The moment the landing barge touched the frozen surface of planet Lur, the loading ramp slammed down with a clatter.
Wind rushed toward the armored vehicles, but the pilots, sealed inside their light armored machines, paid it no attention.
Tychus, whose AT-RT was first at the ramp, didn't waste a second.
His "little one" had been ready to deploy into battle for a long time now.
Just like all the "little ones" of the Rancor regiment's AT-RTs.
A landing barge packed with "little ones" AT-RTs.
Deployment of Rancor squad.
Tychus Roach, as always, in the lead.
(Art by Ansel Hsiao)
The machine rose onto its legs and marched briskly down onto the snow-covered surface.
The gyroscopes and nimble three-fingered limbs handled the ice beautifully, keeping perfect balance.
Then again, the landing site was a fairly flat expanse of snowy plain.
But that five-meter-wide hole in the ground — perfectly circular — made the man wonder if everything was all right.
"Keep moving, don't stop, Roach!" General Jurgen's voice crackled in his helmet speakers.
"Yes, sir!"
Stormtroopers were already sprinting ahead. Against the blinding white of the icy waste, they were nearly invisible without the identification system projecting onto the transparisteel of the machine's viewport, alongside all the other tactical data.
They'd landed as the first wave — ten minutes before the armor arrived.
In practice, they were already the rearguard of the invasion force.
For the first time since their creation, the Rancor and Blizzard Force squads were operating together in a single campaign.
Rancor brought the armor.
Blizzard Force brought the "snowtroopers."
Snowtroopers.
(Image sourced from open sources.)
The latter, without any fuss, were already pounding in pitons and dropping ropes into that massive hole in the ground.
While they rigged the descenders for a fast drop into the depths, Tychus didn't hesitate.
The onboard computer had calculated the trajectory perfectly, so the machine, under its pilot's control, simply made a short "hop" and dropped vertically, landing legs-first.
Tychus hadn't even had time to savor the sensation of freefall inside a three-meter, multi-ton machine before the legs slammed into solid ground.
The gyroscopes held balance.
The AT-RT now stood at the bottom of a long tunnel five meters high — plenty of room to stretch to its full height.
"Well, where to?" Tychus wondered.
Unfortunately, there was no direct comm link with the surface.
All they'd been told was that the locals would show them the way through the tunnels — and that was it.
And right at that moment, he spotted a furry humanoid, shivering slightly (cold, maybe?), pointing toward the left side of the tunnel.
Roach followed the gesture.
He saw a luminescent sign hanging on the tunnel wall, pointing the same direction.
"Dear stormtroopers! The enemy is that way!"
Written in Galactic Basic.
A couple of spelling errors, but whatever.
"Might as well lay out a glowing trail," Tychus muttered, steering his machine in the indicated direction.
The onboard computer reported that another armored vehicle had deployed behind him in the same way.
Unfortunately, neither the snowtroopers' skill nor their heavy weaponry was enough to crack the enemy's defenses in the underground cities.
Blizzard Force had already committed its own armor — narrow enough to fit the tunnels — for the assault on the residential sectors, where the enemy had dug in deep.
The Rancor regiment was to support the 501st Legion's advance in the industrial sectors.
An AT-RT could hit sixty kilometers per hour.
From the outside, it looked like a three-meter armored droid sprinting, with a twin laser cannon and grenade launcher mounted up front.
Anyone who'd seen an AT-RT charging into battle at full stride didn't laugh for a very long time after.
The only thing scarier was an AT-AT moving at full speed, spewing fire and trampling enemy infantry unlucky enough to be under its legs.
Following the markers, he crossed several kilometers to the front line, then, again following the locals and their signs, directed the AT-RT toward the industrial district.
Judging by the stream of wounded coming from there and the field hospitals set up in practically every cave, things weren't going well for the boys.
Tychus emerged from the tunnel into a massive cavern.
As far as the eye could see, the battle raged.
The stormtroopers of the 501st Legion, using whatever sparse cover they could find, were clearly stalling in their advance on this sector.
