Captain Valum Vigor stood on the bridge of a Star Destroyer, staring into the boundless blackness of stars.
Here, far from the thousands of known inhabited worlds, on the very edge of the star system Lur in the Aparo sector, far from the unfolding carnage, the man asked himself one simple question.
Was it worth abandoning his career on the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer to...
For all of this?!
Had he deserted from the Pentastar Alignment fleet to spend time in interrogations with Dominion counterintelligence?
Or to be sent, like a cadet, after "talks with counterintelligence officers," to the Captain Schneider Naval Academy, where among hundreds of greenhorns he sat and listened to more fortunate officers—those who had joined Thrawn and his Dominion earlier—lecture him on modern space combat?
To have them explain on their fingers how inert the once-infallible tactics of the Imperial Starfleet were?
Or to command an interdictor cruiser after his "graduation," trawling the backwaters of the Dominion in search of pirates and smugglers, training the youth?
And, having received a promotion, to go to the boondocks on the borders of two sectors at the northern tip of the Hydian Way?
Was all this worth trading a career in the Empire for becoming part of the Dominion?
And spend time on endless patrols or setting traps for lone ships that don't even belong to the New Republic or its cancerous appendix—the Alliance?
After all, he had effectively betrayed the state to which he had given his oath, precisely for this—to become part of a victorious machine operating against the rebels.
So much for listening to the advice of Grand Moff Kaine.
Fled to the Dominion, like several hundred other officers from the fleet crushed at Balmorra...
And in the end...
Stuck here, in the sticks, on the border of the star system Lur in the Aparo sector, commanding a small task force consisting of a Star Destroyer, a pair of heavy cruisers not exactly fresh, and also four corvettes that were recently in service with the Zann Consortium?
Was it worth it?
Despite the fact that everything happening didn't quite match his understanding of a military career as a combat officer of the Pentastar, the answer could only be one.
Captain Valum Vigor believed the game was worth the candle.
At least because under his command was one of the foremost Star Destroyers of the "Dominant" class in the Dominion.
Yes, it was a deeply reworked version of the Imperial "Interdictor," as it might appear from the outside.
CO of the Dominant-class Star Destroyer "Raider," Captain Valum Vigor.
In reality, it was a full-fledged Star Destroyer, bristling with weapons from keel to communication antennas, surpassing even the standard "Imperial" in service with Imperial Space or the Pentastar Alignment, which Valum had the honor of commanding under Grand Moff Ardus Kaine.
The heavy cruisers under his command were not some wrecks, but Vindicators modernized and rearmed in the Dominion, which could outperform their Imperial counterparts.
Yes, they didn't just roll off the assembly line yesterday (unlike the "Crusaders"), but they represented a significant force.
Vigor knew the history of his ship well.
Once it had been an "Imperial" that crashed on the planet Raxus Prime in the Tion Hegemony and spent a long time on the planet as a pile of scrap, from which the Empire had removed everything valuable.
Then it was reconstructed by some crazy pirates and lifted from the surface into orbit.
Where it was captured by the Dominion and taken to the rear.
Yes, this ship had the insulting nickname "garbage," like all ships built or restored at the shipyard in orbit of Raxus Prime.
But after the modernization it underwent, this ship was ready to tear the throat out of any spacecraft of its class.
Heavy, ion, and turbolaser artillery in numbers exceeding even those on the "Imperial II," located in both the upper and lower hemispheres.
Deflector shield generators moved under the armored hull plating, supplemented with a SEAL boost generator previously found only on Mon Calamari ships.
And thanks to which these crappy vessels fought on equal terms with the superior "Imperials."
Powerful anti-aircraft coverage, leaving no part of the ship—including the stern and superstructure—without flak fire.
Turbolasers on the edges of the main hangar, interspersed with point-defense laser cannons on the underside and around the cargo hangar.
Proton torpedo and missile launchers (the latter a recent addition installed a few weeks ago) and turbolaser turrets at the bow of the ship, reinforcing forward fire.
Medium turbolasers of intermediate caliber, located in the forward part of the superstructure, designed to engage enemy light ships of corvette or frigate class.
The power of an entire battle group concentrated in a single ship, which also carries significant automation systems and a reduced crew.
"Sir," the watch officer approached him. "All buzz droids have been launched into space."
"From all ships?" Valum glanced at the subordinate.
"Yes, sir," he replied phlegmatically. "From every ship in the task force."
"So the defensive perimeter is set," the Star Destroyer commander nodded to his thoughts. "Continue to maintain control over this position, Lieutenant. Remind our pilots not to stray from the carriers beyond the medium perimeter."
"Will do, sir."
The lieutenant saluted and headed toward the "pits."
Valum, scratching his chin, thought that in the past he had precisely lacked such obedient and taciturn subordinates.
