It was a strange battle.
The Inexorable and the Interdictor had pinned the Keldabe II in a gravity trap without much trouble.
A brief exchange of fire followed between the three ships.
Fierce, bright, and undoubtedly it could have dragged on for a long time, but...
The Keldabe surrendered.
And Alexander simply couldn't understand or accept that.
The enemy dreadnought's main engines, weapons, deflectors, armor, and hyperdrive weren't damaged enough to just give up and throw themselves on the victor's mercy.
But a fact is a fact.
The Keldabe asked for quarter.
Lowered its shields.
Shut down its engines.
Drifted.
And what alarmed the commander of the Inexorable even more—
This all reeked of a trap.
That's why several assault shuttles, filled mostly with battle droids, were sent to the ship.
Stormtroopers were also present, but only as commanders of the 'tin cans.'
The mocking nickname soldiers in white armor had given to mechanical fighters during the Clone Wars was coming back into use...
And it didn't matter that the guys under the armor were 'different,' or that the droids served on the same side as the stormtroopers...
Soldier slang from the past was returning.
Sitting in the command chair on the bridge of the Inexorable, Alexander looked imperturbable, calm, and confident.
In reality, however, he was torn apart by internal conflict.
He hadn't expected an easy victory.
He hadn't expected the enemy to surrender of their own accord.
And he certainly hadn't expected the Keldabe's capitulation not to be the trap they had already encountered.
The enemy, realizing they were doomed, would lure as many Dominion personnel as possible onto their ships, then detonate their starships' reactors.
A final desperate act.
One that had cost the Dominion transport ships and droids sent to check for that trick.
Now... everything was different.
The enemy had capitulated, but for some reason wasn't requesting a Dominion commander to come aboard their ship.
The Keldabe's crew, without the slightest resistance, allowed the stormtroopers to disarm them and take control of all key sections—from the bridge to the reactor room, from the artillery decks to the arsenals.
What's more.
Their leader was now flying himself to the Inexorable, under guard of droids and stormtroopers.
Alexander had wanted to capture the enemy commander.
And the man was sailing right into his hands.
Disturbing.
Unclear.
But at the same time, he wasn't afraid for himself, his glorious ship, or his crew.
They were protected from any sabotage, and the enemy leader had been searched before departure.
Preliminarily, without any fuss, he had surrendered his weapon—a lightsaber, which indicated his Force-sensitivity.
Of course, the cages of ysalamiri placed throughout the ship nullified that advantage too.
And the search wasn't just before departure from the Keldabe.
But also after arriving on the Inexorable's deck.
And in three compartments from the bridge of the Dominion Star Destroyer...
Nothing.
As if the enemy leader was genuinely just looking for a convenient opportunity to surrender.
One way or another, whatever tricks the enemy leader intended to pull, there were guards, stormtroopers, ysalamiri, and an armed crew on the bridge.
By the sound of footsteps, Alexander, without even turning around, could tell that sentients were approaching the central platform.
To unequivocally confirm this fact, it was enough to glance at the reflections on the transparisteel of the Star Destroyer bridge's main viewport.
White reflections of stormtroopers.
Red reflections from the guards' armor.
Timing it perfectly, Alexander swiveled his chair to face the approaching sentients.
"Sir," the stormtrooper squad leader, encased in white-and-black armor, saluted him. "The enemy dreadnought's commander has been delivered."
Commander...
That designation didn't fit what Alexander Mor saw before him in the only sentient he didn't know.
A tall woman with sickly pale-white, almost milky skin on her exposed arms.
No tattoos on her face or hands.
Intricate bracers worn over simple fabric—something between a sleeveless robe and a gown...
Or maybe just a tunic over undergarments.
But what troubled the Star Destroyer commander most was her headdress, with long, narrow feathers of unknown birds sticking out of it, and two cloth ribbons, covered in writing, falling down the front.
