Happich Sector, or as the locals called it, "Zappi Sector," which was linguistically more correct, served as the gateway to the Corporate Sector.
Pierced from the southern to northern territories by the Hydian Way, this region of space, though it had official designations on the galaxy's astronavigation charts, was of little interest to influential beings.
Hence the incorrect pronunciation in everyday speech.
Happich Sector. Also known as Zappi Sector.
Grand Admiral Thrawn, having studied intelligence reports, ordered that explanatory work be carried out with subordinates.
And now the Imperial dismissive "Happich Sector" was to be eliminated from common usage, replaced with the locally pleasant "Zappi Sector."
A trifle, it seemed.
But such meticulous attention to correct linguistics was a fairly significant factor for the natives.
Showing respect for their principles is a guarantee that among ordinary peoples, the arrival of the Dominion would be received somewhat more gently than it potentially could be.
Nevertheless, this was of little interest to Rear Admiral Shohashi, who was watching the darkness of deep space silently part before the wedge-shaped bow of a fast star dreadnought.
Narrow, like an eight-kilometer dagger, the "Crimson Dawn" aimed its hull at a distant astronomical object, located straight ahead of the ship hundreds of light-years from the position of the "Red Star" squadron flagship.
Not a single inhabitant of the enormous space station, which for thousands of years had been a haven for local pirates, smugglers, and other unsavory characters, suspected what awaited them.
They were confident in their untouchability, their security, their invincibility.
Eric knew this as surely as he knew that Lady Ventress's ship was currently flying into his dreadnought's hangar, returning from her mission in the Chiloon Rift.
To announce its presence, the "Crimson Dawn" still had some time to fly.
Exactly the time other ships needed to move into combat positions and begin the attack.
But the "Red Star" squadron flagship was more ready for war than ever.
"All systems are at battle readiness," reported the central control post.
"Good," Eric replied phlegmatically, drumming his fingers on the pommel of his cane. "Make sure the arriving ship docks exclusively in bay seven, and that the decontamination fields are running at full power. To ensure safety, keep them on the ship for five minutes before allowing them to step onto the landing pad. Inform Lady Ventress that I want to see her on the bridge as soon as she leaves her ship."
Due to problems with the HoloNet's functioning, getting a full report from her in advance was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Eric had no doubt that those on board were who they claimed to be—Ventress had passed all checks during her approach.
But it was necessary to confirm the required biological safety and the absence of threats to the entire crew.
That was what the decontamination system was for—harsh radiation would kill any pathogens of any disease.
Plague included.
Thankfully, the sector relay was still working.
Because it needed to.
The long days of preparation for a full-scale offensive had resulted in what Shohashi now had.
Dozens of task forces were ready to simultaneously strike the enemy forces in the sector.
One strike—and the enemy would be defeated.
Yes, he could afford such "luxury."
"Red Star" was one of the most fully equipped task forces of the regular fleet.
In both personnel and starships.
And Sector "Zappi" was exactly what required the close attention of the "Butcher of Atoa."
This sector was important for the Dominion.
For several reasons at once.
Sector "Zappi" wasn't just the threshold of the Corporate Sector; it was also a vast territory, so unexplored that only a dozen systems held any readily understandable interest.
The rest—either devoid of life and depleted of minerals, or simply not surveyed.
But there was something special here.
Something that would give the Dominion an even greater claim to sovereignty on a galactic scale.
A fuel source.
A system forgotten in time because it had lost most of its reserves.
But it had regained significance when hordes of Zann Consortium fighters invaded it.
With the same motives—they needed fuel.
As much as possible, given their ambitions.
Unsurprisingly, they had moved an ancient space station into this system, turning it into their headquarters.
It was toward this system that the "Crimson Dawn" was currently moving at full battle readiness.
"Put me through to the combat group commanders," Eric ordered, tearing himself away from contemplating the serene blackness.
"Yes, sir."
Leaning on his cane, the Rear Admiral reached the holographic projector, on which were already arranged three-dimensional projections of human figures at one-quarter life size.
They were arranged in a semicircle above the flat panel of the projector, like toy figures from holo-chess.
But each such "figure" was the embodiment of power and crushing force that they held in their hands.
"Gentlemen, we are beginning," Shohashi announced, looking at the officers awaiting the go-ahead.
Some of them were exact copies of each other.
Others were individuals.
The former—indifferently calm.
The latter—not even trying to hide their excitement for the coming battle.
They had waited too long for the opportunity to begin full-scale operations.
Not raids.
Not ambushes.
Not interceptions.
His subordinates had been waiting for a chance to go on a full-scale offensive, spending days and nights over astronomical charts searching for the most favorable tactical solution in their area of responsibility.
Eric, as prescribed by the regulations, had only developed the general strategy for conquering the sector.
It was up to the beings standing before him to implement the plan with maximum efficiency.
"Record the start time," Eric looked at the man who commanded his former flagship. "'Imperious.' Begin."
