The Galaanus star system of the Korva sector was located just two hours' flight from the nearest system, Jareš.
That is, if one looked at the navigation map of the sector's internal logistics.
The smuggler's route leading from the sector's borders to the Galaanus system hadn't always been like this.
Not long ago, it had been part of a hyperlane called the Daranck Path, which cut through the center of the sector and connected most of the star systems in this region of the galaxy via internal routes.
Colonists had used it several centuries ago to settle the planets in this part of the galaxy.
There were only two planets in Galaanus.
Korva and Galaan.
One might think the sector took its name from the first world, but that wasn't the case.
There was a system called Korva that had given the sector its name.
And yes, that star system also contained a planet called Korva.
The confusion arose from an oversight by the colonists, who had been heading to the planet Korva in the system of the same name, but by the whim of fate — or their commander's negligence — had discovered the Galaang system instead.
Believing they had reached their destination, the colonists enthusiastically and joyfully devoted themselves to colonizing the new world.
The mistake was only discovered when it came time to register the astronomical objects in the space directories.
Those responsible for the matter, however, had no doubt about their right to place two identically named planets in the same sector.
After all, this was the backwater of the galaxy — of little interest or use to anyone — and the academic minds responsible for galactic cartography had far more important things to do than figure out how to convince the inhabitants of one of the planets to rename their world.
The Chimaera emerged from hyperspace on the side of the planet Galaan.
Galaan was a massive gas giant whose hues broke up the dreary, dark blackness of space with their variegation and colossal atmospheric pressure.
Once, above Galaan's northern hemisphere, there had been a New Republic communications station — the primary supplier of "fresh" news from this region of the galaxy.
This structure had also housed the personnel of the New Republic Intelligence Service.
We learned of its existence from data obtained from that same intelligence service's servers during the attack on Coruscant.
Yes, the station wasn't new — one could even say it was "battered by life," by the gas giant's pressure and micro-asteroids.
But a small assault by fleet special forces groups, repair work, and deliveries of additional equipment had created an excellent surveillance station and intercept point all in one.
Like other such facilities scattered across the Core Worlds and the Dominion, this station was hidden from prying eyes by stygium-based cloaking fields, allowing the personnel to see everything, observe everything, and not worry about the complete blindness and deafness that occurs when working under hybridium-based cloaking.
For example, stygium-based cloaking allowed entering hyperspace, traveling through it, and exiting into realspace without fear of the installation's detonation.
When using hybridium, attempting to jump into hyperspace with an active cloaking device of that type would result in immediate detonation at the moment of transition to FTL speed.
Mitth'raw'nuruodo had used this property of hybridium during the suppression of Grand Admiral Demetrius Zaarin's rebellion.
For this reason, the presence of stygium on Maramere was an immeasurable boon for us.
Given this context, the defense of the Karthakk system was a deeply layered "cake," similar to the "Perimeter" system, but with greater individual modifications.
Equipment using stygium was quite expensive, but nothing could be done about it.
An ambitious strategy required considerable investment.
Perhaps they would one day pay off, when the geological survey drones deployed from this complex would find not only ordinary gases in the depths of Galaan's atmosphere, but also tibanna.
By all indications, it should be there.
But that didn't necessarily mean it would be.
It was thanks to the personnel and equipment of this station that, before arriving in the Galaanus system, we had complete information about the number and composition of the enemy fleet.
I must say, the composition of this grouping was extremely interesting.
The fleet's core consisted of fifty Aggressor-class Star Destroyers.
They were supported by twice that number of Vengeance-class and Interceptor-class frigates.
But something else was surprising.
A massive convoy of no less than five hundred Action IV-class starships.
The very ones so beloved by smugglers and freight haulers, who would shell out nearly a million credits to acquire such a new vessel.
And they were worth it — despite its modest size of a hundred meters, the ship could swallow and transport seventy-five thousand metric tons of cargo.
Newer models, of course, had much more capacious holds and cargo decks, but their cost was also higher.
For comparison — an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, Mark I or Mark II, could carry only thirty-six thousand metric tons of useful cargo.
Of course, used examples were available at much lower prices, but, as with reselling a used car, such "pigs in a poke" came with plenty of problems.
Overall, this type of starship had a certain demand, and seeing such a large number of ships of this class in one place could only lead to one conclusion.
"They're occupation transports," said Captain Tschel, studying the tactical display. "Carrying armored vehicles or infantry."
"The most obvious option is both," I said. "We already have confirmation of this, given the enemy's landing on the surface of Korva. Even the losses of their landing craft from our minefields haven't brought them to their senses or made them turn back. So much the worse for them."
Tschel remained wisely silent, understanding that his remark about the secrecy of this place would now be inappropriate.
It would be better if I purposefully enlightened him, so as not to raise suspicions about the correctness of our actions.
In Mitth'raw'nuruodo's history, as far as I knew, there had been an incident where his flagship's crew had nearly mutinied against him, believing he was deliberately sending subordinates to certain death.
This had happened during the initial period of his "mapping mission" in the Unknown Regions.
"Captain, have you ever heard the story of the colonization of the planet Korva in the Galaanus system?" I inquired.
"I haven't had the chance, sir," the man admitted.
