As soon as the Chimaera's gunners tore into pieces two enemy Star Destroyers that had crept up to the flagship, the pilots received the long-awaited order to attack.
"Telemetry is stable, target distribution complete," reported Alex, confirming readiness. "Data is being transmitted on channel twenty-five steadily and with all adjustments."
"Rush," Tomax said in a calm, familiar tone, pushing the PLAE control stick.
Scimitar-01 (but this was no longer the machine he and Alex had assembled on Tangrene; it was a factory-built machine, without the homemade touches and with the necessary modifications dictated by the trends of the times and operational experience from the first models), along with eleven of its brethren, shot forward and in a few seconds were tens of standard units away from the Dominion flagship Star Destroyer.
Bren returned the PLAE lever to its original position, and the accelerator, having executed its programmed command, went quiet.
Before the pilot lay only the vast cosmic space, a blackness in which only distant stars were visible.
"Target locked," Alex reported. "Bomb bays open. Twenty units behind, two Star Vipers have set course for us."
"On combat heading," Tomax responded, switching to attack. "Disable homing heads."
"Disabled," the flight engineer reported. "Manual targeting."
"I know."
The enemy might be invisible — to scanners and eyes.
But channel twenty-five gave unambiguous indications of a camouflaged enemy.
Two proton torpedoes left their rails, speeding toward the invisible target.
That which is invisible to scanners cannot be locked by the targeting computer.
Nor by the homing heads of proton torpedoes, shaped-charge rockets, bombs, cluster munitions, and any other guided ordnance that the arsenals of a Star Destroyer's bomb magazines are rich with.
Therefore, the attack is carried out manually.
The complex electronics are disabled.
After that, inside the bomb bay of the Scimitar-01, as with the rest of the squadron's machines, not much high technology remained.
Only the engines that would deliver the munitions to the target.
The acceleration imparted to the torpedoes was visible as a crimson halo around the engine nozzle of each proton warhead.
"First pair away, breaking off," Tomax commented on his maneuvering.
On the enemy Star Destroyer hiding under camouflage, they evidently realized that their invisibility was not something that could prevent the crew of the fast bomber from striking.
They dropped their camouflage and opened fire with their broadside cannons.
The evasive maneuver Tomax executed carried the machine to the side, shielding it from danger.
But the barrage fire could not stop the proton torpedoes.
Filled with baradium wrath, they reached their intended target and detonated successfully.
"Target destroyed confirmed," Alex said. "The ion-plasma cannons of that Aggressor will harm no one anymore."
Executing one maneuver after another, Tomax shifted the Scimitar to the side.
For a moment, he managed to catch the consequences of the strike out of the corner of his eye.
The bow of the once-camouflaged Aggressor now consisted of two mangled guide rails, opened from the inside like an ugly flower of deformed metal and frames.
"He won't hide from us anymore," Alex commented.
"Cease gloating," Tomax ordered, setting a new course. "We still have thirty proton torpedoes under the belly. And fifteen targets to destroy. Don't relax."
"Whatever you say, Commander," Alex replied carelessly. "It's just…"
* * *
His words were drowned in another surge.
Captain Tschel looked at the unfolding scene of the enemy fleet's massacre and couldn't believe his eyes.
"This… This… Sir, where did eleven squadrons of Scimitars come from?" he said thoughtfully. "I'm counting our Scimitars, of course, but another hundred and twenty machines?!"
"All in good time, Captain," I declared, not taking my eyes off the viewport. "Note vector six. At coordinates two-seven-seven, there is a Vengeance-class frigate, approaching us on a wide arc."
"Range sixty units, sir," Tschel noted. "At that range, we can only scratch its hull paint."
"We don't need more than that for now," I explained. "Camouflage fields are good because they hide starships from scanners and visual detection. But their nature is such that they cannot simultaneously maintain both a masking field and a deflector field. Any damage to a camouflage projector, of which there are many on the hull, leads to a disruption of that technology. The invisible ceases to be so."
And what we can see is easier to destroy by more trivial means than targeting via channel twenty-five.
"You want to strip the camouflage from their destroyers and Vengeance-class ships," the destroyer commander understood.
"Exactly, Captain," I nodded, stroking the ysalamiri. "The first phase of the battle is to deprive the enemy of their advantage. As soon as they no longer have the ability to stealthily approach us and blow themselves up, we will proceed to the second phase."
"We have already destroyed ten Aggressors," Tschel pointed at the tactical screen.
"A decent start," I agreed. "But that is an excess on the part of the executers. The Scimitar pilots were ordered to strike the enemy's ion-plasma cannons. Not to destroy the starships. For the latter, we have much more conventional weaponry. Which also needs to be tested in this battle, without being distracted by picking out camouflaged enemies."
"You want to deprive them of the ability to be camouflaged and to deliver destructive strikes with their main batteries," Tschel summarized. "But wouldn't it be simpler to destroy them immediately?"
"Simpler, Captain, certainly simpler," I agreed. "However, to destroy even a single Aggressor requires a salvo of anywhere from one-third to one-half of the proton torpedoes in the Scimitars' bomb bays. At the moment, we have lost only a dozen of these machines, achieving the destruction of only ten destroyers. Meanwhile, the machines are dying during the first attack, staying on the attack course longer than necessary for launching a pair of proton torpedoes. The result is that they are destroyed without having expended their full ordnance and without destroying their assigned targets. We have one hundred and twenty Scimitars left, while the enemy has about two hundred and forty destroyers and frigates under camouflage. With this approach, which will run out first: our Scimitars or the enemy's camouflaged ships?"
