary element.
Only the blackness of the paint and the metal beneath it.
He climbed the ladder slowly, reaching the same level required to enter the Avenger's cockpit.
He cast a grim look at the other ships in the squadron.
Hatches sealed, engines running at low power.
According to regulations, all fighter combat systems were being checked — this would confirm the readiness of every ship in the squadron for launch.
Though no one doubted that there would be no failures in any system on any aircraft.
His squadron had good techs.
They followed regulations and never did anything wrong in repairs or maintenance.
Kreb looked at the mechanic hurrying toward him, holding out a datapad.
"Sir, all ships are ready for launch," the man reported. "No discrepancies noted. No unauthorized personnel have approached the ships."
"Unauthorized personnel?" Kreb frowned, though it was invisible beneath his helmet's faceplate. "Why that clarification, mechanic? It's not part of standard procedure."
"I know, sir," the man replied with a nervous smile. "But last time there was a misunderstanding when I was fooled by a female cadet..."
Good thing he was wearing a helmet.
No one could see his expression.
"I understand what situation you're referring to, mechanic," Kreb replied, signing the datapad with a stylus. After all, no emergency launch was planned, so the mechanic's report procedure to the squadron commander was being followed. "Thank you for your service. Judging by the fact that you're here, the reprimand motivated you to take the right approach to your duties and protocol compliance?"
"Happy to serve, sir," the man replied. "Yes, that's right. At first I was angry with you, but then I sorted myself out... Thank you for the lesson, sir. Now I understand how important what I do is to me. I apologize for that incident. I assure you, it will never happen again."
"It won't," Kreb echoed, standing at the edge of the hatch leading into his ship's cockpit. "There's no one to repeat it."
"Sir?" the technician asked, a little quieter.
"She died," Kreb explained. "In one of the battles."
"Oh," sadness appeared on the man's face. "I'm sorry to hear that... I didn't know, I was transferred almost right after... She was a lively girl."
"Yes, she was," eternal thanks to whoever put vocoders on pilot helmets. No one could read his tone either. "Want some advice, tech?"
"Advice?" the man was taken aback. "Y-yes, of course, sir. Getting advice from a legend like you is a milestone in life!"
"Then live it happily, tech," Kreb said. "With someone who opens your eyes to the fact that you're not just a death machine. And that beyond the stick and pedals, there's a life outside the canopy glass."
"Oh... Understood, sir," the technician was flustered. "I... I'll try."
"I believe in you," the smile on Kreb's phlegmatic face was also invisible to outsiders.
But it was enough that he himself knew it was there.
Settling into the seat and sealing the cockpit, the squadron commander automatically strapped himself in, connected the deflector's power, and increased the reactor's output.
Then he looked at the topmost part of the control panel.
A small element not provided for in the design of this type of starship.
A static holophoto.
More precisely, a merged cutout from two photographs, obtained from the pilots' personnel files.
One was his, acquired from HR.
The second had to be obtained from the archive where the personal files of deceased pilots go.
The stern, phlegmatic expression of the man's face, and the slight half-smile of a Twi'lek girl.
Even in the holophoto for official documents, she was smiling.
Kreb ran his thumb over Tia's photo, as always unable to say anything.
Only another barely noticeable guilty smile, telling of his awareness of his own mistake.
Time was lost. The past couldn't be brought back.
Then he looked at his reflection in the cockpit's transparisteel.
A faceless black helmet in a black flight suit, his hands hidden in black gloves.
The smile faded from his face, an emotionless expression returning, frozen like a mask beneath the pilot helmet's faceplate.
The man's time was over.
The moment for the killing machine to return had come.
* * *
The sight was truly impressive in its scale and grandeur.
Sixty-four combat starships.
Forty of which were Vengeance-class frigates, the rest — Aggressor-class Star Destroyers.
No sign of transports or escort ships, no supply train overhead.
Above and slightly behind, emergency lights flashed, and the klaxon of battle stations pierced his ears.
But nothing — not the nervous Captain Tschel, nor the Chimaera's preparation for battle — distracted me from the key moment.
