Ten years, three months, and sixteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, third month, and sixteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year and one day since the Arrival.)
The Star Destroyer Relentless, like most of the fleet transferred under Rear Admiral Dorja's command, still remained in its "original state."
Still the same Mark I, with all its advantages.
Dorja saw no real drawbacks in his vessel, and therefore wasn't in a hurry to waste time and nerves sending his ships for modernization.
Three Mark Is — the Relentless, the Omnipresent, and the Impartial — accompanied by twenty Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers and twenty-five CR90 Corellian corvettes, supported by the cruiser-sweeper Olovain and the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer Strangler, were quite sufficient to guard a single system in the Msst sector.
One system, but nonetheless strategically important for the Dominion's existence.
Like other Dominion fortress worlds, Garos IV was protected by a planetary shield, Golan-type orbital stations, ion cannons, and planetary turbolasers.
Not to mention the minefields scattered at the system's border, posing a deadly threat to any being who decided to break into the system without proper authorization.
Dorja had personally developed the defense layout.
Given the system's distance from the Dominion's metropolis, he hadn't overused the standard "Perimeter"-based system defense doctrine.
Yes, there were minefields at every entrance and exit point of the hyperspace routes leading into or out of the system.
And minefields.
And a pair of Golan stations at each point.
And patrol ships conducting inspections of every vessel entering the system.
Dorja had modified the "Perimeter" system so that ships pulled out of hyperspace didn't immediately end up on a minefield, but entered a kind of "bubble" of clear space.
Large enough to determine the purpose of their arrival in the system before the magnetic mines reached the intruder and blew their vehicle to a hut.
Only Dominion transports and their convoys, using the recognition system, bypassed such "warm welcomes."
A considerable number of smugglers, enemy scouts, and many other beings whose intentions were clearly impure had fallen victim to the minefields.
Currently, it was the Relentless's turn to stand watch at one of the "entry" points.
The duty passed without incident.
About a dozen and a half traders interested in Garos's agricultural products had arrived in the system, along with a couple of travelers dreaming of access to the planet's resorts...
And who were severely disappointed upon being refused.
Garos's trade, like any fortress planet outside the Dominion's metropolis, was conducted exclusively at orbital stations, to and from which "guests" were convoyed by corvettes and fighters.
The only inconvenience in all of this was that Dorja was once again reviewing the plan he had developed for capturing the systems of the Msst sector.
The plan that Thrawn had approved, but whose implementation he did not consider an appropriate step given the current realities.
Dorja could have handled it with his own forces — three Star Destroyers and two dozen heavy cruisers was a very, very solid force...
"Sir, we've detected an intruder," the executive officer of the Star Destroyer reported over the comlink from the secondary bridge. "Transmitting the information for your decision."
"Received, XO," the Rear Admiral replied. "Watch officer, we're accepting the target designation. Identify the target, calculate the entry vector."
Despite his promotion, knowing the regular fleet's personnel shortage, Dorja considered it wrong to request a commander for the Relentless.
So he combined command of both his squadron and the flagship itself.
"Have you completed identification?" the Rear Admiral perked up.
"Yes, sir," the watch officer confirmed. "A Corellian CR90 corvette. Transponder is off. Engine signatures don't match our ship database."
"Intercept," Dorja ordered routinely. "Target the artillery — be ready to destroy the ship if it doesn't obey the order to immediately heave to. Give the command, Lieutenant."
"Aye, sir!" the watch officer responded. "Battle stations! Artillery, target the intruder vessel. Interceptors, block any possible escape zones. Communications, establish contact with the unidentified corvette."
After every such "stray" visitor, the mine placement had to be changed so the enemy wouldn't get accurate data on the dangerous "obstacles" on the approach to Garos IV.
"Sir, the order to heave to has been sent," the watch officer reported. "No immediate response received. Should we activate the self-propelled mines?"
The mines supplied for defending fortress worlds were also different from those used in the "Perimeter."
But only in the method of self-activation.
Whereas the former were always on a live firing condition except when a Dominion ship was nearby, these particular models guarding the Dominion's peripheral systems responded exclusively to a direct command from a duty starship or a control station.
Their IFF recognition block was deactivated when they were placed on combat duty.
"Give them a minute to think it over, Lieutenant," Dorja said. "Then activate them."
It took five to seven minutes at cruising speed for a ship like a Corellian corvette to reach the border of the "cocoon."
An extra minute or two played no role in ensuring the security of the entire star system.
"Sir," the voice of the communications officer came. "We've received a reply from the intruder vessel. They report they're cutting their engines and heaving to. They're asking us not to open fire."
"Find out the purpose of their visit to Dominion territory," Rear Admiral Dorja ordered. "Dispatch a duty pair of interceptors to escort them."
"Received a reply to the request," the watch officer reported. "According to their message, there are two sentients on board. Both are former Jedi who answered the call of a certain Master Bre'ano Umakk."
"Since when do our Jensaarai set up rendezvous points on Garos?" Dorja grumbled. "Prepare a courier ship. Escort the corvette to the inspection zone and send a prize crew. Have the stormtroopers use paralyzing weapons and ysalamiri. Bring the Jedi aboard the Relentless — I'll speak with them personally."
And the results of those talks would determine whether it was worth sending a courier to the regular fleet headquarters to verify their story about some "call" from the Jensaarai.
In Dorja's opinion, it would be better for the former Jedi to tell the truth.
Otherwise, the stormtroopers on board the Relentless — of whom there weren't that many anyway — would get excellent practice in hunting Jedi.
Fortunately, Garos IV had two whole moons where such training could be arranged.