Tschel was silent, pursing his lips.
"You're right, sir, irrational actions," he agreed. "Signalmen! General directive for our bomber pilots — cease destruction of enemy ships in the Alpha Zone. Focus on damaging their main cannons!"
"Message sent, Commander!" an officer from the comm station responded.
I peered into the blackness of space, watching as explosions appeared out of nothingness time and again and the enemy starships became outlined, furiously and uselessly firing their turbolasers after the departing Scimitars.
The Alpha Zone is a broad area of space located in front of the Chimaera. Here the largest enemy forces are concentrated — both camouflaged and not.
The key principle here is to bring the starships out of camouflage and destroy the monstrous cannons on the Aggressors, one shot of which could spell an unfortunate end for the Chimaera.
But there is also the Beta Zone — the space near the Eternal Wrath, where there are no Scimitars. Only a support corvette and several squadrons of TIE Interceptors.
And there are groups of enemy ships moving to destroy the Interdictor.
In the Beta Zone, any enemy starship must be destroyed — there must simply be no threat to the Eternal Wrath from camouflaged starships.
This Interdictor is our 'castle,' holding the enemy fleet in the system that will become their mass grave.
Ensuring its safety — given its small air wing, weaker artillery than the Chimaera, and the function assigned to it — is more than a necessity.
It is the foundation of the entire trap.
"We have breached the camouflage field on the Vengeance-class ship," Captain Tschel reported, pointing at the structure that had appeared in the void, now fifty units from us of the enemy frigate.
"Finish it off, Captain," I said, stroking the ysalamiri's soft belly. "The port side artillery will be sufficient. And give the order to our assault gunboats to launch missile strikes against enemy starships that have already been stripped of camouflage. Target their engine systems and hyperdrives. Immobilize them, but don't waste time on complete destruction. Reorient four of our five interceptor squadrons to counter enemy fighters — they are approaching us on vectors three-two-two and six-eight-eight. We do not need enemy aviation to reach the destroyer."
"Yes, sir," the Chimaera's commander agreed impassively. "Starboard side — acquire targets the destroyers marked as targets 'four' and 'five', prepare to strip their camouflage."
I looked at the designated targets.
The ships had just approached us to a distance of eighty units and were continuing to close, maintaining their camouflage field.
They belonged to the category of Aggressors that had been in the system, already camouflaged by the time of our arrival.
The fact that they went into motion, still remaining in drift, and chose the Chimaera as their target indicated that Admiral Sykes still had not understood the method by which we were detecting his starships, invisible to scanners and inaccessible to visual detection.
Having already lost the destroyers that were supposed to destroy the Chimaera at the start of the battle, he sent another pair toward us, while the rest of his military fleet continued to suffer losses from the actions of our Scimitars.
"I countermand that order," I said.
"Sir?" Tschel looked at me in bewilderment.
"You heard me correctly, Captain, your order to strike the enemy destroyers creeping up on us is countermanded," I repeated, noting how the Chimaera's port turbolasers were successfully tearing into the discovered Vengeance. "Concentrate the starboard batteries on destroying those three Interceptor IV frigates that are moving toward us on vector four-two-seven and have already closed to a distance of seventy-five units. They intend to attack us with their launch tubes, so within fifteen units we need to ensure they cannot do so."
Despite its heavy armor, each salvo that reached the frigate tore out chunks of armor, literally exposing the frames, internal compartments, and bulkheads of the starship.
In the battle against a single Star Destroyer, we were demonstrating the full justice of the Imperial military commission's decision, which had denied Vengeance-class frigates and Aggressor-class Star Destroyers membership in the Imperial Starfleet.
That is what should have happened to these starships had they fallen into Imperial hands.
Without its main — ion-plasma — cannon, the Aggressor turns into just a large target with not very good armor, insufficient artillery, and maneuverability.
Installing a camouflage screen on these starships altogether deprived them of the strength of deflectors.
The absence of the latter on the Vengeance-class ships was not compensated at all by the combination of a camouflage field and strong armor.
Losing the first, the frigate subsequently lost its not-so-numerous artillery as well.
Having decent speed and armor, it could, of course, continue to serve as a target and a fireship, but the Chimaera's gunners had just demonstrated that knowledge of the enemy starships' material and accuracy of fire reliably closed the long-overdue question of such roles for Vengeance-class frigates.
"Sir, aren't the Aggressors and their main battery more dangerous to us?" Tschel clarified.
"Without a doubt," I agreed. "But at the moment, our enemy is studying our tactics and trying to understand exactly how we detect his camouflaged ships."
"By sacrificing another two destroyers?" Tschel clarified.
"The sooner we destroy them, the more he will know about the range of our detection of camouflaged targets," I explained, pointing at the tactical screen. "Note that despite the Scimitars' attacks, Admiral Sykes still keeps his starships in the previous formation — they are slowly moving toward us with their whole mass. This allows them to lay down a fairly dense barrage fire on our bombers and slowly grind down the main threat to their fleet, as they see it. Why do you think?"
Tschel thought for a few seconds.
"They think that by knowing our detection range, they can shoot down our Scimitars long before we wipe out all their Star Destroyers, and then, with the ones that remain, attack us from all sides," he concluded with an air of finality.