Observing the enemy — that was what I needed now.
Through their actions, movements, and maneuvers, I could understand what exactly they knew and had realized about being torn out of hyperspace in the middle of interstellar void.
After all, there was no object nearby with any gravitational properties capable of such a thing.
No black hole, no rogue planet, not even the remains of a giant meteor, nor a comet with a tail the size of a small moon.
And no ships with gravity well generators were visible either visually or on scanners.
The question was how they would react next, realizing they were still in an artificial gravity zone.
"Spy droid sensors report the enemy ships have compensated for their main engines and stopped their forward movement," Tschel reported, trying to control his voice. He partially succeeded. "It seems they've figured out they've flown into a minefield."
"Don't jump to conclusions, Captain," I advised. "The enemy commander did what he had to do in the event of a sudden hyperspace exit. He doesn't know the specifics, but he's aware of what we did to the New Republic First Fleet before the attack on Coruscant — he stopped his ships to avoid flying into camouflaged asteroids. For now, they don't know there are none there. The enemy will realize that soon."
"Damn it," Tschel exhaled. "A single Star Destroyer and a defense station against an entire armada..."
"You're forgetting the Chimaera isn't alone here," I reminded him.
"Sir, this is an armada!" the Star Destroyer commander reminded me. "I would advise preparing the main engines for full power and getting ready to break the light barrier. This battle will be the last in our lives, and in the lives of the support ships, sir!"
"Prepare everything for the jump… as a safety measure, Captain," I continued in an icy voice. "Inform the duty pair of ARC-170 scouts to advance along vector six, simulating exiting hyperspace. Have them continue moving, informing the nearest regular fleet patrol of Dominion border violations until a corresponding order to cancel the previous directive is given. I want their transponders active."
The commander of the Chimaera began breathing heavily, not understanding what was happening or how just two long-range scouts could turn the situation in our favor.
As I already said — delusion is the key to defeat.
"Tschel, calm down," I advised. "You're unnerving the crew and the watch officers. Ensure all systems on the flagship are ready for the start of battle. Given that we're under a masking field, activate the deflector shields."
Captain Tschel looked at me first as if I were insane.
Then, reining in his panic, he took a slow breath.
The order to launch the scouts was given, and soon on the tactical display, we could watch as two green dots rapidly appeared from behind the Chimaera's stern, breaking through the masking field on afterburners and decelerating.
A rather decent imitation of completing a hyperspace jump.
Which, judging by the enemy's animated communications, did not go unnoticed.
"Note their actions," I said, pointing out that the Vengeance-class frigates had opened fire with their turbolaser cannons. But they weren't shooting at our scouts — the distance of a hundred units made that impossible even in theory — they were firing around their own formation. "The enemy commander is taking measures for the premature detonation of camouflaged asteroids. I think in a few minutes they'll figure things out and continue moving with smaller forces."
"Yes, sir," Tschel's voice steadied.
Good.
"Forgive me, sir," he said. "I panicked…"
"But you pulled yourself together, didn't you?" I clarified. "Before your panic became ruinous for the entire plan."
"Yes, sir."
"Then make sure it doesn't happen again," I ordered. "We're not going to run. We'll accept battle here. And we'll win."
"Grand Admiral, but how?" my flagship Star Destroyer commander's voice broke like a teenager's. "Lure them in with two ARCs, under the guns of the Chimaera and the Golan? As I recall, our nearest patrol is at the planet Galaanus in the Korva sector. And those are 'greenhorns,' who recently transferred from the Defense Forces to heavy cruisers. We won't hold out!"
Still, he's too young.
He'll require longer training than Pellaeon.
Though Gilad, too, initially balked at superior enemy forces.
I gestured for Tschel to be quiet.
He has potential.
I need more patience to train him and help him gain independent confidence.
"Look at the tactical screen, Captain," I ordered, nodding toward the panel displaying data relayed by the spy drones. "Let's first take stock of the situation before deciding whether to engage or retreat, if you don't mind?"