Judging by the fact that her clothes were adorned with embroidery made of aurodium threads, and the feather in the front of her headdress seemed to be made of precious metal, this was clearly no ordinary Force adept.
"There are about thirty more like her on the ship," the stormtrooper squad leader explained.
"Clones?" Alexander was taken aback.
The Dominion, even though it had cloning capabilities, had never allowed itself to duplicate Force-sensitives.
Thrawn was categorically against it.
And no one dared to argue with him.
"No, officer," the woman, who looked like a custom-made porcelain figurine, said in a voice that was deep, sensual, but without the slightest hint of flirtation. "They are all, like me, members of the Nightsister clan. We are Force adepts from the planet Dathomir. My name is Baritha."
Baritha.
"Alexander Mor, commander of the Star Destroyer Inexorable," the officer didn't bother to hide.
And what was the point of such 'hide and seek'?
"And you also commanded the Dominion forces at Kessel," the 'figurine' offered a half-smile. "Until your superior arrived there on a Super Star Destroyer."
"You know quite a lot," Alexander remarked.
"Knowing more than my enemies think is the key to staying alive."
"A useful life philosophy."
"It helped me survive on Dathomir when warlord Zsinj decided to destroy my sisters."
This time, a full smile appeared on her lips.
Not a hint of superiority, or the contempt for men typical of the Dathomiri witches of the Nightsister clans.
Strange.
Unusual.
Doesn't fit the usual stereotypes.
"Get to the point," Alexander asked, staring intently into the woman's eyes. "Why did you arrange all this?"
"Arrange what, exactly?" The corner of her lips curled again. "Flew here with my followers? Killed the officers and part of the Rancor's crew? Surrendered the ship to you?"
"I wouldn't mind hearing an answer to each of those questions," Alexander admitted.
"I volunteered for this mission," Baritha explained. "And brought with me those Sisters who fully share my views on what's happening in the galaxy and to our people."
"And what is your mission?"
"Silri wanted to know if anyone from the Dominion would respond to her offer of a meeting and an alliance."
So-o-o-o…
It seemed the "Response from Thrawn" was meant to be emphatic and strictly targeted.
"Then why didn't she come herself, if it's so important?" Mor inquired.
"Well, your command isn't here either," Baritha noted. "The leaders have far more important things to do than fly across half the galaxy. Besides, Silri needed to carry out certain purges within the ranks of her followers and inner circle."
"For what purpose?" Alexander clarified.
"The same purpose for which she got rid of Namman Cha and Kyrisa during the Battle of Kessel," the witch explained, her greyish-green eyes fixed on the Star Destroyer commander.
As if he was supposed to know those reasons.
They stared at each other for a few seconds.
Then, with a half-smile again, Baritha decided to clarify the misunderstanding that had arisen between them.
"Silri uses whatever opportunities come her way to eliminate the undesirable and any remaining spies of Palpatine," the witch said. "First the two Inquisitors, now it's time for the rest. They helped her organize everything initially, kept her Sith army in line with fear, and now that the army's obedience to Silri is absolute, she's getting rid of those who've bored her. Or, as in my case, those who hold too much authority within the clan and could challenge her for control of the entire organization."
'I wonder why she needed to keep you alive all this time, then?' Alexander thought.
"I'm still alive only because Silri couldn't manage the Nightsisters who sided with her," the Dathomirian witch explained. "Not until now, anyway."
"And what changed?" Alexander asked. "And for the future — reading my thoughts is hazardous to your health."
"Oh, Officer," Baritha laughed, theatrically covering her mouth with her palm. "In my time, I tortured so many Imperial officers on Dathomir that I have no need to poke around in their heads now. I understand everything you're thinking. It's written all over your faces."
Alexander felt a faint but very unpleasant shiver run down his spine.
Behind all this "porcelain doll beauty," Baritha's well-honed oratory skills, and (why hide it?) her easygoing conversation, the commander of the Dominion Star Destroyer had completely forgotten that standing before him was a bloodthirsty harpy from a tribe that not even Zsinj, but Emperor Palpatine himself, feared.
