Ten years, three months, and fifteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, third month, and fifteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and thirty-five days since the Arrival.)
The prison uniform was dark gray.
No rank insignia, no identifying marks.
Just a serial number on the chest, back, and sleeves.
If you used enough imagination, replaced the number on the chest with a command badge, on the sleeves with chevrons, and just ignored the one on the back, you could almost think the "arrested Bren" was wearing a flight suit.
Alex chewed his lip, watching the stormtroopers seat Tomax across from him.
A few seconds — and a thin but strong chain was threaded through a metal bracket on Bren's side.
Just long enough that he couldn't stand up and harm the visitor even if he wanted to.
Identical chains were on his legs.
Also fastened to a bracket, but this one was bolted to the floor.
"What, you cold?" Tomax asked him instead of a greeting.
Alex had started shaking with rage and confusion the moment he saw the shackles on his crew commander's hands and feet.
What the hell was this?
Yes, prisoners were escorted in shackles, that was standard procedure, but by the gods!
This wasn't some maniac corpse-eater!
Not a serial killer!
This was a celebrated hero of the Dominion, who ended up here because of two cunningly made individuals, because of whom a good man had died!
Was this really necessary?!
What threat did he pose to those around him, himself, or the institution — the detention facility?
"It's not a resort here," the visitor joked weakly.
"The food's a bit worse than on a Star Destroyer," Bren snorted.
Judging by how he was holding up — not a hint of panic, brokenness, or anything like that.
"How are you doing, anyway?" Alex asked.
"It's strange not having alarms," Tomax admitted. "And a bit boring without company, I suppose..."
"What do you mean?!" Alex was taken aback. "Hey, I'm going to talk to the local brass right now. I spent ages studying the detention conditions and departmental orders! They can't hold you in solitary! That's psychological pressure and all that..."
Tomax stared at his friend for a while, then burst out laughing.
A hearty, slightly nervous laugh, leaning back in his chair, his head thrown back.
The squadron commander's laughter echoed through the interview room for detainees.
A few seconds later, the door slammed open, and three stormtroopers in black-and-white armor appeared in the doorway.
The color even made his eyes water.
"What's going on here?" came a dry, emotionless question from the central stormtrooper.
"Sorry, Sergeant," Tomax said, still chuckling, raising one hand. "My flight mechanic just said something funny..."
"What's funny about him being held in solitary?" Alex furrowed his brow, pointing accusingly at the stormtrooper sergeant. "Tell your command I'm not letting this go! If necessary, I'll go all the way up to counter-intelligence leadership! To Vice Admiral Pellaeon! To Thrawn himself, if needed! You're treating him like a hardened criminal..."
"Sir," the stormtrooper, though clad in armor that hid his eyes, seemed to look at him reproachfully. "I cannot place him in a cell with any other detainee."
"And why the hell not?! This is a military detention facility! He's a soldier too. Just like them..."
The stormtroopers exchanged glances, as if unsure what to say in response to such strong motivation.
But it seemed the sergeant wasn't a complete regulation bastard after all, and decided to be a bit gentler with the visitor.
"Yes, sir. Precisely for that reason."
Alex realized he didn't understand.
And admitted it.
"Sir, I'm not authorized to give lengthy explanations," a heavy sigh came from under the sergeant's helmet. "Just behave yourselves. We have other visitors too. Don't disrupt the facility's routine. This is the first and last warning. If it happens again, I'm authorized to terminate the visit and hold the offender accountable."
With that, the door closed.
For a moment, the observation slit slid open, revealing a stormtrooper's visor.
But that too disappeared a second later. And the metal plate slid back into place.
"What a jerk!" Alex said quietly, turning to his friend.
Tomax looked at him disapprovingly.
"Don't say that," he asked. "These guys are doing their duty. Don't interfere with them — they have their own job, and causing trouble isn't part of my plans."
"He just outright said he doesn't want to put you in a cell with other prisoners because you're all soldiers... but this is a detention facility for military personnel?! Where else are they supposed to put..."
"You misunderstood him," Bren grinned.
"What do you mean?.."
"The key part of his answer was the retort to your 'he's just like them,'" Tomax explained. "The others held in this detention facility are the pilot whose face I punched and his flight mechanic."
"Oh, for...!" was all Alex could manage. "There are cells here for about fifteen hundred prisoners..."
"And there are only three of us," Tomax smirked wryly. "And if you've read the rules — and apparently you have — you should know that participants in the same case aren't put in the same cell. Or even sent to the same prison. You know, so they don't settle scores."
"Wait, where are all the other prisoners?" Alex asked in surprise. "I mean, the other fourteen hundred and ninety-seven..."
"There aren't any," Tomax snorted. "Just us, three idiots... The rest are smarter."
"You're not joking?" Alex didn't believe him.
"Absolutely," Bren nodded. "Maybe discipline in the Armed Forces is fine, and I'm just that kind of individual who starts throwing punches. Maybe the perpetrators just don't live long enough to meet counter-intelligence. Maybe they're held in other detention facilities, smaller or larger, in other sectors, and so on... I don't know, in short. They don't brief me."
"Well," Alex scratched the back of his head. "By the way, did you get the package from our guys? We chipped in..."
"A package?" Tomax squinted. "Have you all completely lost your minds? That was a three-ton container! The detention facility chief chewed me out for half an hour about how I have good friends, but they're idiots. Did you lot decide to supply me with everything I need until the verdict and a bit after?"