"Yes, sir," Tschel said restrainedly, his cheeks flushing from his lack of composure.
"So, we see that the enemy, puzzled by the interruption of their flight, has chosen a waiting tactic," I continued. "They fired into the space ahead of them and confirmed there are no camouflaged asteroids in front of them. And now they've seen our scouts, and they 'know' for certain that observation drones are here, ones that reported the border intruders. This would mean rather unpleasant consequences for the enemy if one of our Super Star Destroyers were here — they're clearly aware that at least one exists. And shortly, the enemy will send a reconnaissance unit to confirm their assumptions — that there are no camouflaged asteroids. Once they're sure the path is clear, they'll move on to avoid trouble with possible reinforcements. I think they're aware of where our patrols are, and at least have an idea of what the Galaanus system represents."
Two frigates separated from the enemy ship formation, accelerated to cruising speed, and moved in a straight line, periodically firing turbolaser cannons into the space around them.
"Note, Captain, that we're dealing with a reasonably perceptive enemy," I commented. "If they were firing mass drivers, they couldn't count on hitting hypothetical targets. Only with a high degree of probability could a small projectile damage a masking field projector or a detonator. With turbolasers, they achieve roughly the same effect, but without expending limited ammunition for their mass drivers."
"But they're just simple metal projectiles, why conserve them?" Tschel wondered.
They're exactly replicating the Republic's tactic when they countered our asteroid launch on the orbit of Coruscant.
"Consequently, one could say the 'Zann Consortium' observed our campaign last year," Tschel said, drawing the correct conclusion from my words.
"Correct," I confirmed. "That's why, being in a zone of gravitational distortion, they understand that coincidences are not coincidental at all. They believe and want there to be a trap here — one they could eliminate to advance deeper into our territory. By the way, what do you think of their flotilla's composition?"
"These are attack ships," Tschel stated unequivocally. "They have minimal ground troops on board, if any at all."
"And no transport vessels in the train," I reminded him. "From this, we can assume that the first wave's objective is to break through our defensive lines and gain operational freedom. Note the heavy information exchange between the enemy ships, indicating coordination and some confusion among the ship commanders. Conclusions, Captain?"
"They're panicking," Tschel reported. "In a situation of uncertainty, that's understandable."
"Yes," I nodded. "But we can also conclude that at least the commanders on the enemy ships are not clones."
"How did you figure that out?" Tschel wondered.
"If you have cloning cylinders, why create copies of incompetents?" I inquired. "No, they clone the best. That's what we do, what the Empire did, and certainly what the 'Zann Consortium' does. But the criminals didn't have enough cloning capacity to put the most combat-capable and competent clones on the bridge. So they placed individual beings in command positions. And those beings panic, coordinating all their actions with the flotilla commander."
"Yes, I see," Tschel spent a few seconds scrutinizing the intercepted enemy radio communication data. "The greatest amount of information exchange is occurring with the 'Aggressor' designated number 'twenty.'"
"That's the flagship," I confirmed. "And the officer on board is giving real-time instructions to his subordinates. I would venture to guess that a clone commands the flotilla. Though that's no longer particularly important. The flotilla's ships have started moving, following their scouts. Interesting," my attention was caught by the enemy moving forward, strictly along their original trajectory, following the scouts while maintaining a cruising formation. "I expected them to at least try to exit the artificial gravity zone, or at least send mobile groups to investigate the cause of such an effect. By the way, Captain, did you notice that the enemy sent ships against us that have no fighter wings of their own?"
"That bothers me most of all, sir," Tschel admitted. "Yes, they have many ships with mass drivers, but they won't be enough against all the fighters the Dominion can field against them."
"That's because the enemy has more than just simple slugs in their arsenal," I explained.
"How so?"
"Rear Admiral Shohashi managed to capture several frigates of this type near Jendolsun," I explained. "It was difficult and very dangerous for the boarding teams — of the three ships of this type, the enemy managed to destroy two while our droids were landing on their decks. Only one was saved. And something interesting was found in the mass driver arsenal. We received similar data from the Mandalorians, who captured the planet Flintaria. The ship we gave the Mandalorians from Kal-Thorn was knocked out by just one projectile, a meter in diameter and five meters long."
