On the bridge of the Crusader-class corvette it was quiet, one could even say serene, as if the bridge crew did not expect the approach of the enemy armada, fully aware that they were outnumbered.
The ship's batteries, as well as those of the fourteen Victories that were part of Vice Admiral I‑Gor's fleet, were charged and prepared to meet the approaching enemy.
The launch tubes were loaded with anti‑ship missiles and ready to fire at the slightest order from the senior officer.
The waiting time stretched as if made of rubber, and as if deciding to mock, it dragged on more and more with each second. The anticipation of battle is sometimes more deadly and frightening than the battle itself. The brain and nerves cannot withstand the tension, like a "boiling cauldron" eroding the intelligent beings from within.
I‑Gor was aware that if he did not have clones at hand, battle‑hardened intelligent beings, all the experience that he and the crew members of the ships under his command had gained over the past time — almost a year — then they would not have a chance to win and accomplish the assigned task.
The enemy fleet emerged from hyperspace with its entire mass, appearing exactly in that part of the system where the navigators' calculated arrival vector was located. The center of the protected territory, from which it is easy to reach any point of the Tiraggi star system. They were deeply committed to the system, and now the denouement had come; there was no way back.
Judging by the general din in the comms, the star system did not particularly impress the criminals. Nor did the fifteen Dominion Star Destroyers that were holding the defense on the far geostationary orbit of Tiraggi.
The vice admiral prudently kept the second part of his fleet beyond direct scanning, rightly believing that until the conflict entered the phase he needed, the Zann Consortium had no need to know about the presence of five more Dragon‑class Star Destroyers.
"Open a general comm channel, — I‑Gor said in a steady voice, looking away from the tactical monitor where the count and classification of the enemy fleet had just finished. — This is Vice Admiral I‑Gor of the regular Dominion Fleet. You are in a restricted zone. Identify yourselves, shut down engines, weapons, and defense systems, prepare to receive prize crews, or you will be immediately destroyed.
In response, he received a dismissive laugh.
"And who said we intend to obey you, eh, I‑Gor? — an unknown commander inquired with humor. — I am Sykes‑Six, commander of the Zann Consortium fleet. Dominionite, do you really think that a dozen and a half of your troughs can stop my fleet from capturing your little base? I have over a hundred Star Destroyers and frigates under my command, two hundred transport ships! We'll leave no trace of you! Surrender, idiots, if you want to live!
About three hundred starships.
That's not the number that was recorded by the tracking stations and interception points. Some fifty starships had disappeared somewhere.
I‑Gor looked at the tactical screen.
That's right.
Three hundred seven enemy ships.
Instead of three hundred fifty.
Forty‑three starships had "disappeared."
But the latest data indicated that all enemy ships without exception had arrived in the Tiraggi system.
Therefore, forty‑three were in ambush.
Or they had exited hyperspace ahead of time and headed to other targets.
"Request to Tracking Station Four, — I‑Gor ordered. — I want to know where the missing ships are.
"Will be done, sir!
But one way or another, he would have to act as predetermined by protocol and Grand Admiral Thrawn. He simply had no other options.
After a pause that stretched for several minutes, Sykes‑Six added, but without humor:
"No need for a bloodbath, Vice Admiral. You can't get out of here — we have interdictor ships. The only entry vector into the system is blocked by us.
I‑Gor looked at the watch officer.
He nodded in confirmation.
And on the tactical monitor appeared the cones of the artificial gravity zone that the enemy commander had spoken of.
I‑Gor said:
"Someone will pay for this.
"You said it yourself, — Sykes‑Six snorted.
Enemy fighters were popping out from everywhere — from every cargo ship hold. As expected, they were StarViper‑class starfighters, but the computer had already determined that the machines were of the first generation, which the Zann Consortium had used before its collapse in the past. Dangerous opponents, not like those upgraded versions the Dominion had dealt with at Hypori, Shola, and Saleucami.
Judging by the data from spy droids, all the machines were in excellent technical condition, which indicated either the presence of skilled mechanics in the Zann Consortium, or the recent manufacture of these fighters. In any case, they would all be destroyed one way or another.
"Sir, isn't it time to launch the interceptors? — the watch officer asked.
"No, that's unnecessary, — I‑Gor replied. — Between us and the enemy is almost one hundred twenty standard distance units. By the time our machines reach them, the fuel tanks will be at least two‑thirds empty. We are on the defensive, as our duties require.
"Yes, sir, — the watch officer replied. — So… what should we do? Just sit here and wait for them to come to us?
"Of course not, — the vice admiral rejected the idea. — We engage as planned. But first, make sure all our starships are in the agreed positions.
A minute later, confirmation came — each of the starships in his fleet was in that part of space that had been predetermined by higher command.