And she reminded him so unobtrusively…
As if torture was something utterly mundane for her, something so tedious it only evoked laughter.
"You didn't answer the question," he reminded her.
"Silri watches while others fight for her," Baritha said without a trace of a smile. "She has plenty of time now to purge potential rivals. I wouldn't mind fighting for power myself. But not when I have a few dozen allies on my side, and she has thousands of battle-hardened Sith warriors."
"Expand on that last point," Alexander ordered.
The "porcelain figurine" merely shook her head in refusal.
"I'm sorry, Commander, but I will only share that information with someone capable of making decisions for the entire Dominion."
"And what makes you think I'll drop everything and fly you to my command?" Alexander asked.
"Let's think about it, shall we?" she proposed. "I evacuated thirty Nightsisters from Kamino — trained and experienced in using the Dark Side, their natural magic honed by Palpatine's Inquisitors. I understood faster than the commander of my own dreadnought that an empty shuttle was a trap. And I figured out what needed to be done to attract the attention of those watching. My sisters and I killed everyone who could have damaged your ship. And now you have the opportunity to acquire a fully operational, state-of-the-art Keldabe-class dreadnought, built at the Rothana Heavy Engineering shipyards. I know what forces Silri has at her disposal and I have a good idea of her immediate plans. Some of them I know with absolute certainty. And, furthermore, I didn't let the IFF transponders on the dreadnought be destroyed. Now your command can easily navigate the minefields leading to Kamino and Rothana."
She leaned forward slightly, cupping her hand to her mouth as if to shield her words from unwanted ears.
Alexander instinctively leaned in.
"Just don't tell anyone that I deleted the codes from the computer, but memorized them," the Dathomirian witch whispered loudly, smiling directly into his eyes.
Straightening up, she added smugly:
"Don't judge me too harshly for such a liberty, but a weak woman has to secure some guarantee that she won't be used for their dirty purposes by sweaty Dominion fleet officers, only to be thrown out an airlock once they've squeezed all the valuable information out of me, right?"
A smile reigned on her face, devoid of any arrogance or contempt.
She wasn't even gloating over having somehow "outwitted" her captors.
And yes, if she really possessed such information, she should be delivered to the Dominion immediately.
Because that information was genuinely valuable.
And the sooner it reached the Grand Admiral, the better.
That was probably exactly what she was counting on.
"Well then," Alexander smiled. "I see you've thought of everything."
"The foundation of survival," Baritha replied with an equally matching smile. "No offense — nothing personal against you. Just a precaution."
"Then I'm sure you'll understand me too," Alexander snorted, giving a hand signal to the Guardsmen.
Before the Dathomirian witch could react or even look surprised, the nearest Guardsman drove a pneumatic syringe into her neck with one sharp motion.
The plunger reached the bottom of the vial in a fraction of a second, injecting a dose of a powerful tranquilizer into the "porcelain doll's" system.
Strangely enough, Baritha didn't shatter into pieces; she simply collapsed onto the deck.
"Where are her subordinates?" Alexander asked, looking at the Guardsmen and the Stormtrooper Commander.
"Locked in a single berthing compartment on the Keldabe, sir," the latter reported. "Under guard. Disarmed and searched."
"In that case — vent the air from the berthing compartment so they have nothing to breathe," Alexander ordered. "And when the oxygen runs out, open the supply again. But before that — mix in some sleep gas. When they're all unconscious, stun them with stunners. And," he pointed at Baritha, "treat her the same — hit her with tranquilizers too. Then deliver them all to the galley before they wake up."
"The galley, sir?" the Stormtrooper Commander clarified.
"Exactly," Alexander explained. "There's a carbonite freezing unit for food supplies there. Do I need to explain further, or do you get the picture?"