Each system had its own boundaries and detection methods.
Therefore, the points where the combat groups were located were also at different distances from the target.
Accordingly, the hyperspace jump to the target would take different amounts of time for each starship.
"Yes, sir," the Star Destroyer commander replied in a matter-of-fact tone, after which his hologram vanished.
A clone.
But diligent, sharp, and talented.
Eric had a general idea of what was happening now.
"Imperious" and its battle group had jumped into hyperspace, heading for the Kioloria system.
"Red Dragon," Eric looked at the twin of the previous battle group commander. "Happy hunting."
"Yes, sir."
And this figure also faded.
Consequently, "Red Dragon" departed for the Cerilia system, leading, like any other system-attacking Star Destroyer, several heavy cruisers, corvettes, and "Acclamator" assault ships.
The last one, like every other assault landing craft attached to each battle group, was filled to the brim with combat vehicles and mercenaries from Kavil's Corsairs.
Due to a lack of their own ground forces, they had to use private contractors.
Eric felt some disgust toward them, but still resigned himself to having to act in this manner.
Circumstances were stronger than his personal opinion.
"Thunder. Proceed."
"Understood, Crimson Dawn," Captain Pryl said with fervor. "Thunder and Stalker are moving out."
The only female Star Destroyer commander under his command also controlled one of the most powerful Star Destroyers.
But also one of the slowest in hyperspace.
His partner in this campaign was the Stalker.
The crews of both ships had treated each other with at least great hostility since the days when they still served the Empire.
The commanders of these ships were especially hostile.
But the Stalker had long been commanded by a completely different person, and the crew that had agreed to serve the Dominion currently consisted almost two-thirds of those who didn't care about the old feud between the two captains.
Eric wasn't bothered by these troubles at all.
The commander of the Stalker and half its crew were now clones, who also had no interest in maintaining the ancient dispute: "Which of the commanders of the Stalker and Thunder is the most competent in military matters?"
For Shohashi, the joint work of the Thunder and Stalker crews was dictated solely by the single necessity to take control of the planet Nilgailon in the eponymous star system of the Zappi sector.
The planet was known in the sector for its dangerous sand mines, the planet's main industry, which were exploited and serviced by slaves and droids.
Slavery was not tolerated in the Dominion, and any form of it was openly persecuted, no matter what "cultural and traditional foundations" it might be backed by.
Slave owners mostly didn't even survive to quick courts-martial; they were destroyed on the spot.
And they themselves already understood perfectly that talking with Dominion people was useless.
And fighting even more so.
They would be destroyed anyway.
The Dominion was interested in Nilgailon's mineral resources, which, despite decades of mining, were still not exhausted.
Eric wasn't even bothered by the fact that the planet was under supposedly Imperial control.
This could be said about almost every sector near the "corporate" ones.
But the Dominion knows perfectly well that any "Imperials" at the head of such sectors are nothing more than puppets or willing criminal helpers of the Zann Consortium.
Their fate was likewise sealed.
When Pryl's hologram faded, Eric looked at the commander of the Black Star standing nearby.
"Captain Lennox, proceed," he ordered. "Tralfin must be captured within the agreed timeframe."
"Yes, sir, Rear Admiral," Xamuel nodded energetically in sync with his reply. "I'll carry it out perfectly."
From his appearance, one could tell that the commander of the Black Star was trying with all his might to keep himself within the bounds of the Charter, but his impeccable manners could not mask the zeal with which the captain engaged in the fight against the Zann Consortium.
Lennox was one of the few (on the scale of the total number of Star Destroyer commanders in the star fleet) officers of the Imperial Star Fleet who had defected to the Dominion.
And among those who defected, such talented and diligent commanders were hard to find.
It was no wonder he became one of the candidates for a quick promotion.
After this operation, many of Eric's subordinates would lead their own formations, moving up a step in the military hierarchy.
The holographic image flickered and disappeared; the Black Star and its fleet set off for "a little slice of paradise."
The planet Tralfin was indeed a tropical planet with beautiful resorts and pristine beaches.
It had been used since ancient times as a vacation spot for the wealthy from all over the northern galaxy.
Especially adept at this were the tycoons from the business elite of the Corporate Sector, as well as the criminal underworld figures behind them.
Once upon a time, the Empire, conquering one sector after another, did not even deem it necessary to station a garrison on Tralfin — the local law enforcement handled criminals harshly and effectively enough.
That, however, did not stop Rebel Alliance agents from spending weekends here, sipping cocktails in local bars.
At the moment, the planet's law enforcement system was destroyed.
The recreation zones had become entertainment venues for criminals, and the civilian population, after two unsuccessful attempts to get rid of the occupiers, had chosen to resign themselves to the fate of docile servants.
In their view, becoming practically slaves to criminals was much better than witnessing mass executions after another failed liberation attempt.
Currently, large forces of the Zann Consortium were on the planet — both ground and space.