"Well, we remembered we have salaries, credits coming in," Alex hedged. "The squadron sat down, thought it over... Then the interceptors chimed in with their advice... The stormtroopers... The techs... Well, in short, we figured it wouldn't hurt... Captain Tschel arranged something with someone in logistics, it was delivered on our shuttle... We're going through a full modernization. That mad chief engineer is running around the ship, correcting blueprints on the go. We've got some new tech. New reactors being installed, more compact hyperdrives... Chimaera is apparently going to be not just a 'three' anymore, but a 'three with a surprise.'"
Tomax laughed silently.
"You guys have fun over there," he said. "So how's the situation at the front?"
"We're fighting," Alex spread his hands. "Though mostly in training exercises. Training with the new arrivals. Tschel is running the crew ragged as if Sith were chasing us... By the way, did you hear that Captain Astorias died?"
"Is that the one from the Stormhawk?" Tomax clarified.
"Uh-huh," Alex nodded. "They hauled the Star Destroyer to Tangrene. Well, 'hauled'... It came in on an auxiliary hyperdrive. The superstructure was sheared off like by a lightsaber, the hull was deformed, the frame was damaged. But she made it on her own. I talked to their pilots, they said they set up an ambush, but the enemy was waiting for them as they closed in. Six proton torpedoes almost point-blank."
"Bloody..." Tomax shook his head. "Many casualties?"
"Almost the entire officer corps, a third of the crew. Looks like those of our people who get taken off the crew roster for the refit will be reassigned to them to fill the gaps. Or somewhere else. Quite a few Star Destroyers got banged up in the current campaign — some badly, some not so much. In the New Territories, they say heavy cruisers and corvettes are operating now, mopping up the remnants, while the Star Destroyers with serious damage have been pulled back to bases. The rest have been sent out as system patrol ships to the new systems. They also say the mercenaries from Axxila lost nearly a million and a half. A rumor went around that the Grand Admiral returned from his raid and all the strike force commanders have been summoned to headquarters to report on the situation. Word is they're planning to upgrade all the Star Destroyers currently under repair straight to the 'triple' standard. Well, according to the revised design with the new tech. And those, again according to rumors, will be supplied to us by some new members of the Dominion. So, looks like while you've been taking it easy, our war machine is slowly moving toward self-sufficiency."
"Good news," Tomax nodded. "Too bad I'm not with you."
"You can say that again," Alex sighed.
"Who's the squadron commander?"
"Your clone," the flight mechanic looked away. "A real blockhead. All I hear is: 'In combat', 'Charge', 'Evading', 'Maneuvering'... Sometimes it sends a chill down your spine. Like I'm talking to a droid."
"That's called a normal working atmosphere," Tomax snorted. "In the Pilot Corps, if you've forgotten, long speeches and ambiguous orders aren't welcomed during mission execution."
"That never stopped you," Alex grumbled.
"That's because you couldn't shut me up," Tomax grinned.
The flight mechanic sniffed.
"All this is just beating around the bush," he said. "We guys chipped in to hire you a lawyer..."
"But I already have one," Bren raised his eyebrows. "Appointed by the state for the duration of the investigation. Though the fact that they're sorting out all the circumstances before the trial, rather than during a court-martial, frankly, bothers me a bit..."
"Well, no wonder," Alex winced. "The new justice system... First a preliminary investigation, establishing all possible facts, conducting maximum actions to get an objective picture, and only then is it handed over to the judicial bodies..."
"Where it all starts over," Bren grimaced. "The same interrogations, the same cross-referencing of testimony and evaluation of evidence... It takes forever."
"Well, you know," Alex flared up. "It's a hell of a lot better than it was under the Empire or is now in the New Republic. When five to ten pages from a detective are enough, and that's it — send the file to court, where the judge, prosecutor, and defense study it all... No, let it be 'twice the same thing' rather than like before."
"Easy for you to say... The outcome is still clear anyway."
"That's exactly why we hired you a lawyer!" Alex said heatedly. "For our credits, he'll eat the investigator and the tribunal alive! He'll turn any little detail or hole in the investigation inside out..."
"And what's the point?"
"Procedural violations let you knock evidence out of the whole structure! And when there's not enough, they can't charge you! They'll let you go free..."
"Will that change what happened?" Tomax clarified. "Will it bring Jainer back? Will it change the system where trophy bonuses are awarded, and former 'militiamen' fly to make a quick credit? Or will it put me back in the past and prevent the fact of 'unprofessional conduct'? No. It's one thing to be acquitted because you didn't do something. It's another thing entirely to avoid deserved punishment just because someone made a mistake filling out a form. That won't fix the situation."
"But you won't pay for what those two p..."
"The punishment isn't for what they did," Tomax cut him off. "It's for my actions. In my case, they are the victims. But there's also the matter of Jainer's death because of their actions. And compared to what's waiting for me, their fate is unenviable. Completely."
"I don't get it," Alex admitted. "Yeah, you hit him... but he deserved it! The Chimaera almost died because of them! If it weren't for Jainer..."
"You're wrong there, Alex," Tomax stated warningly. "The army, the navy, the Armed Forces as a whole — it's first and foremost about discipline. Imagine what would happen if, during the assembly of the Scimitar prototype, instead of giving corrections, I broke your face every time?"