"Exactly, Captain," I agreed. "Sykes was in despair not long ago. His plan—an attack from multiple directions—failed. He lost up to a third of the starships in the entire Zann Consortium battle wing without ever breaking through into the Dominion. After that, he switched to open assaults on two identified 'secret objects,' concentrating his remaining combat and transport forces along the main axes."
"He knows they got nothing on the second moon of Tiraggi?" Tschel inquired.
"He at least suspects it," I said. "Move the interceptor squadron to Sector Three—the Star Vipers are holding position behind the Aggressor's hull, which dropped its camouflage two minutes ago. Order our escort corvette to withdraw as soon as the interceptors arrive."
The designated ship, having lost its main battery, had become cover for the enemy heavy fighters, absorbing hits from our corvette and steadily losing its own weapons and shielding.
The Raider gutted the enemy's engines with missile and cannon fire, knocked out its port-side artillery, and did everything possible to keep the starship away from the Chimaera.
That wasn't actually what the enemy wanted.
Sykes had already realized that the battered Aggressor couldn't reach the destroyer along this vector, so he was forcing it to soak up damage, serving as a shield for an ambushing air wing.
Tschel carried out my order, and a dozen TIE Interceptors headed for the designated part of space.
"He probably figured from the ambush here that things were just as bad over there," Tschel suggested.
"He's a smart enough sentient," I said. "Tyber Zann wouldn't have kept him around this long for nothing. Eliminate him, and countering the Zann Consortium in the next phase of the Outer Rim cleanup operation will be an order of magnitude easier for us."
"He must be pretty desperate if he decided to drag his transport-and-landing train into the fight," Tschel noted.
"He's betting everything on two major strikes rather than many small ones," I explained. "In that scenario, bringing in assault forces first and then transport ships is a huge waste of time—and increases losses. I get the impression he still didn't know how to justify the losses, so he threw all his strength in to achieve something, anything."
"'Didn't know'?" Tschel clarified.
"Exactly," I nodded, noting that our interceptors and corvette had begun withdrawing toward the Chimaera. "Now he does. So, cautiously but deliberately, he's trying to execute the only viable option for his triumph in the Zann Consortium's campaign against the Dominion."
"And what's that?"
"Sykes has already figured out that my death was a cover and that everything over the last three months was the result of my operational game against their organization," I explained. "Now they can only win one way—by destroying me by any means."
"Understood, sir," Tschel replied dryly.
"Our interceptors and corvette are pulling back," the words made the Chimaera's commander refocus on scanning the battlefield instead of pondering my statements. "This is a good chance for the enemy to counterattack and accomplish their original goal. Our gunners are busy with other targets, and to shoot down their Star Vipers, they'd have to fire on our own forces. They can't pass up this opportunity. Order the interceptors to make a U-turn, and the corvette to finish the Aggressor on my command."
The Star Vipers did indeed emerge from behind the enemy Star Destroyer's hull and raced after the Dominion starships I'd indicated.
As I said—this was an excellent chance for them to break through to the Chimaera.
I think one of the classics described it as: 'We stormed the enemy's trenches on the shoulders of their retreating troops.'
I waited for the situation to develop in a favorable outcome for our interceptors and corvette. Then, as soon as their pursuers took the bait, I commanded:
* * *
"Destroy them."
Making a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn, Lieutenant Jainer opened fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wingman follow suit.
The first Star Viper, not expecting such a dirty maneuver, came under fire from four laser cannons and turned into a blazing ball.
His wingman lagged only a fraction of a second behind.
Leaving two small clouds of scrap behind their tails, the lead pair of Grey Wing squadron surged into the attack.
The returning volley from the Zann Consortium pilots, who'd recovered their wits, wasn't long in coming.
The Dominion pilots dove into crimson flashes of deadly energy, never stopping their series of aerial maneuvers.
From the outside it must have looked beautiful, but in practice it was unpleasant—especially after one of the better marksmen finally scorched the hide of Jainer's interceptor.
And as it happened, the inertial compensator collapsed. For a moment, the pilot inside the cockpit felt the weight of the universe and his eyes wanting to leak out of their sockets—after first making him feel the full agony of his optic nerves.
But the onboard computer (thank the Dominion engineers for upgrading it!) responded a second later to the damage and the pilot's suffering, then activated the backup compensator.
For that, and for the deflectors and the launchers for shaped-charge missiles that had now become standard on TIE Interceptors—a big, blazing thanks to the engineers too.
Because during that second when Krieg felt like the contents of a blender under pressure, his interceptor managed to absorb several good hits from the nearest Star Viper's laser cannon.
And though the deflector discharged, the machine stayed intact.
The pilot stayed intact too.
And he was very angry about all his suffering.
Together with his wingman, they finished off another unlucky Viper that crossed their path. Where the enemy starfighter had been, a rapidly expanding ball of hot gas and debris formed.
Then they reversed course again, and the offending Viper caught the lash of his laser cannons, rewarding the pilot with its demise.
Having lost only one pilot, the Grey Talon squadron had halved the dozen enemy starfighters and had no intention of stopping there.
Only now did the Star Vipers realize that the Raider-III they'd also been chasing had settled comfortably far behind their nozzles and was cheerfully flashing its own.