"A rather interesting example of how carelessness or negligence in one's actions on the part of a small group of sentients can cost an entire colony its life," I said. Tschel was clearly intrigued and didn't even try to hide it. "We have a few minutes before the hyperjump is complete, so I think after you bring the ship to combat alert, we'll continue this excursion into the history of this star system."
The appropriate orders followed, and the Chimaera's bridge was bathed in a dim bluish glow — one of the few upgrades that had been implemented on the destroyer under the "Trio" program.
Unfortunately, full modernization was still a long way off, and it was unlikely my flagship would undergo it anytime soon — given the loss of Vice Admiral I-Gor's fleet, the number of combat-ready starships under our command had decreased.
Which meant an increased workload for the rest.
Yes, we had managed to save several hundred people — the pilots of TIE Interceptors and those rare lucky ones whose ships hadn't been instantly destroyed by the detonation of the kamikaze ships and the ionization reactor explosion.
But that was a drop in the ocean compared to the total number of casualties — which exceeded a hundred thousand sentients, all with significant combat experience from the past year.
"Five minutes until realspace exit, Grand Admiral," Tschel informed me.
"Excellent," I commented. "So, the history of the colonization of the planet Korva is closely tied to the reasons why this star system was blockaded by our forces. The colonization was carried out a considerable time ago by the forces of the Galactic Republic, when it didn't yet have the prefix 'Old.' It was a flourishing world, full of life, vegetation, and a breathable atmosphere. You'll agree — even in our spacious galaxy, there aren't that many planets with such ideal living conditions."
"I wouldn't say there's a shortage, but there could certainly be more," Tschel said diplomatically.
"Like any colony, they depended for a time on supplies from beyond their planet," I continued. "Given the peace-loving and highly moral policy of supporting those in need for which the planet Naboo is famous, it's not at all surprising that it was from there that grain shipments were sent to the colonists. This led to the destruction of the planet's biosphere and most of its population. Those who could evacuate did so without looking back. Don't you notice the irony of our galaxy, Captain? A peace-loving planet led to the destruction of another world and nearly all its inhabitants. Eighty-seven percent of the colonists died. At least, that's what the data we obtained on Obroa-skai in the middle of last year claims."
"Poisoned grain?" Tschel suggested the most obvious cause of the colony's destruction.
"Along with the grain, Nabooan clodhoppers were brought to the planet," I explained.
Judging by the lack of reaction from the Chimaera's commander, this name meant nothing to him.
"For the fauna of the planet Naboo, despite its tranquil landscapes, a saying from a certain Jedi holds true: 'There's always a bigger fish,'" I mentioned the late Qui-Gon Jinn with appreciation. "The presence of natural predators that hunt a specific species reduces uncontrolled offspring and strengthens the population, since the weak and old die first in the packs. On Naboo, the clodhoppers had natural enemies. They are essentially omnivorous, flightless birds that rarely grow taller than one meter. Despite their bodies being covered in tough, durable hide, a single clodhopper poses little threat. The problem with hunting this species is that they live, hunt, and feed in large flocks, making them a real threat to everything around them..."
A paleness appeared on Captain Tschel's face.
It seemed he had realized what flocks of these omnivorous animals could do on a single planet.
"Open data on this species indicates that a single pair of clodhoppers can produce two hundred offspring in just two standard days, which mature quite quickly by consuming large amounts of food — anything from vegetation to living organisms, even those larger than adult clodhoppers. Rapid reproduction, absence of higher nervous activity, omnivorousness, powerful forelimbs, and muscular hind legs — which they use for foraging and for moving in long leaps — make them a veritable natural disaster for a world that lacks strong predators, such as narglatch, rather bloodthirsty animals also from Naboo."
A domesticated narglatch.
"Interestingly, the meat of this species — clodhoppers — despite their diet, is quite tender and tasty," I continued. "The Gungans, the native inhabitants of Naboo, hunt clodhoppers for their meat, which they eat, and their thick hide, from which they make musical instruments. Several centuries before the Battle of Naboo, these flightless birds were taken to other planets, leading to the complete devastation of entire colonies. Since then, their export has been strictly forbidden under the maximum penalty permitted by law. The colony on the planet Korva, which we are heading to, is one of those exterminated by clodhoppers. Interestingly, the ban on exporting clodhoppers as an agricultural import from Naboo, along with the strict restrictions and requirements for cargo inspection, were one of the reasons why several worlds across the galaxy supported the Trade Federation's blockade over forty years ago. This was done to save on funding for the inspections that monitored clodhopper exports, but in reality, it was just another pretext for unleashing the Separatist Crisis, which, in its unfortunate outcome, led to the outbreak of the Clone Wars and the subsequent fall of the Old Republic and its replacement by the Galactic Empire. In the context of our current situation, it's safe to say that the planet Korva is currently home to over a billion clodhoppers, which, due to a lack of food on the planet, have been eating each other for several centuries."
"Sir," Tschel audibly swallowed. "What secret installations, production facilities, or storage depots of ours are located on Korva, where these monsters are running rampant?"
