When the Cauldron emerged from hyperspace, Moff Harsh felt a certain relief.
The man hadn't been sure everything would go according to plan.
But it had worked out perfectly.
The Star Destroyer had completed its jump.
And now it was slowly approaching the endless stream of space debris.
The colors playing across the Chiloon Rift Nebula seeped into the bridge.
Everyone who made it to this coveted region of the galaxy, located beyond the borders of explored space, couldn't pass up the chance to enjoy the shimmering display of every known color.
As a human, Moff Harsh had no doubt that some aliens, whose vision operated in a different spectrum, could see far more.
But what he saw was enough.
For a long time, he had observed the beauty of this nebula.
He had moved from one asteroid to another, overseeing the miners working various mineral veins.
He wasn't a scientist and couldn't speculate on how many celestial bodies had perished here to form such a dense, unpredictable, practically impenetrable asteroid field.
A terrain generously seasoned with gas clouds, plasma formations, not to mention those tiresome rocks ranging in size from a finger's phalanx to small planetoids.
Hundreds of pilots had died exploring these asteroid fields, unable to handle navigation through this endless stream of hazards.
Only the most experienced and capable pilots could survive and work here.
The mortality rate was such that even TIE fighter pilots, who died on every fifth combat sortie, would be considered a model of survivability here.
The Chiloon Rift Nebula.
"Navigators have plotted a course to the base, Moff," Harsh's first officer reported.
Effectively, the second-in-command aboard the Cauldron, after the former ruler of the Bosph sector himself.
"Act on it," the Moff ordered immediately. "I want to return to base as soon as possible."
Too much needed to be done.
Get rid of the hostile military forces of the Zann Consortium, for example, take control of each of the dozens of mining platforms so the slaves wouldn't dare rebel.
Much work lay ahead.
Yes, there were no manufacturing facilities in the Rift — only a small number of foundries whose job was to smelt ore into ingots for easier transport.
But that was how it used to be.
When Harsh worked for Tyber Zann.
Now, however, he had chosen his own path, one he had no intention of leaving.
Though, admittedly, he'd had help doing so.
The Moff cast a sidelong glance at the silent figure of a young woman, a pair of lightsabers dangling from her belt.
She and her brother never called each other by name in front of others, referring to one another only as "Sister" and "Brother."
In the Moff's opinion, it was a rather foolish bit of conspiracy, especially given that both had been whispering in Harsh's ear almost since the day they'd come aboard the Cauldron.
But while the man managed to keep his own identity secret, Harsh had managed to learn the girl's name.
Freymis.
"Brother" and "Sister"-Freymis.
Short, slender — even shapely, one might say.
Dark gray hair framing an unsmiling face, which mostly wore a haughty expression.
Driven.
Cunning.
Ruthless.
Like her brother, she was a former Inquisitor who had fallen on Harsh's head like a bolt from the blue.
This had happened a few months ago, shortly before the Cauldron and the Moff's remaining Lancer-class frigates were dispatched to the Chiloon Rift to mine the minerals so desperately needed by the Zann Consortium to build a new fleet.
Only the commander of the organization's battle wing, Admiral Jerid Sykes, knew exactly how many combat ships Zann already had in his possession.
For obvious reasons, he didn't exactly broadcast that information.
But if Harsh understood one thing, it was that the Zann Consortium intended to build a massive fleet.
Well, initially, he'd even wanted to help them.
Now, however, with both Inquisitors talking about seeing his destiny at the head of his own Empire, any desire to help criminal scum had evaporated in Harsh.
He needed to think about himself, not someone else.
At the moment, he had only one Star Destroyer and five Lancers at his disposal.
Better not to even think about the TIE fighters — barely over a hundred remained, and even those were on the asteroid-base.
That was enough to guard the Rift from invasion, especially since the local astrography was such that even the most persistent enemy would suffer enormous losses trying to get inside.
Provided, of course, they didn't know the fairway through the asteroid field.
Or rather, two fairways.
One, from the Bosph sector side, was the most dangerous and unpredictable, much like the hyperspace route leading to the Chiloon Rift.
The moment the journey ended, a ship found itself in an asteroid field where survival was practically impossible for an unprepared pilot.
The second was calmer, and it was the one the Cauldron had just used to complete its transition from the Mieru'kar sector.
Now the Moff was pondering what he needed to do next.
The base had a large number of mercenaries, loyal exclusively to the Zann Consortium.
Initially, he had intended to destroy them using his stormtroopers, and now that he was "home," he hadn't changed his mind.
The lack of long-range communications in the system kept the mercenaries in the dark about the Moff's betrayal of Tyber Zann's interests.
But at the same time, they were dangerous.
Especially the Vultures, who commanded the combat units of the infantry remaining at the base.
The "Red-and-Blacks," as the organization's senior officers called the elite fighters of the Zann Consortium behind their backs, were extremely motivated.
And while it might be possible to negotiate with the infantry, who were essentially mercenaries (not for nothing did Harsh know and keep secret the information about auridium deposits on several large asteroids), that wouldn't work with the Vultures.
"The Vultures need to be killed first," Harsh said, addressing the woman.
"Sister" looked at him as if he'd just said something utterly absurd.
"The Red-and-Blacks won't follow my orders if they find out I've betrayed the organization," Harsh explained.
"Then they'll die," Freymis replied calmly. "My Brother and I will make sure they don't become a problem."
"By all means," the Moff grimaced. "I hope you have enough experience to finish off those soldiers."
"Don't worry," Freymis advised. "Those soldiers won't be a problem for us."
"I'd like to believe your words aren't at odds with your actions," Harsh grumbled angrily. "Because I've been given plenty of promises, but not a single one has been kept so far."
"I wouldn't advise doubting our capabilities, Moff," "Sister" said in an icy tone. "The last person who did died by our blades."
"The last person who let me down was burned in the Cauldron's reactor," Harsh retorted, looking at the woman defiantly.
Beautiful, but excessively vicious.
It seemed her brother had been the one keeping this shrew's nasty nature in check.
And now that he preferred to hole up in his own cabin, her ambitions and insolence were oozing out of every crack.
"I doubt you could handle me and my Brother," she said defiantly.
"Don't be so sure your glow sticks will beat my stormtroopers' blasters," Harsh declared, his eyes searching for the commander of the ground forces.
The officer was standing by the tactical terminal, examining something on it while technicians repaired malfunctioning equipment.
Just as Harsh opened his mouth to call him, the officer sneezed thunderously.
Accompanying the act with a short string of curses muttered under his breath.
But in doing so, he also startled the young junior specialists stationed nearby and kicked up a cloud of dust from the guts of the long-unrepaired terminal.
Yes, spare parts were in "very short supply" for Harsh.
He had to pull decommissioned equipment from the Cauldron's stores and repair one console out of several, stripping old parts for components needed by functioning units.
"Sister" looked at the Moff's stormtrooper commander with inexplicable interest.
He acted as if nothing had happened.
"Commander!" Harsh addressed him with a grimace. "Will your stormtroopers deal with a couple of Inquisitors who might decide to do me harm?"
"Without a doubt, yes, sir," the stormtrooper commander reported. "We just need your order!"
"Don't wait for it if you happen to see Sister decide not to follow my orders," Harsh said with a sinister grin, staring intently at the woman.
In her eyes, he saw only the yellowish-orange glow of molten metal, which seemed to symbolize her rage.
"That goes for her Brother, too," the former Imperial Moff added with no small pleasure.
Nothing more than routine maintenance, necessary to remind subordinates not to forget their place.
Meanwhile, the Cauldron continued moving through realspace, bypassing the drifting stone boulders in the void.