* * *
Frankly speaking, I had planned to spend my first day after a year in this universe differently.
Of course, without anniversary cakes with candles, a rowdy binge at the nearest bar, or a trip to a strip club.
In truth, it wasn't much different for me from any ordinary day, whether it was a holiday or a day off.
The Guardian hung in orbit around Tangrene, docked to the "grid" of an orbital repair yard.
Through the porthole, I could watch countless port tugs swarming around the super star destroyer, adjusting the starship's position in space, placing gravity anchors.
Hard to make out, but I knew that thousands of worker, assembly, and other droids were currently "walking" across the starship's hull, urged on by technical specialists — both from the ship's own crew and the orbital shipyard's workforce.
Repair work on the damage the starship had sustained in battle began as soon as the ship returned to its home base in the metropolis.
A solitary giant surrounded by numerous Star Destroyers — the flagships of the formations that had carried out the counteroffensive against the "Zann Consortium" allies' positions.
Like any parasites, the "Zannites" cannot exist solely on their own resources.
That's why they had surrounded themselves with satellite sectors — to drain everything they needed from places where it had already been scouted and, most importantly, was available in the required volume.
And for the latter, as usual, the more the better.
I stared at the serene space, wondering how much reality had changed compared to what I had known.
There was no longer any point in relying on the future being the way the authors of the Expanded Universe had depicted it.
I recalled summaries from the internet from the time when "isekai" literature hadn't yet become tiresome with its predictability.
"The Butterfly Effect."
The past had been changed, and consequently, the future was not cloudless.
This was the choice that had been made.
And there was no turning it back.
Did I even want to?
Now there was only one thing left to do: solve problems.
Which kept coming in, beyond all measure.
Behind me, I heard the hiss of the door opening, separating the conference room from the corridor.
The guards in blue-black armor standing on either side of the passage didn't even flinch, silently reacting to the appearance of the sentients invited to the meeting aboard the Guardian.
Rukh, staying a meter away from me, also showed no reaction to the new arrivals.
Neither did Lieutenant Colonel Tierce, calmly seated to the right of the place protocol had assigned me at the table.
Only Captain Pellaeon, a young copy of the Vice Admiral with the same surname, sitting to the left of my chair, flinched when his gaze met the original's.
Almost synchronized turns of their heads to the left, looking away.
Which only confirmed my suspicion about the reasons Mitth'raw'nuruodo, in the events I knew of, had not cloned the Chimaera's captain.
At least, I couldn't recall such a fact.
Pellaeon, even if he didn't say it openly, viewed the existence of his own "double" negatively.
Even though he was perfectly fine with clones in principle.
A rectangular metal piece of furniture, with a holoprojector in the center and reception slots for personal datapads and information chips on both wide sides.
Dry official greetings from Pellaeon, Ferrus, Astarion, and the shipbuilder Ryan Zion, who was shifting a datapad and an armful of information chips from one hand to the other.
His face was frozen in the traditional displeased expression of a man who had been dragged to a meeting.
Pulled away from work vital to the entire galaxy.
Alright, so be it — we'll start with him.
"Please, have a seat, gentlemen," I said quietly, indicating the four places on the opposite side from where Captain Pellaeon, Lieutenant Colonel Tierce, and I had settled.
The arrivals sat down.
Gilad positioned himself at the maximum possible distance from his clone.
Noteworthy.
"Let's begin," I announced, focusing my gaze on the first speaker.
"Shipbuilder Zion — the floor is yours."
With a flash of red light from his eye implant, the named "comrade," finished connecting his datapad, cleared his throat, and launched the first hologram.
"I have developed a modernization project for the 'Imperial'-'triple' based on the data our intelligence and military have gathered on the enemy's latest line ships..."
Judging by how Gilad Pellaeon rolled his eyes and Grand Moff Felix sighed resignedly, they had heard this more than once before.
And from the author himself, no less.
Astarion preferred to act as if it didn't concern him.
Well, the information on each attendee's report had been delivered to me for review yesterday, so I already had a few points of my own.
* * *
When the first of them, and apparently the senior one, finished his story, Rear Admiral Dorja didn't hide his skepticism.
"And you expect me to believe you?" he clarified, looking at each of his "guests" in turn. "Or what are your intentions, Knights Qid Proko and Eles Dersen?"
Both former Jedi remained the picture of imperturbability.
Except the human was clearly nervous and seemed to be trying to look around.
That's what Dorja didn't like.
Just like the excessive self-control of his senior companion.
"You are free to believe whatever you wish," the Quarren replied calmly, folding his hands on the table. "I am not forcing you to do anything. But your ignorance of Master Umakk's actions saddens me."
"Knight Proko, I'm beginning to doubt that we've arrived where we were supposed to," the second Jedi replied.
A middle-aged man, his eyes covered with a thick blindfold that made it impossible to see anything.
However, Dorja knew this was not the result of any wound or injury.
Representatives of the Miraluka race are born without eyes.
And yet they live perfectly well and don't bump their heads into every first corner.
"We are where we are supposed to be, Knight Dersen," the Quarren reined in his comrade.
Qid Proko (obtained from open source. Original — https://ru.pinterest.com/pin/lexiconus-qor-302585668694014443)
"Don't get worked up, kid," Dorja advised. "I don't like your story any more than you like my ignorance of some 'call.'"
"Eles is disoriented," the Quarren continued just as calmly. "He is of the Miraluka race."
"I figured that out already," Dorja replied. "And how does that explain the fact that he's sitting in front of me like he's on pins and needles?"
"Representatives of the Miraluka race have no eyes," the Quarren explained to the Dominion officer. "They see through the Force. And something in this room repels it. He is blinded, disoriented, and panicking, believing in his youth that he is in a trap."