No surprise — the opposite side was saturated with heavy crew-served blasters and missile launchers.
And nobody seemed worried that these twenty-meter-high caverns, carved into the planet's crust, might collapse on their heads — or worse.
Tychus steered his "little one" toward a firing point the stormtroopers were trying to set up.
They'd positioned their heavy weapons but couldn't start engaging targets because of the enemy's dense blaster fire.
Blaster bolts pinged off the AT-RT's hull.
The snowtroopers got a brief respite.
Quick on the draw, those boys, huh!
No wonder the snowtroopers were one of the largest and most battle-ready formations in the Dominion's Stormtrooper Corps.
Tychus opened up with the "little one's" laser cannon, forcing the enemy gunners to duck behind cover.
The cover in question was a thick slab of rock jutting straight out of the ground.
A meter high, ten meters long.
Plenty of room to hide several squads.
The range was considerable — a hundred and seventy-five meters.
But, unfortunately for them — not far enough.
Tychus switched to the grenade launcher.
The targeting system automatically calculated the elevation angle for the high-explosive fragmentation launcher.
It also handled the shell spread.
Three rounds, fired in a precise burst, streaked toward the enemy.
No, they didn't destroy the cover.
Why ruin something they'd need themselves?
All three rounds landed exactly behind the fortification.
Unremarkable explosions — and nobody even tried to return fire from there anymore.
The nearest stormtrooper squad began displacing, seizing the chance to take a critical enemy defensive position.
Tychus shifted his combat vehicle's position and supported them with laser cannon fire.
Spotting enemies approaching the clearing, he re-aimed and turned their squad into a pile of corpses.
The firing point he'd been covering since he arrived finally opened up.
Which meant he could shift position.
The comlink crackled with a terse request for help a hundred meters from his current location.
The AT-RT lifted its legs nimbly and began moving, lobbing another couple of grenades into a tunnel where a large enemy squad had emerged.
Those not killed by the blast or shredded by shrapnel were finished off by the twin laser cannon.
Arriving on site, Tychus didn't need an explanation.
A stormtrooper half-company was pinned in a crossfire that seemed to come from every direction at once.
The firing point he'd covered a few minutes earlier was trying to relieve pressure on the position, but the enemy was making good use of available cover.
Specifically, heavy weapons were firing from the windows of small buildings — structures, like other fortifications, literally carved into the rock by the native inhabitants.
Pretty sturdy buildings, even if they rarely rose above two stories.
But they made excellent firing positions that were extremely difficult for infantry to assault.
Because the structures themselves were so solid.
Using window and door openings as embrasures, the enemy also had a defensive advantage over the stormtroopers.
Not to mention the height advantage — some of the attackers' positions were completely exposed to the defenders.
Tychus fed one grenade into each window opening where the enemy was most concentrated.
The powerful blasts left no one inside with a chance of survival.
At the same time, his cannon suppressed a heavy crew-served blaster in another window, forcing the enemy to take cover.
On the right, near the cavern entrance, two more AT-RTs appeared, and now the advantage swung to the attackers.
Laying down suppressive fire, Roach helped the pinned stormtrooper squad execute a flanking rush right up to the building.
Thermal detonators sailed through the windows.
A series of explosions rippled across the ground floor.
Right after that, the snowtroopers stormed in.
Without a moment's hesitation, squads poured through windows and doorways into the building.
Almost immediately, flashes of blaster fire lit the semi-darkness inside.
Tychus's AT-RT took a burst from an enemy heavy crew-served blaster across its viewport.
The transparisteel held, though it came away scorched at the impact points.
Roach shifted position, hugging the building, and "crouched" his machine.
At that moment, the firing point he'd first defended opened up on his enemy.
The enemy crew-served blaster fell silent almost instantly, its crew eliminated.
Tychus brought the machine out from behind the building.
The snowtroopers who'd been supporting him kept the left flank under fire.
Snowtroopers are anything but gentle.
Not with guns like that.)
Roach dumped the last of his grenades on the same target, then raked the enemy positions with the laser cannon.