"None, Captain," I replied calmly. "Like the second moon of Tiraggi, the planet Korva and its structures are a trap for the enemy forces, into which they have successfully fallen. The clones of Moffs Brinkkan and Nivers, who were privy to Dominion 'secrets,' reported the presence of our forces in these systems and the strictest control over the secrecy of what was happening there. And the location of captured ships in orbit around Korva, along with the beacon signals they emitted, only confirmed the enemy's belief that there really was something there that would require maximum effort to capture these worlds. And so it happened — having lost a huge number of their infantry during the phase of breaching the minefields around Korva, the enemy landed on the planet and opened the large clodhopper nesting grounds in the cliffs, which our droids had sealed. These omnivorous birds like to roost and sleep in darkness and coolness. We helped them considerably by locking them in for several months and forcing them to starve or hunt each other."
"And Zann Consortium's fighters opened the doors and invaded their nesting grounds," Tschel said slowly.
"Nothing is more terrifying on the planet Korva right now than a bird that is hungry and ferociously hunting those who have invaded its nesting territory," I said, allowing myself a slight smile while looking into the eyes of the deathly pale Tschel.
My story had already painted in his mind what was currently happening on the planet's surface.
"Sir," Tschel said, his voice strained. "To throw several hundred thousand enemy fighters to the clodhoppers..."
"Six hundred thousand," I corrected. "The enemy brought a million fighters on their ships. But about a third were already lost breaching the minefield, which was placed specifically to prevent sentients from reaching the planet and becoming prey for this species."
"Six hundred thousand sentients," Tschel swallowed audibly again. "That's several armies destroyed without our involvement."
"Exactly, Captain," I agreed. "The invasion of the Dominion and the attempts to pit us against the eastern faction — Zann's enemies — will not go unnoticed. The Corporate Sector will become part of the Dominion. And in this operation, I have no need for Zann Consortium militants as opponents in ground combat. The fewer of them there are, the less blood will be shed during the upcoming campaign. In fact, we haven't even started yet, Captain. So far, this and other actions are merely preparations for a counteroffensive."
Tschel nodded slowly.
"I assume that the second moon of Tiraggi isn't just filled with junk-filled caves and structures either?" he asked almost inaudibly.
"Of course not, Captain," I said, looking through the main viewport as the light tunnel dissolved into the points of distant stars. "Something worse. Much worse."
Tschel shuddered.
He looked at the tactical display, which showed only a single Chimaera among the Dominion's allied starships.
Against one hundred and fifty combat starships of the Zann Consortium, supported by five hundred transport ships.
A few seconds later, the Eternal Wrath appeared at the far edge of the system, blocking the exit.
And jamming all long-range communications at the same time.
The trap had snapped shut.
And everyone present in the system understood it.
Looking at my datapad, built into the armrest, I noted the confirmation received from several sources.
Everything was satisfactory, except for one thing.
A signal that, by the laws of logic, should not be here.
It seemed the enemy commander had indeed gathered all his transport forces for this insane attack.
"Let's begin, Captain," I reminded him, snapping Tschel out of his stupor. "This will be simple. But first, let's offer our opponents the chance to surrender. For humanistic reasons. Enough blood has already been shed in the last day, and this will at least save us time."
"Yes, sir," the young captain said, quieter than a mouse. "I can clearly see how terrified they are by our one Star Destroyer, one corvette under our belly, and their support of similar size."
"The galaxy is full of surprises, Captain," I reminded him. "Sometimes we lack the sound tact, attentiveness, and quick thinking to spot them. One more thing, Captain Tschel. Open channel twenty-five using the 'Gamma' encryption protocol. Route the data coming through it directly to our gunners and pilots."
Captain Tschel didn't reply.
He just looked at me as if I was about to pull a "Death Star" out of my pocket.
Then he gave the order to the communications section.
* * *
"How many were saved?!" Admiral Sykes demanded an answer.
"Just over forty thousand, sir," the duty officer replied. "Mostly wounded or dying."
"Men who abandoned the equipment entrusted to them," remarked Maris Brood, who was standing nearby, weaving her thin braids at the back of her head.
The tension in her hair had reached such a level that small horns began to protrude through it, adorning the woman's head and forehead.
But usually she let her hair hide them, to appear as a human woman.
Maris Brood.
Sykes knew all too well what such "preening" meant.
"Is there someone sensitive to the Force here?" he asked.
"Yes," the woman licked her lips in anticipation. "I sensed him when the last transport ships arrived."
Sykes thought quickly.
The transports had traveled in a separate caravan to the Galaanus system, the combat ships in another.
It had been a veritable stream that merged into a full-flowing river.
So somewhere along the way, a Force-sensitive had gotten onto the transports.
Given that the Zann Consortium didn't have many of them — until his disappearance, Urai Fen had managed to train only a few, including Maris Brood — it was unlikely that Tyber would risk secretly sending one of his best mercenaries as a spy or foot soldier.
"Why didn't you report it?"
"I thought I was just imagining it, because the contact was brief," the Zabrak female excused herself. "But now I realize I felt him again. Onboard our starship this time. Another short flare, but much brighter."
"Find him and deal with him," the Admiral ordered. "I don't want gizka on board my flagship."
"Same as always," Brood declared. "I'm not much of a commander, but as a fighter..."
"Less talk, more action," Sykes cut in.
He was about to add something else, but his intentions were interrupted by the scanner operator's voice.
