Ten years, two months, and thirty-five days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-five years, two months, and thirty-five days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and twenty days since the Arrival.)
The Executor-class Star Dreadnought, serving as the flagship of the Dominion Regular Fleet, moved silently and not particularly swiftly through the interstellar silence and darkness.
Its long, narrow hull, resembling the tip of a massive archaic spear, was propelled forward by powerful engines, causing the starship to describe imaginary circles around the three positions where the other starships of the task force were stationed.
One might have thought the commander of this vessel had gone mad, forcing a ship of this size and with such armament to act as a guard dog circling its small herd, as if afraid that one of them — three Interdictor-class Star Destroyers, or three Venator-class Star Destroyers — might try to escape.
One might assume the ships' crews were growing weary from the mere fact of being in the unforgiving void at a vast distance from the nearest inhabited system.
But these guesses have nothing to do with reality.
Every crew member aboard these starships felt perfectly fine during the ongoing operation.
Moreover, off-duty personnel occupied every available viewport to watch the Guardian, surrounded by a dozen Crusader-class corvettes, execute simple maneuvers.
Course changes, altitude shifts, sharp yawing in various directions.
Small craft from the Guardian's own air group kept approaching the giant ship from different angles, simulating an attack.
One squadron after another, relieving each other, attempted to assault the vessel.
For the most part, they failed.
The low-power laser shots couldn't penetrate the ship's thick deflector "hide," while in response, the Guardian and its escort discharged equally harmless laser cannons — harmless, at least, to the energy shielding of the TIE Interceptors.
The one commanding the Guardian watched these actions calmly, standing on the flagship's bridge and listening to the training battle directives from a figure seated in the commander's chair in the middle of the central platform. The figure wore a white uniform adorned with a Grand Admiral's command bar and matching Grand Admiral's rank insignia.
"They're getting better and better with each passing time," Thrawn commented on the pilots' actions.
"Yes, sir," Captain Pellaeon replied in a monotone. "Substantial time has been devoted to the practical training of the Guardian's crew, as well as the crew of the Fellblade."
"Combined with the fact that the Guardian's crew is staffed with the fleet's best specialists, including clones, the result is acceptable," the Grand Admiral said. "Conclude the maneuvers. Give the pilots rest. Change the combat watch — they will soon be needed at full strength."
The combat watch was the portion of a ship's crew considered the best for representing the vessel in battle, regardless of individual crew members' regular watch assignments.
In the event of a battle stations alert, they were to be the first to take their positions according to the battle roster and participate in the engagement, either until their death or until the battle's conclusion.
In either outcome, they would be replaced by similar specialists from the regular watches, who possessed slightly less impressive service records and talent.
That was how it worked on ordinary Star Destroyers.
From the days of the Galactic Empire.
At least, that was the knowledge Pellaeon had received upon being cloned from his original — the current deputy to Grand Admiral Thrawn, Vice Admiral Gilad Pellaeon.
And he saw no reason to doubt it.
Nor did he doubt that, thanks to cloning, the Regular Fleet ships of the Dominion now had not just one combat watch, but at least two or three.
This allowed them to maintain the tempo of attack or defense even in the fiercest battles, should the "first string" be taken out.
Pellaeon, who had yet to come up with a name to distinguish himself from his original, had no doubt that the Dominion's creation of clones was the best possible option.
Like on other fleet ships, the Guardian (and in large numbers) had career officers and sailors, specialists and non-commissioned officers who were not clones.
And while at first there had been a noticeable difference between the clones produced for service on this vessel and the best specialists in their fields gathered from across the Regular Fleet, that difference was shrinking during training and exercises.
The battle in the Galaanus system had demonstrated that the Guardian's crew was sufficiently trained and prepared for the ship to be inducted into the Regular Fleet and placed on combat duty.
At the moment, Grand Admiral Thrawn was conducting training alerts to keep the Guardian's crew and the crews of the escort and support corvets in the necessary state of readiness.
Pellaeon chose to interpret the Supreme Commander's words regarding his crew's successes as a positive assessment of the entire crew's actions.
But at the same time, he was well aware that there was always room for improvement in his subordinates' skills.
"All systems are at combat readiness," the central control post reported to the ship's commander. "New crews have taken over the watch. Full verification of artillery, launch, defensive, and other equipment is confirmed to have begun."
Pellaeon relayed the same report to the Grand Admiral.
"Beginning the final check," the Guardian's commander said. "Estimated completion time is six hours."
"Excellent, Captain," Grand Admiral Thrawn nodded in response, stroking the ysalamiri comfortably nestled on his snow-white trousers. "Inform me when everything is finished. Notify the task force ships to raise security level to yellow. The training battle stations alert is canceled. Off-duty personnel may rest."
"Yes, sir."