"Well, I figure you'd at least be unlucky enough to get a 'return punch'," Alex snorted.
Then, growing serious, he added:
"But I get what you're saying. The Armed Forces, like the state apparatus, are a system. A system is built on order. No order — the system breaks. If the army breaks, there's no one to defend the Dominion. Anarchy, lawlessness, and so on..."
"Rules aren't made for nothing," Bren sighed. "The Dominion is more lenient in that regard than the Empire. It has 'mitigating' and 'aggravating' circumstances. In the Empire, it was simpler. They'd have just shot me over the barrier as a warning to the others. But as it is..."
"Judging by the fact they haven't released you, I think they want to make an example of you," Alex sighed. "That classic one — as a deterrent. So no one else takes it out on their subordinates."
"The army is a system of rewards and punishments," Torin tried to spread his hands, but the chains wouldn't let him. "I know that perfectly well. And, truth be told, I perfectly understood what would happen. But if I had seen clones in the place of those two idiots, nothing would have happened. I would have understood they did the maximum possible, because clones are dutiful and unquestioningly efficient. But those two... You know, if you abstract from my person and look at the situation as a whole, it becomes clear that everything is being done right. Everyone in the army — clone, original, or former 'militiaman' must understand: we're not fighting to get rich. We're fighting to win. For the state, not personal gain. Maybe the publicity of this situation will be a lesson for many such 'militiamen', and they'll submit discharge reports. Or they'll understand and accept it, and serve as they should, not as they please. They'll just use their brains and figure out that you don't risk your comrades' lives for a quick profit."
"I doubt people like those two understand that clones are also people, also citizens, and their lives are just as important," Alex grumbled.
"That's psychology," Tomax tapped his temple. "It's hard for sentients to admit that those who came out of a test tube are the same as those born naturally. After all, you can always create new ones, but bringing back a fallen 'original'... Anyway, that's the philosophy of war. I think my example will give a push toward understanding the line between..."
The door clattered open — completely unexpectedly for both of them.
Alex frowned — he still had at least two hours of visiting time before Tomax would be taken to lunch.
They shouldn't be interrupted as long as order wasn't being broken.
"What the hell do these stormtroopers think they're doing," Alex snapped irritably, turning to face the door.
."..So what if he's not on the list?" a tall, powerfully built man was fuming, looking at the sergeant from earlier.
"Not allowed, Lieutenant Colonel..." the sergeant droned monotonously. "He has a visit in progress. Not allowed to interrupt..."
"Well then, put me on his visitor list," the man in uniform — which Alex couldn't make out in the corridor's gloom — cut him off. "I won't distract them for long. I've already settled it with your boss. I'll put my identifier on the way out. That's it, dismissed!"
"Yes, sir!"
Entering the cell and stepping into the well-lit area, the lieutenant colonel waited for the heavy door to slam shut behind him, then winced as he saw Alex jump to his feet.
Standing at attention, the flight mechanic stared straight ahead in regulation fashion.
Tomax, despite the chains restricting his movement, tried to mimic the regulation stance...
But because of the short 'slack' in the shackle chains, he couldn't straighten up properly.
"Lieutenant Colonel!"
"Lieutenant Colonel!"
The counter-intelligence officer, looking at them both with a slightly twitchy gaze, waved his hand angrily.
"Sit down. Both of you!" he raised his voice when he realized the pilots weren't responding to his order quickly enough. "What, not as quick under gravity as you are in a Scimitar cockpit, eh, flyboys?"
Alex and Tomax exchanged glances, completely at a loss as to why the head of Dominion counter-intelligence was talking to them like this.
And what he was even doing in the detention facility.
"One day," Asterion sighed, "one day I'll have a full staff of competent subordinates. And I'll be able to sit in my office, grow a fat ass, get flabby, let my cheeks sag onto my shoulders, and generally be a tyrant. But it looks like I'll retire sooner."
The man, without further ado, started scrolling through something on the datapad he'd brought with him, then tossed it carelessly onto the table in front of Tomax.
"Read," he said in a commanding tone.
"Sir?" the prisoner was taken aback.
"Faster behind the stick, huh?" the counter-intelligence officer snorted, taking off his uniform cap and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his palm. "Oh, flyboy, you really stirred up a mess... May the heat exhaust from your bomber's reactor run directly under the pilot's seat until your very retirement!"
"Sir?" Bren looked at him in surprise.
"Don't 'sir' me," the chief counter-intelligence officer of the Dominion glared at him. "Learned to fly, learned to bomb, hell, you even came up with a bomber on your own, you Hutt tinkerers, but you can't write a proper incident report?"
"Um..."
Judging by the look on Tomax's face, he was clearly in shock.
It wasn't every day that the top 'security man' visited a lowly wing commander accused of assaulting a subordinate and being held in a detention facility.
And doing it PERSONALLY, at that!
"So listen up, Bren," the counter-intelligence officer put his cap back where it belonged. "You made a mess of things, that's a fact, and there's no getting around it. The pilot you 'offended' has no complaints, and it didn't have any significant consequences for him. His face is intact, his brains are in place — at least, that's what the medical droid says. Your arbitrary actions didn't have severe consequences. But at the same time, the order of subordinate-commander relations was violated. And that's not a crime — it's a disciplinary offense. So this is no longer a criminal prosecution, but a disciplinary one, a review within the framework of official subordination. The costs of treating that idiot will be deducted from your pay account — that's non-negotiable, complain and I'll break your face myself. And I'm not joking..."