"No, sir, that won't be necessary," the stormtrooper faltered. "I'll see to it immediately."
"Watch Officer," Alexander turned his chair to face the main viewport. "Prepare a prize crew for our trophies and send a boarding party to salvage the damaged Crusader. We're taking everything, and after our witches are frozen, we jump to the metropolis via Kessel. We need to prepare the system for defense."
"Aye, sir!"
* * *
Khomm was burning.
And the fire was visible not just from the surface, the upper atmosphere, or low orbit.
Ysanne Isard could see the glow of hundreds of conflagrations on the planet the moment the Lusankya emerged from hyperspace.
The clone of the Iceheart watched with absolute indifference as the planet burned.
The homeworld of the Khommite race.
One of the galaxy's not-so-numerous born masters of cloning.
During the two hours her flagship had been in orbit, not one of the enormous firestorms ravaging the planet's continents had ceased.
On the contrary — they had only grown stronger.
Khomm could now be compared to Mustafar, given the amount of fire that filled its continents.
The Iceheart looked at the planet's image displayed on one of the monitor screens.
The pale colors of the plains, occasionally crossed by low hills, had lost their original hue.
Now they were either black or ash-colored, sharply harmonizing with small islands of the original landscape.
And standing out starkly against the bluish surface of the local seas and oceans.
Ysanne had no objection to extreme measures or the use of ultimate weapons or tactics.
Planet Khomm before the invasion.
But Khomm had held almost paramount importance for Palpatine.
"Madam Director," a young, smug male voice sounded behind her.
Ysanne continued to gaze at the rivers of fire, catching herself thinking they harmonized perfectly with her crimson uniform.
An impatient cough came from behind.
Her ship's guest was letting her know that he, in fact, had more important things to do than stand here watching her admire the landscapes of the catastrophe he had orchestrated.
The Iceheart began to ponder how easily and casually the order to bombard the surface had been given…
And this, according to agent reports, hadn't even caused a pang of moral anguish.
No doubts whatsoever.
Only faith in his own infallibility.
The decision made was being carried out.
A simple mechanical action.
One order — and an entire civilization was ground to dust.
"I have arrived at your command, ma'am!"
Displeased undertones were audible in his voice.
A mistake on his part.
Ysanne slowly turned to face the officer.
Her gaze cut across the Imperial Sovereign Protector standing slightly behind the "guest" who had arrived on her ship.
Apparently, she was valued, since the Emperor had assigned her one of the champions of his Imperial Guard.
In the past, as she knew, even beings closer to the Emperor had only "rejects" from the rank-and-file Guardsmen under their command.
"You burned Khomm, Rear Admiral Dobramu," she stated.
"The little planet is still burning," a smug smile appeared on the young man's face.
His rapid rise from a simple boot-licking sycophant to senior command had occurred largely not due to his own merits, but to his complete loyalty to the New Order.
And the purges that the Iceheart had carried out among the Imperial officers who had flocked to Palpatine.
Purges that had only just begun.
"Your mission was to capture the planet," she reminded him.
"I lost three Star Destroyers out of five assaulting this Hutt-forsaken backwater," Dobramu suddenly became harsh. "Four and a half legions of stormtroopers were wiped out by those damned Ailon Nova Guardsmen on the surface! I had no intention of sustaining further heavy losses! Orbital bombardment solved the problem of resistance on the surface."
"As far as I know, the Ailonians weren't fighting your stormtroopers in the Khommite cities."
"That doesn't change the fact that the locals helped them in every way they could," Dobramu snorted.
"And you burned the cities."
"Yes."
"The planet had a population of one hundred to five hundred million Khommites," the Iceheart reminded him.
"And every single one of them is non-human," Dobramu offered an indisputable argument. "Same as the Ailonian spawn."
"Correctly noted," Isard agreed.
"So why was I summoned to the Lusankya?" the Rear Admiral asked, his entire demeanor demonstrating that he felt not the slightest guilt.