At the same time, from the sheer breadth of its soul and the power of its cannons and launchers, it was battering the unprotected port side of the long-suffering Aggressor, drifting toward the stern and turning its engines into a sort of sieve made of high-strength metals.
That very Aggressor from whose hull the notorious Star Vipers had recently emerged.
Krieg, spinning into a horizontal dive, spotted the harbinger of trouble as he split another Viper apart with cannon fire.
"Raider," he addressed the corvette's commander. "The Aggressor's hull is changing color."
"Thanks, we're aware," came the dry reply.
The corvette, having finished off its victim's engines with a salvo, banked into a turn that would make even an interceptor pilot feel his stomach soar to the heavens, then hit the afterburners and shot away.
You can't outrun a blast wave.
A big ship—the interceptors handled that fine, and they were farther from the epicenter than the Raider, which was doomed to die a hero's death.
But to pull off a climb, fire laser cannons into empty space, slam in a few missiles, expose the position of another enemy starship, use its hull as cover, take a full salvo from enemy turbolasers into the deflector, then turn around and with the cynicism of a pedant destroy the turbolasers and engines of a second enemy starship, getting away with only a dozen harmless holes in its own hull...
"Total psychos," Jainer whispered, watching with his own eyes the pirouettes that no fleet officer would ever attempt, not even to save his own skin.
On that ship's decks, at least half the crew must be green from their intestines' civil war with their stomachs, and the other half knocked out, just like the gravity compensator, from such acrobatics.
"Raider, you alive over there?" the Grey Talon squadron commander worried.
"Yeah..."
The reply was strained but clearly showed the guys aboard that ship were not okay.
"We'll cover you; fall back to the Chimaera," Krieg ordered, coordinating with the dispatcher.
The corvette turned uncertainly on the spot, and only then did Jainer notice a long gash cutting across its starboard side.
Obviously they'd taken one full turbolaser salvo from the destroyer without deflectors.
At a guess—not the most serious damage, but you have to understand that this vessel wasn't a Star Destroyer.
And that through-hole you could see near the starboard engine definitely wouldn't heal on its own.
The missing backup gravity compensator wouldn't come back of its own accord either.
The best decision was to let the guys withdraw to the Chimaera, maybe patch their holes, recover from the G-forces, fix some issues.
The interceptors split into two groups and organized an escort, while the other half went to finish off the surviving Vipers.
They didn't play games with these; they went straight in, selected targets, and maneuvered only as much as safety required, but the impression was that the Greys were going to ram the enemy.
Jainer's cannons poured continuous fire, flaking the Viper's armor like husks.
Due to lack of clear space, Krieg flew straight through a cloud of debris at full speed and winced as he heard it drum against the hull.
That kind of insanity didn't come free even for better-armored starfighters, let alone a less protected interceptor.
His wingman missed his target; the pilot dodged at the last second, and on a wide arc was carried toward another enemy ship.
Two signals on the scanner merged into one and simultaneously went dark, leaving the Greys' scanners pristine.
But not for long.
A new enemy squadron was already rushing toward them, backed by a pair of Interceptor IV-class ships.
Those were being engaged by the Chimaera's starboard artillery, and they were doing such a good job that for a moment it seemed some evil god had blown the deflectors off both.
But somehow this resulted in another squadron of Vipers appearing.
Which was not good.
Six TIE Interceptors against twenty-four Star Vipers—not the best odds.
"Grey Leader to squadron—fall back under the Chimaera's cover," Krieg ordered.
He'd already seen that the wounded corvette had reached the Star Destroyer's underside and was now firing from a protected position with its laser cannons and homing shaped-charge missiles.
Like crimson spears, its laser cannons—once exclusive to Crusader-class corvettes—kept interfering with the enemy's attempts to strike the Star Destroyer from below.
Krieg blinked and realized there were too many enemies around the mother ship.
Yes, that was it—two squadrons of Star Vipers from another direction had broken through to the Chimaera and were now diligently hampering the fifteen or so TIE Interceptors in their duty of defending the flagship Star Destroyer.
"Grey Leader to Chimaera OCC—we're withdrawing the entire squadron to you," Jainer warned.
"Received," the dispatcher replied. "Five of your pilots who escorted the Raider have already been integrated into the ship's defense. The same order for the rest until further notice."
"Understood, OCC—defending the Chimaera."
After relaying the order to all his fighters, Krieg strained his interceptor's engines to the limit, pushing them to maximum.
Grey Wing pilots fled the pursuit at full throttle, while several Vipers that had broken off from bombarding the Chimaera came toward them, and this whole preposterous collection of unreliable weapons opened fire.
So both the Greys and their pursuers slammed into the plasma storm like suicide bombers.
Krieg felt hot.
He'd just concluded he'd rather fly straight into the enemy's teeth than toward an ally who theoretically could tell friend from foe—but the flagship's safety came first.
The turbolasers fired at high frequency, constantly incinerating Vipers trying to attack the Star Destroyer.
For some reason, they weren't using missiles or torpedoes, exchanging fire with the Chimaera exclusively with energy weapons.
Maybe the enemy lacked the skill for missile-torpedo strikes, or the equipment, or the will.
But no one was going to guess.
The Greys had a full combat load in their faces: green and red laser bolts, bluish flashes of ion charges, smoky trails of homing shaped-charge missiles.
Take your pick.
Krieg gave the order, and his pilots scattered in all directions like minokks lured by electricity, then turned the trap into a full-scale hunt.