He spotted another stormtrooper unit.
Not snowtroopers this time.
Regular troopers from the 501st Legion, carrying extra gear on their armor.
Breakthrough squads — he was supporting their advance with his cannons.
AT-RT and stormtroopers advancing.
(Art also by Ansel Hsiao. Stormtroopers drawn by Aurel Wedding.)
Clearly, Generals Kaine and Jurgen were committing the second echelon troops into the breach.
A little strange.
Were the snowtrooper losses really that heavy?
More and more armored vehicles and regular stormtroopers kept pouring into the cavern, driving the advance.
Then the comms came alive again.
"Roach," General Jurgen's voice was tense, "push deeper into the industrial grid. We need to link up with the snowtrooper and commando units attacking from the surface as fast as possible. The local advance force and General Ventress are about a kilometer and a half ahead of you. They're nearly surrounded in the rear of the industrial district. The 501st will provide personnel cover."
"Copy, General," Tychus acknowledged. "Moving in."
Now he understood why stormtroopers from outside their usual element were appearing on the battlefield.
The offensive was multi-pronged.
And, on top of that, the advance force was cut off.
His AT-RT started striding toward the next cluster of buildings.
The same went for the other walkers.
The "little ones" didn't linger between the structures, flooding their windows and doors with plasma fire.
Several buildings couldn't take the punishment and collapsed right onto the defenders' heads when grenades launched by five "little ones" simultaneously detonated inside.
Tychus pushed forward, clearing the alleyways between buildings with laser cannon fire.
Stormtroopers moving behind him finished off the occasional survivor, detailing squads to clear buildings.
Nearby, a walker took a direct hit to a leg joint and pitched forward, its cockpit smashing into the cavern floor.
Stormtroopers rushed to pull the pilot out without waiting for orders, but several rockets struck the crippled machine.
The explosion tore the "little one" apart and wiped out the nearest stormtrooper squad.
Tychus, having destroyed a makeshift fixed firing point, shifted his attention to where the rockets had come from.
The laser cannon churned up a trench better than any agricultural plow.
The enemy position was practically on the cavern's edge, and Roach realized with surprise that he'd already crossed this entire underground expanse the Lurrians had dug.
And this thing must have been a good five kilometers across…
The enemy had taken cover.
Tychus increased his pace to close the distance.
One of the fighters popped out of the trench, aiming a grenade launcher — or some kind of launcher — straight at the "little one's" cockpit.
Roach didn't get a good look.
The three-fingered leg came down on the enemy.
The weight of the multi-ton AT-RT settled onto the man's body.
Tychus didn't hear the crunch of bones.
His walker was pushing forward, toward the large tunnel. At the far end, from the looks of it, was the surrounded advance force led by General Ventress.
The night vision systems picked out every detail.
Including the blaster flashes of every color and shade three hundred meters down the tunnel.
The onboard computer instantly displayed the situation.
The squad was pinned on a platform that opened onto a good dozen smaller corridors.
They were being fired on from every direction.
Tychus decided that was unacceptable.
A charging AT-RT, blazing away with its twin laser cannon, was also a terrifying sight.
Especially for anyone on the receiving end.
The weapon stabilization system allowed for surgical pin-point fire, and Tychus took full advantage.
Blaster flashes appeared beside him from several more Rancor AT-RTs.
The nearest enemy positions almost immediately turned into a wall of fire.
By the time the armor reached the position, covering what was left of the advance force, the remaining enemy units began retreating into the tunnels, firing as they went.
Another "little one" exploded.
But this time, the pilot got pulled out before a rocket screamed in from the far tunnel.
Tychus hosed the passage with cannon fire.
Stormtrooper units pushed forward, laying down non-stop fire on the retreating enemy.
A wave of white-armored troopers broke into streams, advancing alongside the relentless AT-RT pilots.
Tychus glanced at the instrument panel indicators.
No grenades left.
Tibanna was almost empty.
Enough for maybe ten shots — that wouldn't cut it for a prolonged fight. Another hundred meters and he'd be a sitting duck.