"I'm not complaining," Bren said, bewildered. "Is that... it? Is that all the punishment for violating the foundations of official relations, the basis of discipline?"
"Yeah, sure, keep dreaming," Asterion snorted. "Incomplete service compliance — that's one. One more 'infraction' and you'll be kicked out of the service. And not just you. You'll be placed under the supervision of the Chimaera's commander — Captain Tszhel — for the duration of the penalty. One more 'infraction', even the slightest — and it's a boot out the door. Complete loss of bonuses for the duration of the penalty and for a set period after. You're relieved of wing command. You stay as commander of the Scimitar squadron. But, one more 'infraction'..."
"A boot out the door, we heard you already," Alex said absently.
"And you'd better keep your mouth shut, flight mechanic," Asterion snapped. "A would-be lawyer... Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time than read your individual and collective complaints from the squadron, the wing, the Chimaera's crew, and even the Vice Admiral himself?"
"A complaint on behalf of the crew?" Bren looked at his flight mechanic in surprise.
"What, he didn't tell you?" Asterion was surprised. "Every single, motherfucking day, a complaint written by him landed on my desk! Signed either by him alone or by the collective... I don't know how you convinced Captain Tszhel to sign ten of them at once, but the fact that Pellaeon sent a courier to me this morning asking me to personally look into what was happening with Bren... That forced me to drop everything, yell at my deputies like schoolboys right there in the office, and demand the investigator and the case file be brought to me for a report. Anyway, only thanks to your service to the Dominion for creating the Scimitar, the fact that you're a donor for bomber pilots, that you've already spent who knows how long in isolation, and that the situation itself doesn't warrant criminal prosecution — consider yourself lucky you got off cheap. Demotion in position, rank, and the ship's 'security man' won't be off your back anytime soon — that's for sure. And remember, Captain, if you pull something like this again, you won't just get the full force of the law yourself, but so will those who vouched for you. And that's almost the entire crew of the Chimaera, from your flight mechanic all the way up to the ship's commander! I hope you understand how serious this is?"
"Sir, permission to speak, but I don't agree that so many sentients should be dependent on my behavior!" Bren protested. "I violated the foundations! That calls for severe punishment, like in the Empire!"
"You don't even understand what a stupid thing you did, do you, Captain?" Asterion looked at him condescendingly.
"No, sir," Tomax admitted.
"I thought so," Asterion snorted. "Oh, you flyboys... Learn to read something other than your flight manuals or whatever you have instead of primers. Mechanic," he looked at Alex, "do you know why your commander spent so much time in isolation?"
"For committing a crime..."
"Uh-huh," Asterion sighed in exasperation. "It's a crime when there are consequences. My investigator wasted a ton of time figuring out who from the Chimaera's crew actually saw the violation and the use of physical force, which could have been grounds for consequences like undermined authority, a harmful influence on servicemen, and so on. Besides you four — not a single one saw it. So, all of you write non-disclosure agreements about what happened, and don't tell a single sentient outside the disciplinary proceedings! Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Alex snapped.
"Sir, but the whole crew knows..."
Asterion looked at the prisoner like he was an idiot.
"Non-disclosure agreements were taken from all of them when they were interrogated," the lieutenant colonel explained. "In short, the case will be transferred to disciplinary proceedings aboard the Chimaera. Your things are being packed, Captain, you'll be released once all the necessary documents are ready. And if you ever," a threat sounded in Asterion's voice, "write in your report that you committed a crime, insist on it during interrogations, causing my men to have to work through not only the 'victim's' versions but also yours to prove the absence of a crime, I will personally make sure you never pilot anything capable of getting off the ground for the rest of your life. Do I make myself clear, Captain?"
"Yes, sir," Bren snapped.
"Hold on a second," Alex scratched his head. "So he's been sitting here all this time because he insisted he committed a crime?"
"Under Imperial law, yes, it would have been a crime," Asterion confirmed. "In the Dominion, it's a disciplinary offense. A pretty serious one — usually you get kicked out for it."
"So, have there been cases like this before?" Bren asked in surprise.
"You think he's the first to break a former 'militiaman's' nose?" Asterion snorted. "No, not the first. Not even the tenth or hundredth. It was a failure on mine and Pellaeon's part that we kept these incidents quiet. Well, now you can be happy, Captain. Thanks to your case, the 'security men' will also be conducting legal education for servicemen. And they'll explain, graphically and by drilling it into their brains, what should and shouldn't be done. Since you yourselves lack the brains to study Dominion law, they'll explain how things work in the state and beyond."
"So, basically, they wouldn't have convicted him at all?" Alex pursed his lips, looking at Tomax, barely restraining his rage. "So he sat here all this time because of his own stubbornness?"
"Because of his stubbornness and his 'I committed a crime' stance," Asterion explained. "Don't get worked up, flight mechanic. I would have gladly put him through the moral wringer 'by the book', but I got it off my chest, feels better..."
"Sir, in my defense, I must say I thought the criminal laws of the Dominion and the Empire were still identical," Tomax shifted in his chair. "And I considered my actions a crime..."