"Damaged something critical?"
"Ripped apart the entire stern," I explained. "The point is, as you correctly noted, the 'Zann Consortium' observes our actions and tactics. The idea of filling asteroids with explosives led them to create mass driver projectiles with highly powerful explosive charges. It's not standard baradium, as one might think — something rare and very effective. And, no doubt, quite complex. I think by the time of our counteroffensive, we'll already know what's what."
"They turned their slugs into shrapnel?" Tschel clarified. "Quite… unusual."
"On the captured ship, less than a third of the projectiles were of that type," I explained. "I suspect that's how they intend to counter our fighters. Given that the 'Zann Consortium' doesn't have many ships that can match us in squadrons, the enemy is betting on these new weapons. At least the Rottaran, thanks to this type of ammunition — albeit anti-ship class — is no longer worth restoring."
"I recall their Keldabe also had mass drivers," Tschel remembered. "Main battery…"
"Yes, that was the case in the past," I agreed. "But in our confrontation with the 'Zann Consortium,' we have nothing to fear from the appearance of Keldabe-class battleships. At this point, they pose no threat to us."
"Sir, but…"
"Ah, that's what I was waiting for," my eyes caught the relevant line in the enemy communication data. "The flagship has sent a transmission outside the sector. We've intercepted the vector of transmission and will soon know where it was directed. Inform the scouts to deactivate their transponders and jump from this location."
"Obviously, they were reporting that they encountered gravitational distortions," Tschel assumed. "And reported that there are no asteroid minefields accompanying this anomaly. The scouts have left."
I saw that myself — on the tactical monitor, two markers identifying the pair of Dominion-upgraded ARCs had disappeared.
Given the genuine commotion on the airwaves, one brief transmission from an external device would go unnoticed for a certain time.
"That's exactly what I'm counting on," my explanation caused a bewildered expression on the Chimaera's commander's face.
"But you said there were no asteroids…"
"At the point of their hyperspace exit — of course not," I confirmed, watching as the enemy's forward scouts turned into two fireballs, silently spreading into fine debris across space. "No asteroid barriers were planned along the enemy's entry course into Dominion territory. But I didn't say there were no minefields here."
A sarcastic grin appeared on Captain Tschel's face.
"So they fired turbolasers, looking for camouflaged asteroids, but couldn't possibly hit the mines?"
"Why not?" I said, leaning back in my chair and stroking the ysalamiri. "The density of the minefield is such that they probably even destroyed some. It's statistically impossible to miss in such a densely seeded barrier, even if you tried hard."
"But… We didn't see any explosions!"
"Of course," I confirmed. "And we never would have. The 'Perimeter' system is designed so that starships with Dominion transponder signals can pass through it without the slightest trouble."
"They deactivate the minefields!" Tschel realized.
"Not specifically them," I explained. "The IFF recognition system handles that — it signals the mines to deactivate all systems. While a Dominion ship is here, the mines are deactivated. As soon as it leaves the system, they reactivate. We borrowed this technology from 'Kuat Drive Yards.' They used it to defend a secret hyperspace route to the planet Rothana. We adopted it and improved the system."
Everything new is well-forgotten old.
Given that this technology had piqued the interest of rogues in Palpatine's service, it was more than a worthwhile thing.
So I, too, decided not to reinvent the wheel, knowing it had already proven itself well enough.
The system works, and it's just a matter of having a good recognition system.
That's exactly why the defense station is here.
Our recognition system is a computer code embedded in the root programs of the central computer.
Every time a starship approaches the metropolitan perimeter control station, the central computer automatically responds to a hidden incoming request from the station by sending its identification code and, more importantly, the starship's specification.
This is an extremely large protocol containing over a hundred criteria.
If even one doesn't match, the mass-shadow mines will yank the starship out of hyperspace straight into the middle of the minefield.
And then the identification problem will be handled with the nearest patrol.