"Sir, starships have appeared in the system!"
"Identify them!"
"Two ships, sir! The Star Destroyer Chimaera and a Raider-class corvette. Approaching on vector nine, from the direction of Galaanus."
They plotted a course past the gas giant so the grav-acoustics wouldn't spot them sooner, the Admiral realized.
"More ships, sir!" the same operator reported. "An Interdictor-class Star Destroyer and a Crusader-class corvette. They've emerged at the system entry point and stopped..."
"I'm registering gravity well projectors," the grav-acoustic operator reported. "Four of them. Aimed at us."
"Can we jump out of the system?"
The question was more rhetorical.
It had already become clear — especially after the attack by mad, omnivorous beasts on the ground contingent — that there was nothing on Korva.
This was a trap, designed to lure the Zann Consortium's forces here for subsequent destruction.
And the appearance of the Interdictor was part of that trap.
"No," the navigator confirmed. "The well is blocking us."
"Contact the Zann Palace, report our situation!" the battle wing commander ordered.
"Sir, all frequencies are jammed!"
"Just as I thought," Jerid snorted.
He was silent for a few seconds.
"'Aggressors' and 'Vengeance-class' of the second wave — switch to cloaking mode," Sykes ordered. "And immediately begin dispersing through the system. Groups one and two — head for the Interdictor. The rest — hold position. Destroyers six and seven from the first wave, close in on the enemy and target the approaching Chimaera. Main battery fire on my command. 'Interceptor IVs' protect the transports. Maximum alert — the enemy is clearly not alone here. All fighters — begin patrolling and be ready for the enemy to appear at any inconvenient moment for us."
"You think more Dominion starships will arrive?" Maris asked in surprise. "All their forces are in Karthakk."
"I'm certain that what we're seeing now is only the prelude," Jerid stated. "Pellaeon, or whoever is behind this trap, used our cloned Moffs to feed misinformation to Tyber. They clearly intend to either capture or destroy our fleet. I cannot and will not allow that. Our failure deepens with every passing minute."
"Probably that Force-sensitive I sensed is a Dominion agent," Maris ground out between clenched teeth.
"Maybe," Jerid shook his head. "Most likely — that's exactly it. So we should expect even more extremely serious and nasty troubles."
He fell silent again.
"I think the Sykes-Six group and Moff Harsh's Helldivers from the Chiloon Rift have also been destroyed," he said. "Either already, or in the process of being turned into scrap."
"And the communications blackout prevents us from finding out," Maris nodded in understanding.
"Among other things," Sykes agreed. "Cutting off the enemy's retreat, jamming long-range comm frequencies — that's standard Grand Admiral Thrawn tactics, which he's pulled on his opponents many times. I wouldn't be surprised if..."
His gaze fixed on the Zabrak's face, but he seemed to be looking through her somewhere into distances only he could see.
"Watch officer — request all cloaked ships of the first and second wave to do a full hull inspection," he ordered quickly.
"Yes, boss!"
"What does that mean?" Brood asked.
"Standard tactics," Jerid explained. "Thrawn liked to place buzz droids in locations where his ships had either set up or intended to set up an ambush. After destroying the enemy fleet, he would scatter them, and the droids would attach themselves to the hulls of starships that arrived to investigate the cause of the destruction. Thereby tracking their movements. He did the same with ships he allowed to retreat from the battlefield. We used that tactic against them to track down their privateers who attacked our ore convoys for Hoersch-Kessel. The fleet sent to destroy the privateer base never returned. From which I conclude that the Dominion will undoubtedly try to take revenge on us."
"You think there are buzz droids in the system?" Maris asked.
"I think it's time for you to find and eliminate our stowaway who's sensitive to the Force," Sykes cut her off.
Before Maris could answer him, the senior comm operator interrupted.
"Boss, we're being hailed from the Chimaera."
"Put it on the projector," Sykes responded, pointing to the device located on the side of the combat bridge. "Still here, Maris?"
The former Jedi Padawan, snorting (evidently the disciplinary violence from Tyber himself had already lost its magical effect), left the bridge of the fleet's flagship.
Despite the fact that his flagship — the Aggressor-class Star Destroyer Merciless — was the only one of all the ships of that type in the fleet not currently hidden by stygium cloaking fields, whose stocks the Zann Consortium had used to give its ships a significant advantage over enemy forces, Sykes felt he was capable of unraveling any trap any Dominion commander could set for him.
Almost none of them had a tactical instinct.
None of the Dominion officers could clearly think their plans through two or three steps ahead.
He realized this as, while waiting for the communication session, he received confirmations from the commanders of the cloaked ships that no sources of unaccounted signals had been detected on the hulls.
It was unknown what this trap was designed for, but at least the ability to track and destroy the Consortium's cloaked ships — the Dominion had already lost that.
Destroying the Chimaera and the Interdictor together with their escorts was no trouble.
Even if the Dominion was stalling for time to pull out from their stores the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer they had used in the battle against the New Republic at Soulex, or that contraption from the "Iron Fist" that the X1 faction had been assembling, or even the infamous Lusankya, then the hundred Aggressor-class Star Destroyers of the first wave, which had entered the system under stygium cloaking fields and could not be detected by the enemy, plus another hundred Aggressors and Vengeance-class ships of the second wave, which had cloaked when the Chimaera entered the system, would dismantle any of those starships with ease.