"All in all, the problem is solved," Colonel Asterion announced. "Put your handprint on the document, Bren, confirming you've been notified of the change in the status of the proceedings from criminal to disciplinary. And pack your things — get out of my establishment. And no more 'infractions'. Or else..."
"A boot out the door," Tomax repeated. "I understand, sir."
Running his eyes over the text on the datapad screen, the officer pressed his palm to the display.
The smart device scanned his palm and fingerprints, checked them against the database, and issued a confirmation.
That was it, the worst was over.
Looking at his decidedly unfriendly flight mechanic, the fast bomber pilot asked:
"Sir, permission to remain in isolation until my comrades change their minds about subjecting me to the most ingenious forms of revenge they can devise?" he inquired.
Asterion's nostrils flared like the wings of a moused Hawk-Moth.
"GET... OUT!"
* * *
The tactical room of the Crimson Dawn was quiet and empty.
Eric had ordered the officers out of the compartment by command.
He needed to think about a great many things.
Specifically, what information would be delivered to him regarding the operation in other sectors.
"Courier ships have arrived from the secondary systems," Rear Admiral Shohashi raised his eyes to Lady Assajj, who had approached the tactical holoterminal.
The Dathomirian witch, showing off a tight outfit with exposed body parts, approached the device from the opposite side of Eric with an indelible smirk-smile on her face.
A hood pulled over her head, tight pants and a sleeveless vest, several long strips of fabric acting as a narrow cloak and a fragmented 'floor-length' skirt.
And all of it was accentuated by her pale skin as strongly as if she weren't wearing those rags at all.
Why the hell would you dress like that on a military ship?
Eric believed the witch was doing it on purpose, as a small act of revenge for her mission in the Chiloon Rift.
Because before traveling there, she tried to cover up her exposed body parts, not accentuate them.
The commander of the Crimson Dawn squadron ran his thumb over the engraving bearing Irene's image, closed the chronometer's lid, and hastily shoved the device into his tunic pocket.
"You should find a uniform that fits the regulations, Lady Ventress," he advised his subordinate without malice.
"Hmph," she snorted. "You wouldn't mind changing your uniform either, Rear Admiral."
Eric cast a glance at the Alderaanian military uniform and then looked at the woman standing before him.
"I have personal permission from Grand Admiral Thrawn to wear this type of dress uniform," he responded calmly to the meaningless remark from the commander of the Crimson Dawn's ground forces.
"Reminds you of the glorious past?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, showing her interest in the answer to the voiced question.
"Something like that," Shohashi replied emotionlessly.
"Well, same for me," and again that annoying little smirk. "And, would you believe it, when I agreed to this job, the same sentient gave me an indulgence for a free style of clothing. At least one that doesn't restrict my movement in combat. The campaign in the Happich sector proved that I don't work well enough when I'm wearing all that baggy uniform."
As proof, the witch pointed to a couple of healing scars on her bare shoulders.
Asajj Ventress.
"Zappi," he corrected his subordinate automatically. "The official designation of the sector is 'Zappi'. Kindly remember that. Or have you been given a personal dispensation for that as well?"
"No, I don't have such a freedom," Ventress snorted.
"I need a clear answer," Eric cut her off sharply. "Will you remember the official designation of the sector, or would it be better for you to write it down somewhere? For example, as a tattoo in a visible place?"
"Hm," the witch snorted. "That would be something new. I'd agree to a tattoo, provided you do it yourself, Rear Admiral. Right here."
Assajj pointed to the healing scars.
Though Eric could swear the witch could have easily avoided these wounds and received them deliberately, to have a formal reason to annoy him.
No, really, everything was fine, wasn't it?
Since when did the witch decide she could behave like this?
"In that case, General Ventress, upon completion of the campaign, I will request your transfer off my ship," Eric announced in a businesslike tone, as if discussing the breakfast menu. "Perhaps the trip to the Chiloon Rift and the training of young Durron have somehow led you to believe that you are above the regulations and my lawful orders. Your casual attitude toward a superior officer does not contribute to the productivity of our joint work."
Well, what do you say to that?
A look of some confusion appeared on the pale, tattooed face.
Ventress understood perfectly well that no one needed her as a combat officer, not for a fig.
The units and ships were staffed with clones of Generals Covell and Veers, and they were sufficient.
Even on the Crimson Dawn, there was such a clone — and he held the position of Ventress's deputy.
Her removal from this post would instantly lead to his promotion — he deserved it.
The campaign plan for the capture of the Zappi sector was also developed by him.
Who else, if Ventress was busy with another mission?
Besides, the more often Eric paid attention to the witch's work, the more convinced he became that commanding large forces was a burden to her.
She had dumped all the routine work on her deputy, preferring to show off on the front lines.
Where a contingent commander is not recommended to be.
"Tough," she commented. "Not so subtly showing me the airlock, the one who doesn't dance to your regimental tune?"
"I have no intention of discussing my decisions either," Eric cut her off. "Remind me, what report did you come here with? If you have nothing to say to me — please leave the tactical room."
For several seconds, Ventress studied him, as if trying to burn a hole through him with her stare.
Probably, thanks to the ysalamiri nearby and the MagnaGuards, she couldn't.
"Reports have come in about successes in the peripheral systems of the Aparo sector," the woman said, the same mockery in her eyes.
If only she'd look away! Show that the commander's opinion means something to her!