The loss of personnel in the Imperial Starfleet as a result of the Imperial Civil War and the unsuccessful confrontation with the New Republic had led to dire consequences.
In effect, the Star Destroyers of the Pentastar Alignment and Imperial Space were manned by yesterday's youngsters who had completed crash courses for junior officers.
The Dominion seemed to have solved this problem.
The Raider was currently the fifth and last of the commissioned Dominant-class Star Destroyers.
And its crew was almost entirely composed of clones—every single pilot, technician, mechanic, enlisted personnel, and most of the commissioned officers.
Defectors from the Pentastar Alignment who heeded the order-request of Grand Moff Kaine to flee to the Dominion and had undergone a rather strict selection and internship also served on the combat ships of the Dominion regular fleet.
On Vigor's Raider, only ten former colleagues served—the rest were "scattered" among other ships of the vast fleet.
As far as the Raider's commander knew, the situation in the fleet was roughly the same as on his ship.
A significant part of the personnel of the Dominion regular fleet consisted of clones of the best specialists available to the young state.
And, watching how they had recently masterfully intercepted and destroyed ships of the Zann Consortium trying to break through the blockade of the Lur system, Valum could not go against the obvious truth he saw with his own eyes.
These clones are good.
At the level of, perhaps, not the very best Imperial Starfleet officers who died in the inglorious conflicts of past years.
But they certainly surpass in quality everything available to the Imperial Remnants.
Based on these considerations, Captain Vigor could not understand one simple thing.
Why was his task force, as well as similar forces—four completely identical in quantity and quality—engaged in blockading the hyperspace routes on the borders of the Lur system.
Well, okay, the blockade of the system wasn't entirely total—at least one exit from here remained open.
Why were they launching buzz droids around themselves but not joining the starships that were fighting and dying on the enemy minefields, breaking through to the planet surrounded by enemy ships and orbital defense stations?
He was told that this was necessary to protect the task forces from camouflaged enemy ships.
Supposedly the "Zann" intended to break out of the system and, noticing that the Dominion ships were scattering buzz droids around themselves—which had already proven their effectiveness multiple times—would fear approaching the starships of the blocking task forces.
But then why didn't they close off the sixth and final hyperspace exit vector?
Why leave this loophole for the enemy?
Why did they deploy gravity trawls, and why did they report their vectors to the squadron command, if the "Red Star" never engaged in the current battle?
After all, not a single starship had arrived in the system since the vectors were deployed.
The strike force emerged from hyperspace ten minutes before them, sustained significant damage from enemy ships, as a result both "Venators" with ion cannons had to enter battle as assault carriers.
Why weren't the Dominion's newest starships participating in the breakthrough, and the assault was carried out exclusively using trophies from last year's campaign?
Numerous assault frigates, Corellian corvettes and frigates, even older Republic "Marauders," "Carrack" cruisers, and other morally obsolete scrap?
All this resembled the standard Imperial tactic of grinding down the enemy's defenses regardless of losses.
But hadn't they told him during the "advanced training" courses that the Dominion did not use reckless tactics?
Hadn't they reminded him at every opportunity that the lives of crew members were important and losses must be minimized?
Why was this carnage happening, in which dozens of ships were dying on both sides?
Was everything he had been told simply a lie, and in reality the Dominion was no different from the other Imperial Remnants?
Or was it that after the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn, all their military successes were nothing more than coincidences due to numerical superiority over the enemy?
Captain Vigor did not know the answers to these questions.
But he carried out his assigned combat tasks precisely and impeccably.
He hoped that one day the deep meaning of what was happening, if any, would be revealed to him.
All that remained was to console himself with the hope that he simply did not yet enjoy enough trust from the command for them to reveal the full picture of what was happening.
And he also understood that by deserting from the armed forces of the Pentastar Alignment, he had burned all bridges behind him.
He had nowhere else to go.
And he also knew one simple truth.
The very one that had earned him his command.
Whatever he undertook, he did it excellently and as efficiently as possible for the fulfillment of the combat mission.
So it would be in service to the Dominion.
* * *
Despite the fact that battle stations had not been sounded on the Guardian, the bridge was immersed in the blue glow of combat lighting.
And in this unusual twilight, the figure of the Dathomirian witch looked rather ominous.
Especially now that she had approached the main viewport and could use the Force.
The commander of the Guardian stood a couple of steps away from her, but within the field suppressing that supernatural power, generated by the nearest ysalamiri lizard.
Oh, how much time he had spent arranging the cages so that on the entire bridge only a tiny area—two by one meter—was open to forces that could neither be measured nor assessed.
But, against all laws of physics, they existed.
"Well, you've made yourselves quite comfortable," said the Dathomirian witch, standing with closed eyes before the main viewport. "You're under stealth yourself, since your ship isn't being attacked. You use the power of a Night Sister against an enemy that has no Force-users at its disposal and seek out their secrets. Quite cunning..."