Yes, there would be losses — after firing their ion-plasma cannons, the Aggressors would lose their cloaking for a time — but if even a dozen such shots hit the Executor, that alone would reduce its firepower by at least a third.
Sykes was ready to sacrifice even half his fleet to inflict significant damage on the Dominion.
Damage that might soften Zann's anger a little and...
Before him appeared the hologram of the man who wished to speak with him from aboard the Chimaera.
Jerid looked at the blue-and-white volumetric projection, straight into the eyes of his interlocutor, as he always did during conversations.
He knew that the standard Imperial holo-projector installed on their ships could not reproduce other colors.
But he could have sworn that his interlocutor's eyes burned with hellfire, promising terrible torment.
"I welcome you to my trap, Admiral Sykes," Grand Admiral Thrawn's voice, rich with overtones, filled the bridge.
Jerid's heart skipped a beat, and his lungs forgot they needed to take a breath.
We're finished, the battle wing commander of the Zann Consortium realized. We were played long before any of this began.
* * *
I want to know where their operational base is, Thrawn had said.
And that was her new assignment.
Great.
She had killed a lot of time, blown up her own ship to distract the "boys in brown" and infiltrate an enemy transport, blended into the crowd, passing herself off as one of the enemy soldiers.
Only to find out mid-journey that the transport was changing course and heading to rendezvous with the fleet.
No one explained the reason, but the soldiers whispered among themselves that Admiral Sykes had decided to strike the enemy with all his forces.
Whether Thrawn knew about it or not, Mara hoped the Chiss had thought everything through and accounted for it.
And would meet the enemy at the Dominion border.
But she didn't stop or calm down with that thought.
Imagine her surprise when, instead of the border of any Dominion sector, she saw through the viewport the Galaanus system — practically a red carpet leading into the heart of the sector.
And one of Thrawn's secret bases.
So secret that she only knew of their existence.
Unforgivable, of course, that the shock had temporarily cost her concentration on the Force, which she used to conceal her nature.
That nearly ruined the operation — she sensed the presence of a fairly strong Dark Side adept on the flagship.
And he noticed her too.
Of course, few people, knowing the power of the Dominion's defensive lines, would assume that any enemy fleet could breach them.
It was faith in the invincibility of Thrawn's plans that led to this — for a moment, she became visible in the Force.
Her teachers in that art among the Jensaarai would be very displeased.
There was nothing to be done — she had to improvise.
She would turn her mistake into part of the plan.
For example — by capturing this very Force-sensitive.
Century after century, well-trained Force-sensitive beings had become advisors and confidants of military leaders, their trusted agents or special operatives.
And this being was clearly well-trained and quite powerful in the Force.
It had taken her unforgivably long to procure a suitable comlink, recall the "ice carving" lessons Ghent had given her, and reprogram the device to work on her personal frequency.
The signal range was, of course, terrible, but still better than nothing.
Possibly (and most likely) there was a spy droid in the system that would intercept her signal about being here and send it to the Chimaera.
A pity about her own comlink, but Mara had gotten rid of everything that could give her away as an enemy spy.
And if a disassembled lightsaber arouses no suspicion when it's part of a blaster or a deck, a comlink could easily be detected — any scanner would be enough to find even a powered-down device.
It hadn't been difficult for her to infiltrate the landing ship — after all, she had positioned herself as a dropship pilot among the "boys in brown" (and the one who had "given" her documents and clothes would never fly anything again anyway).
Time and again, she delivered landing groups to the planet, avoiding collisions with passive minefields.
During the panic caused by the local animals attacking the landing force, she managed to reach the flagship and blend in among the crew.
Understandably, the task of finding the enemy's operational base was becoming difficult to accomplish.
Especially when her modified comlink informed her that an encoded transmission for Grand Admiral Thrawn, which had been unable to reach its recipient for hours, had suddenly been delivered.
Moreover, judging by the signal ping check — the recipient was in the same star system.
She had been able to confirm that the Chimaera had arrived in Galaanus just by glancing at one of the service consoles.
So Thrawn had either foreseen the enemy's appearance in the system, or had planned all of this.
Or had arrived here to respond to the invasion.
Any of the options suited her.
Except for the one where she stood before the Grand Admiral with a bowed head and said she had "failed."
As in the past, her inquisitive mind worked at full capacity, sorting through ideas for possibilities — if not to complete the original assignment, then to obtain sufficiently valuable, equivalent intelligence.
And, oddly enough, such a course of action presented itself.
She had a good chance to obtain not only the coordinates of the rear landing base Thrawn was counting on, but also the maximum possible amount of information about the Zann Consortium in general.
If she could hack into the flagship's central computer, which should, in theory, store extremely interesting data.
The plan had its drawbacks, but in the current situation, she didn't have much of a choice.
But she had a theory she intended to test in practice, and so she moved through the corridors of the Merciless toward the central computer compartment.
The longer she remained aboard the enemy Star Destroyer, the more clearly she understood that despite the time that had passed since this ship was designed by Imperial shipbuilders and presented to the Emperor, up to the present moment, the enemy had made only minimal changes to it.