Some of the pursuers also chose not to meet the deadly fire vortex; others were less lucky.
A close explosion from a shaped-charge missile off the Raider spun Jainer's machine; he had to tame the interceptor and check his instruments to make sure his wingman was alive, intact, and still there.
The comm channel filled with voices again, phrases overlapping and fusing into one.
His pilots, with the cold-bloodedness of serial killers, corrected each other's flights, warned pilots from other squadrons of danger, alerted gunners on the Chimaera and Raider about threats from enemy starfighters.
"Second squadron, don't get distracted by..."
"Twelve to Five—gain altitude, go!.."
"I'm hit, pulling away from the destroyer..."
"Two on my tail, can't shake them..."
"Scattered missile salvo, and I'd appreciate some speed—there's another whole squadron..."
Spinning the interceptor into a right barrel roll and descending relative to the battle zone, the pilot spotted the squadron the Raider commander had just mentioned.
Star Vipers from among the Greys' pursuers were forming into a wedge for a decisive breakthrough.
Forget protocol and without target allocation, Krieg opened fire, crippling the nearest enemy ship.
All four shots hit the engine compartment; the Viper turned into a fireworks display of explosions and debris, and the cloud left by the reactor detonation swallowed its wingman.
But the second fighter emerged from the fire almost immediately, seemingly undamaged.
His wingman fired too.
He aimed for the panels radiating from the cockpit like rays of a star in a child's drawing, but instead burned neat holes in the fuselage.
Krieg and his wingman didn't bother finding out what happened to the pilot next; they cleared the battle zone and chased after the surviving Vipers.
The rest of the squadron joined them, but literally a second later the Raider commander called them back.
Adjusting his course, eleven Greys let the previously indicated missile salvo pass between them, and a volley of shaped-charge missiles with homing warheads raced after the enemy.
It ended in a spectacular series of explosions; only one enemy starfighter survived.
And even then, not for long.
Krieg and his wingman boxed it in and shot it down despite the enemy's virtuoso flying.
The space around the Chimaera cleared of enemy fighters, and now all pilots could watch with delight as the Raider's laser cannons intercepted the streams of anti-ship missiles launched by both Interceptor IV-class ships.
Meanwhile, the Dominion destroyer's gunners were hammering one turbolaser salvo after another into the enemy frigates' hulls with almost filigree precision, literally tearing them apart.
And when both ships fell almost simultaneously into complete silence, the Chimaera's turbolasers fired a salvo 'over the heads' of both Interceptor IV-class ships.
At first Krieg didn't understand the reason for such a naive miss, but when it turned out the gunners had hit an 'invisible' target, tearing open the bows of two approaching Aggressor-class Star Destroyers, the flagship's gunners' move became as clear as a Tatooine day.
The enemy ships, their bows mangled (which, before the targeted hits, looked like two rectangular guide rails), didn't stop moving forward but brought their own modest artillery capabilities to bear against the Dominion flagship.
"Chimaera OCC to Grey Leader," the dispatcher's voice came. "You have a new assignment."
"Understood," Krieg acknowledged.
"Cover the squadron of gunboats heading to point three-nine-five," the dispatcher ordered.
Jainer estimated the direction.
"Orders understood. Covering."
Switching to the squadron channel, the commander commented:
"Greys—we're moving to cover the Xg-1s, which are about to hit those two ugly things our valiant gunners messed up. Maximum attention—reminder, those things love to blow themselves up surrounded by enemy aircraft."
Dry clicks of acknowledgment.
Krieg took a noisy breath.
When he'd agreed to become a donor for pilot clones, he'd been pretty optimistic.
When they filled his squadron, he'd even been glad.
When every interceptor pilot on the Chimaera, after Kreb's transfer, became a clone of Jainer—it even made him proud and cheered him up.
After all, it's not every day your face defends the Dominion's flagship Star Destroyer.
But nobody told him the clones would be just as joyless and gloomy conversationalists as Kreb, instead of like him.
Well, humanity was humanity, but his guys flew and destroyed the enemy better than anyone.
Time to demonstrate that to the crews of those battered enemy Aggressors.
* * *
Without looking back, Mara intercepted her lightsaber and drove a straight thrust behind her.
The Vulture's breathing turned into wheezing and gasping, then came the sound of a fall.
"So what were you saying about 'Idiot's Layout'?" she asked, putting on an innocent face, addressing the heavily breathing Zabrak woman standing about ten meters away at the other end of the central computer compartment.
The ship section, turned into a battlefield, was littered with destroyed terminals and pieces of decorative paneling—all torn and sliced from their moorings when the two furies clashed with lightsabers.
The red-haired beast saw her opponent's nostrils flare—she was trying to intimidate her human adversary.
From time to time she let out a low growl and shook her horned head, flashing predatory teeth.
At first that behavior had bothered Jade.
Now she simply ignored the posturing.
"I know that blade," the woman said, still holding one hand to her abdomen, where a long burn wound was visible.
The author, of course, was none other than the red-haired woman in Grand Admiral Thrawn's service.
It was after that blow that the Zabrak had tried to flee, siccing her minions on Mara.
They'd had to work up a sweat dealing with them, and to make sure the ship's automation locked the door—already mangled by Mara—to the compartment.
But what wouldn't you do to keep your opponent from escaping?