"Your report, sent by courier to the Emperor some time ago," Isard explained the reason for her interest. "Is it accurate?"
"From start to finish."
"Looking at the blazing planet behind me and the cities subjected to orbital bombardment, I doubt you actually captured all the cloning facilities of the local population without exception," Isard clarified her position. "'Intact. Undamaged. Ready for the service of the New Order.'"
A self-satisfied smirk appeared on Dobramu's face.
Isard had previously thought there couldn't be people this repulsive.
It was useful to learn something new.
"I'm waiting for an answer, Rear Admiral," Ysanne reminded him. "Though I'd also be satisfied with obtaining the information from your screams."
All the amusement was instantly wiped from the man's face.
"The Khommite cloning cylinders were concentrated in a single center," he explained hastily. "I breached the planetary shields. I landed diversionary forces to engage the Ailonian sub-humans. Meanwhile, half a legion captured the center and secured it."
"And after that, you burned the Ailonian cities and fortresses," the Iceheart concluded.
"Exactly, ma'am," Dobramu nodded, smiling timidly. "I obtained for the Emperor what he wanted. Now our Master can produce as many clones as he wishes. Any kind."
This man, like the other senior officers who knew she wasn't the original, apparently thought he could look down on her.
"Excellent," she replied coldly. "You will be rewarded for your zeal in service."
"Serving the realization of the Emperor's plans is my highest reward," Dobramu declared proudly. "All for the glory of the human race!"
"Of course. However, I'm disturbed by the fact that you consider yourself above the Emperor's will to entrust me with cleansing his army and fleet of smug traitors and sycophants."
"How fortunate that I am merely a loyal servant of the Throne," Dobramu snorted. "And nothing threatens me."
Isard studied this man and clearly understood who stood before her at that moment.
And knew perfectly well how to use him.
But first…
"Champion," she addressed the Supreme Sovereign Protector. "Rear Admiral Dobramu has earned a reward for his actions here and now. Reward him. With particular diligence."
The Rear Admiral looked first at the Iceheart, who had turned away from him, uncomprehendingly.
Then, realizing the threat came not from her at all, he turned around, finally understanding that the being standing behind him was not merely an escort.
The Sovereign Protector silently struck him behind the knee with the toe of his armored boot.
Then delivered a backhanded slap, knocking the commander of the Javelin formation to the deck plating.
Kicks to the stomach and torso followed.
"Three broken ribs are quite enough," Ysanne said coldly, watching the Protector literally grind the officer into the deck with particular diligence and ferocity. "Twenty-four hours in a bacta tank should remind the Rear Admiral of the fundamentals of interaction with the Director of Intelligence."
"Yes, ma'am," Dobramu wheezed in pain.
"And if not," Ysanne turned her head just enough so that the officer, yanked off the floor by the Protector, could see her profile silhouetted against the planetary glow. "Then I will visit you again, Rear Admiral Dobramu. And that meeting will be your last. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," the officer wheezed.
"Dismissed," she ordered.
Without a word, the Protector grabbed the man by his trousers and, with one powerful motion, hurled him across half the bridge toward the exit.
Ysanne showed no sign of being disturbed by this display of inhuman capabilities.
"Champion," she called quietly.
The named individual approached and positioned himself within her field of vision.
"Remove your helmet and identify yourself," she ordered.
The Protector seemed to hesitate for a moment.
But a second later, he obeyed.
"Carnor Jax, Madam Director," he said in a colorless tone.
"How interesting, Champion Jax," Ysanne drilled him with her heterochromatic gaze.
A blazing gaze and a freezing gaze.
The unity and struggle of opposites in a single vessel.
"How interesting," the Iceheart repeated, observing the sweat that had appeared on the brow of the Protector standing calmly before her. "How interesting…"
Her gaze shifted to the blazing Khomm.
The Iceheart did not utter another word.
But that didn't mean her curiosity was satisfied.