While the Chimaera or another ship in our area was under a masking screen based on hybidium, no signals — including the transponder — passed through it, and the minefield was activated and, as intended, guarded our borders, running precisely along the artificial gravity zone.
The ARCs deactivated the mines, allowing the enemy to enter the very center of the minefield, and now, at a distance of fifty units from us, they made excellent targets.
The number of Vengeance-class ships had been reduced to thirty since the first detonation — one must understand that the enemy ships of this type have advanced armor.
"Now, positioned as outside observers, Captain," I continued, projecting a hologram of the events using data from our spy drones, "we can observe, with a high degree of certainty, the effectiveness of our defensive fortifications against various types of the immediate enemy's starships."
Meanwhile, the starships of the 'Zann Consortium' continued to be destroyed.
The 'Aggressors,' unlike the 'Vengeance' class, held up quite poorly against the impact of the barrier mines.
"Note, Captain," I pointed to the statistics being compiled for us by the Chimaera's central computer. "Our barrier mines, equipped with magnetic grapnels and short-pulse engines, are incredibly effective specifically against destroyers."
The 'Aggressors' were torn apart, as if a huge invisible child had decided to rip 'unnecessary parts' off the otherwise beautiful starships.
Reinforcement ribs and armor arrays, engines and weapons, frames and bulkheads — all of it was exploding, warping, and deforming.
"The large surface area of the hull allows more mines to attach," Tschel nodded understandingly.
"Exactly," I continued. "In our mines, we combined the developments of Balmorra, Warlord Zsinj, and the Kuatis, creating the absolute weapon for destroying metallic ships. A mine, brought to combat readiness, upon detecting a starship that doesn't meet the 'friendly' recognition criteria, rushes toward it, setting its vector of movement with a short burst from its engines. The lack of resistance in a vacuum ensures the mine reaches the target — the ion charges with which the mines are equipped detonate in close proximity to the enemy, allowing us to disable their engines. The impulse the mine receives delivers it to the target, after which the magnet locks it to the hull without the possibility of detaching. Of course, if we don't intervene. But we won't."
"Ion charges," Tschel groaned almost imperceptibly. "And I couldn't figure out why the enemy wasn't moving properly."
"The mine's primary task is to immobilize the enemy starship and deprive it of its means of communication," I explained. "At this point, the engines, communication antennas, long-range and active scanners are destroyed. You undoubtedly noticed that the airwaves have gone silent?" Tschel, raising his eyebrows, indicated that his attentiveness had failed him this time. "And note — it's rare for our devices to explode singly. The mines are set for collective detonation — the minimum criterion: when two or more are present. This increases the shockwave and the force of detonation, causing greater destruction inside and on the starship's hull."
"The 'Aggressors' are destroyed," Tschel said.
"Yes, they're not the worthiest opponents against mines," I said. "But note how effective the 'Vengeance' class's mass driver cannons are against them."
Indeed — the 'Vengeance' class held on not only due to their enviable durability but also because they were firing their cannons.
"Shrapnel," Captain Tschel declared correctly, pleasing me. "As with fighters, it allows the enemy ships to increase their area of effect."
"That's true," I agreed.
The mass drivers, spitting out their smaller versions of the projectiles that had knocked out the Mandalorian Rottaran at tremendous speed, were indeed conducting effective suppressive fire.
"This is precisely why this test was arranged, Captain," I explained. "You can't create a weapon and expect it to have no weaknesses."
"So the mass driver isn't so useless after all," Captain Tschel remarked. "As a means of clearing minefields, or as an anti-aircraft gun…"
"Consider the energy costs of operating such installations, the size of the artillery magazines commensurate with the number of shots our anti-aircraft guns fire during a battle, the danger posed by storing bomb-projectiles in one compartment…"
As if to prove my words, the hologram showed the simultaneous detonation of several frigates.
"Note the locations of the detonations," I said, zooming in on a detailed hologram. "The mines detonated the artillery magazines. The ships literally evaporated."