Ah, that's what it was.
Interesting race.
"And are you sure you're not in a trap?" Dorja couldn't resist the irony.
He had been guarding Garos for a long time.
And his inner skeptic, an expert in caustic sarcasm, was taking over, overriding his usual politeness.
"I trust my instincts," the Quarren explained. "And I know that Master Umakk's call was meant to bring the Jedi to the Dominion. After all, our place is here."
Jedi Knight Eles Dersen.
"Well, let's say," Dorja drawled. "Let's say you're on our side. Both of you, at once. You hid for so many years, and then, one message," he nodded towards the archaic holographic transmitter, which still bore the emblem of the old Jedi Order.
"An assumption is not the path to truth," the Quarren countered. "We came to serve the Dominion. We arrived voluntarily..."
"Surrendered our weapons," Dersen chimed in.
"Offered no resistance to your stormtroopers," Proko continued as if nothing had happened. "As you know, the Jedi and the Empire have their own history of mutual hostility."
"I find it hard to believe that both of you, master and apprentice, managed to escape from Imperial stormtroopers thirty years ago," Dorja said. "As I recall, the Jedi were generals back then, surrounded by an army of clones..."
"We didn't escape together," Qid Proko replied. "I was commanding clone units in the Core Worlds when Palpatine ordered the extermination of the Jedi."
"I was on a humanitarian mission in the Mid Rim," Knight Eles Dersen explained.
"You said you were master and apprentice," the Dominion Rear Admiral narrowed his eyes.
"Clones killed my master," Dersen replied, a bit sharply. "He gave me the chance to escape and hide at the cost of his own life. I traveled the galaxy until I settled on Poderis in the Orus sector. There I met Master Proko, and he completed my training."
"As for me, after I escaped the clones, I spent a long time on the run, reflecting on the fate and purpose of the Jedi," the Quarren calmly told his part of the story. "Staying on the move allowed me to shake the hunters off my trail. I arrived on Poderis many years ago, forcing myself to completely forget what it meant to be a Jedi in practice. I became a simple mechanic, waiting for the Order to be reborn in a new light. One that would be what I now envisioned. Specifically in the light of my new philosophy, according to which Jedi should not avoid emotions, but control them. Not shy away from violence if it is inevitable, but take responsibility for it. The new Jedi must cast aside the old dogmas and evolve, learn about their enemy and adopt the very tools that were used to destroy us. That is how I trained Dersen."
"But you refused to call yourself a Jedi Master," the Miraluka noted with a grumble.
Dorja noted a certain grumpiness in the young Jedi's words.
As if this conversation wasn't happening for the first time.
Judging by the fact that the Quarren's facial appendages began to twitch irritably, he clearly did not approve of his former apprentice's words.
Dorja wasn't particularly strong in psychology.
Nor in interrogations, for that matter.
Right now, he was just gathering the necessary minimum to compile a report on this pair.
The courier with a message to the Dominion had already departed.
Half an hour ago — when these two had told him why they had come.
Now Dorja, having informed command, was simply killing time by amusing himself talking to this pair of non-Jedi.
Maybe something they blurted out without thinking now would help the counterintelligence and the Jensaarai Order deal with them more thoroughly.
Service under Thrawn's command had already demonstrated to his subordinates that there was no such thing as unnecessary information.
Judging by this pair's behavior, the Quarren's reluctance to elevate his social standing within the Jedi hierarchy greatly irritated his former apprentice, the Miraluka.
Not completely, but still a possible lead.
"Alright, let's say," the Rear Admiral pronounced. "Why the Dominion? Why not the New Republic? Why not the Empire? One has a restored Jedi Order. The other has Inquisitors."
"The reincarnation of the Jedi Order is a pointless endeavor," the Quarren declared with his characteristic calm. "We have already seen what happens to the Order when it becomes a servant to a handful of senators. Each of whom pursues their own interests. No, that is not our path."
"In the Empire, the Inquisitors are a punitive organ," the Miraluka continued his former master's thought. "Jedi should not become an instrument of terror either. To protect and safeguard, to prevent lawlessness — these are the common tasks for Jedi. That is what Master Umakk spoke of."
"There's still the Alliance," Dorja reminded.
"At its head are Mon Mothma, Bel Iblis, and in the Congress — a parody of the Senate — sit the same champions of 'democracy' as in the days of the Old Republic," Qid Proko summarized. "No, thank you, I'd rather bite off my own facial tendrils than go into service for those who advocated or supported the proponents of cutting the Grand Army of the Republic's budget. Because of their attempts, sometimes even effective, instead of a unified impulse to unite and defeat the enemy, the Grand Army constantly failed to get what it needed. Sometimes soldiers, sometimes equipment, sometimes protective gear. While the senators looked for ways to turn the military budget into a new kind of trough, the Grand Army and the Jedi Order entered the war practically unprepared, with old or inferior weapons. Umakk spoke of renewal — and that, as far as I know, is exactly what the Dominion is doing. Or are you going to say the rumors are lying that the Dominion is modernizing its core ships and military equipment for better efficiency?"
"Maybe you'll find out one day," Dorja chuckled.
"I, like any other rational Jedi, would never go to serve the Alliance," the Miraluka declared. "Besides what Master Proko said, one shouldn't forget that, according to the latest information, Anakin Skywalker's daughter is the Alliance's Minister of Foreign Affairs. And his son is striving to recreate the Jedi Order. Which, judging by everything, will be just another toy, but in the hands of Mon Mothma and Bel Iblis."