That was why Eric sent Lennox there, as well as the elite forces attached to the mercenaries from Atrisia.
The Rancor Battalion.
A recently formed, fully staffed, and combat-trained unit that was previously part of the 501st Guard Assault Corps of the Dominion.
Currently, it was an autonomous armored formation under the command of Major General Maximilian Jurgen.
And today they would have their first baptism of fire — as a separate unit.
Eric didn't understand why it was necessary to form a separate armored battalion.
But he knew the initiative came directly from the commander of the 501st Legion, Major General Maximilian Kaine.
Somehow he managed to convince Grand Admiral Thrawn of the advisability of such actions...
As if they were trying to repeat the path of glory of the Imperial Hammers regiment.
"Arbiter, Tyrant, Tyranny, Titan, Killer — you depart for the Tanta Zilbra system."
"Understood," the four ship commanders, also clones, nodded in unison and their holograms dissolved.
Five Star Destroyers to conquer one, and not the largest, star system?
Considering that in other battle groups of the Imperials, there were at most one or two ships with heavy cruiser escorts.
But here it turned out to be five Star Destroyers, plus appropriate escort...
Corvettes of the Crusader-II class alone numbered twenty units.
Five Acclamators loaded exclusively with Dominion stormtroopers.
Yes, staff rats would say the forces were too large for capturing one system.
But Eric didn't think so.
First and foremost because he knew the objective data on the Tanta Zilbra system.
Three planets and an asteroid belt.
That already sounded like a reason to take a closer look at the historical data.
The planet Flandar — a barren piece of rock.
But nevertheless, it had an atmosphere.
As well as an enemy underground base.
The planet Hordon Kal — a volcanic world with magma rivers rich in minerals flowing on its surface.
Which were mined by the Zann Consortium.
And processed on the only moon of Hordon Kal, turning from purified ore into metal products.
Armor, construction frames, droid hulls, tank bodies, gun barrels, missile and torpedo casings...
Which then go toward reinforcing enemy forces.
It was no wonder the Dominion intended to acquire all of this.
The Johnston asteroid belt in this system was also a source of minerals that served the enemy.
But the greatest interest was the main planet of the system.
That is, Tanta Zilbra itself.
It was a desert world, abundant with various kinds of caves, having a Class I oxygen-containing atmosphere.
In other words, humanoids, and particularly humans, could stay on it without respirators, masks, or other devices.
But something else was most interesting.
The Dominion learned about the planet... from the "Cracken's Dossier."
A list of threats that the New Republic was supposed to neutralize to ensure its security.
And the matter here was quite interesting.
Two years ago, a smuggler named Tanta Zilbra was shipwrecked on the planet and first discovered that fungi with healing properties grew in the local caves.
After repairing his ship, Zilbra and his crew left Tanta Zilbra and began looking for a sponsor for this profitable business venture.
After a deal was made with the New Republic to supply the harvested fungus to several selected biomedical institutions, Zilbra established an outpost on Tanta Zilbra and managed to earn a reasonable profit from the deal.
This information raised more questions than it answered.
Because for discovering planets with valuable properties, even the Republicans usually didn't put someone on an enemies list.
But General Cracken was not an idiot when he made such a record.
The fact was that the cause of Tanta Zilbra's and his crew's shipwreck was the smuggler's flight from a pursuer.
This pursuer, according to Tanta himself, was a certain individual with extensive connections in the criminal underworld.
To give credit — General Cracken and his people found out who this sentient was.
It was Tyber Zann, with whom Tanta Zilbra had worked and supplied weapons.
Cracken considered such coincidences suspicious, but found no evidence of Tanta Zilbra's criminal activity.
Given the widely known information about Zann's death, accusing Zilbra of past "sins" was not beneficial to the Republic itself.
And the New Republic's pharmaceutical lobby led to the former smuggler becoming a monopolist in the supply of medicinal substances extracted from the fungi.
The Dominion needed any sources of income.
As well as raw materials for its own pharmaceutical business.
The presence of several dozen enemy starships of the Zann Consortium in the Tanta Zilbra system proved the assumption that the talented smuggler had simply used the Republicans to set up a profitable business.
And thereby, at someone else's expense, to establish supplies of valuable resources and enrich the Zann Consortium.
Such actions could not remain unpunished.
The Tanta Zilbra system, after the end of today, would remain under the protection and full control of the Dominion.
"Liquidator, attack the Stick system," Eric ordered.
"It will be done."
Another standard reply from the clone commander.
The volatile world Stick was known for its surface, inhospitable and rocky, covered with craters and with an unusually hot climate, where a race with one hundred eighty genders lived.
But besides the gender chaos, the natives were also known for their technology of nuclear and matter splitting and a rapidly developing computer industry.
They were potential suppliers of valuable equipment.
Especially since they were already doing this for the Zann Consortium.
The Soko-Jarel system was not very attractive in terms of natural resources or inventive population.
It simply had rich deposits of precious materials and stones, which were mined by the forces of the Zann Consortium.