"And in the case of detonating a tanker for a tibanna turbolaser battery, we would lose only the battery and a section of hull," I continued. "The Vengeance-class has a reactor with power output close to those installed on the Victory class. But with it, the 'Zann Consortium' engineers managed to power six mass drivers and two turbolaser batteries. While our specialists power over a hundred turbolasers and lasers. It seems to me that this mathematics doesn't need a more thorough comparative analysis."
"And yet, proponents of turbolaser artillery would find a few more positive points," Tschel stated. "For example — a higher rate of fire than turbolasers."
"To achieve that, it's necessary to provide a reliable barrel cooling system," I explained. "The 'Zann Consortium' uses carbonite for this. Not a cheap and not entirely effective means. But even with its use, mass drivers have only a marginally higher rate of fire than lasers and turbolasers."
"By twenty percent, sir."
"But the projectile launch speed is an order, or even two, lower," I countered. "It's practically impossible to dodge a turbolaser shot. A laser shot — with sufficient skill. You can't dodge a mass driver shot unless the stars align favorably."
Tschel didn't reply.
He, like me, watched the slaughter of the 'Zann Consortium' fleet, whose numbers were dwindling before our very eyes.
"Sir, may I ask a question?"
"Of course, Captain," I responded.
"Shouldn't we take prisoners?" he asked. "Capture prizes?"
"We don't need that, Captain," I replied. "Everything we need to defeat the enemy, we already have. More than that, I'll say — the 'Zann Consortium' doesn't know it yet, but their attack has already failed. We are destined for victory — the only question is at what cost: excessively small losses, or just small losses."
"The number of mines is decreasing," Captain Tschel stated, pointing at the tactical display. "The enemy still has ten frigates in relatively combat-ready condition, which are moving toward the side of the artificial gravity zone opposite us."
"Correct, Captain," I agreed. "The enemy realized that the minefield in their immediate vicinity is thinning. So the starships that can still move are hastening to leave the danger zone and go to FTL. But there's a catch."
"What is it, sir?" Tschel asked with interest.
"The minefield activated, and the mass-shadow mines expanded the artificial gravity zone," I explained. "Not by much — just ten units in each direction. But believe me, for our enemy, that will be enough for total destruction."
Tschel looked at me as if he wanted to ask something, but after a second of thought, he apparently decided not to spoil the surprise.
"Today is an educational day, Captain," I said, watching as five Vengeance-class frigates, abandoned by their comrades and left immobile, self-destructed. "We have clarified for ourselves the strengths and weaknesses of the 'Perimeter' defense system — at least this section of it. We've learned that enemy ships can be commanded by ordinary beings susceptible to panic. We've confirmed our suspicions that the enemy is delivering main attacks along the routes requiring the least flight time. And now we're observing that starships not controlled by the 'Zann Consortium's' clones still blow themselves up to avoid being studied or taken as prizes. This is very valuable information about our enemy. In," I looked at the chronometer, "one hour of battle without personally participating in the exchange of fire, we have gained an enormous amount of information about our opponent."
"As have they about us, sir," Tschel stated, pointing at the 'Zann Consortium' starships that had almost reached the far boundaries of the artificial gravity zone from our position.
"Let me remind you — the enemy is cut off from communications, Captain," I said. "All they've relayed to their base is the presence of an artificial gravity zone here. Possibly that they were attacked. But by the time they figured out what was happening, their scanners, engines, and communications were already inoperative."
Incidentally — a not-insignificant finding of this review.
The scanners and communication systems of every enemy ship are disabled.
The engines — as can be seen from the leaking Vengeance-class frigates — aren't disabled on all of them.
Another flaw identified.
There's room for improvement.
As one immortal political commissar used to say: "We'll turn your ailment into a feat."
"Those who survive this battle will report everything they know to their commanders," explained the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer, stating the rather obvious.
"Yes, of course," I agreed. "That's precisely why they're in such a hurry to get out of here. They're glad to be alive. And their survival instinct has dulled so much that they can't see the danger."
"Danger, sir?" Tschel was surprised.