"And what's your problem with the Skywalker name, since you're so focused on it?" Dorja asked.
"Anakin Skywalker was considered the Chosen One in the Order," the Quarren said reluctantly. "A wonder boy, extraordinarily gifted in the Force. They hung on his every word, forgave his pranks. Over time, behind the mask of a hero grew a capricious..."
"Brat," the Miraluka interjected.
."..and intolerant of others' opinions, narcissistic Jedi," Knight Proko succinctly finished his thought. "And it was Anakin Skywalker who led the 501st Legion of stormtroopers that killed the Jedi — young and old alike — during Operation Knightfall. Only he was called something else by then. Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith."
"Touching story," Dorja said, not batting an eye. "The Dominion has a 501st Legion. Just so you know."
"I doubt there's a single clone of Jango Fett left in it," Proko stated. "As I recall, clone metabolism is twice as fast as a human's. They entered service at a biological age of twenty. A lot of time has passed since then... After thirty years of service in the Empire, they should already be eighty-year-old old men. If they didn't die earlier. So, I doubt that those with the blood of younglings and Padawans on their hands are serving you."
"And yet, the 501st Legion is a symbol," Dorja reminded. "With a distinctive history. How are you going to serve the Dominion with a unit like that right next to you..."
"Silently," the Miraluka snapped, pressing his lips together.
And there's the second "trigger."
Moving on...
"So how did you come to the conclusion that Umakk was calling you to serve the Dominion in particular?" Dorja repeated his question. "There were no coordinates, no names in what I saw on your comlink," he pointed at the old communication device.
"I am the same kind of consul as Umakk himself," Proko enlightened him. "His speech repeatedly mentioned words about the beginning, about a new path. Anyone with eyes and ears would understand that this is just a smokescreen to attract attention. And one must act contrarily — focus on the last. The last state to be formed in the galaxy is the Dominion. If you believe the information — both your propaganda and the rumors on the HoloNet, when it was working — you can conclude that even if you adhere to Imperial ambitions, a human-centric path is not your goal. I was convinced of this when we were led here. I doubt that you, as the commander of this ship, and at such a rank," Qid pointed a clawed finger at the command insignia on Dorja's chest, "are unaware that on board your Star Destroyer there are several pilots who are representatives of other races. I saw Zabrak, Twi'leks, Rodians in the corridors of your ship. Pilots, technicians, one even a fleet specialist. An artilleryman, I think. So Umakk's hint and my own observations — and I am sure that I have arrived at the right place together with Eler. Perhaps because the HoloNet ceased its work quickly enough after Umakk's broadcast, you simply weren't informed."
"Besides, his words sounded like an improvisation," the Miraluka chimed in. "Considering that the head of the New Republic publicly declared that he was forming an Order, and on the old foundations, Master Umakk's speech, saying the opposite, clearly wasn't duplicating the 'announcement.'"
"In other words, the process of elimination," the Quarren explained.
"And besides, a smuggler came to Poderis and passed information from the Alliance to Master Proko. There, apparently, they also intend to acquire their own Jedi of the old model."
"Is that so," Dorja noted to himself.
"That was mostly the trigger for us to escape," the Miraluka explained. "Fortunately, they came to Master Proko for what was supposedly a repair. And to pick up a shipment of hyperdrive motivators, which I was already fixing in the annex to the workshop as his apprentice, whom no one ever paid attention to. We seized the ship and escaped. If the Alliance knows about us, or one of us, they won't let go."
Now that sounded more like the truth.
These two might have been considering joining the Dominion.
But it seemed they were satisfied with their past.
The appearance of the smugglers, passing them news about the Alliance's recruitment — which they couldn't stomach — of Jedi, had finally convinced them both of the need to flee.
If the Miraluka was right, and he was there like an invisible man, then the Alliance would learn or would only learn about the escape of one Jedi.
Not both at once.
"As some smugglers who flew into Poderis told me, a large fleet formation of the Jedi Rahm Kota is located on Sullust," the Quarren continued. "And he is a known revanchist among the Jedi. A proponent of the Order's infallibility — in its main tenets. And Kota serves the Alliance."
"It's still a crooked story," Dorja pronounced.
"You can chalk up our appearance here to the will of the Force," the Miraluka offered, folding his arms across his chest.
His tone had become calmer, as if he had found some point of equilibrium and peace here.
And used it without the permission of the commander of the Garos squadron.
"I prefer facts to speculation," Dorja explained his position.
"In that case, you can arrest us and hold us until the circumstances are clarified," Dersen offered. "But even without the Force, I know that a skeptic like you must have already sent someone to verify whether we're telling you the truth about Master Umakk's actions."
Dorja smirked.
"That's enough for today," he ordered. "You will be escorted to your quarters. Until I'm told what to do with you next, you are both my prisoners."
"We clearly flew to the wrong place," the Miraluka lamented.
"There," the Quarren countered. "It's just that the Force led us to the wrong intelligent being, one who wouldn't believe us. Maybe creatures like that don't exist at all — trust is the most expensive currency in the galaxy these days. But I'm sure everything will become clear soon."
The Vice Admiral didn't even bother commenting on what he'd heard.
The facts will show.
* * *
"I've studied the technology samples that were brought to Tangrene aboard the Krueger," the shipwright Zion said rapidly. "Fo-F'ea really is, just as Captain Reder indicated, a treasure trove of technology. Their hyperdrives are in no way inferior in quality to the ones on our ships. But you need to understand that first-class hyperdrives for ships larger than a fighter or gunship are not yet available to them in industrial production."
"Our ships are equipped with second-class hyperdrives," I reminded the shipwright.