"Oh really?" Mara stepped over a severed hand of another Vulture, briefly sensing he was still alive.
Tracing a semicircle in the air, she drove her blade straight into the pretending Vulture's throat, ending his life too.
"Enlighten me?"
"That saber belonged to Jedi Master Mace Windu," the Zabrak explained, breathing heavily.
"As you can see, that Korunnai is no more," Mara spread her hands. "Now the saber belongs to me."
"You didn't kill Windu," the dark-haired Zabrak said confidently. "You just wouldn't have had the strength for it. He was the best..."
"You know an awful lot for a simple mercenary with imitation lightsabers," Mara noted.
"I was Master Shaak-Ti's padawan!" the opponent blurted out with malice and fury.
Simultaneously, she hurled the nearest piece of debris at Mara.
Thrawn's Hand calmly dodged most of it, slicing the rest with her lightsaber or deflecting it with the Force.
"Maris Brood," Mara's memory supplied unerringly.
"You know me?" the other was surprised.
"I remember the names of all Jedi the Empire considered conditionally alive until evidence of their destruction appeared," Jade explained. "I hunted down and killed some of them."
"Ah-h," the Zabrak woman spread into a crooked grin. "So you're just like that boy who killed my Master!"
"From this point on, please elaborate," Mara requested. "And no, don't even think about hurling one of your mini-shotos at me. I'll intercept it, and it'll cost you a few sawed-off horns from that lovely head of yours. So? Confessions or more fighting?"
Brood made a lunge with a simple high double strike, but Jade reacted with a quick parry, deflecting the blades aside.
The crackling and humming of intersecting blades of pure energy filled the compartment. Then, realizing the stalemate, the fighters immediately recoiled from each other and returned to waiting positions.
Though Mara managed to deliver a solid kick to the enemy's wounded side.
"Bitch," the other wheezed, literally howling in pain.
"Sounds like a compliment," Mara smiled.
Somewhere on the ship an explosion sounded, and the artificial gravity played a nasty trick on them.
At that moment Maris lunged forward.
Her right blade cut diagonally from right to left in a long, fast arc.
Mara managed to redirect the strike with her weapon but lost her balance due to the suddenly restored gravity and staggered backward, executing a roll.
Maris tried to press her advantage.
Her left blade swept in a left-to-right arc, while the right mirrored it symmetrically.
Ideally, this would have decapitated Jade, but she simply threw the opponent back with the Force.
The Zabrak female, confirming Mara's suspicions that all those wheezes and pain-twisted postures were nothing more than an act to observe how Mara handled herself in battle against the "Vultures," leaped back to a safe distance, creating space between them.
Mara cut her half-finished sequence short and returned to a ready stance.
"Who did you serve?" the Zabrak female asked in a surprisingly calm tone, straightening up as though she'd never been wounded. "The Emperor? Vader? Some lesser bigwig like Hethrir? The Inquisitorius?"
"You guessed it on the first try, so why bother exhausting yourself with the rest of the list?" Mara shrugged, now certain her opponent wasn't so simple in the information department — she at least knew that Hethrir, the Supreme Prosecutor of the Empire, had his own Force-sensitive underlings.
"The Emperor's servant," the Zabrak female said contemptuously.
"Nobody's perfect," Mara shrugged. "At least I didn't serve in an Order whose four Masters couldn't kill one Sith who'd already lived half his human lifespan."
"So you know about that too," Maris stated.
"Just because I act flippant doesn't mean I'm an idiot," Jade assured her. "You, from what I can see, are something yourself. Sure you don't want to switch sides?"
"And serve the Empire that destroyed my past?" the Zabrak female stared at her incredulously. "No, you're definitely an idiot."
"Insults instead of caustic jabs — that's bad form," Mara said sympathetically. "When I was a kid, they'd hit me with Force Lightning for swearing, to teach me not to curse."
"Didn't help much... Aaaaaah!"
Mara struck with electricity from her left hand, and as soon as she confirmed her opponent had intercepted it with both blades, she struck with her right as well.
Finally catching the Zabrak female off guard.
Mara had been working on achieving physical mastery over the past several weeks, ever since Thrawn expressed his displeasure with her.
Under Maul's tutelage, she drilled forgotten techniques again and again and learned new ones.
Between training sessions, she felt that as her skill grew, less and less mental energy went into the physical execution of strikes, parries, and counterstrikes.
It focused her mind.
This way, she could use the Force itself to anticipate the actions of even gifted opponents while simultaneously clouding and confusing their precognitive senses.
And it also allowed her to attack on multiple fronts — sometimes with brute force, and sometimes with the Force.
Though there was a catch.
"A well-roasted Zabrak isn't exactly my thing," she said, looking at Brood, who had collapsed to her knees.
Her verbal bravado masked the rapid exhaustion from using Force Lightning.
Maul had already explained to her (more than once, and mostly not just through talk but through brutally harsh lessons) that her path was lightsaber combat and only superficial use of the Force for battle techniques.
Deeper Force techniques literally drained her.
Of course, she listened to her hated instructor, but she made sure he wasn't her only source of knowledge.
Among the Jedi relics, there was plenty of interesting material.
Especially that holocron from Ossus.
The last time she'd trained with Maul (before the Emperor's death), Mara had been a novice.
And the Zabrak had beaten her often.
While mocking her every way he could.
And he never held back his words.