Logically, having the aurodium standard of "external currency," the Dominion would never refuse to capture a planet.
And the Liquidator would do it.
Next on the list was the Death's Head.
Shohashi glanced at the screen of his personal datapad.
"Commodore Demmings, is your destroyer and crew ready to begin?" he inquired.
This officer caused him the greatest concern.
"We are ready, Crimson Dawn," the commodore replied quietly. "We've been ready for a long time. We've been waiting."
Quietly and almost too restrainedly...
The rear admiral stared grimly at the commander of the Death's Head.
One couldn't expect good resolution from the long-range comm, but even now the expression on the officer's face was easy to read.
There was a detached and unrestrained determination in it.
"There's a war on, Commodore," Eric said, looking intently at his subordinate. "And there's no room for personal vengeance in it."
"I remember my duty, Admiral," Demmings said lifelessly, looking away.
If Eric understood anything about psychology, this action gave him a burning desire to straighten the guy out properly.
"Are you confident that you correctly understand what your duty consists of, Commodore?"
For a moment, the face of Demmings's hologram was lit by a flash of rage.
But the fire still died out.
"Yes, sir. My duty consists of serving the Dominion and carrying out assigned tasks," Commodore Demmings forced out.
Spoken exactly what Eric wanted to hear.
An impeccable report, in accordance with the Charter.
But at the same time, it wasn't quite that. Eric, a stickler for clear rule-following, could not help but notice how the commander of the Death's Head was acting.
"Excellent that you remember that, Commodore," Eric said, adding notes of durasteel to his voice. "In other words, you understand that your operation against Tiss'sharl consists of, first, capturing the planet, second, capturing the ISD Vengeance under the control of local pro-Zann forces, and only third, committing forces to liberating your former crew from the prison camps of the Tiss'shar race?"
Eric could clearly see that Demmings still burned with a thirst for revenge, a desire to settle scores with the Zannites for the blackmail they had subjected him to, threatening to execute his former subordinates.
According to intelligence, before the fall of the HoloNet, the Tiss'shar had executed about a thousand members of the Vengeance's crew on the orders of their command from the Corporate Sector.
Revenge because, even though Demmings had fulfilled the terms of his deal with the Zannites, the capture of Baroness D'Asta had still failed.
This stirred a storm of indignation and seething rage in the commodore.
If he wasn't reined in in time, he would carry out an orbital bombardment, wiping the cities of the local population off the surface...
Not to say he would be wrong in that decision — Eric himself would gladly bomb this vile race back to the Stone Age, returning their lifestyle to the era of gathering and hunting with sharpened sticks.
However, such a display of emotional indiscipline was unacceptable for a career officer.
One must not degenerate into a beast, no matter how morally repulsive the enemy was.
Nor could one destroy a race for what their leaders had done.
Of course — unless that race wholly and completely desired to destroy you, your army, your citizens, and your state.
In such a context, even the use of the Death Star was justified.
However, Shohashi was not an advocate of planet destruction — the availability of mercenaries and clone stormtroopers always allowed for captures rather than burning habitable worlds.
On the other hand, there was always the option not to take prisoner enemy soldiers who were ideologically set on destroying the Dominion.
Response actions should be differentiated according to the threat to the state.
The execution of a thousand Imperials who did not even attempt to escape captivity, no matter how close comrades they were, was not worth the destruction of an entire world in turbolaser fire.
One could only hope that Demmings understood this.
The clone of Major General Freja Covell, leading the ground contingent of the Death's Head, certainly knew his job.
He could be relied upon.
But the commodore himself...
The nod with which the commander of the Death's Head confirmed the rear admiral's words could be considered almost regulation.
"Yes, sir," his lips formed thin lines. "I am aware of the priority of the mission objectives."
"And never forget that, Captain," Eric warned. "Rest assured, the Tiss'shar, once captured, will pay in full for the deaths of your former comrades. But retribution will come within the context of overall strategy and will not become an act of personal vengeance."
On Commodore Demmings's hologram, one could see his hands clench into fists and his jaw muscles work.
No, he still hadn't fully understood.
"And most certainly," Shohashi said insinuatingly, "no officer under my command will ever, under any circumstances, be observed in anything like that. I think I have made myself clear, Commodore. If you have anything to object, speak now. Otherwise, the chance to express your disagreement with my strategic vision will only be given to you at a court-martial hearing."
Demmings pressed his lips together so tightly they were no longer visible.
He was, of course, not as talented and intelligent as Pryl or Lennox, but he had enough sense to understand the warning given.
"Very clear, Rear Admiral," Demmings said on an exhale. "I will carry out the order precisely."
"That's good," Eric drilled his subordinate with a piercing gaze for another moment, then nodded. "You have been given the order to advance."
"Yes, sir. Death's Head is beginning the attack on the Tiss'sharl system. End transmission."
And so the list came to an end; all the holograms of his subordinates went dark.