The commander of the Guardian ignored this barb, continuing with his own business.
And doing his best to ignore the bothersome woman, whose intrusive words literally resembled the irritating splash of water.
"Don't be timid, Captain Pellaeon," he heard the suspiciously gentle voice of Lady Baritha. "I don't bite. Usually."
"Glad to hear it," the commander of the Guardian replied harshly, trying in vain not to show his hostility too openly. "I also don't make a habit of shooting in the temple those who are on the bridge of my ship. But I'm always ready to make an exception if circumstances require it or if a corresponding order is given."
He pointedly patted his unholstered holster with the standard blaster inside.
A hint that he would use the weapon without hesitation if he deemed it necessary.
"Of course," on the wrinkle-free face of the Dathomirian witch, resembling a porcelain figurine, satisfaction at the interlocutor's discomfort showed, but nothing of the sort leaked into her voice. "Don't flatter yourselves—I'm not going to take control of your barge's crew. I'll do what the Grand Admiral requires of me. And that's all."
"'Guardian' is a Super Star Destroyer," Pellaeon cut in, glancing at Thrawn, who had stepped away from his chair. The latter was attentively examining something on a tactical monitor. Probably counting how many ships they had already lost. "Battle barges of similar size are something out of fantasy or ancient legends."
Baritha, without opening her eyes, smiled triumphantly.
"Typical Imperial military buffoon," she said. "You all somehow think we women should understand your flying and shooting toys."
"And shouldn't we?" flashed through Pellaeon's mind, a thought so obvious it seemed impossible it could be otherwise.
"It seems you should be busy completing the task," the captain said firmly. "The Grand Admiral is waiting for results from you."
"He expects work from me without even knowing if I'm capable of it," Baritha taunted the captain and snorted again. "Very imprudent of him—to trust someone whose capabilities he doesn't even know due to his own shortsightedness and inability to sense the Force."
Pellaeon was saved from having to respond by a signal on the console whose monitor he had been watching all this time.
"We are taking losses in ships," the captain informed the Dathomirian witch, once again unambiguously reminding her why she had been kept alive and brought to the bridge in the first place.
However, knowing Thrawn, one could assume he would readily let the witch sacrifice their entire assault fleet, fighting to the death against the Zann Consortium ships.
Of course, if he wanted to learn something important from her.
"You'll also tell me about the thousands of lost souls," snorted the native of Dathomir.
Pellaeon left even this jab without any hint of debate.
Although he very much wanted to say a great deal of what he thought about this overgrown, utterly artificial and unnatural young lady, right to her face, without mincing words.
He had no doubt that his original would have done so, were he in the place of the Guardian's commander.
Although no.
Gilad Pellaeon would never have admitted to anyone that he was afraid to command such a ship.
Panic and terror.
The captain knew this because he had inherited the original's memories, including the Battle of Soulex, where the original Pellaeon had already commanded a Super Star Destroyer.
He was not thrilled.
Sincerely considering himself capable of commanding nothing larger than a battle cruiser.
However, it was now clear why he doted on his "Allegiance" and fussed over it like a priceless treasure.
"Interesting tactics you have," the annoying Dathomirian witch interrupted his train of thought. "Do you think the enemy doesn't understand what you're doing? Even a blind man can see that."
The captain felt a chill run down his spine, but his long association with Thrawn had yielded positive results.
So, aside from biting his lip in pain, no reaction to the rude remark followed.
"Are you unfamiliar with the concept of a combat mission?" Pellaeon inquired coldly.
"I am a Dathomirian witch, Captain Pellaeon," Baritha opened her eyes wide and turned her head toward him; in the "mirrors of the soul" of this woman burned a dark fire of righteous (in her opinion) anger. But her face was adorned with beads of sweat and an expression of excessive strain. It seemed such "tricks" did not come easily to her. This detail needed to be remembered—in case it became necessary to use it. "The Clan Night Sisters has never obeyed men—that is our sacred tradition. We are not your dimwitted little soldiers to whom you can give an order and expect them to carry it out."
"Sounds like an admission of your own helplessness," the commander of the Guardian grunted, distracted by another detection signal. "Should I inform Grand Admiral Thrawn that you are unable to complete the task assigned to you, Lady Baritha?"
"You can report whatever you like, you troglodyte," the witch said irritably. "I have completed my task. There are eighteen camouflaged ships in the system."
"Shohashi destroyed another seven during his attempts to assault," the commander of the Guardian calculated mentally.
"It would be courteous of you to indicate their type and location," the captain grumbled.
"Don't trouble yourself, Captain Pellaeon," Baritha said venomously and not without pleasure. "I will undoubtedly show you where these ships are. However," she smiled nastily, "not to you personally. To Grand Admiral Thrawn."