The Emperor had directly forbidden him from killing his servants, so Maul compensated for his physical inability to destroy students with verbal epithets.
That was when Mara had picked up caustic speech from him as one of her strongest winning techniques.
Throwing an opponent off balance, disrupting their concentration, swaying them to your side, or simply crushing them morally — the Sith were unmatched in the galaxy at this.
Now Mara had practically absorbed everything the Zabrak instructor could teach her and assessed her opponent both physically and emotionally.
The woman had some kind of psychological trauma.
And that might be the key to getting her to join the Dominion.
The Zabrak female was well-trained, steeped in the Dark Side (was that some kind of fetish for Zabrak — being evil and aggressive?) and clearly had no desire to restore the Jedi Order under the New Republic or the Alliance, since she'd found refuge among the "Zann Consortium."
Sure, this could all be overly optimistic, but something told Mara that to oppose Palpatine, they needed as many Force-sensitive beings as possible.
Since Darth Vader couldn't grind him to dust, and his son might already be on his knees before Palpatine, then...
Spinning her blade rapidly, Mara jumped lightly into the air and lunged toward her enemy.
Maul had said that to subjugate an opponent, you had to break them.
Not so much physically as morally.
Since this woman was somehow serving the "Zann Consortium," she might very well be useful.
At least in terms of knowledge.
Maris deflected the attack, but a kick to the head sent her crashing to the deck.
She rolled onto her back and barely managed to raise one of her blades in time to block the next sharp thrust.
The blades hissed as Mara's strikes rained down.
Maris held her off with a masterful defensive flurry, then, with a sweep, knocked the redhead off her feet, but took a knee to the jaw herself.
Both women toppled to the deck.
They rose simultaneously, mirroring each other; their blades met with another deafening hiss and crack before they separated again.
Maris's resilience didn't serve her well: her breathing was ragged, her shoulders slumped, and she occasionally gasped for air.
"Looks like your hearts are out of sync," Mara noted. "You should watch your health, friend, or you'll die from a heart attack instead of a blade. Now that would be a laugh..."
Brood lunged at her again.
But this time, Mara didn't retreat.
She stepped forward and made a quick thrust, transitioning from Form III to the more precise and aggressive Form II.
The unexpected move caught the Zabrak female off guard, and she hesitated for a moment, stunned by the shift.
Her attempt to parry the blow deflected the blade aimed at Mara's chest, but only so that the violet blade sliced through one of the Zabrak's weapons, nearly taking off her fingers.
Pushing her with the Force, Brood performed a short backward somersault, coming out of it with her second weapon extended.
"Did you think I'd chase after you?" Mara clarified. "No thanks, I've put too much work into the gym to let a lightsaber carve up my stomach."
"Is this just a game to you?" the Zabrak female asked, stunned, getting to her feet and regripping her weapons.
No, I'm just stalling for time to download EVERYTHING from your central computer, Mara thought.
"Why hide it?" she said. "I think it's time for you to switch to our side. I take it you're not exactly a fan of the Empire?"
"They destroyed the Order and usurped power!"
"And you don't exactly love the New Republic either..."
"They're even worse than the Republic was before Palpatine!"
"Well, we kind of have a strong army and good laws from the Imperial legacy, plus decent freedoms from the Republican past," Mara laid out the Dominion negotiators' main points.
"Good for you! But you have nothing to offer me that would make me trample my honor and join your side!"
Brood assumed a ready stance again.
"You're weak," Mara explained, casually tracing intricate patterns with her blade. "Predictable. You've been trained well enough, but let's be honest — you can't beat me. I'll do what I came here to do and leave the ship. With you or without you. But in the second case, you'll die."
"Don't be such a naive fool," Brood laughed. "I've faced Darth Vader's apprentice twice and survived! I'm too good to die like this..."
"Which one?"
"What?" the Zabrak female didn't understand.
"Which of his apprentices did you face?" Mara inquired. "That favorite of the Force had so many secret students that..."
"A kid, about twenty years old," Brood shrugged. "Galen Marek. Starkiller... something like that. It was over ten years ago, on Felucia. We fought twice."
"No kidding?" Mara drawled slowly.
She understood who the Zabrak was talking about.
And she was torn by justified doubts.
"We fought twice! The first time — when he killed my master, Shaak Ti," Brood said with malice. "The second time — when I captured the rebel senators from the Alliance."
"And you survived?" Mara clarified.
"As you can see," the woman looked at the redhead with mockery. "I'm stronger than I look."
"I never crossed paths with that kid personally, but what the Emperor said about him makes your words somewhat..." Mara waggled her hand and grimaced. "No offense, but that guy dropped a Star Destroyer from orbit, fought on equal footing with the Emperor and Vader. And you're not even close to Darth Vader's prosthetic leg in terms of power. Frankly, because you're so weak, that's why you're hanging out with losers like Zann."
"I'm with them because they found me, gave me shelter, food, finished my training..."
"And who was smart enough to do something so stupid?" Mara Jade inquired, hearing a beep from the central computer.
She reached behind her back, and an information chip jumped into her palm.
Without taking her eyes off her opponent, she tucked the device into a secure, sturdy case on her belt.
Now the information was safe — even a fall from a great height wouldn't damage the precious chip.
"Urai Fen, Tyber Zann's right hand!" Brood said with strange pride. "Urai taught me to fight. And Admiral Sykes, the one who subjugated Felucia for the organization — he made me a good tactician. They gave me everything I asked for — that's why I fight for them."