"Excellent, — I‑Gor nodded in response to the report. — Let's begin. Fleet order — switch off transponders.
Like a wildfire, the order spread through the Dominion starships in the system. And within a second, each of the Star Destroyers stopped broadcasting signals of their affiliation with the regular fleet into surrounding space.
* * *
The flashing yellow light of the siren in the launch bay changed to a steady constant green.
Kreb removed his hands from the controls and stretched his stiff neck.
The battle had passed without their involvement. Obviously, the air wing had been scrambled under "yellow" alert just in case, to be ready to attack if the situation required. But the tactical monitor, which duplicated information from the dispatch center, showed that the Dominion's defensive installations had coped without outside interference.
However, what had happened didn't mean they could relax. They were switching to "standby" mode — the light of distant stars appearing beyond the atmospheric shield of the starship and a slight vibration indicated that the spacecraft had passed the light barrier. A change in deployment location. The long wait, though exhausting, had not relaxed them. Since they hadn't engaged in battle here and now, they were rushing at full speed to another battlefield.
"Squadron commanders — attention, — the dispatcher's voice appeared in the headphones. — Change of plans. Changing deployment. Upon completion of the flight, we will take part in the battle. Flight time — one and a half hours. Pilots are not to leave their cockpits. Rest as able.
Waiting his turn, Kreb acknowledged the information and immediately relayed it to his pilots. After receiving their standard replies, the young man set his wrist chronometer for one hour and twenty minutes, then relaxed as much as the pilot's seat allowed. Closing his eyes, he sat in the darkness for a few minutes, then fell into a deep but light sleep.
During his service, he had learned to sleep anywhere, anytime, in any position. And he knew for sure that this ingrained habit would allow him to wake up completely alert at the first sound of a siren or timer. After which he would begin to act.
* * *
The Chimaera emerged from under the masking field of the border station, and after a brief time in real space, sped along the course plotted by the navigators toward its not‑so‑distant target.
"Grand Admiral, sir, confirmation has arrived from the sector commander, — Captain Tschel appeared to the right of my chair. — Tracking stations recorded an enemy formation that passed through our position towards the Galaanus system in the Corvo sector. The gravity well generators on that hyperspace route have been reactivated. Otherwise, the Perimeter system across the Dominion is operating as established.
"I hear you, Captain, — my voice sounded calm, measured, confident, and infallible.
When changing plans — especially suddenly and directly contradicting what was previously determined — the main thing is to remain calm. Hurriedness in command during peacetime looks rather ridiculous. But in wartime, it causes panic among subordinates. Because a commander, never and under no circumstances within acceptable criteria, should give in to emotions or in any way let subordinates understand that something is going against the intended plan. If the latter — the subordinates — have grown accustomed to trusting and understand in the back of their minds that if the commander switches between plans, there's no problem — the situation was anticipated in advance and the most optimal decision, fully corresponding to the accomplishment of the task, was made. A fussy commander sows nothing but panic around him. And where there is panic, there is fear, disorganization, mistakes, lack of caution. The result is failure. We have seen this with our own eyes in the example of the destroyed enemy flotilla.
"An encrypted message has arrived from the Crusader‑class corvette, — Captain Tschel continued. — Vice Admiral I‑Gor reports that the enemy formation will reach the borders of the system he is guarding within a few hours. Defense lines are prepared. He particularly notes that he will act in accordance with the protocols you previously communicated to him.
"Good, — I said. — That will be enough. Did you send an encrypted message to Vice Admiral Pellaeon?
"Yes, sir. His flagship confirmed receipt of the data packet.
"I assume the messages were also delivered to the other recipients? — I inquired.
"Yes, sir, — a trace of confusion appeared on Tschel's face. — And we received confirmations just a few minutes after sending the encrypted messages.
"As it should be, Captain, — I assured him.
The young officer's face still held that same somewhat frightened expression. He clearly could not understand why, by sending dispatches to recipients stationed in the Morshdine sector, he received a response so quickly. In his understanding, this fact meant either that it had been deciphered during transmission, or some nonsense had occurred, but my calm contradicted that. Hence a certain catharsis arose in Tschel's mind.
The ysalamiri on my lap squinted contentedly as I stroked its scaly back.
"Sir, may I ask a question?
"Of course, Captain.
"How did the enemy learn about our secret facility in the Mieru'kar sector? — Tschel asked.
"The ways of obtaining information vary case by case, Captain, — I said calmly. — Intelligence, data analysis, informants on the ground.
"I doubt the Zann Consortium could have predicted that our secret facility was located in the star system guarded by Vice Admiral I‑Gor.