And reporting to Pellaeon, apparently, her religion did not permit.
"You think he has time for such trifles?"
Baritha looked with a joyful smile toward the figure in the white tunic behind them.
"Men always have time for women," she said, looking at the super star destroyer captain. "Warriors have always needed those who brighten their leisure, brighten their dull days, tend their wounds, and listen to their grandiose plans for conquering worlds. The better a woman does this, the more valuable she is to a warlord. And you won't bat an eye when I start giving you orders and watching you march in front of me in close order drill. On par with your officers and sailors."
Pellaeon grunted, unable to hold back a laugh.
"Yes, yes, yes," he heard his own voice say. "You just go ahead and try. And I'll prepare the ion engine ignition chamber to vaporize your mutilated remains."
"You don't understand how deep a hole you're digging for yourself, Captain," Baritha said lazily. "Your Grand Admiral showed me that he could give me what I could only dream of. I think I'm ready to attain what I hadn't even imagined."
"A walk outside the Guardian without a spacesuit?" The captain barely flinched upon hearing the voice of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Looking toward the source of the sound, he saw with relief that the Supreme Commander was nearby.
And, apparently, he had been a witness to the Dathomirian witch's last pronouncements.
"Oh, Grand Admiral Thrawn," Baritha beamed, turning to face him. "I was just about to say..."
Thrawn favored her with such a look that he seemed to intend to incinerate her on the spot and scatter the ashes to the stellar wind.
Interesting, how did he do that?
He wasn't even frowning, not changing his facial expression, not widening his eyes, not blushing...
He didn't change at all.
But the commander of the Guardian could easily tell when his commander was ready to kill with a word, and when he was disposed to a heart-to-heart talk.
The Grand Admiral didn't even make a show of believing the nonsense the Dathomirian witch had been trying to feed him.
"Yes, I heard what you wanted to say," he said quietly. "In turn, I want to warn you that any of your actions outside the agreed-upon relationship will cost you everything. Including your life. Apparently, you can't wait to do everything you can to shorten its duration."
"No, I was merely expressing my concern that a man as magnificent as yourself lacks a lady of the heart befitting your status and grandeur," Pellaeon mentally applauded the witch.
The arrogant and venomous tone she had used with the Guardian's commander not so long ago and the way she was now literally groveling before the Grand Admiral was worthy of a pretty decent theatrical performance.
"Interesting, can I already order her thrown out an airlock, or is it too soon?" the officer wondered.
"I am master of my word, Lady Baritha," Thrawn said, just as quietly. "I promised you power over Dathomir. I can also deprive you of that opportunity. I advise you not to overstep the boundaries of a working relationship."
Not a single muscle on the witch's face twitched.
"Understood," she said dryly. "Your assignment is complete, Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"Not the most efficient result," the Chiss commented, causing a crack of vexation to appear on her porcelain-like face. "Where are the enemy ships? What is their composition?"
"I just explained to your martinet that I don't understand the types of your military toys for grown boys," the Dathomirian witch commented sarcastically, looking at Pellaeon.
"You are making one unforgivable mistake after another," Thrawn said unexpectedly. "Captain Pellaeon is the one who was planned for a future command position in the Quelli sector. It would be quite foolish to spoil relations with someone who, because of your lack of restraint, could turn all of Dathomir into a slag-covered, lifeless desert."
Baritha and Pellaeon looked into each other's eyes with undisguised mutual surprise.
"I hope you're joking," the witch said, sounding like a balloon with the air let out of it.
"I don't have that habit," the Grand Admiral remarked coldly. "Captain Pellaeon."
"Yes, sir."
"Give our guest a datapad with data on the enemy ship types — let her indicate the number of starships she was able to detect," Thrawn ordered.
"Y-yes, sir," Gilad muttered, looking at the monitor screen directly in front of him.
And why was that?
"Your practical value is decreasing with every passing minute, Lady Baritha," Thrawn said dryly, watching the picture of the deadly slaughter unfolding before him between two fleets.
"You are asking the impossible of me, Grand Admiral," the witch hissed. "The Force allows me to see sentient beings through time and space. Even their cloaking shields don't save them. I see thoughts, their images in the Force... I don't care what metal box they're in."
Pellaeon felt his lips involuntarily twist.
And this arrogant woman, just a few minutes ago, had been telling him about greatness and reverence, and now she was making the most mundane excuses to the one who could decide her fate with a snap of his fingers.
It was almost funny.
He hoped he wouldn't burst out laughing.
Pellaeon handed the witch a personal datapad.
"That sounds like an excuse," he said quietly, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a barely perceptible smile on Thrawn's face.
"I don't care about all your classifications!" Baritha began to boil over, clearly losing her temper.
Her gaze darted between Pellaeon and Thrawn, while in her hand she held a datapad to which she had shown absolutely zero interest.