"Details," Shohashi demanded.
"The Beshk, Boztrok, Glit-Ven, H'rellak, Lo'Urun, Mavva, Tel, Oshetti, and Venderal systems have been captured and occupied by our forces," she reported to Eric in a calm, regulation tone, as if mocking him. "Effectively, enemy forces have been pushed out of the entire sector. They're concentrated in the remaining three systems. Two of them — Kadomai and Hydra — belong to the Katalo subsector territory. The traitor moff's whereabouts are unknown."
Yes, these were very, very good news.
Well, almost all of them.
Among those listed, few planets and systems even existed on standard astronavigation charts.
Many of them only became known because of the incidents that happened there.
Lo'Urun at one time became "famous" in the Empire not only for being a backwater planet where the military was too embarrassed to station even a token garrison.
But also because its governor was once captured and executed as an accomplice to criminals.
To whom he sold Imperial property and equipment.
Needless to say, the ones he traded with were representatives of the Zann Consortium.
The Oshetti system, for that matter, was only known for breeding luminescent bacteria.
Or fungus.
Which then produced perfectly decent paint.
Which the locals used to coat their clothes.
Or made clothing from this glowing stock.
Eric didn't know exactly, and to be more precise — he'd never even been interested in that kind of thing.
What interested him most was the planet Lur.
A snow-covered world that the Empire had blockaded.
Storms raging in its atmosphere caused electronics to malfunction, which had destroyed dozens of reconnaissance droids the moment they reached the planet.
But what the scouts had managed to learn was enough to understand one simple thing.
Lur was important to the Zann Consortium.
In its orbit — over a dozen defense stations built by the Zann Consortium and directly Golan stations, clearly delivered back in the days of the Galactic Empire.
And you also had to consider the motley but solid defense fleet pulled together from across the entire sector.
About ten Imperial-class and Victory-class Star Destroyers, five Venators, nearly a hundred corvettes, frigates, and cruisers of various types.
Undoubtedly, some of them were former Imperial ships, either captured or surrendered to the enemy's mercy.
It was possible that Imperial defectors even served on them, increasing the danger of the campaign manifold.
And all of them protected a single planet — not even tropical, not rich in minerals.
There was something here.
And, as Eric suspected, the reason lay in the fact that the local inhabitants, again according to data from the Imperial Intelligence archives and the Obroa-skai library, had been engaged in "forbidden sadistic genetic experiments in the field of animal husbandry."
Such a vague formulation, especially mentioned in both sources at once, suggested that the Empire had tried very hard to keep the true reasons for the imposed blockade unknown.
Eric hypnotized the tactical hologram of the Aparo sector, as if the sight of three pulsating points — the unconquered systems — could by itself provide the answer to the question plaguing him.
He couldn't stop the offensive.
It was clear that the enemy had much more strength before — some of it had perished trying to break out of the sector and hitting minefields.
But now, while Eric was busy with the Zappi sector, the Zannites had clearly dug into the system.
Recon ARC-170s reported the presence of minefields and a large number of frigates in the system.
Each of which could also be a refitted enemy warship.
Lur had become a tough nut that he needed to crack.
Aparo was the sector closest to the Corporates' territory.
The most sensible thing was to establish an operational base here, from which an offensive could be launched in the future.
Or a defense could be staged.
But for that, he needed to take Lur.
Leaving a large enemy group in your rear, or even besieging a system, was a major tactical blunder.
Which would undoubtedly turn out to be a great stupidity in the future.
As soon as the HoloNet came online, the enemy could coordinate their communication systems.
Yes, the sector relay was under a hybidium camouflage, and no signal passed to or from it.
But there were hundreds and hundreds of relays in the galaxy that didn't belong to the Dominion and weren't under its control.
When the central server came online, the enemy would gain the ability — albeit with a delay — to receive and send messages.
And the problem was that no one really knew where the auxiliary centers and servers of the Intergalactic Communications Center were located, or how soon the HoloNet would be launched.
This.
Was.
Too.
Bad.
"They say if you stare at a hologram too long, you can go blind," Ventress's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Eric turned his gaze to her, silently watching the Dathomirian witch.
"Thinking about how to take Lur?" she asked with such an independent air, as if she were asking him the color of the hull of a fast dreadnought. "Yes, it would be possible to send someone to the planet who could start an uprising among those furry geneticists — the Zannites would have big problems on the surface."
"Yes, it would divert their attention from orbit," Eric agreed.
And then he caught himself:
"Furry geneticists?" he repeated.
"Well, yes," the Dathomirian witch stated as if it were nothing. "You've never seen Lurrians? They're almost like Wookiees, only small. And instead of clawed paws, they have regular limbs with fingers. I think five on each palm and foot. I don't remember exactly..."
"What do you mean, 'don't remember'?" Shohashi clarified, interested in her words.
"Well, it's been almost thirty years since the Clone Wars," Ventress reminded him. "The Confederacy used the situation with the Lurrians and other races to fuel their propaganda machine against the Republic."
A Lurrian.
"What situation?"