The readiness of the Crimson Dawn's own strike groups was promptly reported as well.
Eric secretly took a breath.
And from the outside, it seemed that Thrawn's ability to turn subordinates and enemies with mere words was such a trifle.
Eric himself was not known for a gentle disposition, but the more subordinates he had under his command, the more he understood that working with clone subordinates was much easier.
They didn't dispute orders.
Lines in the Charter and the legality of the command given were enough for them to flawlessly carry out what was needed.
With "originals," it was always more difficult.
Demmings was a vivid example.
He would either outgrow his impulsiveness or become a big problem for command.
"Sir," the watch officer addressed Eric. "A distress signal has just been intercepted from the Kioloria and Cerilia systems."
That is, the Imperious and the Red Dragon had begun their attacks on their targets right on the dot.
"Did anyone respond?" Eric asked.
"Yes, we are registering a response from the enemy command center," the watch officer glanced through the central viewport, as if pointing to the source of the second transmission. "Decryptors indicate that the enemy command has sent two frigates of the Interceptor IV class into each system."
No more than demonstrative forces.
Both destroyers would deal with them in no time.
"A distress signal has been received from the Nilgailon system," the watch officer reported, receiving another message.
"Enemy reaction?"
Resource extraction must always be a priority for those who build a war machine.
"Two groups of three Acclamator-class assault cruisers each have been dispatched."
Yes, Pryl would have a hard time, but she would manage the capturing of such valuable spacecraft.
The destroyer commanders knew which enemy starships should be turned into scrap metal and which would be needed by the Dominion itself.
Undoubtedly, the enemies had studied the tactics of the Dominion commanders.
Trapped by minefields in one sector and unable to break out without losing most of their fleet, they had gathered all their forces into one fist — to defend this system.
But they also couldn't fail to react to an attack.
Otherwise, they would simply be considered weak, and then a large-scale popular uprising would be no surprise.
"Tralfin reports an attack..."
"Tass'sharl requests support..."
"The enemy is limiting itself to sending minor forces."
Well, the time had come.
"Inform the special forces that the relay can be 'jammed,'" Shohashi ordered, looking at the hologram of the enemy space station. "In five minutes, the sector must enter radio silence mode."
"Yes, sir."
Well, he had drawn off from the defense of this object the greatest number of forces possible.
"A transmission to the Tanta Zilbra system has been logged," the communications officer reported. "It's a status request."
"Has a response been received?"
"Yes, sir. From Tanta Zilbra, they report that no enemy ships have been detected," the communications officer hastened to reply.
By the time they detected the arrival of a formation of five Star Destroyers with landing forces and escorts, it would be completely useless to call for help.
Space station in the Happich sector, also known as the Zappi sector.
(headquarters of the local Zann Consortium forces)
Eric took an archaic chronometer out of his pocket.
The lid opened with a light click.
His thumb habitually ran over the engraving of Iran Ryad.
The rear admiral checked the readings on the dial.
Soon it would be midnight and the next standard day would begin.
The enemy would have a good start to the new day.
But Eric himself would not be glad of that.
Then he shifted his gaze toward the distant target of the Crimson Dawn.
It was this ship that would turn a simple "dawn" in the target star system into a bloody one.
"Another ten minutes, and I think we can move out. Stopper — move to the designated position and activate the mass shadow generators. Calculate the jump according to the vector transmitted to them."
"I don't want to be pushy, Rear Admiral," a voice sounded behind him, "but are you intending to deprive the United Ruur Colonies of the attention of your squadron? Or have you also decided not to inform me about this operation?"
His lips pressed into a thin line, twisted by a smile of anticipation of battle.
The Alderaanian turned, leaning on his cane.
At the sight of Lady Ventress, looking at him directly with restrained mockery, he couldn't help shifting his gaze to the pair of MagnaGuards silently standing behind the commander of the Crimson Dawn's ground contingent.
"I take it your mission in the Chiloon Rift is complete?" he asked the Dathomirian witch.
"I suspect you won't tell me you didn't know that everyone at Moff Harsh's base died from the Direllian Plague?" she asked, approaching.
"Thank you for allowing me to keep my thoughts to myself," Rear Admiral Shohashi replied in a high-society tone in the best traditions of Alderaanian aristocracy. "But I don't think it would be the worst option to remind you that the order was to lay a course through the outskirts of the galaxy, not to investigate a contaminated base."
The witch, whose face instantly contorted with a spasm of irritation, approached him so swiftly that she was barely stopped by the electro-staffs of two more MagnaGuards who emerged from a partition near Eric.
Ventress looked contemptuously at the mechanical bodyguards, then began to drill Eric himself with her gaze.
"You put us in danger," her voice dripped with venom. "If the station hadn't been depressurized when we arrived, we would have boarded it and gotten infected!"
"Hardly," Shohashi cut in harshly. "You were given the necessary vaccinations before departure to avoid infection or becoming a carrier. Not to mention you had no reason to set foot on the station at all. So I considered the risk of infection and danger to you to be minimal."