An agreed-upon audio signal echoed through the compartments, and the bluish lighting of the combat bridge, characteristic of a battle stations alert, was immediately replaced by the full operation of the white illumination panels.
The bridge watch breathed a sigh of relief, if only slightly.
Pellaeon pivoted on his heels over his left shoulder and walked with a crisp step towards the communications station.
The Grand Admiral's impenetrable, everyday composure was somewhat disconcerting to Pellaeon.
As it was to his original.
But the commander of the Guardian had been created shortly before the operation at Sluis Van.
Despite the heaviest losses (up to that point) suffered by the Dominion Regular Fleet, that operation was more than just a successful raid behind enemy lines.
It wasn't a local incursion, which the New Republic, though prepared for it, had still been unable to counter.
It wasn't even a slap accompanied by a ringing in the head and sobering consequences.
It was a genuine, direct blow to the head, one that had left the New Republic barely able to stay on its feet.
But to do so, it had to endure many disappointing moments of realizing the consequences.
The Sluis Van operation had been planned and executed by his donor, Vice Admiral Pellaeon.
And his clone wouldn't have minded being born after the realization of this magnificent example of military tactics.
Simply to experience firsthand the difference between what Gilad Pellaeon did at Sluis Van and what his clone was about to implement in this impenetrable spot in the middle of the Perlemian Trade Route.
Because the greatest fear of clones serving in the Dominion Armed Forces was proving less effective than the original.
And the commander of the Guardian was no exception to this rule.
He simply knew how to control his emotions more reservedly.
Fortunately, both the original and the clone of Pellaeon had excellent experience in restraint and self-control while working with Grand Admiral Thrawn.
And the commander of the Guardian very much hoped that his work would be valued by the Supreme Commander no less than the achievements of the real Pellaeon at Sluis Van.
Galaanus was just the beginning.
Almost like the operations in the Dufilvian sector.
The operation near Lantilles was the next stage.
A small step on the path to a military triumph for the Dominion equal to what Sluis Van had been for Gilad Pellaeon.
It was assumed that, like any operation under the command of Grand Admiral Thrawn, the reason for the task force led by the Guardian appearing in this part of the galaxy would be an example of an efficient and powerful, devastating and elegant operation, the result of a brilliant commander's work.
But Thrawn hadn't revealed the specific essence of the maneuvers being conducted.
However, Pellaeon, drawing on his predecessor's experience, understood that the use of three Interdictors and three Venators of the "Sunburn" project unequivocally indicated that an operation against a large enemy force was imminent.
Which the Grand Admiral planned to capture.
Why else would three of each type of Star Destroyer be needed, not to mention the Guardian's holds being packed with deactivated B-1 battle droids?
Which had, if you'll recall, previously been used as temporary crew for towing captured ships and stations.
Once the transmission of orders to the ships was complete, Pellaeon found the communications officer beside him, who quietly informed him that an incoming request had arrived from the Allegiance — a battlecruiser of the same name, which served as Vice Admiral Pellaeon's flagship.
"Who is it addressed to?" the Guardian's commander inquired.
"The Supreme Commander, sir," the comms officer added. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon is waiting on channel eighteen."
Unusual.
The Guardian's commander glanced towards the Grand Admiral, but he was occupied with a conversation with the senior gunner.
Distracting him now wasn't the best idea.
After all, the flagship's commander was also the commander's assistant. If Vice Admiral Pellaeon's call had been urgent or confidential, Gilad Pellaeon would have contacted Thrawn's comlink directly.
"Inform the Grand Admiral," Pellaeon said. "I'll take the call in the tactical compartment."
Heading towards that part of the bridge, he ran his hand along the metal railing protecting the edges of the "pits" on the modernized ships.
This wasn't the only innovation in the interior of the Guardian and its sister ship, the Fellblade.
The Dominion's engineers and the Regular Fleet's technical services had done a thorough job, transforming the Executor from a flying city into a genuinely threatening combat vessel of considerable size, equipped with additional weaponry and defensive points.
Ideally, thanks to the manifold increase in point-defense laser cannons from the original five hundred to a thousand — achieved by installing beam-type laser cannons similar to those on Crusader-II-class corvettes and mounted on Star Destroyers and other ships undergoing modernization under the "Trio" program — the Guardian, like the Fellblade, would no longer need escort and support corvettes.
This rearmament allowed them to utilize an additional perimeter of defense, leaving the medium-range defense against small ships to the turbolaser cannons, while the beam-type weapons would handle kinetic ordnance and enemy starfighters in the close perimeter.
Weaponsmiths promised that a new type of missile would soon enter service. Outwardly, anti-ship missiles, but in reality, one large container for delivering cumulative missiles with homing warheads to counter the same starfighters and corvette- and frigate-type vessels.