"He certainly could not have done that, Captain, — I agreed. — We have closed borders, control the metropolis's relays, and track hostile and unregistered information activity on our territories. The enemy could not have independently learned that our secret base is on the second moon of the planet Tiraggi in the system of the same name. At least because not everyone knows of its existence.
"I feel there's a hidden implication in your words, — the commander of the Chimaera stated.
"You are mistaken, Captain, — I stunned him. — There are no implications in my words. You asked a question and received an answer. Direct and comprehensive.
A look of thought appeared on Tschel's face.
"The enemy could not have independently known… — he repeated. — The information is classified. The Dominion systematically eliminates hostile agents. Therefore…
A significant pause.
"Sir, did the Dominion itself reveal the location of its secret facilities? — he asked in a tone several pitches lower.
"We allowed them to learn what they wanted, — I explained. — Tyber Zann wants to get his hands on the Dominion. With all its industrial and resource planets, economy, and armed forces. This is a necessary step on the path to further conquests and expansion of controlled territory. We are doing exactly the same to them. The Zann Consortium poses a threat to us — and we will destroy it.
"It's a matter of security, — Tschel nodded in agreement. — But… I don't understand. How could they believe that this data was genuine if they had no means to verify its authenticity?
"You are mistaken, Captain, — I assured my subordinate. — The enemy did get such an opportunity. Relatively recently, I should note. When they pretended that our strikes on their facilities, our appropriation of their cloning laboratory on Smarck, our interference in the affairs of the D'Astan sector, which they had originally eyed for themselves, and also the events of last year's campaign, did not really concern them. All their actions were aimed at redirecting our efforts to the eastern part of the galaxy and destroying us there, or bleeding us dry with someone else's hands. Meanwhile, by going to war for others' interests, we were supposed to leave the Dominion without proper protection.
"And with it, our trophies from last year's campaign, — the commander of the Chimaera understood.
"Tactically, our idle Star Destroyers, cruisers, and other warships, as well as equipment, are for Zann a necessary tool for rapidly building up his forces, — I explained. — And he did this not only with us.
"Yes, I am familiar with the intelligence reports regarding his desire to subjugate the Imperial Remnants.
"That's only part of a larger plan, a strategy, — I explained. — Right now we're talking about tactics. The tactic of using others' efforts for one's own purposes. Have you considered why Tyber Zann occupied the Corporate Sector?
"He needed capital to start over, — Tschel replied without hesitation.
"Correct, — I agreed again. — However, there is a nuance. When Tyber Zann and his organization attacked Kuat, they gained temporary access to the central computer of the Eclipse‑class Star Dreadnought. And they obtained unlimited access to the Emperor's secret accounts, his treasuries, and so on. They had a tremendous resource that would have been enough to lure under their wing a considerable number of Imperials who had declared themselves independent warlords at that time.
"But they decided to replace them with clones.
"Some, possibly even the majority. But why play in secret when you can obtain much more with the force you already have? In a situation where the Empire is decapitated and has begun a redistribution of power, the armed forces are fragmented and there is no single command at all, the presence of such large forces as Zann had could become decisive in absorbing smaller territories.
"Criminals are not known for subtle planning and behind‑the‑scenes games of galactic scale, — Tschel suggested. — Perhaps the Consortium suffered the same misfortune as the Empire? Strong and authoritative officers decided to bite off a piece for personal use?
"Bravo, Captain, — I expressed genuine admiration. — Yes, you are absolutely correct. A split occurred within the organization when the Zann Consortium was defeated at the hands of the Empire and the New Republic. A most opportune moment to settle scores. I believe that Zann, who had just lost a large number of troops and ships at that time, was literally stripped of everything he had left in assets.
"So he went underground?
"Exactly that, — I agreed. — It cost the Empire and the Rebel Alliance nothing to finish off the wounded organization that had lost its leader. I think Zann had several backup plans that were a secret to his enemies, so he easily left the decaying enterprise to be torn apart by the Empire and the Alliance. He himself remained with those secrets he could preserve and a small number of loyal intelligent beings. I don't think he immediately chose the Corporate Sector and the unfinished Emperor's Palace as his base — after all, at that time, that part of the galaxy was dominated by Warlord Zsinj, who did not tolerate competition at all. I think it was a base on Smarck, and it was there that he decided exactly how he would proceed further. Warlord Zsinj's maneuvers had some success, so he used them, deepened and improved them. He created cover for official operations — restored the Black Sun, made its remaining parts work for him. The Emperor's wealth benefited him, and he continued his operations — including the cloning of significant intelligent beings.
"And what about his opponents?