Understanding dawned on Asajj's face.
Yes, that procedure she and her apprentice had undergone in the medbay, while the technicians fumigated the interior of her ship with vapors of Shiarkha root before departure.
The medicine had been obtained months ago through a smuggling network.
And that treatment, along with the injections for both Force-sensitives, was nothing more than Shohashi's own precaution.
He'd had enough time to observe Ventress and assumed that upon seeing a dead base, she would get curious.
And so she did.
"Of course," Ventress ground out through clenched teeth. "Don't mind such a trifle as warning me that something could turn me into a rotting sack of flesh and bones."
"Almost," said Eric. "If you'd bothered to follow the order precisely — this conversation wouldn't be happening. Your exec's excess is your own problem. Don't blame me that your curiosity nearly cost you your life. But doesn't the Force protect you from all possible trouble? You seemed to put Brandei back on his feet easily enough at our last meeting."
Ventress snorted and glanced at her apprentice.
"The Force's capabilities aren't limitless," she snapped. "And yes, your lightshow in the landing bay was unnecessary — that filth dies without access to oxygen."
"Thank you, I know," Eric taunted.
He found it amusing to trade these barbs with Ventress while remaining completely calm on the surface.
Her face twisted in anger was quite remarkable in itself.
Sometimes even prettier than her usual mask of indifference and disdain for others.
He wondered if she noticed that Eric's current behavior was a mirror response to her past actions and words.
"Is that so?" A flash of rage lit Ventress's eyes. "Well, then you'd better call a biohazard team to my ship. Because something quite fascinating and educational awaits you, Rear Admiral."
"What did you do?" Shohashi asked.
"I merely brought a survivor aboard your ship," Ventress said, now smiling broadly, all her teeth showing.
Shohashi felt a chill run down his spine, but his long association with Thrawn had paid off.
So aside from biting his lip painfully, he showed no reaction to the witch's remark.
"Are you aware that there are no survivors from this plague?" Eric asked coldly, giving the order to send a medical team in biohazard suits to the docking bay.
Supported by droids and stormtroopers in space armor.
The sight there would certainly be interesting.
"You and Grand Admiral Thrawn wanted to test how quickly the plague would wipe out Moff Harsh's forces," Ventress said, looking at him condescendingly; a dark fire of professional vengeance burned in her eyes. "Here's your proof that this biological weapon isn't so effective. One of Moff Harsh's Inquisitors survived, healing herself with the Force. Don't worry — Kyp and I were in spacesuits when we met her. And we put her in a cryo capsule. Which, surprise, was on the base. Actually, there are hundreds of them there. And a whole Imperial-class Star Destroyer, piled high with rotting corpses. I understand you're short on ships for the attack on Ruuria?"
"Ruuria and its colonies will be conquered when the time comes," Eric cut in, knowing full well what would follow.
Ventress smiled at him like an adult at a child.
"Sir," came the voice of the watch officer. "The ship has been decontaminated. No plague pathogens detected. The cryo capsule with the woman has also been treated. We're ready to move her to the quarantine box."
"Observe all precautions," the rear admiral grumbled, looking into the Dathomirian's eyes. "I'll remember your liberty, Lady Ventress. The Grand Admiral will be informed."
"Don't trouble yourself, Rear Admiral," the witch snorted venomously and not without pleasure. "When the time comes, I'll answer personally for my actions on the late Moff's base. Including bringing that valuable sentient to him. Inquisitors capable of healing don't just appear on hyperspace routes. Usually."
"An Inquisitor in the Zann Consortium is a potential spy and saboteur," Shohashi declared. "It's a burden that could disrupt our plans. Including through Force bonds."
Ventress watched his confusion and growing irritation with a joyful smile.
She seemed to be savoring it.
Then she giggled.
"As I recall, you have ysalamiri on your ship," she said, pointing a finger toward several nearby cages. "So her Force abilities can be suppressed. That makes her an ordinary sentient who knows who sent her to Harsh, with what mission, and why she stayed on that station all this time, when she could have calmly taken any shuttle and vanished into the worlds of the Mieru'kar sector. And then somehow escape, or else operate behind our lines."
"You think she did it deliberately?" Eric heard his own voice.
"Of course," Ventress said lazily, watching the scene behind the rear admiral. "She somehow got rid of all the infected on the station, dumping them into space. Maybe she gathered them into a big group somewhere, then depressurized the station. There are so many frozen corpses around the asteroids they'd fill several infantry regiments. Not to mention that none of the infected used the Star Destroyer to escape. She's practically throwing the information in our faces that she supposedly wanted to help us."
"Maybe she did," Eric suggested.
"Don't be so naive, Rear Admiral," Ventress snapped. "No one would ever have sent her to the Zann Consortium if they weren't sure of her absolute loyalty. She did this to worm her way into our trust. I'll bet that once she's thawed out, she'll start spouting speeches about wanting to join us, how she regrets not doing it sooner, how she was deluded — all that nonsense."