Reaching the tactical compartment, designed specifically to be a place for discussing military campaign plans, Pellaeon gestured unambiguously for the subordinate operators to leave.
Which they did.
Left alone with the holoprojector, Pellaeon activated the device and waited for the volumetric projection to form.
"Grand Admiral, sir," Vice Admiral Pellaeon began briskly, looking away from somewhere to the side and then directly at his interlocutor. "The Allegiance is in posit—"
The Deputy Supreme Commander interrupted his report, realizing that the person before him was not the one he had intended to speak with.
"Vice Admiral Pellaeon," the Guardian's commander addressed his original as a formal greeting.
"Captain Pellaeon," the other replied reservedly, returning the regulation address, noticing that the original seemed somewhat taken aback at the sight of his duplicate.
This wasn't uncommon — among the individuals subject to cloning were those who never fully accepted the policy of their own "duplication."
It was psychologically difficult to know you'd never had twin brothers, and then suddenly meet a dozen identical technicians or pilots in the same corridor who looked, and sometimes behaved, just like you.
Young officers and specialists took it quite calmly, which was thanks to their more flexible psyche and higher stress tolerance.
Now, officers with years of service and command bars above the rank of commodore — especially commanders of Star Destroyers…
They perceived games with cloning…
Ambiguously.
That's why Fleet Headquarters preferred to assign clones of the same type to different ships or watches, even if they were identical.
Fortunately, starships were quite large, and sometimes you could go years without crossing paths with someone from your own watch.
Let alone another member of the crew.
As the commander of the Guardian was aware, among all the commanders of Star Destroyers deemed loyal and competent enough to be cloned, Vice Admiral Pellaeon didn't have as many "doubles" as other senior officers in the regular fleet.
And it wasn't because the Vice Admiral somehow didn't meet the selection criteria for the cloning programs.
It was simply that, for reasons of his own, Grand Admiral Thrawn believed that Vice Admiral Pellaeon's clones in the Dominion should be an order of magnitude fewer than the "doubles" of, say, Rear Admiral Dorja or Captain Stormaer.
"My summons concerned Grand Admiral Thrawn," Gilad Pellaeon stated, his tone somewhat sharp.
Familiar with this man's inflections by nature, the commander of the Guardian understood perfectly that he felt uncomfortable speaking with his own living copy.
A copy that was mirroring Pellaeon's own fate — commanding the Grand Admiral's flagship.
And therefore taking part in the most important battles fought by the Dominion's regular fleet.
"The Supreme Commander is currently occupied," the commander of the Guardian explained. "I have already alerted him through the communications officer. If you wish, Vice Admiral, I can relay..."
"Absolutely not," the Vice Admiral declared. "The message is directly for the Grand Admiral."
Behind him, a muffled hiss came from the access hatch.
"As you say, sir," Pellaeon replied to Pellaeon calmly. "I'll make sure..."
"Everything is in order, Captain," the commander of the Guardian heard the voice of the Supreme Commander. "Your message was relayed to me. Thank you for your foresight."
Under other circumstances, the commander of the Guardian would have received the information for the Grand Admiral and passed it on to the recipient.
But Gilad Pellaeon wanted to speak with Thrawn in private.
He likely had specific reasons for that.
"With your permission, sir," the commander of the flagship Super Star Destroyer addressed the Supreme Commander, "I'll oversee the diagnostic work."
"Of course, Captain," the commanding officer ordered, in a tone that sounded more like a request to bring dinner to the table. "I await your report immediately after you receive it from the department heads."
"Understood, sir."
The Captain turned toward the exit and left the tactical room at a leisurely pace, without looking back at the holographic terminal.
Since the conversation was supposed to be confidential, that was the command's will.
His only job was to carry it out.
* * *
The Humbarine Sector could boast that the Trel'lar Trade Route ran through its capital system.
This critical regional corridor linked developed planets such as Commenor, Trel'lar, and Humbarine.
And at the same time — provided access to the galaxy's largest hyperspace superhighways.
Through them, any corner of the galaxy could be reached in a short time.
The proximity of worlds like Neimoidia, Kuat, Balmorra, and — a bit farther out — Corellia, Duro, and Coruscant — had allowed this sector to develop over millennia.
Humbarine (to the right of Kuat).
The industrial and economic growth of the Humbarine Sector had allowed it, centuries before the Clone Wars, to become one of the richest and most developed parts of the Galactic Republic.
In terms of technological and economic leadership, Humbarine could only compete with Kuat and Corellia — its closest neighbors, also located in the Core Worlds.
Despite its power and influence, during the Clone Wars, the sector — though it had reliable defense forces — was invaded by the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
The Republic's failed defensive tactics for this treasure trove meant that first, many worlds of the sector defected to the Separatists.
Then, two years after the Clone Wars began, the sector's capital, the planet Humbarine, was subjected to a devastating orbital bombardment by General Grievous's forces.