Not happening.
"Lieutenant Roach to logistics unit," he opened a channel. "Need resupply. Reference point," he checked the tactical map, "point six-two-six, the platform."
"Copy, Lieutenant," came the reply. "Hold position. Transport is rolling out to you. Coordinate assembly of vehicles with similar requests to expedite the techs' work."
"Understood," Tychus contacted the machines in his company and relayed the order.
Then, pulling the AT-RT out of the troop movement path, he positioned it where it would least interfere with the advancing units, popped the cockpit open, lowered it to transport position, and climbed out.
This area was cleared and conditionally safe.
Looked like they were setting up a temporary supply point here — a very convenient location.
The lieutenant was stretching his neck and legs when he found himself standing next to someone he least expected to see in person.
"Got any Bacta?" Lady Ventress asked in a tone that brooked no further questions.
She'd appeared out of nowhere.
Then again…
Who knows — with a Sith, maybe she really had.
"Yes, ma'am," Tychus handed over a field medkit without a word.
The woman, without even a thank you, strode toward the remnants of the advance force's position.
The lieutenant, curious, followed.
They'd set up their positions surrounded, sheltering behind cargo containers.
Pretty practical.
But too many dead Lurrians.
Although the enemy's bodies were still more numerous.
Everyone still alive in the advance force was wounded, one way or another.
And Ventress herself looked… well…
Paler than usual, maybe?
And definitely had bags under her eyes.
The woman stopped next to a young man slumped against a cargo container and dropped the medkit in his lap.
"Bandage yourself," she said, crouching beside a local with a gut wound.
She pressed her hands to the injury, and a greenish glow appeared.
"I'm going to kill you one day, Master," the boy sighed. Tychus recognized Kyp Durron, caked in dirt and dust. "How am I supposed to bandage myself with both hands wounded?"
"Think about that next time your brain shuts off and you decide to stop blaster bolts with your hands," Ventress said without looking up. "I don't have time. The Lurrian leader is too badly wounded."
"Great," Durron turned his palms up — massive burns were visible. "Well, it worked that one time…"
Tychus didn't catch Ventress's reply.
But it was something about Durron's father failing once… at something…
"Let me help, sir," the lieutenant had heard plenty about the Dathomirian witch's temperament and figured it was best to keep her from getting more irritated. "I'll clean it up now…"
If she'd resorted to this kind of treatment, the general's mood was definitely not good.
What the hell happened here?
* * *
Orsan struck the enemy under the knee, then drove his hand up, gripping the throat.
Exposing the neck for a strike.
The combat knife in his right hand sank into the throat of the Zann Consortium fighter.
Blood geysered, signaling the end.
The captain freed himself from the deadly embrace and looked at the airlock that had become the battleground.
Four enemy soldiers lay dead, taken out by the special forces team without a sound.
No losses.
The ship's alarm hadn't been raised either.
So everything was fine.
"Moving out," Orsan indicated the direction.
The troopers silently headed for the next objective.
Orsan preferred not to think about what would happen after the mission was over.
A tribunal for disobeying orders?
Or being dishonorably discharged?
Nobody could say for sure.
But the fact remained.
The Raider blocking force, under Captain Valum Vigor's command, had failed to execute the Supreme Commander's order.
Instead of opening fire on the enemy's disguised starships, as the directive required, the Dominant and its escort ships had emerged from hyperspace without the slightest hint of aggression.
And this despite the fact that before the attack began, the Guardian had transmitted data on the location of every enemy starship under cloaking fields.
The Dominion's interdictor Star Destroyers jammed communications within the system, keeping the channel open only for themselves.
They'd "cast" a gravity "net" and continued playing the role of ordinary "herders."
Standard tactics from their previous appearance.
The only difference was that, besides buzz droids, a special forces team had also deployed from the ship.
The enemy ships facing them had no idea that five other teams had been attacked.
No comms.
Direct line of sight between clusters of enemy ships was impossible, even with the most powerful optical surveillance equipment.
Two frigates and one Zann Consortium Star Destroyer had been left to their own devices.