"They grabbed the fattest pieces from the former holdings of the Zann Consortium. And, looking at the chaos in the galaxy, they decided they could easily conquer it. But for that, they needed a huge army and fleet. Since the Eastern Faction lacks tactical genius, they simply followed Zann's template, having suddenly understood or figured out his games. A clash of interests was inevitable, and each side prepared for a long war. Zann — hid in plain sight; his opponents undoubtedly tried to destroy him but achieved no success. So both sides moved to building up their forces. As I already said, the Eastern Faction turned out to be less far‑sighted. They thought they could use him for their own strengthening, while he, having calculated them and noticed my return, decided to simplify his task.
"He decided to set you against them.
"Yes. Zann understood that nothing more bound me to the Empire and correctly understood that I would create my own rear base. Our attack on Hypori, Shola, and Saleucami gave us an idea of the very existence of the Black Sun and the figure of Tyber Zann behind it. By that point, he had already started playing with us — demonstrated his danger and survival, then began to carefully divert attention from himself to the Eastern Faction, presenting it as part of his organization — and a rather powerful one at that. According to his plan, as I already said, we were supposed to solve the problem of the traitors, bleed ourselves dry, and thereby contribute to the capture of the Dominion by Zann himself and his new organization with small forces.
"Which he failed at, because we have reliable protection — the "Perimeter," Tschel said with pride.
"This structure is extremely expensive to produce and maintain," I explained. "With the Dominion's financial shortfall, no one could even have suspected we possessed something like this. Fortunately, we had the resources."
"So he was pretending that our attacks on Hypori, Shola, Saleucami, Smarck, the convoys, and the other operations didn't bother him," Tschel said. "But what was he trying to achieve?"
"He was demonstrating apparent weakness," I explained. "A lack of forces and ships. Not to mention that the first three planets were under the control of the Eastern Faction at the time of our attacks on them."
"Ah..." The Star Destroyer commander opened his mouth in a silent question, almost boyishly.
"How did I figure that out?" I had to help him out.
"Yes, sir," he said, embarrassed. "I would like to... understand. I just don't see the logical chain."
"Because you're leaving certain data out of the equation, Captain," I explained. "Do you know that during the Battle of Hypori, besides the droid factory, we also took a prize — a Keldabe II-class battleship that was given to the Mandalorians?"
"Yes, sir, the Rottaran — and it's been destroyed."
"Its fate isn't really important," I explained. "At the Battle of Smarck, besides Zann's cloning lab and his genetic cloners, we also captured several other prizes — battleships of the same class. Rear Admiral Shohashi managed to capture two more enemy vessels in the last few days."
"The Vengeance and the Aggressor."
"Correct. And note, these two ship types, with minimal modifications from the original designs, are exactly what the Zann Consortium is currently using against us."
"But they're not using the newer Keldabe and Crusader types," Tschel realized.
Then his delighted expression faded.
"No, they are using them," he stated. "At Smarck."
"You're both right and wrong at the same time, Captain," I said. "The enemy doesn't produce ships of this class — the Crusader II and Keldabe II were built by the Eastern Faction. The Zann Consortium continues to produce fast ships, while its opponents rely on firepower. This is a critical difference between them — planning versus brute force."
"But then who did those ships we captured at Smarck belong to?" Tschel asked in surprise.
"It's naive to think the two factions never opposed each other before they decided to build up their forces," I said. "It's obvious that Zann captured prizes and used them to create a more believable picture of his involvement in Hypori, Shola, and Saleucami."
"And how did you figure that out?" the man asked.
"Beacons," I explained. "Tracking devices whose use is outlined in the instructional literature of the Imperial Military Academy, where Zann had the opportunity to study. His opponents, however, did not. The Zann Consortium installs beacons on its ships — because Tyber Zann doesn't trust his subordinates. He controls them, after already losing what he built with such difficulty. The Rottaran — the ship we captured at Hypori — had no beacons. But the prizes from Smarck and those captured by Rear Admiral Shohashi — they have them. And this argument reinforces our understanding of the different approaches to ship equipping and crew management on the part of their commanders."
"Are you saying the leaders of the Eastern Faction trust their mercenaries and bandits?" Tschel grimaced.
"No, of course not," I reassured his doubt. "They just keep them in fear of their own forces. But we'll talk about that later. I think you have some clarifying questions, Captain?"
"Yes, sir," Tschel stated. "The captured ships were brought to the Dominion, weren't they?"
"Absolutely correct," I agreed.
"And they still have working beacons?" Tschel doubted; it was written all over his face.
"Of course," I didn't deny the truth. "What's more — one of those ships traveled to its parking place by the exact route you and I were guarding. The second took another route — also attacked, by the way, with a result similar to ours. But Vice Admiral Pellaeon was in charge of the defense there."
"So the enemy knows their location?" Tschel tensed up.
"What's more, we showed them the way there ourselves," I confirmed. "The ships are in the scrapyard in the Galaanus system."