The result of this barbarism was the complete destruction of the capital world's surface.
The few survivors fled the planet, which ultimately led to the decline of the entire sector.
The remaining enterprises barely managed to find orders and keep their staff employed.
The Catastrophe of Humbarine — a harsh historical lesson the galaxy never learned.
The Galactic Empire couldn't care less about this sector — they offered only formal expressions of concern.
And minor interventions to prevent the situation from spiraling into an abyss.
To be honest, Admiral Duplex had no information on whether Humbarine had joined New Republic territory or not.
But at that moment, when a dozen Republic-class Star Destroyers, supported by two dozen star cruisers and strike frigates, materialized in the sector's capital system, he was thinking only of how to win the upcoming battle.
The enemy clearly hadn't counted on being attacked by such a large New Republic force.
Divided into three homogeneous squadrons under the command of Admirals Duplex and Sei'lar's, the New Republic ships found themselves in a position of superiority over the enemy from the very first minutes of their arrival in the Humbarine system.
The repair and supply stations deployed in orbit of the dead planet reacted sluggishly to the invasion.
Even more slowly, one Victory-II-class Star Destroyer and three dozen heavy cruisers of the Vindicator and Dreadnaught types, along with corvettes and frigates, rushed to meet the attackers.
Despite the parity in strength, Duplex didn't even need the infamous Jedi Force.
Even without it, he could see that the enemy was demoralized by their previous defeat.
And whoever was commanding them understood perfectly well that even half of these forces would be enough to destroy the Pentastar Alignment's starships without the slightest trouble.
Not without damage, but victory was assured.
And before the enemy could figure out what was happening, a third of the fleet — the strike frigates — made a new jump.
Straight to the sector's industrial systems.
From where the convoys of ships carrying equipment and metals for the enemy fleet's repairs originated.
Thanks to reconnaissance, Admiral Argentis knew perfectly well that even a single strike frigate was enough to secure New Republic control over the sector's territory.
All that remained was to destroy the Pentastar Alignment's fleet.
And that wouldn't be a problem.
"Launch starfighters," Admiral Duplex ordered. "Grind the Imperials into stardust."
The Humbarine Massacre of the Empire had begun.
* * *
"Problems, Vice Admiral?"
The voice, like Grand Admiral Thrawn's appearance, was impeccable.
But that doesn't change the fact that problems did indeed exist.
And ignoring them now wasn't the best course of action.
"Yes, sir," Gilad replied. "More precisely — one problem."
Well, away with fear.
He could tell Thrawn everything as it was, without fear that he'd pull a signature Darth Vader move and cut off Pellaeon's oxygen, as sometimes happened on the ships of Death Squadron.
"I take it this problem has white hair, wears aristocratic garb, and adores expensive wine?"
Gilad's breath caught.
He glanced beyond the projector, to where the source of all the problems for the crew of the Allegiance was located.
As always, Thrawn was right down to the smallest detail.
Before the assault on Serenno, the decision had been made to take the rightful ruler of the D'Astan sector aboard the flagship.
The infamous Baroness Fina D'Asta.
And along with her, nearly a hundred of the aristocrat's servants and advisors had boarded the Allegiance.
Along with a whole container of that very wine, and two more of her outfits.
"For your information, Grand Admiral," the Baroness stepped into the projection field, her blue-white figure, a quarter of her real height, appearing before the Grand Admiral, "my hair is not white, but iridescent platinum."
"Baroness," Thrawn addressed the new participant in the conversation, not a muscle moving on his face. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"The assault on Serenno is being prepared," declared the headache of the entire Allegiance crew. "I would like the rebel leaders to be taken alive. And their property — the palaces, factories, and everything else — to remain undamaged."
Either the holographic projector was malfunctioning, or a shadow of irritation had just flickered across Thrawn's face.
"May I inquire about the reasons for such a desire?" Thrawn asked.
"I consulted with my advisors and concluded that a public trial and execution of the rebel leaders would have a significant social impact on the sector's populace," the Baroness explained. "And after the peoples of the systems within the sector see, through HoloNet broadcasts of the proceedings, that the rebels are convicted and face inevitable, real punishment, it will prevent future uprisings in the sector. The people will understand that armed rebellion is not an option, because it entails real punishment. And any disagreements will henceforth be resolved through compromise and negotiation between all interested parties."
"Your reasoning is clear to me," Thrawn announced. "However, I must disagree with you."
"Is that so?" The Baroness predictably began to raise her voice and apply verbal pressure to her interlocutor.
Pellaeon smiled to himself.
Earlier, the Baroness could still rattle the nerves of the Allegiance's crew, as she acted as the claimant to the flag for whose cause the Dominion, through its mercenaries, was fighting.