"And that's exactly what makes integrating them into our technology so attractive," the shipbuilder continued, rattling on. "As for weapons systems... well, they're not better, but not worse than what we have either. Defense technology... same level. But the most important thing is that they're much cheaper than Kuat's equivalents. And higher quality than Sienar's, Mon Calamarian, or Rendili's. The compatibility is the same."
"I'll object to that," Astarion cut in. "The quality is the same. At least that's what the experts from counter-intelligence say."
"What do they know?" Zion snapped, apparently stung that his authoritative opinion was being challenged.
"Stay on topic, shipwright," I asked conciliatorily. "Fo-F'ean technology."
"As I understand it, they've joined the Dominion?" The shipwright looked at the Grand Moff.
Ferrus Felix nodded in agreement.
"Full members," he explained. "The document for joining the Dominion has been drafted but, like the others, requires signatures. It seems to me that we should hold off on imposing monetary taxes on Fo-F'ea for now."
"Are you suggesting we levy taxes in kind?" I asked the Grand Moff.
"Yes, sir. If their technology really is that good, then why do we need all this bureaucracy?" he asked. "Let's use a system of offsets. We'll calculate the threshold for taxation and other obligations. Convert it to a cash equivalent and receive technology from them instead. No money supply changes hands. We've already used similar approaches with some other races. But in matters of security on colonized planets, construction, and so on. We simply need to ask them for the necessary quantity of goods — and that's it."
"That sounds reasonable," I agreed. "With the sole exception that if we become self-sufficient in hyperdrives, weapons, and shields, their technology will become our sole source of supply. And that implies a colossal logistical workload."
"In other words, we'll be asking for more than they owe in taxes," Ferrus said. "Yes, it's casuistry. But perhaps the best option would be a proportional approach? For example, we take what's owed in taxes as technology, and buy the rest?"
"Work that out," I ordered.
"And what's there to work out?" Gilad joined the conversation. "In reality, we only need suppliers for hyperdrives. We produce turbolasers, lasers, and deflectors ourselves — at government factories."
"In limited quantities," I noted. "But I understand your point. Grand Moff Ferrus," I looked back at Felix, "I think it would be wiser to unify our technologies with theirs. Reducing everything to them producing only hyperdrives is wrong. We have a large number of ships undergoing modernization or under construction. Government factories receive orders they can barely handle on time if a large-scale rearmament begins. In that case, a second supplier would be useful. Provided," I looked at Zion, "that their technology is indeed no worse than what we currently have."
"It is no worse," the shipwright confirmed. "And the ship generators are even better than what's currently installed on the 'Trios.' In general — though they aren't more compact compared to the emergency reactors from Kuat installed on the 'Imperial-class' ships before modification, they are more productive. One of the new modifications I'm proposing for the 'Imperial-class' ships is, precisely, to stop installing reactors from SPHA walkers and place more compact Fo-F'ean reactors on the ships. Together with the main power source — a solar ionization reactor produced by the state — they'll provide the necessary energy for the Star Destroyers. And for us, to avoid spending time on additional internal redesign of the destroyers' space, we can install these reactors. This will significantly ease the modernization of ships to the 'Trio' standard. By my estimates, given our accumulated experience and the lack of major internal modifications, we can reduce the modernization of 'Imperial-class' ships to 'Trios' down to one month."
"And new construction?" I asked.
"That parameter hasn't been calculated yet," Zion replied without blinking. "We have nearly five hundred Star Destroyers of various classes and types. Imperial-class, Victory-class, Venators, Gladiators, Interdictors… Not to mention that with new technology, it would be good to refit the Guardian and other 'super' class ships."
"Not everything at once," Vice Admiral Pellaeon grimaced.
"I agree," Ferrus supported him. "Our budget is quite fragile, mostly in deficit. Huge expenditures on colonizing new worlds, mining and processing minerals, building new cities, settlements, bases, and so on… We can't talk about a surplus before the end of this year — that's for sure."
"Is that position taking into account the new sectors that will be annexed?" I clarified.
"Information from the field is fragmented, sir," Ferrus admitted. "Until the auditors finish their work on each planet, I can't speak definitively. But the most obvious thing is that we'll have to dip into the reserve funds again to establish life in the new territories."
"Do the reserves allow for that?" I asked.
"For now, yes," Ferrus said reluctantly, as if each new line of expenditure tore a piece from his soul. "But we can't exist solely on our auroridium reserves. Yes, we replenish them; yes, we've switched to using auroridium only in foreign trade, and inside the state we've returned to calculations using credit chips. But the expenses are enormous."
"But necessary," I countered. "We are building a state. Not from scratch, but our main doctrine — the development of all territories — must be followed strictly."
"I understand, sir," the Grand Moff replied. "But if we don't want to wake up one day and find our auroridium reserves exhausted and unable to conduct external trade, then we either need to reduce spending or find new sources of auroridium."
As if we were annexing resource sectors solely on my whim.
"Based on shipwright Zion's words, we may soon be able to stop purchasing a significant portion of our military technology from abroad," I looked at Ryan.
The man nodded in agreement.
"What we can't produce openly ourselves, we can replace with Fo-F'ean equivalents," he confirmed. "Yes, it will take time to replace all the components, but…"
"There is absolutely no need to do it right this second," Pellaeon interrupted him. "We have hundreds of warships of almost every class we need at our disposal. A full unification of calibers, systems, and so on must be carried out. And as soon as a ship needs a replacement, we install our analogs, not pull something bought on the black market off the shelves. But with all due respect, sir, I will not allow our ships to be put under the plasma cutter right now just so that working systems can be replaced with new ones, just because they're 'ours.'"