"And that's the second strategic facility," Tschel gasped. "That's exactly what the group you ordered us to let through our blockade is heading for!"
"Correct again, Captain." And once more the young Star Destroyer commander was indecently right.
"Sir, but... We could have dealt with them the same way we did the previous squadron!"
"We could have," I agreed. "At the cost of gaps in the Perimeter. Unfortunately, in the current reality, we cannot afford extensive damage to our defense system. The modes have been tested; we've gained valuable information. Now they need to be replenished, strengthened, and optimized based on the data we've gathered on enemy actions. As it happens, we've learned of Palpatine's spies within the Zann Consortium. And of the Emperor's desire to pit criminal organizations against each other to reduce the problems of re-establishing control over the galaxy."
The Perimeter turned out to be far too expensive.
Each individual 'layer' is a considerable burden, but still manageable for the budget.
All together, they are extremely costly and expensive.
Even considering the 'emergency reserve' of aurodium and other treasures from the holds of the Sa'Nalaor.
But that's not the bad part.
Money is not the goal itself, but a means to an end.
The time needed to repair even a single breached 'layer' of the Perimeter is an unaffordable luxury in the current reality.
We can't abandon it — it's insurance for the darkest times.
But mindlessly expanding it isn't part of my plans either.
"And if our defense on the route that enemy spies might know about is breached, then Palpatine could send his forces exactly here," Captain Tschel grasped the unspoken implication hanging in the air.
Well, in a calm setting, he clearly doesn't panic and is quite level-headed for his age and experience.
That's a good sign.
A very good sign.
I've already seen him in action.
Granted, in conditions where he knew we had the advantage.
Now I just need to observe his behavior in the opposite situation.
"It would be more accurate to say 'will send' rather than 'could send'," priorities must be set correctly. "Don't fool yourself with apparent well-being, Captain. This is just the eye of the hurricane. And at any moment, the wind could change."
Even though I was looking straight ahead, I could see on the reflective transparisteel surface how the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer flinched.
"And then what, sir?" the young officer asked, almost in a whisper, clenching his fingers into fists.
"Then we will need every possible weapon to repel the assault of Palpatine's armada," I replied, equally quietly. "Every weapon we have. And just as much again on top of that."
"Will that help, sir?" Tschel asked.
"We will do our utmost," I promised. "In any case — there is no mercy to be expected from anyone, anywhere. But today, we will make something clear to our enemies."
"Specifically what, sir?"
"We do not welcome those who invade our home without the owners' consent," I said. "And once we've killed all the uninvited guests, we will pay a return 'courtesy visit'."
"I understand, sir, but... How did you manage to feed the enemy information without arousing their suspicions?"
"It's simple," I replied. "We let their agents become our officials."
* * *
The few inhabitants of the planet Malikar III in the Mieru'kar sector would remember this day for a long time.
And it wasn't because they finally received a large shipment of construction equipment and blocks for building the recently established and rapidly developing capital of the sector.
No, they would remember this day for a different reason first.
Because it's not every day that, on a remote developing planet, for unknown reasons, a garrison of Imperial stormtroopers leaves its base and, under the cover of night, makes a forced march across rough terrain to storm a settlement.
No one was killed or subjected to violence.
The battalion's units stationed on the planet moved quickly through the wide streets using wheeled vehicles, setting up patrols and checkpoints at the city's entrances, every intersection, and every square.
The few stragglers who weren't in their warm beds at that moment were given no explanations.
Neither the reason for the stormtroopers' actions, nor the appearance of counter-intelligence operatives in their ranks.
Not even the presence of a pair of Shadow Guards clad in black.
An organization nearly shrouded in legend was proven to be real.
But only a few sentients saw them — visitors to a small restaurant not far from Moff Brinkkan's residence.
According to witnesses, the Shadow Guards revealed themselves at the same time the stormtroopers appeared on the outskirts.
This pair, ignoring the residence's security — thugs hired by the Moff for his protection — blew open the gates to the walled compound and, fighting their way through, their crimson lightsabers blazing, carved a path through the corpses of the mercenaries straight into the residence.
Later, stories would circulate that their assault on the Moff's home and office was supported by counter-intelligence fighters.
And rumors would spread the news that the Moff, a Dominion civil servant, was guarded by thugs wanted in several sectors of the galaxy and linked to Black Sun.
In reality, those who saw it with their own eyes said the Shadow Guard spared no one who tried to stop their advance to the upper floor, to the Moff's office.
Some mercenaries were spun in place by whirlwinds of local hurricanes that appeared from nowhere.
Others were simply splattered against the sturdy walls when one of the Guards thrust out his hand.
Yet others died when their necks were crushed by invisible, scanner-proof vises.
But the majority were killed by lightsabers.
A double crimson and a violet one — their flashes were seen in the windows on every floor of Moff Brinkkan's residence.