And the more the Dominion's intervention pushed the battle lines, the more the Baroness "grew her feathers" and voiced her demands.
For reasons unknown, Thrawn had ordered her brought aboard the flagship just before the final assault and complete control of the sector.
But she had caused more personal moral torment to Pellaeon than she weighed.
She chose the wrong rhetoric.
Thrawn wouldn't forgive that.
So he could relax and watch as the Supreme Commander of the Dominion literally spread the quarrelsome woman thin.
"Yes, Baroness," the Grand Admiral stated unequivocally. "I cannot agree to your demands. Your assessment of the consequences of allowing the rebels to live during the investigation is not objective. No uprising can be destroyed as long as its leaders are alive. Holding a humane trial and keeping them under investigation will allow the populace to view these individuals as martyrs. The investigation, trial, and subsequent punishment, whatever it may be — this is merely delaying the inevitable. You will give the enemy additional opportunities to use the trial as a platform, from which they can, in their defense speeches, continue to inspire their followers who have remained unpunished."
"Are you absolutely certain of that, Grand Admiral?" the Baroness asked caustically. "All political and legal theories say the opposite. We must show that the D'Astan sector is a state that is not afraid to openly try criminals."
"Any state must demonstrate its strength and the seriousness of its intentions through actions, not words," Thrawn countered. "Because any delay between a crime and its punishment is a grave mistake. The longer the process drags on, the more those observing it believe the state machine is weak, unable to solve the problem quickly. Thus, your theories are flawed..."
Pellaeon nodded affirmatively, in agreement with Thrawn.
What was all this fuss for when everything was clear as day?
There was an enemy that had launched an armed rebellion.
In effect — ignited a civil war between the peoples of a single sector.
What trial or investigation could there even be?
Destroy them on the spot, step over the corpse of the scoundrel, and shoot the next one.
Fast and reliable.
"I am not mistaken, Grand Admiral Thrawn," the Baroness cut him off arrogantly. "I believe this is best for the entire sector. In your Dominion, you may dictate the line of authority from the shadows, but I have no reason to conceal what's happening. I demand that the rebel leaders be found and placed under arrest!"
A short pause hung in the air.
Pellaeon winced, imagining the Baroness's lifeless body dangling by its neck from one of the Allegiance's antennae.
Not because she was being so insolent with the Grand Admiral in front of a subordinate, of course.
And not even because she had unreasonably interrupted Thrawn's speech, which he also disliked, but perhaps the stupidest thing this woman could do now was to contradict the ruler of the Dominion.
"Very well, Baroness," a soft murmur came from the holoprojector's speaker. "Issue the appropriate order."
Fina D'Asta opened her mouth, ready to argue with the Grand Admiral, but apparently, she had nothing to say in response to such an unexpected reaction from Thrawn.
To be honest, even Pellaeon himself was taken aback.
"But... how... to whom..." the woman clearly couldn't figure out what to reply. "After all, the combined task force is under the command of Vice Admiral Pellaeon. And he is your subordinate, and..."
The woman wilted.
"I am aware that your armed forces and the Dominion's forces are under the command of Vice Admiral Pellaeon," the Grand Admiral continued, completely unruffled by this fact. "Obviously, you have a short memory, Baroness. And you have forgotten that the Dominion's direct intervention occurred because your military was unable to retake the sector. Even with our supply of weapons and ammunition. You agreed that our forces would operate under a unified command. And that the commander would be from the Dominion. This allowed us to liberate your sector in a short time. I find your recent words, which diverge from the position of the joint task force command, to be a bout of dizziness from the success of the current campaign. And, since our positions diverge, have the courage to say so directly."
The Baroness was silent.
But her expression made it clear she was mulling over an idea.
"I think I should help you with preemptive thinking," Thrawn offered genially. "The moment you declare that our alliance is dissolving, all armed forces of the Dominion — ships, crews, army, equipment — will be immediately returned to territory under our state's control."
"I already understand that, Grand Admiral," the aristocrat muttered, intertwining her fingers. "Have you decided to resort to blackmail? Want to remind me that most of our army flies your upgraded fighters, fights with your weapons, and basically doesn't have any serious forces to finish what we started? I understand perfectly — if you leave now, we cannot win."
"I simply want to be certain that you will not try to use the Dominion for your own interests again, Baroness," a faint threat crept through the Grand Admiral's socialite tone. "It would be distasteful for me to think that the daughter of Baron Ragez D'Asta would come to me at the moment when her rights to rule the sector and all her heritage were in danger, only to announce at the end of the entire campaign that you wish to seize the reins of command and make additional demands. Demands that would lead to needlessly high casualties among the Dominion's ground and space forces. Because, allow me to remind you, your own armed forces do not pose a significant threat to the enemy's remnants."
The aristocrat pressed her lips into a thin line.