The Empire had considered this starship, as well as the Vengeance-class frigate and a fair number of other ships throughout its existence, to be unfinished projects.
But that didn't mean the Imperials had abandoned their blueprints.
The Emperor had a habit of collecting even what he considered useless — as was the case with these ships.
No wonder Tyber Zann had managed to find the plans for these ships — the Aggressor and the Vengeance — in the wreckage of the first Death Star.
And doubly understandable was the reason why Imperial designs were filled with Imperial devices and mechanisms.
Those who developed military equipment for the Empire always followed the procedure of technology unification.
It was much simpler and cheaper for the Empire to order three billion computers and workstations for several different types of ships, but with identical terminals on the decks, than to order a billion of one type, a billion of another type, and so on.
There was a very high probability that the central computer on the enemy flagship was also manufactured at Imperial factories.
Or stolen from there.
Or had any other, but still Imperial, origin.
And programming.
Therefore, there was a fairly high probability that the central computer of this flagship carried the same software "backdoor" that the Emperor had given her (and his other agents) to infiltrate the central computers of Imperial Star Destroyers (and not only them, actually).
The Dominion had already fixed that flaw, but Mara was certain that someone like Thrawn would inevitably leave his own backdoors in the new software.
She just hadn't yet earned enough trust to be given access to such data.
"Pilot, are you lost?" one of the two guards standing by the door behind which lay the central computer compartment asked her.
"I was ordered to report to compartment 24D," Mara answered carelessly, assessing her opponents.
Each of them — in heavy armor, armed with a disintegrator.
Clearly not yesterday's farmers from Tatooine, but experienced cutthroats.
Yes, they wouldn't have placed anyone else here.
"Oh really?" the same fighter snorted from under his helmet. "Then you're clearly going the wrong way. This isn't deck twenty-four, it's seventeen."
"Yeah, I figured that out already," Mara made a face of sincere annoyance. "I was looking for a turbolift or something like that, at least a service ladder, but I can't figure out which way to go. Can you tell me?"
"No," before she heard the first guard's words, the second one joined the conversation.
And as he did — he aimed his disintegrator at her.
"Your credentials," he demanded. "Unit designation, commander's name."
"All at once?" Jade blinked, reaching her hand behind her back, behind her pilot jumpsuit.
Her fingers reached for the back of her belt, where she had secured her lightsaber.
Trying to shoot these two opponents with her blaster would be incredibly stupid.
It wouldn't have enough power to penetrate their heavy armor.
But their disintegrators had more than enough power to make her disintegrate into atoms.
The only bane of this weapon, which is why no one had ever decided to put it into service in any proper army in the galaxy — its short effective range.
And its monstrous consumption of tibanna in gas cartridges and energy cell capacity.
And, unfortunately, the enemy was at a suitable distance to kill her.
They were only a couple of meters apart, so it was hard to miss — two disintegrator muzzles were already looking at her.
She couldn't escape from two at once.
"You can joke in the next life," the second soldier declared.
Through the Force, Mara saw the moment his index finger began to press the trigger.
A disintegrator bolt couldn't be deflected with a lightsaber — the energy blade would simply be annihilated.
Probably along with the hilt and her hand.
So she simply leaped to the side, simultaneously using the Force to tear the weapon from the hands of the second guard, who had seemed more dangerous to her, breaking several of his fingers in the process.
His disintegrator flew a meter and a half and smacked loudly against the bulkhead, breaking apart with a characteristic crack.
The first guard's shot made a meter-wide hole in the deck plating where she had just stood.
A violet blade, hissing and crackling, burst from the hilt and described a short but merciless arc, which in one stroke deprived the opponent of his foolish, helmeted head.
A crimson bolt whizzed past her head, which she deflected back at the opponent.
But the energy bolt only melted part of his helmet's armor, missing any vital organs.
Though, when there's no brain, you don't have to worry about losing it.
The second guard was already ready to use his weapon against her again when Mara used a Force Push to hurl the first opponent's corpse at him.
He still managed to fire, but she easily avoided the injury with her lightsaber.
The Zann Consortium soldier was knocked off his feet and pinned by his comrade's body, but Mara didn't stop there.
She was beside him in an instant, and with a stroke of her blade, she divided another possessor of an empty-headed body, defying all laws of nature.
Certain that there was no immediate threat, the girl adjusted her grip on her weapon, grabbed the guards' blaster — which, though heavier, was still more powerful than her own — and plunged her lightsaber blade into the part of the wall where the locking mechanism and the door-opening mechanism should be.
There was no point in trying to open it via the console to the right of the entrance — it clearly had a biometric lock, supplemented by a keypad.
And, say, she could have borrowed a hand from one of the opponents, but interrogating a dead man was beyond her abilities.
However, she had no doubt that she wouldn't have achieved anything even if she had spared one of them.
As she had understood from conversations with the "boys in brown," who served in the Zann Consortium (without really realizing it) as light infantry (read: "cannon fodder"), each of them had a very nasty and stubborn character.
The metal gave way reluctantly, but she still managed.
As soon as smoke began to billow and sparks showered from the cut in the bulkhead, Thrawn's Hand looked with satisfaction at the cherished bulkhead, beckoning her into the adjacent compartment.