"In other words — a planted Inquisitor."
"Exactly," Ventress grinned. "She was assigned to Harsh for some reason. Maybe for surveillance, maybe as a weapon against Dominion sensitives. And when she realized the Moff's faction was doomed, she did what was necessary for infiltration. So we need to interrogate her, find out what she knows, and then throw her out the airlock."
There was logic in Ventress's words.
But something else mattered more right now.
The witch was right — Eric didn't have enough ships to capture Ruuria and its colonies.
Because the United Ruurian Colonies, the government of the planet Ruuria, had a massive population — between five hundred million and one billion — of insectoids who, despite expectations about that type of sentient, were essentially pliable and subservient to their masters, the Zann Consortium.
Conquering them with the forces at hand would be difficult — at least for the Red Star.
So Eric had chosen to save the Ruurians for last.
His primary concern was their armed forces and the mining and industrial enterprises that supplied the criminals' military presence.
"Sir," the watch officer interrupted his thoughts. "The Stopper has exited hyperspace. Gravity trawls deployed. Vectors transmitted. Navigators have plotted a course."
"Jump," Eric commanded.
The next second, the Crimson Dawn tore through spacetime, heading toward the space station and the enemy fleet.
At Shohashi's signal, the MagnaGuards released Lady Ventress, and he gestured for her and her apprentice to join him at the main viewport.
"We have a battle ahead on the station grounds," he said, glancing sideways at the witch. "Are you and your apprentice ready to join the stormtroopers?"
The Dathomirian witch snorted.
"I suspect your capture tactics are already worked out," she said. "So I doubt my leadership is needed there. Since the opportunity's arisen, I'd prefer to operate independently with the brat," she nodded toward the young man, who pressed his lips together angrily. "He's a lousy pilot, hasn't built his own lightsaber, but he shoots well enough. I think we'll also land and have some fun. Of course," she smiled with feigned charm, "if you don't mind, Rear Admiral."
"We don't need 'fun' there," Eric warned. "We're attacking a space station trapped in an asteroid belt. Every rock in this system is saturated with volatile, explosive fuel compounds suitable for ion drives."
"Oh, so we're fighting for refueling for our fleet," Ventress laughed quietly. "Stormtroopers dying for gas."
Durron's smirk suggested he liked the joke.
But Eric didn't share the humor.
Right now, this asteroid belt was the only freely available fuel source for the Dominion that didn't require paying exorbitant prices on the black market.
And unlike the factories orbiting gas giants, extraction in an asteroid belt wasn't as complicated or expensive.
Once upon a time, fuel was extracted from this system and sent to the planet Telos IV during its restoration in one of the ancient Jedi civil wars.
At some point, the system collapsed, and most of the fuel-laden asteroids, as well as part of the destroyed planet, were obliterated, scattering all extraction capabilities into elementary particles.
As a result, the system was abandoned, holding no interest for investors — pouring billions into building fuel mines there again made no sense.
Hundreds of years after the explosive destruction of the mines on the asteroid, the system became a haven for smugglers, who set up a small fuel depot for their own needs.
At present, besides the still-impressive asteroid belt, the system also contained the enemy's headquarters station.
And a lifeless planet from which, during a crisis even older than the events described, a chunk had been torn out, exposing its molten core, turning the ejected parts of the world into that very asteroid field, filled with the needed fuel.
The history of this system wasn't as impressive as worlds in other parts of the galaxy.
Only two explosions — one that made it a famous fuel supplier in the past, and one that ended interest in it — were its highlights.
The Crimson Dawn exited hyperspace at the edge of the asteroid belt, so dense that bringing large ships into it was dangerous.
Despite a cleared, fairly wide channel leading into the belt's depths, where the enemy forces had positioned themselves in a pocket of open space.
The fast dreadnought stopped fifty units from the channel's mouth, next to the Stopper.
One of the first Dominant-class Star Destroyers.
A former Imperial-class, assembled from scrap on the planet Raxus Prime by allies of the Separatist remnants, and captured by Captain Stormaer last year.
Now reborn under the Trio project, equipped with gravity field generators.
Both ships launched their fighters but didn't rush into the channel, preferring to 'exchange glances' with a dozen Acclamator-class assault cruisers hanging directly in the Dominion ships' path, one hundred fifty units from their current position.
Eric assessed the channel's width: one hundred ten units.
The enemy had skillfully used the asteroid belt's advantage, making it long enough to prevent attack with modern energy weapons, which had a maximum range of seventy-five standard units.
The width was also intentional — moving strictly down the center, one could avoid being hit by a shockwave in case...
To attack them, he'd have to enter the channel just to get into firing range.
The enemy could easily open fire on the asteroids at the channel's edges — leading to irreparable consequences.
For everyone.
So no one was in a hurry to open fire.
Because every Hutt-damned rock was a time bomb that would detonate if even one was set off.