"You are portraying me in a bad light, Grand Admiral," the Baroness said with a somber tone. "I have already informed my advisors that it will be exactly as you say."
"I am not calling for anything, Baroness," Thrawn declared. "You have already made it clear that you have a completely different vision for ending this conflict. Well, it seems a fruitful partnership didn't work out. A pity. Vice Admiral Pellaeon, prepare to withdraw our forces."
"It will be done, sir," Pellaeon confirmed the order with no small amount of pleasure.
Looking at the Baroness, he barely restrained himself from saying to her face: "So, eat that!"
"If I recall correctly, only your ships are currently blockading all routes from the Serenno system to other parts of the sector," the Baroness said. "And if you withdraw them, the enemy can easily escape from my ships and resume their rampage in any part of D'Astan! That's unacceptable, Grand Admiral!"
"Of course. We will not allow that," Thrawn remarked. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon will do everything to ensure it doesn't happen. Immediately after he withdraws our forces to territory under our control."
Gilad was dumbfounded.
How was he supposed to understand this?
Instead of pushing this fool from Nez Peron aside and finishing off the enemy, then dictating his own terms, Thrawn had decided to make a grand farewell gesture?
To let the rebel ships slip away and be hunted down across the sector, thereby easing the capture of Serenno for the loyalists?
Thrawn couldn't do that!
Gilad was as certain of that as he was that there was more gray in his hair than information gathered from the Obroa-skai library raid last year.
That's essentially what started all this.
No, no, no!
Thrawn couldn't do that!
It would be absolute stupidity.
The Grand Admiral never acted rashly, so there must be another meaning here.
He just needed to see it and...
Gilad couldn't suppress a smile.
During the conversation, the Grand Admiral had repeatedly mentioned the withdrawal of Dominion forces to "territory under our control."
A very interesting turn of phrase.
If anyone knew that the Grand Admiral's words needed to be examined for a double, or even triple, meaning, it was Gilad.
"As you command, Grand Admiral!"
Pellaeon unconsciously straightened up.
He wondered if the Baroness would understand...
"You're being evasive, Grand Admiral," suspicious notes crept into the aristocrat's voice. "What exactly is this 'territory under your control' you're talking about? Why are you speaking of it, rather than withdrawing ships to the Dominion's established borders?"
"Because the Dominion's intervention in the civil war in the D'Astan Sector has expanded those borders," Thrawn declared unequivocally. "At this moment, we control more than half of the star systems in the D'Astan Sector. Dominion blood was shed for their liberation, and therefore, these territories belong to us. We will, of course, not allow rebels or any other beings hostile to the Dominion to enter them. But the star systems that are under the control of forces loyal to you, Baroness, may, of course, continue to be considered as such."
Fina D'Asta opened her mouth silently, unable to control her extreme astonishment.
"But... That's..." it seemed the "problem" couldn't find the right words. "You... You're occupying us?!"
"Absolutely not. All systems of the D'Astan Sector under our control will become part of the Dominion, with all the rights and corresponding obligations," the Grand Admiral announced.
Pellaeon watched the Baroness with grim triumph as she was morally crushed by the revelation that had fallen on her head.
The Vice Admiral even felt that he himself, being privy to the Grand Admiral's plan, had grown taller.
"You do realize you'll look like a conqueror, don't you?" the Baroness inquired suspiciously. "The populace won't accept their fate as outside observers. Will you suppress uprisings by force, kill civilians to maintain power?!"
This confidence almost made Gilad laugh.
Looking at the Grand Admiral's hologram, Pellaeon could almost see the gloomy smile on the Grand Admiral's face.
"The answer to your second question: 'No.' The answer to your first question is the same," Thrawn replied. "I would assume the populace will be extremely outraged by the fact that the territories have come under Dominion control precisely because the Dominion itself liberated them. On your behalf, Baroness. I am certain they will be offended by the fact that the D'Asta family's wealth was insufficient to pay for the military hardware, weapons, and equipment for your army, necessitating our entry into the war. Allow me to modestly omit the fact that my subordinates died to prevent your own kidnapping and murder. Allow me also to refrain from reminding you of certain interesting information regarding your origins. We are simply receiving payment for our services. In star systems."
A long pause followed.
"The Baroness isn't stupid," Pellaeon decided.
The aristocrat understood perfectly well what the Grand Admiral meant.
For all the months that the Dominion had supplied the necessary materials to the ingloriously defending D'Astan army, they hadn't received a single credit in payment.
Yes, the Dominion had used this conflict to advertise its military hardware, to demonstrate how effective the Great Army of the Republic's upgraded equipment could be.
And that had secured steady orders for such supplies.
But facts were stubborn things.
Nothing came for free.
The Baroness had to understand that by accepting a helping hand, she was indebted to Thrawn.
And very heavily.
She had taken this risky step to preserve her power.