"Well, I care about them," the Grand Admiral reminded her. "Are you ready to provide the information?"
The witch, pursing her lips, bent over the personal device.
"Always at your service," she announced sarcastically, clumsily poking her fingers at the touchscreen.
Pellaeon found it amusing.
And this was the symbol of power she fancied herself to be?
She couldn't even handle the simplest device.
Well...
Alright, not the simplest.
Not every cadet could place eighteen markers on a three-dimensional map on a tactical datapad.
"Lady Baritha?"
The witch bit her lip, still staring stupidly at the screen.
"I don't understand how to turn it in," she surrendered, returning the device to Pellaeon and glaring at him furiously.
"How strange," Thrawn's calm voice came. "And in a recent conversation, you almost told me that schools and educational institutions on Dathomir were unnecessary."
"Witches have a different standard of living," the Dathomir native ground out with effort. "We have magic... We have no need to crawl before all this technology."
"Apparently, the fact that she didn't die somewhere in a doorway on Kamino, or blow up her own dreadnought through ignorance, is a great stroke of luck," the Guardian's commander thought, taking back the datapad.
"I hope you are at least capable of indicating which ships have more sentients and which have fewer?" The Grand Admiral was the epitome of pointed, undeniable courtesy.
Pellaeon barely restrained himself from grinning like a Gungan being praised for its quickness.
A shadow of displeasure crossed the witch's face.
"There are only six large ships under cloak," the witch declared peremptorily.
"Are you absolutely certain of that, Lady Baritha?" If Pellaeon hadn't known the Grand Admiral from his current life and the original's memories, he would have thought he was deliberately mocking the guest to remind her of who she was and where the limits of her greatness ended. "Because if you are wrong, and it turns out to be completely different..."
"I am not wrong, Grand Admiral Thrawn," the porcelain figurine enunciated in a haughty tone. "I will complete your assignment. Of the eighteen ships, six are large, the rest are small. I can even tell you that on the large ships, the sentients are positioned along an imaginary line, spread out from front to back, at about a third of the way from the stern in terms of width, while on the small ones, they are more compact, practically on top of each other."
A short pause hung in the air.
The Guardian's commander grimaced, trying to figure out what type of ship the witch was attempting to describe.
However, if you set aside the assumption that the enemy was using several types of combat starships equipped with cloaking systems, the answer was obvious.
"Aggressor-class Star Destroyer and Vengeance-class frigates," Thrawn stated.
Baritha looked triumphantly at Pellaeon.
The latter, wincing at her arrogant little smile, which practically screamed, Look! I did it!, looked at the command console display, comparing the results.
"The ships are grouped into units of three starships," the Dathomirian witch continued. "Two small and one large."
"And they are dispersed near the hyperspace exit vectors," Thrawn declared.
"Well," Baritha drawled. "Yes. At a considerable distance from your units that have them trapped here. They know they don't stand a chance in an open battle. Your valiant warriors..."
Oh gods, if you exist, make her shut up.
"The tactic of deploying buzz droids worked," Pellaeon realized, looking at the Grand Admiral.
"As expected," the latter nodded almost imperceptibly, continuing to watch the carnage unfolding before the Guardian's nose between the Dominion's assault fleet and the defending forces of the Zann Consortium. "The enemy is well aware of what our buzz droids can do to their ships."
Captain Pellaeon hadn't witnessed this personally, but thanks to his original's memories, he perfectly remembered how enemy starships had been tracked using buzz droids.
And how spectacularly Admiral Ackbar's flagship, Home One, the progenitor of the entire line of new republic star cruisers of that type, had entered the Republican base on Centax-II, the moon of the capital planet Coruscant — that was something you never forgot.
"Can you indicate the location of each enemy unit?" Thrawn inquired.
"Approximately," for once, the witch didn't try to prevaricate. "But I'll need help figuring out all these technical innovations. Would you do me that favor, Grand Admiral?"
"No," Thrawn cut him off. "Captain Pellaeon."
"Yes, sir?"
"Activate the tactical holoprojector and display the positions of our ships at the system's borders on it," the Grand Admiral ordered, continuing to contemplate the scene of the slaughter.
"At once, sir," the Guardian's commander saluted, immediately starting up the required equipment.
The witch, grimacing, stepped out of the zone where she controlled the Force and moved into that part of the bridge where the ysalamiri held absolute sway.
Strangely enough, it took her just over ten minutes to show Pellaeon the location of the enemy ships.
As expected — they were holding a couple of echelons above the positions of the blockading units.
Like birds of prey, ready to swoop down and attack unsuspecting prey at any second.
With one exception.
Both the attackers and the defenders knew that the Zann Consortium's cloaked ships were in the system.
That was why the latter were keeping a reasonable distance.