Mara slipped inside, ready for any possible resistance.
"Just as I expected," she smiled, seeing the desired central computer installation before her.
Exactly the same model that was installed on the "Imperial"-class.
Destroying a couple of guard droids was no trouble for her.
Having suppressed the last resistance, Mara — fearing nothing (since Thrawn was here, the enemy would soon have no time for a missing crew member's comm signal anyway) — connected to the terminal and entered the cherished command.
The device hummed with its cooling system fans, opening to her the secrets — great and small — hidden from most beings aboard this starship.
The girl inserted her data chip and launched several utility subroutines.
Her eyes scanned the files the computer displayed.
"Clean sabbacc," she purred.
"I'd say — an Idiot's Layout," a voice came from the entrance bulkhead.
Mara leaned to the side to see the source of the voice.
A Zebra — holding something like combat batons in both hands — and a pair of "Defilers" standing behind her.
And a very familiar Dark Side aura.
"Madam, gentlemen, I'll bet my caf you're not supposed to be here," Jade declared, emptying her blaster's entire power pack at them, forcing them to scatter across the compartment.
But only the fighters in red-and-black armor did that, taking cover behind the nearest terminals.
The Zebra, however, activated her unimpressive "sticks," which revealed a pair of crimson lightsaber blades to Mara.
Each reaching the standard half-meter or approximate length.
"You have no idea how much you'll regret ending up on board this ship," the Zebra stated with mocking anticipation, crossing her weapons before her face.
"Consider that I've said the same to you," Mara smiled, using the Force to send a heavy auxiliary console flying into the head of a "Defiler" who was taking aim at her.
* * *
"I didn't know I was that famous," Jerid said, licking his lips.
The shock that he and the bridge watch had experienced upon seeing before them the hologram of the undeniably alive and well last Grand Admiral of the Galactic Empire, and now of the Dominion — who had never known defeat — gradually subsided, crushed by cold calculation.
No one ever negotiates before a battle if they are confident in their strength.
So this exchange of pleasantries was an attempt to buy time.
Well, this game could be played by two.
The Zann Consortium didn't install "beacons" on their combat starships equipped with active stygium cloaking for nothing.
They allowed tracking of starships when they were invisible to scanners and visually.
And right now, two Aggressor-class Star Destroyers from the first wave were approaching the Chimaera from opposite sides.
Aiming their ion-plasma cannons directly at the hull of the unsuspecting Dominion Star Destroyer, they prepared to open fire on command.
A double salvo would instantly strip the Chimaera of her deflectors, knock out her electronics, and the subsequent plasma charges would tear and melt the destroyer's hull so badly that her solar ionization reactor would go critical and finish the job.
Two minutes of battle — and where the Dominion flagship stood, where Thrawn — who had cheated death — stood, there would be nothing but a white-orange flash and a shock wave expanding in all directions, which would destroy the interceptors holding position in the mid-perimeter zone.
"Your dossier is quite intriguing, Admiral Sykes," Thrawn declared. "One of the top graduates of the Judicial Forces, you rose to command a patrol ship during the Separatist Crisis. With the start of the Clone Wars, you took command first of a strike cruiser, then of a Venator-class Star Destroyer… An impressive service record, Admiral. As is the fact that the Ubiqtorate had to reconstruct that dossier when they finally managed to understand who stood at the head of the military forces of the Zann Consortium. Few are capable of scrubbing their dossier, transforming from an admiral of the Grand Army of the Republic into an ordinary, unremarkable starship commander with no combat merits whatsoever, who spent the entire war in the rear of active fleets, guarding shipping in the Core Worlds of the galaxy, and was discharged on medical grounds."
Jerid felt his jaw tighten.
What Thrawn was saying was the pure truth.
He had managed to build himself an excellent career during the Clone Wars.
He had indeed led task forces into battle.
And when he realized where everything was heading, he did everything possible to have his real dossier edited as if he had achieved nothing since the day he took command of a simple patrol tub of the Judicial Forces.
Only that way did he have a chance to get out of the active fleet and know that no zealous Imperial recruiter would come after him to put him back on the bridge of one of the vessels of the ever-expanding Imperial Starfleet.
It wasn't that he didn't want to become a combat officer again.
He did.
But not in the service of a state that had merely changed its name.
He had found his calling in the Zann Consortium, maintaining its forces and training its fighters until he managed to pull Tyber himself out of Kessel.
And to this day, only the head of the criminal organization knew who he really was.
Even his close friend, Urai Fen, suspected nothing.
"You knew no defeats when you commanded fleets during the Clone Wars, you won when you led the starships of the Zann Consortium against the Empire and the Alliance to Restore the Republic," the Grand Admiral continued. "That… deserves respect, Admiral."
"Is that all?" Sykes clarified, keeping his voice icy. "Or will you flaunt your knowledge by telling how I commanded the Merciless and the Zann Consortium fleet at the Battle of Karid, when you received a holocron from the traitor Bossk and left the system. And your entire wonderful Imperial fleet was dismantled by me into rivets and scrap metal."
Not a single muscle twitched on Thrawn's face.
For a moment, Jerid thought that Thrawn absolutely did not care that before him stood a man who had inflicted a defeat on the Grand Admiral — a defeat of which there were not very many in his record.