Power to which she had no real right, given that she was a clone of the real Baroness.
Any DNA test would confirm that.
But the worst part for her was something else.
As soon as the sector's populace learned that she was only a copy, her entire war would no longer look like a liberation movement.
But like an attempted usurpation.
And no one would care that she hadn't possessed full information about her origins.
That she herself was a victim of circumstance.
It would be absolutely unsurprising if she were also held responsible for the disappearance of the real Baroness and the death of Baron D'Asta.
The situation was so delicate that the consequences would be, to put it mildly, irreversible.
For the common people, getting to the real truth would be practically impossible.
And Thrawn had already shown more than once with what deftness he manipulates facts and thus comes out ahead.
Unlike most of the galaxy, the Grand Admiral knows how to wage and win hybrid wars.
"What do you propose?" the disgraced and morally crushed Baroness asked quietly.
"It's simple," the Grand Admiral declared. "The campaign continues and concludes according to plan. No prisoners among the rebel leadership and no show trials. We bring you to power over the sector, and you initiate the territories' accession to the Dominion. The details of the sector's status will be discussed later with Grand Moff Ferrus."
"So I take it your ships and D'Astan's armed forces won't be leaving?" the Baroness asked in a hollow voice.
"Correct," the Grand Admiral confirmed. "Where the Dominion's flag has once been raised, it will not be lowered again."
Pellaeon coughed at the last phrase.
Well, damn!
Those words could have been spoken by the emperor of some state with a massive army and fleet.
But such a declaration from Thrawn, who, after all, was considered dead, while his Armed Forces (as Chief of Staff, Gilad knew this for certain) were suffering a catastrophic personnel shortage.
Military equipment, ships, war machines, weapons — for the most part, all of that existed, was being produced or modernized.
But there simply weren't enough people to bring all the Dominion's trophies into the fleet, or even any significant portion of them.
With a two-tiered Armed Forces approach, achieving mass in the near future would be impossible.
And it seemed Thrawn had decided to stretch the Dominion's borders even further, running them right along the Hydian Way.
But...
Doing this now?
Openly?
Knowing that everyone and their cousin was watching the Dominion, and that on the borders they'd soon be fighting almost the entire northern stretch of the Hydian Way, mopping up the satellites of the Zann Consortium, it was hardly the most logical step.
If the galaxy didn't know Thrawn was dead, this move would have worked — opponents would have been wary of trying to counterattack the Dominion.
Simply because they'd think Thrawn had set traps for them in case of a rematch.
They were unlikely to fear Pellaeon nearly as much.
"Is that all?" the Baroness asked in a voice utterly defeated.
"The details will be specified in the treaty of alliance, but if you're that curious, I can inform you that the sector's armed forces will no longer answer to the D'Asta family and will pass under Dominion control," Thrawn continued. "This is as inevitable as the state's participation in the major production campaigns located in the sector. I trust you understand that all property and enterprises of the rebels will be transferred to the Dominion without any superfluous conditions on your part?"
"Including my family's trading fleet?" a spark of anger lit the Baroness's eyes. "Are you taking that into your possession as well?"
Your family?" Thrawn clarified. "It seems to me the emphasis is misplaced. However, I think I can agree to leave you control over certain areas of activity that previously belonged to the D'Asta Family. In exchange for concessions on your part, of course, Baroness. Perhaps, if you don't drag out the integration process and don't resist the Dominion, understanding the advantages for the region's development that we will provide, a Moff won't be appointed to D'Astan. You can govern the sector. In our name. Under our close guidance, naturally."
Judging by how white the aristocrat's lips had become, pressed into a razor-thin line, she had never been in such a position before.
Humiliated and powerless.
And perfectly aware of what was happening.
First, the Dominion gets direct control over the defense forces and stations its troops in the sector.
Then it subjugates the largest businesses as co-owners — and most of them belong either to aristocrats who are already dead men walking, or to the D'Asta Family.
Which, in turn, means total control over the production of food, weapons, ammunition, combat equipment...
Before you can blink, the entire sector will be one big supply closet for the Dominion's war machine.
And the old aristocracy will only be playing backup vocals.
Beyond any doubt, the very fact that Thrawn was going to return control of the sector's trading fleet remnants to the Baroness meant her income would be indecently high.
The only problem was that nothing that had belonged to the family and had been nationalized by the rebels would ever be seen again.
But the alternative was to stand there, biting your tongue, and watch as the sector was taken right before your eyes, leaving you with nothing.
Since the new borders would run through the sector's territory, the Dominion's isolationism would also affect those systems the Baroness intended to try to keep under her authority.
Within a year, the worlds would revolt — who would want to live under a Dominion fleet blockade?
Thrawn would clearly make sure that communication between the systems the Baroness was counting on would be cut off.