Close enough that the buzz droids, spreading out in all directions, couldn't immediately get them.
But far enough that the Consortium couldn't afford to ignore their ability to open fire with all guns and inflict tangible damage on the Dominion's starships.
On the tactical hologram, Pellaeon saw Dominion and Zann star destroyers and other ships being destroyed.
The light forces, gathered from all over the Dominion, organized for a single mission, were now charging straight ahead.
They spared neither themselves nor their enemy, snapping back with fire at everyone within their reach.
And they were repaid a hundredfold.
Pellaeon tallied the losses.
About fifty Dominion ships of various classes and types had already been destroyed while breaking through the minefield.
Torn by enemy weapons and self-propelled barrier munitions, they didn't stop or falter in the face of danger.
Two waves had clashed, neither willing to yield an inch of the space they had won back at monstrous cost.
"I see you don't spare your spoils, Grand Admiral," Baritha said with a smirk, glancing at Thrawn.
"Why would he spare them?" Pellaeon thought in surprise.
"They are carrying out the combat tasks for which they were created," the Chiss replied in a general phrase.
Baritha was once again playing the role of a high-society aristocrat, annoying with her appearance, tone, and behavior.
"The Night Sisters respect and value those who are willing to go all the way for their desires," her words flowed like sweet molasses. "I think you will be popular among my people, Grand Admiral."
It was already becoming unbearably cloying.
He wanted nothing more than to free his ears, which had become a vessel for this irritating mass of deceitful speeches.
Pellaeon thought again that Thrawn must be finding it difficult to communicate with all these cunning and narcissistic personalities he was forced to interact with.
He himself would have given the order to get rid of her long ago.
And the Grand Admiral had to understand that better than anyone.
Wasn't he taking a big risk by saying that Pellaeon was slated to command forces in the Quelli sector?
The captain had precisely as much patience as it took to give an order for an orbital bombardment.
And if he ever had anything larger than an old tub, such witch performances wouldn't lead to anything good.
Thrawn surely understood that.
But, as the junior in rank, Pellaeon felt obliged to inform his commander of his prejudiced attitude toward witches because of this very arrogant person.
He wondered if the original Pellaeon suffered similarly when he had to communicate with Baroness D'Asta like this?
"You are mistaken, Lady Baritha," Thrawn cooled her ardor. "Glory and popularity among sentients interest me the least of all."
"Well, it seems to me you're doing everything to become the most popular warlord," the witch continued her flattering speeches. "Unyielding like Mandalorian iron. Straightforward and deadly like inevitability itself. Knowing no mercy like a rancor, sparing no one around you. Not even your own subordinates. Admit it, you organized this test," she nodded towards the datapad, "to impress me and charm me with your masculinity?"
Pellaeon felt a wave of nausea.
"And again you are fundamentally wrong, Lady Baritha," the Grand Admiral's tone seemed to take on shades of disappointment. "The operation underway has several purposes. One of them is to test your loyalty."
"Interesting," the Dathomirian witch hissed through narrowed eyes. "You make me search for ships that you yourselves cannot find."
A rather loud snort escaped the mouth of the flagship super star destroyer's commander.
Pellaeon could no longer contain the amusement that was tearing him apart from the inside.
"Did I say something funny?" the Dathomirian witch flared up. "Answer me, Captain Pellaeon! How dare you mock the one without whom you wouldn't even have known the number of cloaked enemy starships, huh? Having fun? Without me, you are nobody and nothing... What is this?"
At a sign from Thrawn, the Guardian's commander brought up the data from his display on the main tactical screen.
On the two-dimensional map of the system, it showed not only the ships currently fighting in the space around the orbit of the planet Lur, drawing ever closer to it.
Even with the naked eye, one could see swarms of TIE fighters and other machines of similar design erupting from the depths of the four Venators advancing in the center of the formation, which had lost their ion cannons during the three previous and the current assault attempt.
But that wasn't the key point.
On the outskirts of the display, at five points, there were markers for the Dominion's blockading ship units.
And next to them, as well as at a sixth system exit vector, a total of eighteen enemy markers were noted.
Clearly divided into two ship types.
Only the flagship's commander himself knew for certain that they were indeed Vengeance-class frigates and Aggressor-class battlecruisers.
The fact that Thrawn, unfamiliar with the scanner data, had identified them correctly could be chalked up to luck, coincidence.
Or to simple logic, which the fleet commander had not disdained lately, on the battlefield and off.
"We knew the location of the enemy units, their numbers, and their qualitative composition long before you, while playing the role of a technically illiterate sentient, staged a scene here, flirting with our masculine conceit," Thrawn said calmly. "As I already said — it was nothing more than a test for you."
Baritha stared at the tactical screen, biting her lip.
"If I had lied to you, you would have found out and killed me," she said slowly.