"What, didn't you study history, Rear Admiral?" Ventress snorted, looking at the man with mockery in her eyes. "Though I only know this story pretty one-sidedly and without details. But I'll share what information I have, since you need it. It's about the ban on non-military cloning. The Old Republic suddenly realized it didn't have enough clone soldiers, and with the ban on non-military cloning, decided that cloners from across the galaxy would flock to them for permission. And they themselves would jointly task them with orders for producing new clones for their Grand Army. At least, that's how the Confederacy presented it. As for the Old Republic's real motives... I can't say anyone was interested in that at the time. In any case, it didn't work out as planned. Most cloners didn't give a damn about the Republic and its laws, since they were either outside its jurisdiction or too far away for them to do anything about it. That's why the Confederacy failed..."
Engaged in "forbidden sadistic genetic experiments in the field of animal husbandry."..
The Kaminoan Uprising...
"Lurrians — are cloners," Eric exhaled heavily.
He really wanted to swear.
Maybe even tap into his arsenal of profanity.
How had he miscalculated when he prioritized Aparo as the second attack target!
A oversight!
And that was an understatement.
And now, possibly the most important world controlled by the Zann Consortium was under their strongest defense!
If Lur really was producing clones, then on the planet's surface, and on enemy ships, he could face resistance many times greater than—
"I wouldn't say the best," Ventress continued lazily. "But as bioengineers and genetic experts — they're very, very valuable. At one time, you could find a single Lurrian on the slave market for between five and fifty thousand credits. And that was practically a steal. Because they never leave their planet, and the only way to get them was to fly to their inhospitable little world and capture a couple of families into slavery. Considering what kind of 'creatures' they create for themselves, it was quite an adventure..."
Eric squeezed the pommel of his cane as hard as he could.
The pain from the gem's edges digging into his hand shot from his fingertips to his brain.
But it didn't make things any clearer.
At least not on the question of capturing the planet.
He didn't have enough strength to control the captured territories and attack with a guarantee of success!
He needed to bring up reserves, arrange a recall of ships from secondary directions...
And divert attention.
"Thank you, General Ventress," Eric said, looking into the Dathomirian witch's eyes with a smile.
"For what?" the former Separatist military leader perked up.
"For the advice on how to take Lur," Eric explained. "Get ready. You have a business trip ahead."
"Where to?" she asked without interest.
"Somewhere you'll need a lot of warm clothes," and now a crooked smirk cut across Eric's face.
Before the Red Star was relieved of his presence, the Dathomirian witch would have to work hard for his squadron's cause.
* * *
She had to be honest with herself.
Going to Grand Admiral Thrawn's quarters after everything that had happened between them...
It was even a little scary.
No, she'd washed the cups.
Cleaned up after herself.
Even the scratches left by Rukh's claws on the floor and kitchen furniture — those were polished out and invisible.
And she'd eliminated the traces with Rukh's help.
But now, when they'd arrived at the metropolis, after Thrawn had avoided her for two days...
And why hide it — she'd also preferred not to cross his path unnecessarily.
She really didn't want to hear something directed at her that would shatter the usual patterns of her relationship with Thrawn.
Or somehow negatively affect him and his plans.
But most of all, Mara was afraid of seeing the collapse of the flint that the Grand Admiral had positioned himself as.
No, really, how much of that had she seen during her service to the Empire?
Outwardly — a dashing warrior and brilliant commander.
But you dig a little deeper — and he's a sweetheart who loves Wookiees and doesn't approve of slavery...
Thrawn had already undergone a pretty significant catharsis — like all the former Imperials in his service.
She didn't want the mountain to start crumbling.
Passing through the airlock, she found herself in the quarters.
As always, semi-darkness reigned here.
But now it seemed more ominous to Mara.
As if Thrawn's eyes, already burning with hellfire, were glowing even brighter.
Or maybe it just seemed that way because the Grand Admiral had traditionally greeted her sitting behind the double ring of monitor screens.
Each of them was displaying some kind of information.
Interesting...
Thrawn only had two eyes.
How did he manage to follow everything shown on the monitors?
"Come in, Mara," the Grand Admiral said quietly, nodding toward the couch in the "conference area."
The girl, maintaining her composure with all her might, silently proceeded to the indicated spot.
She felt a light breath on the back of her neck.
"No stupid moves," Rukh whispered almost inaudibly in her ear.
She turned around, but couldn't find Thrawn's bodyguard in the darkness, as if he'd dissolved into the shadows.
What a little scoundrel!
Thrawn sat down opposite her, joining the company a few minutes after she did.
Mara had spent that whole time on pins and needles.
"Your assignment," Thrawn silently placed a data chip on the coffee table in front of her.
So.
Mara felt an icy ball form inside her.
And how was she supposed to take this?
Just like that, he'd "switched back" to the old Thrawn?
And there would be no conversation?
About how to live on, and all the rest?
No, of course, she hadn't expected the Grand Admiral to sprinkle ashes on his blue-black hair and start wringing his hands in explanation...
Mara took a noisy breath.
Okay, pull yourself together, you wimp!
Enough of these hints at bipolar disorder.
She herself hadn't wanted things to get worse.
And they hadn't gotten worse.
Better either.
Though, as for the latter, she needed to think that over carefully.
Thrawn didn't seem to have changed...
Maybe the best option really was to leave everything as it was?
Yeah, right now?
No!
If you're doing it — do it.
You don't stop halfway.
Or do you?
She wondered — would Rukh break her neck if she pulled something now, or stab her with a little knife somewhere near an artery?
Better not to test it.
"May I know what my mission will consist of?"