That would only mark the delayed end of the Baroness D'Asta clone's rule.
On the other hand, she was being offered a step back from power in the sector to focus on simple business.
Yes, one had to understand that pacifying the sector during an occupation would take time, effort, and resources, but the Dominion had them.
The Baroness would inevitably have supporters who had gained experience during the civil war hostilities.
And they would certainly try to fight.
They wouldn't succeed — it would just mean more space debris and deaths.
And to conquer the Baroness's planets, Thrawn wouldn't actually need that much effort.
It would be enough to demonstratively crush the resistance on one planet during a military campaign, and the rest would become reasonable.
That was precisely what Thrawn intended to do on Serenno.
But this time for the entire sector.
Destroy all seeds of discontent with a single blow.
Quickly, ruthlessly, and entirely in the Grand Admiral's style.
A multi-move combination with only one winner.
And don't tell me the Grand Admiral got involved in the civil war in the D'Astan sector without considering this scenario.
Pellaeon couldn't find an answer for how he himself would have acted if he were in the Baroness's place.
But her fate was unenviable.
Either lose practically everything but remain in power, albeit severely diminished.
Or lose everything — and pile up mountains of corpses besides.
It was highly unlikely that in the latter case, someone wouldn't finish off the Baroness clone.
Perhaps even the Dominion's special services.
And what 'perhaps.'
It was the most obvious outcome.
"Very well, Grand Admiral. I agree to become your puppet for the sake of the Dominion people's lives," the Baroness finally said; her voice carried doom and defeat. "But before we move to integration, I want guarantees that I won't serve as merely an icon for pacifying the sector's people and their gentle subjugation."
"Of course," Thrawn readily agreed. "I guarantee your inviolability provided you comply with every single clause stipulated in the integration treaty."
Pellaeon thought that most Imperial senior officers in such a situation wouldn't have been able to resist gloating.
This was the height of diplomacy — to start a conversation over a trifle and steer it toward the opponent's capitulation.
And without any threats of executing the 'Base Delta Zero' order!
As the saying went?
'A word is mightier than a turbolaser'?
It seemed this folk wisdom had found its real embodiment.
But the Grand Admiral's small courtesy, as always, as far as the captain knew, was as carefully calculated as the previous attack. Allowing surrender while preserving dignity, and no one would resist the Dominion until it was too late.
"Emissaries will be sent to you; they will discuss the details of our agreement with you," Thrawn continued. "Including the clause on guarantees. And the responsibility in case of its violation. Immediately after the assault on Serenno and the suppression of the rebellion. Until then, our ships will maintain complete control over all star systems in the sector."
"Of course, Grand Admiral," Pellaeon could feel in his gut that a sarcastic tone, full of venom and malicious triumph, was practically bursting out of the Baroness. "But any document can be circumvented. You've already shown me how it's done. I need guarantees of a different kind."
Pellaeon felt a shiver run down his spine.
That only happened when he commanded the Chimera and Thrawn revealed the essence of his traps for the enemy.
It seemed the Baroness's shock had worn off, and the cunning shrew inside her, who wouldn't miss her chance, had awakened.
Just what else did this insane white-haired woman need, besides the treaty and its clauses?
"Explain," the Grand Admiral ordered. "What would you like to receive as more reliable guarantees?"
"One way or another, there will still be malcontents," the Baroness's voice sounded triumphant. "The sector's population has always supported the aristocracy — to some extent, if not one Family, then another. I think you understand that weakening my Family's position will be viewed strictly negatively — since soon there won't be any other families left in the sector. And you, in the midst of conflicts, don't need distractions from ferment in your rear. Especially in D'Astan, which is so conveniently located between the Dominion and the Hydian Way."
"Suppose," Thrawn agreed in a matter-of-fact tone. "Your proposals, Baroness?"
"On this matter, the aristocracy long ago invented a mechanism that absolutely guarantees the fulfillment of obligations by both parties to the agreement," a smile appeared on the Baroness's lips. "A legal document is good. But for D'astans, other relationships between those in power are far more customary."
Her pearly teeth looked to Pellaeon like polished metal, with which she intended to sink into Thrawn's throat.
"And what kind would that be?" the Grand Admiral's expression didn't change, but Pellaeon thought he seemed somehow bored.
The Baroness was rather clumsily preparing for some fiery phrase that, she probably thought, would floor them all...
And it did.
Struck them dead.
With just one phrase.
At that same moment, Gilad witnessed what he considered impossible.
He saw Grand Admiral Thrawn falter, coughing in surprise at the words of the triumphantly smiling aristocrat.
Despite the idiocy of the situation, Pellaeon felt uneasy.
If Thrawn didn't know what to say — this was smelling like a Death Star explosion.
Or something worse.
And it was all because Baroness D'Asta had said:
"Marry me, Thrawn."