They tore through combat droids of models that shouldn't have been on the planet or in the residence with equal ease.
They destroyed the unexpectedly numerous guards, littering the corridors with chunks of bodies and the heads of their enemies.
No one could resist them.
Some witnesses claimed the first and last words they heard from the Shadow Guards that evening — after which the carnage and gunfire began — came through the helmet vocoder of one of the black-clad fighters when the Moff's security chief blocked his path into the residence.
"We are the Shadow Guard of Grand Admiral Thrawn. We have come here by his order and in his name to punish a spy and traitor to the Dominion. Moff Brinkkan has betrayed the Dominion, and therefore he will be captured by us. Anyone who dares to interfere will be destroyed."
Observers attribute those words to the fighter wielding the violet lightsaber.
They say he was the one who directed the very weather against the traitor's mercenaries.
The second Guard was more about hacking and maiming.
Whether that's true is hard to say for certain.
But the facts remain.
It took these two less than ten minutes to clear the building of all mercenaries and handcuff Brinkkan, delivering him into the hands of a Dominion counter-intelligence officer, under whose command the stormtrooper battalion had taken the entire city.
Selective searches continued until morning at the homes of the Moff's close administrative officials; most of them were also taken into custody and placed in the bowels of a prison ship.
No one told the local population where they were sent.
And even the clone of Grand Moff Ferrus, who arrived at the traitor's location the very next morning, didn't elaborate on the matter.
He simply ordered the destruction of the residence, which had become a haven for mercenaries hired by the traitorous Moff and Dominion defectors.
Setting himself up in a modular building right on the square in front of the burning residence, the Grand Moff's clone began working to improve life in the Mieru'kar sector as if nothing had happened.
And within a few days, it turned out that what Moff Brinkkan had called impossible to implement was, in fact, quite possible.
The population of Malikar III would never forget this day.
And they would never know that they had become part of a subtle psychological game played by Grand Admiral Thrawn against his enemies.
* * *
The positions, and indeed the entire protocol of actions in the system, were chosen by no means randomly.
And the enemy surely understood this immediately after their swarms of starfighters, Star Destroyers, frigates, and transport vessels came under attack.
The defensive mines, ceasing to receive data about friendly forces in the system, reacted strictly according to their programmed instructions.
Their sensors located the nearest target, their thrusters adjusted course with short bursts, and their magnetic grapnels fixed the deadly weapons to the hull of any Zann Consortium starship.
A fiery hell surrounded Sykes-Six's fleet.
His armada was under massive attack from all sides.
And it suffered losses.
Massive losses.
Dozens of transport ships were turned into scrap metal within the first few minutes of the battle.
The warships fired in all directions, trying to clear the space around them.
The Aggressors fired their primary ion cannons time and again to clear a path through space that had suddenly become hostile.
Despite the relentless strikes, the enemy continued their advance, leaving behind the shattered, gaping hulls of their criminal ships.
"Distance to the enemy is ninety units," the watch officer reported. "The minefield is depleted by twenty-five percent."
A quarter of the minefield was already inactive, but the number of enemy ships destroyed didn't quite match a proportionate figure.
"Number of Consortium starships destroyed?" I-Gor inquired.
"Twenty-seven starships, sir. A significant portion of the mines are reacting to the enemy's starfighters."
Now it was clear.
The safety protocol assumed the enemy would have starfighters and carrier ships, but not in this quantity.
The margin of error was understood.
"Sir, they are already in the Dragons' firing range," the watch officer reminded. "Wouldn't it be better to deploy them for an attack?"
"No," I-Gor replied. "We have the densest part of the minefield ahead of us. If we start firing the ion cannons now, we'll thin the barrier for the enemy. The Venators remain in position until further orders."
They, along with the Victory-class Star Destroyers, were not threatened by the minefields laid by the Dominion.
Every scanner has its own operational range.
For the mines used in the barrier, it was thirty units.
Each mine was linked into an information network with the others, so if one mine's scanner couldn't reach a ship lacking the proper identification signal, it received targeting data from its neighbors.
I-Gor's ships were positioned at a distance of thirty-five units from the nearest mine.
The safety hemisphere surrounding the starships — which had their sterns pressed against the static minefield blocking the second moon of Tiraggi — naturally had a much larger diameter, as the calculation accounted for a safe radius from the outermost ship in the formation, plus a margin for maneuvering.
This gave I-Gor's ships a completely open space where his Star Destroyers could conduct combat operations without fear of damage from their own minefield.
The mines tore the enemy fleet apart.
The starfighters, which had absorbed the brunt of the attack, were rapidly dwindling, and now the larger Zann Consortium ships were having a very hard time.