"You stand behind many of the Zann Consortium's military victories, Admiral," Thrawn continued. "If not all of them. But today you will not prevail. I'll assume your heart hasn't completely hardened in the service of criminals, and you still know what it means to care for your subordinates. Despite the fact that you are behind all the operations to drag the Dominion into a war in the east of the galaxy, despite the fact that you planned and attacked the Dominion, I offer you…"
"Surrender?" Sykes clarified.
"That way you could at least save the lives of your ships' crews," Thrawn continued. "As I understand, you are already aware that nothing remains of your landing force on the surface of Korva?"
Jerid bared his teeth.
"And I was wondering who could be so ruthless and cynical," he said. "Certainly not that quiet Pellaeon, who over the years shrank from a dashing warlord into a court listener. It is for them, Thrawn, for all those you sent to be devoured by those Hutt creatures from Naboo, that I will end your career and your life. Here and now."
"A bold statement," the semblance of a half-smile appeared on Thrawn's lips. "I eagerly await testing your words in practice."
"I will feed every one of your prisoners to klodhoppers," Sykes promised. Now he knew that victory in this battle would cost him everything. Including Tyber's favor, in whose picture, as it turns out, a Hutt knows what stands instead of Thrawn. "Yes, yes, I understand exactly who you set on us. Do me a favor — surrender, Thrawn. Then I will allow your people to leave. But you, however, have a trip to Korva waiting for you."
The smile on Thrawn's face grew a little wider.
"I will interpret that remark as a refusal to accept a reasonable decision," he pronounced, turning his head to the side as if he wanted to study something.
But judging by the fact that his lips moved but no voice was heard, he was giving some instructions.
The meaning of which he did not want the enemy to know.
Naive alien.
Squinting, Jerid managed to read from Thrawn's lips the last words: '… on my command.'
"Well then," the microphone on the other side turned on again. "This has been an informative conversation, Admiral Sykes."
"And what were you trying to achieve with this, Thrawn?" Jerid couldn't restrain himself. "Did the sun get to your head and you think you can win? There are no buzz droids of yours in this system. And I have several dozen camouflaged ships that will tear apart your destroyers and everything you can bring here easily and effortlessly. We cannot be intimidated or bought. I know no defeats, Thrawn. I have faced commanders smarter, more cunning, stronger, more talented than you — and I always emerged victorious from those battles. So it will be today. You won't find my ships! We will destroy you all! And none of us will surrender to Imperial remnants! We are loyal to the Zann Consortium!"
It seemed his tirade had no effect whatsoever on his interlocutor, who didn't even blink at the threatening tirade.
"I want you to know what failure is. Absolute defeat. And you will all die with a single, single thought," the hologram of Grand Admiral Thrawn leaned forward, continuing to bore his gaze into Jerid, who instinctively took a step back. "I brought this upon you. And very soon, I and my destroyers will come for the head of everyone connected to the Zann Consortium."
And that sounded truly frightening.
Not acted.
Confidently.
Like a statement of fact.
As if they were all already lined up before a stormtrooper firing squad.
As if the battle at Korva was already lost.
Jerid felt his right eye twitch.
On the Grand Admiral's lips appeared a smile that could be called triumphant.
Grim.
Sinister.
Promising.
But Sykes, who had never feared anything, it pierced him to a deep shudder.
He felt cold, sticky sweat trickling down his back.
On the bridge of the Merciless, a distinct smell of animal fear appeared.
Jerid looked at his subordinates.
Some of them, who had fought against the most skilled and renowned warlords of the Empire, the Rebel Alliance, and local governments, were trembling so hard that the sound of their chattering jaws became like the rhythm of a funeral march.
Jerid looked at the tactical monitor.
The sixth and seventh Aggressors of the first wave, as he had ordered them, had taken positions twenty units off the Chimaera's starboard and port sides.
Pistol range, from which it's impossible to miss.
And the time needed for the ion-plasma projectiles to reach the target would not be enough for the Chimaera to somehow evade the death blow.
"To make you understand your hopelessness," Thrawn continued in an insinuating voice that seemed to pour into the ears like sweet molasses and turn into a sea of needles piercing the skull, "I will show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. Captain Tschel, you have the floor."
The Chimaera's broadside turbolasers and ion cannons spat white-green fire in opposite directions.
Jerid opened his mouth when he saw that the hits struck exactly the bow sections of the sixth and seventh Aggressors, stripping them of their camouflage, their ability to launch a surprise attack, and their main battery guns.
A second later, the eight-gun turrets joined in, transforming the bow section of each of the two Zann Consortium Star Destroyers into shapeless pieces of metal with ruthless dagger fire, bursting from the detonation of the ion-plasma cannons.
But the Chimaera's turbolasers were not done.
They continued to fire, smashing the angular hulls of the Aggressors without miss, tearing them apart.
And the pitiful return fire couldn't even damage the deflectors of the Dominion regular fleet flagship.
Half a minute — and instead of two ships twenty units from the Chimaera, there were only two clouds of scrap metal.
"And now," Thrawn said slowly, in a voice whose overtones made his guts twist into a tight knot. "Let us begin."
And the massacre began.