"Yes," Thrawn didn't hide the obvious.
"So you didn't trust me when you offered me leadership of Dathomir," the woman concluded.
"There is no mark for gullibility in my personnel file, Lady Baritha," the Grand Admiral said. "That is precisely why I had special equipment brought aboard the Guardian on cargo ships, equipment that allows us to detect cloaked enemy ships."
"And what was the point of this whole charade?" The speed with which the words tore from her mouth spoke of great impatience.
The Dathomirian witch's eyes blazed.
Her fingers kept clenching, as if she wanted to crush something.
Or strangle someone.
"Trust is a currency too valuable to be spent on everyone who declares their desire to serve the Dominion," Thrawn explained. "The story of your rescue is as stirring as it is utterly false. In the interests of my people, I had to make sure you were on our side, and not possessed of the ability to fool our counterintelligence."
"And? Convinced?"
"At least that you are not on the side of the Zann Consortium," the Grand Admiral said evasively.
"Eloquent," the witch said, pursing her lips. "So I take it this is neither the first nor the last test?"
"This isn't even the beginning of one," a half-smile appeared on Thrawn's lips. "You have demonstrated your thirst for power and your desire to walk over corpses, to obtain as much power as possible by any means."
"As if you don't do the same," Baritha snorted, pointing at the carnage unfolding ahead. "How many sentients are dying there right now so you can reach that frozen ball?"
Pellaeon turned, looked around for the nearest stormtrooper, and with a nod of his head ordered him to move the cage with the ysalamiri closer, so as to block the last island of unity with the Force on the bridge.
Baritha, who had ended up near the central viewport, winced, realizing she was unable to use her supernatural abilities.
"Thousands," the Grand Admiral replied laconically. "And yes, we are practically at our goal. The assault fleet has carved a channel through the minefields."
"You sacrificed your own people," the Dathomirian witch said triumphantly. "So we are alike."
"Not in the slightest," the Grand Admiral replied, looking at the Guardian's commander. "Is the channel wide enough for the Guardian to pass through?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon reported. "The assault fleet has fully accomplished its task. We are registering heavy losses among our small craft."
"As expected, the enemy is using all its forces to crush our troops," Thrawn stroked his chin, as if thinking something over.
"Seventy percent of our fighters have been destroyed," Pellaeon reported. "The enemy has lost up to half of its small craft. A significant part of that is due to the buzz droids launched by our assault ships at the moment of close combat."
"The ratio for starships?"
"Every single large enemy ship has sustained significant, but not critical, damage," Pellaeon checked the data from the central computer. "Up to forty percent of the enemy's light forces have been destroyed by our ships of similar type."
"Our losses?"
"Eighty percent irreversible losses among light ships," the super star destroyer's commander reported. "Should I order the Venators to disengage?"
"Yes, it's time," Thrawn agreed. "Let the remaining ships cover their withdrawal to the sixth system exit vector."
"It will be done, sir."
"Monitor the actions of the minefields," Thrawn ordered. "I want to know how static the minefield is."
"Yes, sir."
The Dathomirian witch clearly understood that no one was interested in her comments.
It was almost strange to watch her in silence.
But Pellaeon noticed progress.
If before she had tried to play the high-society lady, now she was openly displaying her barbaric behavior.
Without restraining her emotions, she watched the slaughter with almost satisfaction.
"It's a shame I can't savor the feelings of death and suffering of the dying warriors," she said.
"I doubt the clones the Zann Consortium uses are even capable of feeling emotion," Thrawn said.
"You use them too," Baritha looked at Pellaeon. "I remember talking to exactly the same sentient. But he was older, with gray hair. And different command insignia on his chest."
The Guardian's commander remained impassive.
Now that this insolent bitch had been put in her place, clearly shown that her feminine tricks and Dathomirian charm wouldn't work, the super star destroyer's commander could restrain himself no longer.
To her haughty stare, he responded with all the calm and composure he could muster.
Smirking meaningfully from time to time.
"We do use them," Thrawn agreed. "But not in this case."
"Excuse me?" the Dathomirian witch was taken aback.
"As I already said — this attack serves several purposes. One of them is understanding the limits of your abilities. You have clearly demonstrated what you are capable of in terms of detecting sentient life signs. For that, I thank you."
"For what, exactly?"
"We have used a similar method before to hunt down a Jedi," Thrawn explained. "Now, thanks to you, we have found an alternative method for locating cloaked ships, without using the crystalline gravity trap that the Guardian carries."
The Dathomirian witch was silent.
"Cunningly thought up," she said. "So I take it you're not using the tactic of breaking through the minefields with the entire fleet for no reason?"
"I need a clear channel to safely bring my flagship into Lura's orbit," Thrawn explained, turning to Pellaeon. "Captain, I need the obstacle readings."