"No one is suggesting that," I agreed. "I fully support your intentions. We need to strengthen our Armed Forces, not send them in for modernization over and over again for every reason."
"And that can't be done just by snapping your fingers," Zion explained. "Modernization, even considering fully staffing all available shipyards and orbital docks, is a matter of continuous work for more than a month. More likely — several years. And considering we also have other types of ships requiring modernization or repair, I'm only talking about applying new technology to damaged ships, like the Chimaera or the Stormhawk."
"Based on the report, I see the Fo-F'ean as a potential technical resource," the Chief Engineer nodded affirmatively.
Consequently, if we attract the inhabitants of Fo-F'ea as workers for our existing shipyards and workshops, possibly even as technicians and engineers on regular fleet ships, this would significantly free up our cloning capacity for producing specialists for the regular fleet.
If for a second we imagine that in each batch of clones, every fifteen days, instead of the usual three thousand technicians for the numerous orbital docks captured at Sluis Van, we get crew members for Avenger-class heavy cruisers, then the "game would be worth the candle."
Our territories are growing.
A large percentage of our starships are frankly idle — they have no crews.
To offset these needs, we have to neglect the production of stormtrooper clones — all in favor of filling the fleet with personnel.
Zion's proposal could free our hands.
In the current reality, it's more than necessary.
I would even say — vitally necessary.
"Yes, yes, yes!" Zion's other eye lit up. "The technologies I've studied indicate they handle continuous flow work excellently. Consequently, with enough workers, we can staff the idle orbital docks, shipyards, and repair workshops."
"Can we rely on the Fo-F'ean?" I asked Astarion.
"The DSB has only just begun work on their planet," he replied. "Their mentality implies openness with an ally. And bloody revenge on deceivers, oppressors, and so on. Good will be repaid with good. Evil — threefold evil. Captain Reder made the right move — he interested them with help in defense and the liberation of their tribesmen. If we are completely transparent with them, there won't be any problems."
In other words, conditionally, they suit us.
"Continue the vetting process," I ordered. "Simultaneously, begin recruiting those who want to work on our shipyards as primary technical personnel — allow them access to work on shipyards and docks whose locations are known. I expect a report upon completion of the vetting procedures."
"Yes, sir," Astarion made a note.
"Continue," I addressed Zion.
"And only then — and only then," he acted as if he'd never stopped speaking, "can we talk about increasing the speed of starship repair and their total modernization. At this point, I'm only proposing to carry out work on the 'Trios' to replace the generators with smaller but more powerful ones — so we'll retain the so-called 'standard' reactors on the ships that were installed at Kuat or other shipyards. But at the same time, the increased number of weapons, defenses, and other systems according to the 'Trio' project will be fully powered. Furthermore, based on an analysis of the deployment of latest-generation enemy ships, I strongly recommend installing on our Imperial-class Trio Star Destroyers no fewer than five launchers for anti-ship missiles or proton torpedoes."
"That's more modifications," Vice Admiral Pellaeon argued.
"It's a manifold increase in the combat effectiveness of the ships!" Zion insisted. "We've already seen a similar modernization on the former Judge and Prosecutor — the Mon Calamari installed proton torpedo launchers on them. And those ships successfully use this weapon. Not to mention the fact that I would recommend the headquarters issue a technical assignment for the development of a new type of missile. Sized like a standard anti-ship missile, but acting only as a carrier and the main striking force for a cluster of smaller missiles installed inside."
"Excuse me?" I didn't catch the meaning.
"The idea came from evaluating the use of launchers on the Guardian during the Battle of Soulex, as well as on privateer ships, when they used expensive anti-ship missiles to destroy enemy fighters," Zion explained, projecting a new hologram. "The concept is this. We take a standard anti-ship missile. We change its contents, reducing the volume of explosive inside. We fill the freed-up space with a batch of lightweight shaped-charge missiles. The intended use: during the launch of such a missile, the enemy, using fighters, rushes to intercept. The carrier missile, continuing its task — striking the ship — separates the shaped-charge missiles with homing heads. The enemy fighters are no longer hunting for the main missile. It strikes the target, while the shaped-charge missiles deal with everything preventing it from getting there."
"Less explosive in the warhead means less result," Gilad Pellaeon reminded him.
"But efficiency increases," Zion declared. "I have very carefully studied the reports on the use of the enemy's new fighters and bombers. They have a high missile and torpedo payload. If we don't want a squadron of 'E-wings' to turn our destroyers into gnawed-up pieces of scrap metal with a salvo of nearly two hundred fighter-grade proton torpedoes, then we must work proactively. It's time to accept the obvious — our main machines, the TIE Interceptors, are at best capable of fighting an enemy that is massively changing its air fleet. But victory in such a fight is almost a lottery. From a ship designer's point of view, I'm proposing an option with additional armament in the form of missile launchers and a new type of ammunition for them. Or else we should accelerate work on producing TIE Avengers and TIE Defenders."
The Grand Moff flinched as if slapped.
"That will bankrupt us," he warned. "As long as we produce them in small quantities, for elite squadrons, the military budget can still manage it. We accelerate the construction of factories for these machines, and the reserves will disappear faster than we predict. Forgive me, but I am categorically against changing our machines right now. We've only just switched to TIE Interceptors for the regular fleet! You can't just twice change the main combat air vehicle for the entire fleet in less than a year!"
"I completely agree with you," I said. "An analysis of countering the Alliance's new machines shows that the Interceptors can fight them — provided the pilots know the right tactics."
Zion drew in a breath to fire off another tirade.