"The Perimeter system has no single standard configuration, Captain," I explained. "It's multi-faceted. Every passage into the Dominion is blocked differently. The technologies are the same, but the combination of the 'pie' is different everywhere."
"Why make it so complicated?" Tschel was taken aback.
"So that those who attack us and find no visible obstacles or threats in their path will report to their comrades that there's nothing to fear," I explained, allowing myself a slight smile. "Essentially, our enemy recently reported exactly that to the other groups. And now those who will attack our strategically important systems will learn that the perimeter security of the Dominion's heartland is 'unnecessarily exaggerated.'"
Tschel frowned so deeply it would have done Grand Master Yoda's pensive expression credit.
"When they entered the system and moved forward, you said there were no mined and camouflaged asteroids ahead of them," he said slowly. "And you weren't lying — because there was a minefield you lured them onto. Now the minefield is thinned out, but they don't have the strength to continue their attack on the objective they'd set for themselves."
"Correct, Captain," I approved of the Chimaera's commander's reasoning. "They're rational beings gripped by panic. They've survived a nightmare of annihilation. They're emotionally and physically drained. What do you think they'll do in this situation?"
"Retreat," a glint of intrigue lit up in Tschel's eyes. "But to do that, they need to exit the artificial gravity field in the opposite direction — the area cleanest of mines."
"That's exactly what they're doing," I confirmed.
"But the field's boundaries have been expanded by the mass-shadow mines activated when they illegally crossed our border," Tschel's voice held the excitement of a scientist piecing together a rigorous theory from fragments of information.
"Correct," I agreed.
"You said each section of the Perimeter is assembled differently from the others," the Chimaera's commander continued. "But they're all stocked identically on every section of the border."
I didn't bother clarifying that the Perimeter was a "pie" of dozens of layers built up month after month, and that the combination of defensive lines was chosen by the sector commandant.
After all, today we were testing a scenario where the enemy had broken through all previous defensive lines and only got caught on the last one.
But it was too early for Tschel to know that.
"All correct, Captain." Now even I was curious what conclusion this young man would draw.
"That means each section has mines, stations, and camouflaged asteroids," Tschel said.
"Exactly right, Captain."
"The station is off our port side, the minefield is ahead of us — but when the enemy was coming toward us on an intercept course, you said there were no camouflaged, mined asteroids ahead of them," Tschel looked at me with a victor's expression and earned a confirming nod from me. "Because when the enemy ships emerged from hyperspace, the camouflaged, mined asteroids were behind them!"
"Precisely, Captain." I quietly applauded the man. "We allowed the enemy to emerge from hyperspace against their will in a territory that lay between the minefield and the asteroids."
"But the minefield's activation expanded the artificial gravity zone, and now that territory no longer exists," Tschel said in a triumphant tone, looking at the hologram where the enemy ships had already exited the artificial gravity zone. "And now they..."
"It would be better for me to demonstrate this to you," I said, switching the display on my armrest to the tactical monitor.
Instead of diagrams and schematics, a heavily zoomed-in image appeared — a live feed from one of our spy droids.
At first, nothing happened. Then...
After exiting the artificial gravity zone, a hyperdrive needs some time to accumulate a charge for the subsequent jump through space and time.
A very short time.
In 1973, a film called Sannikov Land was released in the Soviet Union.
The brilliant composer Alexander Zatsepin wrote music for the magnificent lyrics of author Leonid Derbenev.
And a song was born, titled "There Is Only a Moment."
And it has these beautiful lyrics:
"There is only a moment
Between the past and the future
That's what we call
Life."
The enemy ships had only a moment of life — between exiting the artificial gravity boundary and their battered, deformed hulls, quite against their will, breaching the shell of the cloaking field.
When the hulls of the enemy starships crossed the boundaries of the cloaking fields, the detonation conditions for the rhydonium were triggered.
And those who had survived the massacre on the minefield were torn to shreds, reduced to interstellar dust.
"And that's all, gentlemen," I commented on the few flashes in which, for a fraction of a moment, the colossal forms of asteroids appeared — each one the size of a destroyed frigate. "The first act of our event is concluded."