Their engines burned and exploded; their hulls were gutted, torn to pieces as if they weren't metal, but flimsi.
Attempts to use cloaking fields also failed to achieve the desired result.
The massive damage the ships sustained in the first phase of the battle, along with the numerous buzz droids scattered throughout the minefield, simply and straightforwardly rendered the cloaking systems useless.
Any attempt to hide under the cloak ended with a buzz droid attached to the ship transmitting its location data, causing the mines to swarm towards the starship.
Bogged down on all sides, the enemy ships moved forward — some on the remnants of their main drives, others purely by inertia.
Time and again, they were struck by the defensive mines, losing more and more hull integrity and shield strength.
Their communication systems, a priority target, were destroyed, and any coordinated effort was out of the question.
Fragmented attempts to break through the barrier in an organized fashion, or to escape its boundaries, failed.
The two minesweeper cruisers Sykes-Six had brought with them were destroyed — irretrievably.
The path out of and into the system was open, but no one on the Dominion side intended to leave — and the remnants of the Zann Consortium flotilla simply couldn't — leave the Tiraggi system.
"Log this in the ship's journal," I-Gor said. "The combat deployment of defensive mines in the Tiraggi system has demonstrated excessive consumption when countering enemy air power. Under these conditions, programming them to destroy enemy ships seems wasteful. It would be more efficient to change the targeting directive from destroying starships to disabling their propulsion, maneuvering, weapon, and defense systems — specifically their deflector shield projectors. This would reduce the number of mines required to disable a single enemy starship. By equipping the mines with communicators that would alert the nearest patrol to the presence of a damaged enemy vessel in the area, we could increase the number of captured enemy starships and prisoners. Using mines directly for destruction is wasteful. It would be more efficient to disable them, capture the crews through conventional means. A captured ship can be finished off as a training target for turbolasers."
This solution would reduce the costs directly related to mine production.
The single minefield in the Tiraggi system, which the enemy was now detonating against, consisted of nearly one hundred thousand mines.
Each one costs money — a significant amount.
Even if we simply sent the hulls of captured ships to be melted down, it would provide a decent compensation.
Weapons are created to destroy the enemy.
But if they can be made to at least partially offset the cost of their creation, then expenses will be notably reduced.
However, a decision of this nature should be made exclusively by the competent authority in such matters.
The Rear Admiral's task is simply to share his observations.
"Distance to the enemy is seventy-eight units," the watch officer reported. "The minefield is eighty percent depleted. All Aggressor-class Star Destroyers are destroyed. The enemy has forty Vengeance-class frigates and twenty-two transport ships."
As he had noted — excessive mine expenditure.
"Battle stations," I-Gor declared. "Distribute targets. Dragons, move to firing range. First, disable ships with ion cannons, then proceed with missile and turbolaser bombardment. Do not respond to surrender declarations — they are traps."
Sensors indicated the remaining enemy fleet was veering left relative to their formation.
The ships made a minor adjustment to their own positions.
Fifteen Star Destroyers, arranged seven each in the upper and lower echelons relative to the Crusader hovering between the lines, opened fire at maximum range as soon as the Venators appeared on either side of the flagship with their main hangars open.
Ion bolts had a much longer range than the current distance between the adversaries.
But now the minefield was practically breached, so there was no reason to hold the ships back.
The enemy had very little left to cross into the 'clean' zone, and then the battle would continue at entirely different ranges.
The central computer displayed figures indicating the firing range of the launchers.
The command followed immediately.
Following the ion shots from the Dragons, anti-ship missiles streaked towards the disabled targets.
Deprived of power and the ability to correct their course, the Zann Consortium starships became easy prey for the missiles, the turbolasers, and the remaining mines.
The Crusader selected the nearest enemy transport ship as its target.
The Action IV, the precursor to the Interceptor IVs, possessed substantial internal cargo hold volume.
It was no wonder the enemy used them as substitutes for carrier ships.
The starship was blown to pieces by several missile impacts.
Something else exploded ahead and to the left; it seemed the other Star Destroyers had been no less fortunate in their accuracy.
Could this battle be called fair?
No, in no way.
This was the slaughter of a disarmed enemy who had invaded their territory and now had to be destroyed.
I-Gor's conscience wasn't troubled by the hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of sentient lives lost — each of them had chosen their own fate.
Accustomed to fighting only those unable to respond with adequate force, the Zann Consortium had come to their territory to bring pain and ruin.
Such sentients deserve no pity.
Only extermination.
Without mercy, without regret, without concern that somewhere they might leave behind widows, orphans, and parents weeping through the night.
Those who come to your land to plunder, kill, and enslave must be killed themselves.
There can be no other option.
"The minefield is fully depleted, Rear Admiral," the watch officer reported.