A chain reaction would destroy everything else.
The asteroids.
The mining stations.
The Dominion ships.
But not the enemy starships.
And not the huge wheel-like headquarters of the local Zann Consortium forces.
Which had wisely positioned themselves in a cavity of empty space inside the asteroid belt so that from the farthest space rock to the criminals' outermost ship, there was a safe distance of fifty units.
On each side.
A safe harbor inside the sarlacc's mouth.
"Open a channel," Eric ordered.
Waiting for confirmation that the signal was received, he addressed the criminals:
"This is the Dominion regular fleet fast dreadnought Crimson Dawn," Eric introduced his forces. "I suggest you lay down your arms and accept prize crews aboard to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Your systems in this and nearby sectors are under attack and will be captured. You have nowhere to retreat. I promise you a fair trial and fair punishment for your crimes."
Telling them that they all faced either life sentences in labor colonies, the death penalty, or a 'one-way ticket to Kessel' was a completely unnecessary part of the program.
"Hey, 'Butcher of Atoa,'" came a voice response, presumably from that fleet's commander. "I'd rather eat my own tail than surrender to you. You poke your nose in, and I'll fry you. There's enough fuel in these rocks to power a thousand ships for decades. The bang won't be small. And I don't care where or when I die."
"As you wish," Eric said indifferently, closing the channel.
He'd given them a chance to surrender.
He'd gotten his answer.
Turning to the watch officer, he ordered:
"Launch the Scimitars. Have them destroy any possibility of the enemy detonating the asteroid field."
Direct line of sight and the channel's cleared space were perfect for fast bombers to attack.
And blow apart every Hutt-damned ship, every laser and turbolaser cannon, every missile launcher...
They'd cross the channel undetected, destroy the enemy forces, and allow transport ships with boarding parties to capture the station without major problems.
"Clever, Rear Admiral," Ventress said. "Turned their own defense against them..."
Eric said nothing, only nodded in thanks for the compliment, which came without sarcasm.
He watched the first Scimitars launch into acceleration.
The battle for the Peragus system had begun.
* * *
Well...
Another 'checkpoint' in the confrontation with the enemy had been reached.
"It's over, sir," Captain Pellaeon commented.
Though he didn't really need to.
Together with me, he watched the scorched and shattered hulls of the enemy ships through the transparisteel of the main viewport.
A gigantic heap of metal, in which dozens and hundreds of sentient lives were buried.
"Results, Captain," I asked. "Overall."
"With the help of the Venators, we captured four MC80 Home One-class star cruisers undamaged, six MC80b-class star cruisers, and one MC90 battle cruiser," Pellaeon rattled off. "The pirate starships, as well as the fighters from both fleets, are completely destroyed. The remaining twenty MC80b-class star cruisers have damage to their engines and deflectors. We are currently conducting cleanup..."
Yes, conducting...
But we also had losses.
One Venator had damage to its main battery and reactor; a second had destroyed engines.
The Quasar Fires hadn't performed at their best either.
The Star Destroyers had damage, but it didn't significantly affect their combat capability.
We'd held Kessel.
We'd gained an enormous number of prizes.
Thirty-one Mon Calamari ships...
That was no joke.
That was an armada capable of making a lot of noise.
But for now, it wouldn't.
"Make sure all Republican prisoners are brought to the main hold of the Guardian," I ordered.
"That will mix those captured in battle with General Solo's forces with the new prisoners," the Guardian's commander warned.
"All the better," I replied simply.
"Sir, that's a huge mass of sentients," Pellaeon continued instructively. "Two hundred thousand prisoners from the first battle, about one hundred fifty thousand captured in this one... There are more prisoners on the ship than crew!"
Yes, after the upgrade, the Guardian had fewer 'people' on board.
But the prisoners weren't held in free access.
They weren't 'honored guests.'
One thing was gratifying: the Alliance soldiers, after an hour adrift in space without functional systems, no longer put up serious resistance to our assault teams.
They understood that captivity and its consequences were better than death by asphyxiation in a slowly cooling metal box.
"Don't worry, Captain," I advised. "Their numbers will decrease shortly. Significantly."
"Yes, sir. Your orders?"
"Contact Commodore Brandei. Inform him that we and our prizes will arrive in the Karthakk system shortly."
After all, we'd taken twenty ships from them and handed them over to the New Republic for the operation to capture the Reaper and its forces.
We needed to replenish that gap.
"Sir, do you intend to turn this fleet over to the Karthakk Defense Forces?" Pellaeon asked, looking at me.
Obviously, our thoughts were running parallel.
But our final conclusions were opposite.
"Incorrect, Captain," I refuted. "The Dominion no longer needs any type of ship to expand its armed forces. We have starships of the types we require — both for the Defense Forces and the regular fleet. I have another use for all the Mon Calamari-design ships we possess, except for the Home One type. But first, they need to be properly modernized and prepared for their final battle."