"What are your orders, sir?" Tschel inquired briskly. "Will the Chimaera be moving to another system?"
"Why?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Thanks to our efforts, a large enemy force has been destroyed. Naturally, we're staying — more will arrive shortly."
"More, sir?" Tschel blinked.
"Of course, Captain." I smiled. "The commander of the destroyed flotilla did us a favor."
"By contacting the other starships outside this territory?" the commander of my flagship clarified.
"Exactly, Captain." I smiled. "Trapped in a cage, the rodent lunged for the bait, not noticing that the guillotine's blade had already kissed its neck. And furthermore, Captain. Given their failures on other fronts, I foresee that the Zann Consortium's warlord will throw all his forces against us on this axis. Defeats make people narrow-minded and desperate to finally achieve their planned result. Even at any cost. This is where we'll destroy them all."
I don't know why, but Tschel shuddered all over.
Twice.
* * *
"Change of plans," Jerid announced, stepping onto the bridge of his flagship. "Set course for the Korva sector. Third smuggler's run."
"Understood, Admiral," the ship's commander — a tall Nautolan whose tattooed skin chronicled his stays in the galaxy's harshest prisons — replied languidly.
As well as the crimes he'd committed.
Murders.
Robberies.
Piracy.
Slave trading.
Human trafficking.
Child trafficking.
Organ trafficking.
Child organ trafficking.
Cannibalism.
Man-eating...
The rest of the tattoos were hidden under his sleeveless vest, and Jerid clearly didn't want to know what else was there.
Honestly, he didn't care — this outlaw kept the crew perfectly in line and controlled their every move.
They never did anything that exceeded the bounds of what was permitted to outlaws from the Zann Consortium's combat wing.
The rest was none of Sykes's business.
"Something happened?" his protégé asked, smoothing the strange weapon dangling at her hip.
"Too much," Sykes snapped. "Flotillas one through three, ten through twelve — destroyed."
"How?" the woman was surprised.
"They were waiting for us, what's not clear?" Sykes asked.
"Bantha poodoo," the protégé hissed, habitually gripping her weapon's handles. "Zann won't be pleased."
"He'll be furious," Jerid clarified. "And this time, a simple disciplinary talk won't cut it."
"This time, he'll destroy us all for the failure," the black-haired woman pursed her lips, reflexively touching the nearest scarred part of her body. "Everyone connected to the failure."
"There's only one option," Jerid said. He didn't deliberate long. "We need to attack with all forces on one axis. I've already ordered the remaining squads and flotillas to move to our position. Instead of fifteen scattered strikes, there'll be just..."
"One?" the woman suggested.
"Two," Sykes shook his head. "Mieru'kar — they'll start there first — and Corvo. We'll gather the first and second wave forces, concentrate them on accomplishing all assigned objectives for the 'assault' and 'occupation' units. The only chance to survive is to capture both strategically important enemy systems and hold them. Achieve that, and Tyber's wrath will be much quieter than if we achieve nothing."
"But it won't save us from his rage," the protégé winced.
"I'm an optimist, so I wouldn't count on that," the commander of the Zann Consortium's combat wing declared. "Our losses already exceed what was planned. If we lose the remaining forces too, he'll have to postpone the attack on the eastern faction. And he's already delayed that for too long. He won't tolerate another failure. If we lose — we might as well shoot each other with disintegrators. Because hiding from Zann's wrath is impossible. So do what you must, and come what may. Contact our operational base — they have twenty-four hours to send us all available transport ships."
"Consider it done, Jerid," the woman smiled nervously. "Honestly, I'd rather run."
"Yes," the man nodded. "You — maybe. You're used to it. I have a different ideology."
"Victory or death," the interlocutor recited with displeasure.
"Yes, Maris," the warlord added more quietly, looking her straight in the eye. "First victory. Then death. We can't count on a better outcome."
The black-haired woman with pale skin shuddered, realizing this arrangement didn't suit her.
Death had never been part of her plans.
But it was better her mentor, who dreamed of making her a field commander, didn't know that.
She would always find a use for her talents.