"They don't have many ships left," I-Gor observed. "Just four, and those are already disabled by ion weaponry. Has the response arrived from the tracking station regarding my request?"
"Just now, sir," the watch officer said, handing the datapad with the report to the rear admiral. "They claim that all the starships they spotted have entered our system's territory."
"Or else they emerged from hyperspace beyond its borders, never reaching their intended point," offered the commander of the Dominion destroyer flotilla, giving another version.
Through the transparisteel, the mangled hulls of the last enemy starships were visible, which the destroyers' fire was finishing off.
"Launch the interceptors and all the buzz droids, spy droids, and so on," I-Gor ordered, returning the datapad to its owner. "I want to know where the enemy's forty-three starships are hiding."
"Will be done, sir," the watch officer declared.
Orders echoed, broadcast over the intercom.
Countless interceptors and droids of all kinds fluttered out of the hangars, dispersing across the system.
Having repelled the attack, the Star Destroyers dispersed, breaking into groups for a better sweep of the area.
Something was unnerving I-Gor.
Was it the fact that he had no idea whatsoever about the composition of the enemy's "lost" forces? Or was it that apart from the minefield, there were no defensive lines in the system — except for the minefield surrounding the second moon of Tiraggi?
Two dozen destroyers under his command — certainly an impressive military force.
Especially considering that each of the "Victories" under his command was a "Trio," upgraded with the latest technology by Dominion military engineers.
But still, the feeling that something was wrong with the situation surprised and alarmed him.
As if he had overlooked something.
"Sir, we're registering the arrival of a large number of ships in the system," the grav-acoustic operator reported.
I-Gor didn't have time to react and request identification.
He saw it.
One by one, without any explanation, new markers for enemy ships appeared on the tactical display.
Twenty.
And all of them grouped around...
No one had time to react — the enemy starships, which had appeared after a precise hyperjump near the "Dragons," exploded.
These weren't combat starships — they were transports, like the ones that had been destroyed not long ago by the Dominion flotilla.
In enormous flashes, five "Venators" evaporated, as if they had never existed.
The shockwave caught several "Victories" closest to the explosion, but no critical damage was dealt.
In the spot where the enemy fleet had just been destroyed, a ship materialized.
"Star Destroyer dead ahead!" the watch chief shouted, darting to the left "pit."
"Identify!" I-Gor ordered.
"We're being hailed," came from the communications section.
"The 'Cauldron', sir! It's the enemy!"
"Prepare for battle! Put him on screen!"
The hologram that appeared instantly resurrected in I-Gor's mind the identity of that being.
"Moff Harsh," he addressed the enemy. "Surrender, or you will be destroyed!"
"Missiles locked!"
"Fire!"
"All ships — open fire!"
Moff Harsh.
Turbolasers were already firing at the ship, but from Harsh's expression, it was clear he was completely indifferent to what was happening.
Considering he was staying at the edge of turbolaser and anti-ship missile range — it was no wonder he remained calm.
His ship's shields held the impact, though they were buckling.
"Not bad work," he snorted. "You gutted Sykes-Six on the minefield. Still, he was the dumbest of all Jerid's clones."
"Send a message to the 'Chimaera'," I-Gor ordered.
The fact that Harsh had brought out one destroyer against them — that meant nothing yet.
Surely there was another plan.
"Well, you've had your fun, now it's my turn," the former Imperial Moff said gloatingly. "I'll burn you all for my people at Bosph."
"New ships!" was all the grav-acoustic operator managed to report.
I-Gor saw those ships.
Huge "Supertransports," clearly upgraded: with improved shields, hulls, and deflectors.
Each of them materialized from hyperspace right next to the Star Destroyers under I-Gor's control.
And a fraction of a moment later, they exploded.
* * *
Moff Harsh watched with a pleased smile as fifteen white-orange artificial stars grew in place of the starships that had destroyed the invasion fleet.
"You did excellently," he said, glancing at the man and woman standing behind him. "The navigators brought the ships to exactly where they had no chance of surviving."
"The power of the Force is great," the man said coolly.
"And it tells us that this moon is too dangerous to conduct a ground operation."
"I didn't sacrifice Sykes-Six just to leave here empty-handed," the former Imperial Moff snapped. "Whatever they're hiding here will be mine! The Rift gives me as many resources as I desire! And only I control the way to it! Land the assault force!"
"It will be done, Moff," declared the soldier standing nearby in the snow-white armor of a stormtrooper.
Snapping a salute, he began murmuring something into his helmet's comlink.
"It will be quite some time before the Dominion arrives here," Harsh said dreamily, rubbing his hands. "There's time to plunder properly for my future Empire..."
The man and woman standing behind him exchanged meaningful glances but said nothing.
His Empire?
What a naive and ridiculous little man.