"But at the same time, I believe the initiative to equip ships with missile launchers is correct," I finished. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon, use shipwright Zion's developments. Find us someone to build the new type of missile. This is not only an offensive weapon — but also a weapon for defending our ships."
On the 'fire-and-forget' principle.
The homing heads will handle it themselves.
"Thank you for listening to my opinion, sir," Zion smiled crookedly. "Next. Another proposal of mine. Grand Moff Ferrus wants to save the budget. As Vice Admiral Pellaeon correctly noted, unification is necessary. I agree with them. And I have a proposal. Not just for what's larger than a gunship, but also for transport aviation. Currently, we have roughly ten different types of transport shuttles. There are Lambdas, Kappas, Deltas, Sentinels, and Hutt knows what else. They are used, often, by the Imperial principle — 'What difference does it make what you fly?'" Moff Ferrus…"
"Grand Moff," Felix corrected.
Zion gave him a look that clearly showed his not entirely benevolent attitude towards authority.
"Grand Moff Ferrus," he corrected himself, "wants savings. But at the same time, we have a production line for the Lambda-class shuttle, bought from the 'Signus' company. We produce these ships. They transport not only infantry squads, as originally intended, but also officers on their business, ferry crews, deliver supplies, and so on. Fuel, time, and everything is spent on all this. We have too large a nomenclature at our disposal, requiring significant logistical support. Not to mention the costs for fuel, consumables, and so on," Ferrus nodded in agreement.
Yes, this problem is well-known.
And, unfortunately, unsolved. For one simple reason — both the state and the military machine of the Dominion were built on what we inherited from the Old Republic, the Galactic Empire, and so on.
"I propose we unify the models of shuttles in use," Zion continued. "Considering access to Fo-F'ean production and technology, there is a chance to modernize our own production, refine what we have, to achieve maximum efficiency from the existing ship types. Currently, work on modernizing large ships is proceeding. I have the time and capability to refine the projects we received from Lianna, bought, and so on. The Empire, thanks to its scale, could afford to maintain dozens of types of transport ships — all costs were covered by giant military budgets. I hear you want to cut them. I propose we do it immediately. Among Sienar's blueprints, for example, there are developments for a 'Mu'-class shuttle. Taking into account the new Fo-F'ean technologies, we can rework this type of ship, making it, for example, that officer's shuttle. It will be small in size, economical, and meet the required parameters. But at the same time, if our commanders and officers use 'Mus' instead of 'Lambdas' for their movements, across the entire fleet this will mean daily savings in fuel costs alone of millions of credits."
The Grand Moff, hearing about savings, perked up.
"I'm for it," he blurted out.
As if there were any doubt.
"I must note, Mr. Shipwright," said the Commander of the Guardian, "that you arrived aboard my ship not on a 'Mu,' but on a 'Lambda.'"
A chuckle came from his original's direction.
Even Tierce's lips hinted at a fleeting smile.
Ferrus prudently turned away, shaking silently with laughter.
Astarion, hiding nothing, grinned from ear to ear.
The counter-intelligence officer looks pretty rumpled.
Zion's scarlet implant flared with fire.
But the shipwright remained silent.
"Do you already have proposals?" I asked.
"Only preliminary ones," he admitted. "I have the nomenclature of everything passing through the shipyards… if I am given permission, I will work on optimization and refinement."
"Subject to coordination with the Armed Forces Headquarters," I unobtrusively tied Vice Admiral Pellaeon to the shipwright.
What's the point of developing something new or modernizing the old if we end up with a ship that neither the fleet nor the army needs?
We definitely don't need another 'freeloader.'
At all.
"Is that everything?" I clarified.
"No, sir," Zion said. "I would like to talk about modernizing the Separatist transport ships."
"There goes Zion talking about modernizations again," the Vice Admiral remarked quietly (but everyone heard).
The shipwright stared intently at him.
"I spend twenty-three standard hours out of twenty-four in a day to keep the entire mechanism of the Dominion's repair and restoration capabilities working," there was already a threat in his voice. "I long ago gave up on my own projects for building capital ships because I understand: we don't need them right now. There's no point in building something new when we literally have mountains of still combat-capable ships that fit the Dominion's concept under our feet! And I, a shipwright who was promised far more than what I'm doing now, spend my talent, my time, my thoughts on creating ships that will never bear my name as the project author in their accompanying documents or blueprints! I've given up my career so you have something to fight with! And what do I get in return? Mockery? Then you deal with this scrap metal yourselves! If I'm not needed, let Reyes or some other half-baked idiot dig around in this mess. And then you'll be happy that your guns became more powerful because some idiot connected them to a hyperdrive!"
One could recall how he himself proposed something similar, but it's not worth it.
The man is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Working yourself to exhaustion has never prolonged anyone's life.
"Calm down, Zion," I ordered, realizing the meeting was drifting beyond constructive communication.
Now I understand why he's so wound up.
The shipwright is simply not getting enough sleep.
And it's directly my fault.
How many projects has he developed recently?
A good dozen at least.
How many of them became independent designs, rather than reworks of what we already have?
Just slightly fewer than one Dominant.
The thought that he came to serve me and hasn't become famous is, for such an ambitious man, akin to utter humiliation.
A little more, and he'll simply burn out.
"I am calm," but his voice said otherwise.
"Vice Admiral Pellaeon obviously wishes to apologize for his intemperate reaction," I looked at Gilad.
The Chief of Staff, perfectly remembering our conversation about his relationship with Dorr, sprang up as if on a spring.
"Precisely," he said, looking at the shipwright, who was gazing at him distrustfully. "I offer my sincere apologies, Shipwright. Your work is invaluable. And foundational for the Armed Forces of the Dominion. Honestly, I never even considered that after so many changes you've made to our ships, you wouldn't be considered the author of these projects."