Except you're saying that without much conviction, Mara thought. And something tells me the simple truth is — if the door were open, you'd run farther than you can see.
"No offense, friend, but you're being used," Jade explained. "I don't know what Fen taught you, but in combat, you don't shine. Take my word for it — I've fought Jedi. Your skill level is at the level of a Padawan swinging their little stick left and right. And I won't even mention your command abilities — you just threw your soldiers at me to see how I'd handle them."
"And I learned your moves," Brood bared her teeth.
"I spent a couple of seconds on each," Mara raised an eyebrow. "Some observation."
She could feel the desperate desire emanating from her opponent.
She clearly wasn't in for a prolonged fight.
Though she was trained, she'd burned out, investing everything in the first minutes of the clash.
The conversation Mara was leading somehow hadn't served her as a breather to recover her strength.
On the contrary, it had only drained her further.
"You won't leave this ship alive," Maris Brood repeated her point, taking her weapon in a ready grip. "And neither will I, it seems..."
And there was so much disappointment and the crack of broken hopes in her voice that everything clicked into place.
So that was it!
This Zabrak female wasn't actually planning to fight to the death!
"You don't want to die for the 'Zann Consortium,' do you?" Mara squinted, assuming a defensive posture just in case.
"Nonsense," the Zabrak female retorted. "I came here to kill you — an agent of the Dominion."
"Oh, no-no, friend," Mara's face spread into a smile as she noticed the Zabrak's weapon had shifted off target.
Attacking at that angle would be suicide.
"'You have nothing to offer me,'" Jade repeated. "'That would make me join your side.' You said that to me just a couple of minutes ago, commenting on my own words, in which I hadn't even made an offer for you to switch sides."
"You... You were offering it!" Maris faltered.
"Of course," Mara smiled.
Now the Zabrak female was in her hands.
Cards on the table.
"You jumped into the fight, sending the 'Vultures' to get rid of witnesses," Mara said. "Then you pretended to be all righteous and principled so that your defection to our side wouldn't look like betrayal, but would seem to me like a recruitment. So I wouldn't suspect that you wanted to get the hell out of here from the very start."
The Zabrak female gritted her teeth.
"Is it that obvious?" she asked.
"From the very first moment you opened your mouth," Jade lied.
"Bantha poodoo!" Brood deactivated her weapon and hung it on her belt. "I came to them because the Empire was on my trail! And I have absolutely no desire to be some kind of commander or enforcer in Tyber Zann's service, like the others! Not long ago, I thought Zann wasn't so bad, and since democracy or tyranny couldn't handle this mess, maybe the 'Consortium's' way of life as a ruling regime wasn't bad for the galaxy. But now I realize that's just another façade. Everyone wants power, and they don't forgive mistakes." Mara's lips twisted as she remembered how Thrawn "forgave" her mistakes. She'd rather he'd thrown her into boiling water than compare her to flooring verbally. And getting involved with that Isard, as if he wanted to humiliate her as much as possible! He knew perfectly well that the real Iceheart had tortured Mara after Endor! "He'll flay us all for failing the operation against the Dominion! I don't want to be a pawn in matters that don't even concern me! But, no offense — you're not exactly the best side to switch to. You might be strong, but your fleet... Our victory is inevitable."
Her grip on her blade tightened, as if she'd already decided to continue the fight she couldn't win.
Killing her would be nothing.
But as more than a rank-and-file soldier of the "Zann Consortium," Brood was valuable.
She'd at least mentioned other Force-sensitives in Zann's service.
One of them might be a clear agent of the Emperor.
Yes, yes, yes, that's what we all think, Mara thought with mockery. And then a couple of rousing speeches from the Grand Admiral, and next thing you know, you're in the front ranks pushing his plans with the same fervor and fire as when you worshipped the Emperor.
"So what's it going to be?" Jade asked. "Still want to fight, or should we get off this ship?"
"And go where?" Brood grimaced, flinching. "There are only two of your starships in the system! And several hundred of ours! They're about to destroy you, and I'll end up a traitor and..."
The homemade comlink on Jade's belt beeped with an incoming call.
The girl activated the holo-projector, knowing perfectly well who she'd see before her.
But that was the plan.
"Hand," Grand Admiral Thrawn addressed her, "you have five minutes to leave the enemy flagship. After that time expires, I will destroy their entire fleet, regardless of whether you are safe or not."
"Understood," Mara replied, calculating the time she needed to reach her ship, which was still, presumably, docked to the "Zann Consortium" flagship. A suitable plan was already forming in her head. "I'll manage in half that time."
"That would be in your best interest."
As was his custom, Thrawn didn't say goodbye and ended the transmission.
Jade glanced sideways at her recent opponent, whose mouth was hanging open.
"Still sure we can't win?" she asked the Zabrak female slyly. "I'll remind you that last year Thrawn carved up half the New Republic fleet like an Alderaanian nut and crushed all your gang's plans to capture the Dominion. If he says he'll destroy every enemy ship here, then so be it."
"We need to do something about the door," the Zabrak female licked her lips, having made her decision. "I know a shortcut to the docking bays."
Darth Maul was, of course, a rare pain in the ass, but let's be honest with ourselves — sometimes his advice really works.
Break them physically.
Break them morally.
Then do whatever you want with your opponent.