"Our ships are in the channel, but the mines no longer react to them," Pellaeon reported. "Apparently, they're outside the mines' target detection radius."
"Has any mine movement been registered?"
"No, sir. Spy droids indicate the mines being used are old, non-propelled models," Pellaeon said.
"In other words, you've punched a breach in their defenses," Baritha concluded. "Interesting... From the fact that you're unconcerned about losses, I take it clone lives don't bother you."
"The soldiers of the Zann Consortium interest me as little as popularity in narrow or broad circles," Thrawn replied laconically.
"And what about your own?" she specified.
Pellaeon saw a shadow of bewilderment and wariness cross Baritha's face.
"Not a single living soul is aboard any ship of the assault fleet," Thrawn stated.
"Droids," the Dathomirian witch said, pursing her lips. "And I kept wondering why there were so many ships and so few life signals actually registering in the Force..."
"Now you know."
"But the fighters... There are pilots in those!"
Pellaeon chuckled.
From the Dathomirian vixen's mouth, that phrase sounded like an attempt to catch the Grand Admiral in a slip.
And thus triumphantly declare that he was just as much a butcher as she was, as her subordinates were.
"There isn't a single living pilot in the assault fleet," Grand Admiral Thrawn explained. "We're merely conducting large-scale tests of our TIE drone projects on the TIE fighter platform."
Pellaeon chuckled.
The Dominion had rejected the individual TIE drone designs developed on Lianna.
Instead of hulls unknown to the galaxy, whose production required its own assembly line, the Dominion had refined the technology based on previous test results.
And since the state manufactured TIE fighters for the Imperial Remnants, those hulls also served as platforms for the TIE drone project, which the Dominion simply refused to abandon entirely.
Well, today's battle had once again demonstrated that a niche for TIE drones did exist.
When you need to throw something into a suicide attack against impenetrable enemy defensive lines, mindless machines fit the role of small craft better than anything else.
Just like the many unnecessary ships that didn't fit the concept of a regular or defensive fleet, captured during the campaign of the previous standard year.
"I don't understand," Baritha admitted. "You're throwing dozens of ships, an armada of droids, into destruction, yet you could easily destroy the enemy starships hiding under camouflage. And then finish off the remaining Zann Consortium ships. But for some reason, you're not doing either."
Pellaeon grinned briefly, continuing to track the position of the camouflaged enemy ships.
Not a single one had so much as twitched since they were detected.
They thought they were perfectly safe.
Well, well.
"It's simple," Thrawn replied. "I need the enemy to believe they've won this battle. To think we've committed all our reserves against them."
"And what will that get you?"
"They'll attempt a breakout, believing our forces are weakened and cannot stop their Star Destroyers."
"And in reality?" Baritha pressed.
"In reality, I have no intention of stopping them," Thrawn replied. "I have my own objectives."
"You'll let them go?" the Dathomirian witch asked in disbelief.
The commander of the Guardian couldn't suppress a snort.
But he immediately sobered, catching Grand Admiral Thrawn's disapproving gaze.
"My apologies," he said dryly.
"I don't believe you'll let Zann's ships escape the trap," Baritha said, shaking her head. "Let's drop the pleasantries, Thrawn. I understood perfectly well that you brought me on this journey to demonstrate your ability to use and destroy any opponent, no matter how advantageous their position. Your 'tests' and all this," she gestured at the carnage that had shifted to the very edge of Lura's geostationary orbit, "are a warning to me not to break agreements, to avoid retaliation. I understand and accept all of that. The Dathomirian witches readily understand the language of force — better than any persuasion or bargaining. But I will never believe you'll let the enemy leave here alive!"
"Sir, the strike fleet has been destroyed," Captain Pellaeon reported. "Our Venators have left the system for the rendezvous point via vector six."
"The enemy?" the Grand Admiral inquired, ignoring the Dathomirian witch's questions and radiating impatience.
"The remaining starships, excluding the camouflaged ones, are regrouping and advancing toward vector six."
"So they're going for a breakout," Thrawn nodded, lost in thought.
He looked at Baritha.
"Your concerns are entirely correct," he stated. "The surviving Zann Consortium starships will leave this system."
"But you have such power at your command," the witch gestured around the bridge, implying the Super Star Destroyer. "You could crush them like household pests under your boot!"
"I could," Thrawn agreed. "But I won't."
"But why not?!" the witch burst out. "You can't leave an enemy alive."
"I agree," said the Grand Admiral. "But I also don't have time to kill every single one of them. I do, however, have competent subordinates. And my task — and the Guardian's — on Lura is completely different. Captain Pellaeon."
"Yes, sir!"
"Prepare the 501st Legion and special forces to storm the enemy ships and orbital shipyards as soon as the enemy vessels leave the system and engage Rear Admiral Shohashi's forces."
"It will be done, sir!"