"Because most of the systems on these ships were not created by me," the shipwright explained weakly. "I only modernize — something Reyes could probably handle. He seems like a not entirely stupid guy. You need to build… Better to build."
Now that's really bad.
If such an egocentrist and narcissist as Zion has decided to praise a man whom he, half a year ago, considered merely capable of executing his projects, then the situation is indeed taking on some very dangerous prospects.
Shipwrights are a rare commodity.
They might number a few dozen, maybe a hundred across the entire galaxy.
And every single one of them wants to build, not repair and upgrade what someone else created.
That thought had crossed my mind before.
And so we came to the conclusion that the Interdictor-Trio should become a new type of ship — the Dominating.
A ship built by us.
But at this moment, how many have come out of the docks after modernization?
Five, if memory serves.
And it never fails.
How many have seen combat?
Not a single one — the crews are still going through combat integration training.
His "little brother," the Immobilizer — a cruiser-interdictor — practically "lives" exclusively within the Dominion.
"Shipbuilder," I said softly, addressing the man standing opposite me as if frozen in place.
"Yes?" he stirred. "What?"
"First — you need to rest," I ordered.
"There's no ti—" Meeting my gaze, Zion stopped grimacing and nodded in affirmation. "Understood. Tomorrow."
"After this meeting is over — you go rest," I revised his plans. "As you said yourself, the work continues even without your participation. Have you reworked the transport ship blueprints?"
"Well, there wasn't that much work," Zion grimaced. "With the new technologies, according to the project, they'll become even more cargo-capable. At least twice as much. Miniaturization and automation..."
"So you've practically completely reworked the designs for the core ship and the fleet support vessel?" I clarified.
"Well, yes," he nodded. "Of the old stuff, only the hull shape and the name remain."
"What percentage of Fo-F'eans technologies can replace, say, Kuat's technologies?" I asked.
"Just about everything," he replied. "We can have them produce anything we need — from electronics to destroyer engines."
That was exactly what I wanted to hear.
"In that case, I see no major contradiction in you, after resting, revising your existing modernization projects for those ships using Fo-F'eans technologies," I said. "Grand Moff Ferrus, see to it that the Fo-F'eangs enterprises join the Dominion's military-industrial complex conglomerate on a public-private partnership basis."
And the main banner of this association is the Lianna technologies, which no longer belong to either Santhe or Sienar.
They are ours.
Wholly and completely.
"Yes, sir, of course," Ferrus said, somewhat taken aback. "But, forgive me, why? Wouldn't it be better to have a private contractor?"
"No," I replied. "Military technology is a prerogative of the state. The Fo-F'eans need to be informed of this. We're not taking away their private contracts. But what they produce for us — that is the foundation of our autonomy."
"Yes, of course." Ferrus thought for a moment, then nodded affirmatively.
Nothing changes, really.
Except one thing.
"And since the Fo-F'eangs technologies are not inferior, and sometimes surpass, Kuat's or any other's, does that mean using their tech in our modernization or construction projects will create a completely OUR product?" I asked Zion.
"Well... Yes." He blinked his one real eye. "Wait a second... Are you saying that...?"
He fell silent, staring at me nervously.
"Exactly that," I said calmly. "Rework the projects you're working on using OUR technologies and boldly put your name down as the author of those designs."
Pellaeon, who still hadn't returned to his seat, whistled.
"And Kaine basically did a 'cosmetic' repair on the Immobilizer-418, added some guns, and called it a new ship type," he declared. "With the corresponding glory for its creator."
"Dubious glory," Zion replied automatically. "The ship turned out to be bantha poodoo..."
"On the other hand, you've produced an excellent interdictor cruiser, a Star Destroyer-interdictor, a mainline Star Destroyer, a missile-carrying Star Destroyer, a Super Star Destroyer, a Star Destroyer with an ion cannon, a versatile landing ship, heavy cruisers, cargo vessels. Even a battle cruiser — that passed through your hands too. Transport shuttles are next," I listed, far from the full extent of the shipbuilder's work. "Add to that the Mandalorian ship types we use. And it seems to me you've left your mark in every niche of existing starship types used in the military fleet..."
"Then I'd need to at least change the exterior a little, just for propriety's sake," Zion said, embarrassed. "So that... No," he said confidently. "With the Venator and the Acclamator, with the Dreadnaught — that definitely won't work... There are systems patented by the Kuat and Rendili shipyards..."
"As far as I recall, the Acclamators and Venators stopped being produced over twenty years ago," Pellaeon said.
"Which means their blueprints are sitting in the Kuat Drive Yards archives and have been useless to anyone for a long time," I continued. "Except us."
"That'll be very expensive," Ferrus sighed resignedly. "But I don't object, of course. Self-sufficiency, so be it. But it will cost us trillions of credits. Kuat is greed to the point of indecency!"
"Then it's time we start developing mineral deposits in the Chiloon Rift and the new territories more quickly," I suggested, offering a solution. "In any case, what we use — from blueprints to the last system — must be produced under Dominion patents. We're on the verge of a major war with half the galaxy. We simply cannot afford to depend on foreign supplies."
"Well," Zion said slowly, grinning crookedly. "If we use this... fraudulent move, then... It turns out I'm the most productive shipbuilder in the galaxy."
"So it seems," I concluded.
"But I'm still going to build MY OWN — from the ribbing to the bridge," he declared firmly.
"No one doubts that," I said. "After you rest, I have a personal assignment for you. I need an exclusive starship..."