"Certainly," Thrawn responded as if nothing had happened. "Some time ago, information came into my possession about an asteroid that once belonged to a Sith Lord named Darth Vectivus."
The name meant nothing to her.
"To verify the information, I sent Ahsoka Tano there..."
So, now it was clear where that Togruta woman with Jedi tendencies had gone.
"I take it contact with her has been lost?" Jade assumed.
"Spy droids indicate she's still there. I want to know what's happening and whether Tano has lost her loyalty."
"I'll do it," Mara picked up the data chip with two fingers and slipped it into a hidden pocket in her left sleeve, next to a tiny blaster. "What are my instructions if it turns out she's no longer on our side?"
"Your first task is reconnaissance," Thrawn clarified. "If the assumption you've voiced is confirmed, you are to return and report it. Further handling of the situation will be handled by other individuals."
Meaning, most likely, the Shadow Guard.
Which meant Maul, Obscuro, Stryn, and whoever else was there...
"So I take it you're sending me because I'm more familiar with Tano than the others?" she asked.
"You are neutral toward her," Thrawn explained. "Just as she is toward you. If I wanted someone she knew to conduct the reconnaissance, I would have sent Lady Ventress to her. But I'm afraid the conversation wouldn't have worked out. An unnecessary complication, though — yes."
What?
Mara herself would have liked to see those two old relics fight each other.
Both were experienced swordsmen, seasoned warriors...
But yes, Thrawn was right.
One would most likely provoke the other into conflict, and then there would definitely be no peaceful negotiations.
Wait, what?
Only now did Mara understand.
Thrawn could have sent a Star Destroyer to Tano.
Or even flown there himself.
Or a capture team with ysalamiri.
Or immediately — the Shadow Guard.
But he chose to send her.
No, of course, she could assume he just wanted her out of sight, or even to get rid of her by someone else's hands.
Double Isard had disappeared...
Along with the Lusankya, come to think of it.
But if Mara was starting to understand anything about Thrawn, it was that he was dramatically different from who he'd been under the Emperor.
More cautious, perhaps.
He didn't rely solely on military force and military cunning anymore.
He looked for delicate ways to solve problems.
He clearly knew more than he said.
And certainly, if he'd considered Tano dangerous, he would have solved the problem quickly and radically.
He wouldn't have wasted time on negotiations.
Wait. Why did the task start with the word "first"?
"Task understood. May I begin?"
"You may," Thrawn agreed. "As soon as we arrive at Tangrene. You'll be provided with a new ship. That's the second part of your mission. I want you to study our new acquisition and, upon your return, give me a summary."
"What kind?"
"How suitable this type of vessel is for operations in your profile," Thrawn said.
Now she was a test pilot too...
"Of course," Mara said absently. "I'll do everything I can... What kind of ship is it?"
"You might be familiar with it. It's called the Rogue Shadow."
Mara stared directly into Thrawn's glowing eyes for several seconds.
No, he wasn't joking.
"It seems a ship by that name belonged to Starkiller, Darth Vader's apprentice, whom Palpatine ordered eliminated," she said.
"That's correct."
"And now it's yours."
"Precisely."
"And...?"
"No," Thrawn replied. "Galen Marek's clone managed to escape me. And instead of capturing his beloved — Admiral Eclipse — we only got her corpse. The situation has become complicated."
Ever since Marek's clone appeared on the Alliance's side, who'd beaten Vader like Mace Windu had Palpatine...
No, the situation hadn't become complicated.
It had become catastrophic.
And Starkiller's ship was now Mara's.
"You know, I don't like being bait," Jade said. "I'm not very comfortable flying other people's starships... Something always happens to them. I blew one up, another's heating wasn't working... And this... individual... clearly has a screw loose. May I ask you to spare me the fate of using this vessel?"
"No," Thrawn cut her off. "The technicians checked it — it's clean of any beacons. And its systems are advanced enough to ensure stealth movement and escape from pursuit. I want to know everything about it. Not just the technical side. But the operational side too."
Mara was about to argue with Thrawn, but changed her mind.
It seemed Thrawn had intended to use Marek, capturing his girlfriend.
It hadn't worked.
And now Thrawn, perfectly understanding that the clone would seek revenge and probably knew who to target, was giving her a ship suitable for secret movement across the galaxy that couldn't be tracked.
Could this be a hint that he was pulling her out of the enemy's line of sight for a while, so he could dive headfirst into solving the problem that had arisen?
The answer was obvious.
"I understand, Grand Admiral. May I go?" Mara asked.
"Go, Mara," Thrawn replied just as dryly.
Once outside the door, the girl quickly disappeared down the corridor.
And only when she was in her own quarters did she collapse exhausted onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
No, it really had gotten better.
The flint hadn't crumbled.
And it hadn't worn away.
He still thought as befitted the Supreme Commander of the Dominion.
And solved several problems at once.
Including making sure Jade didn't get hurt while he dealt with the problem of Galen Marek's clone.
She could probably flatter herself with the thought that she mattered enough to him that he didn't want her to share Eclipse's fate.
Or maybe he was just sending her far away so she wouldn't get under his feet...
The answer to these questions would become clear when she met the missing Ahsoka Tano.
Or the "missing" one, and this whole assignment was just a prop or for show, while Thrawn himself was perfectly informed.
But Mara flattered herself with the thought that she at least had a guess about Thrawn's true motives.