The target chosen was the Vengeance-class frigate nearest to the flagship of the blocking force.
It took some time to reach it using jetpacks.
More precious time was spent to board the ship and organize the insertion.
Now came the easy part.
Orsan activated the single-use beacon.
A device operating on one of the few frequencies capable of penetrating the interference screen.
The indicator on the transmitter changed color from red to green, meaning the transmission was complete and had been received by the Occupier.
Which, in turn, meant...
A few seconds later, the Vengeance shuddered noticeably.
Then again, and again.
The turbolasers of the Dominion ships fired unerringly at the enemy, consuming its only advantage — its stealth.
Now the battle alert sirens began to wail.
But by the time those irritating sounds were echoing through the corridors, the Fleet Special Forces were already at their objective.
Bursting into the reactor compartment, five special forces troopers used precise blaster fire to eliminate the guard detail stationed there.
Seconds later, six mechanics responsible for maintaining the ship's reactor met the same fate.
It took another minute to clear the room of droids and those enemy crew members who were working in the adjacent main engine compartment.
Forced to wear headphones because of the noise generated by the power plant, these Zann operatives never realized their colleagues had been killed some time ago.
Everything that followed proceeded according to pre-planned and repeatedly rehearsed scenarios.
Securing each of the two entrances to the reactor compartment.
Checking the bodies of the dead.
The technical specialist working with the reactor zone equipment.
"Found it," the soldier reported to Orsan after a good five minutes of searching. "The self-destruct system is active."
This was clearly because the ship was being hit not only by turbolasers but also by ion artillery.
The enemy knew Dominion tactics well.
And understood that no commander of a regular Dominion fleet warship would bother hitting an enemy starship they intended to destroy with ion cannons.
The bridge crew of this starship weren't idiots either.
They had prepared the ship for detonation in advance.
"Can you disable it?" the captain inquired.
"The detonator is remote," the technician explained. "I can disconnect the primary and backup relays. The device itself is part of the reactor's structure."
Which meant the ship's self-destruct had been planned at the construction stage and wasn't some makeshift modification.
"Disable it," Orsan ordered.
No relays meant no signal would reach the detonator.
No signal meant no detonation.
"An alarm will go off," the tech warned. "The system is configured to alert when the detonation circuit's integrity is broken."
"But not to actually detonate?" Makeno clarified.
"No," the technician assured him.
"Can you power down the ship after that?"
"The emergency reactor in the bow will kick in," the technician warned. "Gravity, life support, and partial lighting will remain functional."
But the weapons and engines would not.
Which meant the Vengeance could neither defend itself nor escape the wrath of the Dominion ships.
"Then get to work," the captain ordered.
There were simply no other options.
The technician's warning meant one thing — when the self-destruct system circuit was broken, the alarm would make the entire starship crew suspect saboteurs were on board.
Which meant a counter-boarding party would appear.
The crew of this starship numbered fifty.
The number of passengers or troops was a similar number of sentients.
Sixteen had already been eliminated.
So five special forces troopers would have to fend off an attack from eighty-four Zann operatives.
"I've seen better odds," Orsan sighed, ordering his squad to prepare to repel the attack.
The special forces had a rich arsenal of anti-personnel weapons at their disposal.
Including magnetic mines, which they generously scattered in the corridors leading to the reactor and engine compartments.
All that was left was to...
The first explosion occurred when the special forces had fallen back to defensive positions, having finished their preparations to meet the enemy.
A second followed, then a third...
By the time the tenth mine out of ten had detonated, the special forces were already engaged in combat at medium range.
Blaster bolts lashed wildly in both directions.
Red and green.
But each carried death.
Or at least its threat.
Holding both corridors, the special forces used the hatches as cover, hiding most of their bodies behind the bulkhead armor.
This allowed them to fire from much more advantageous positions than the enemy.
The straight corridors, which offered no hint of cover, were turning into a mass grave for Zann's fighters.
Orsan, pushing all thoughts from his mind, fired in economical bursts, taking down one target after another.
In the corridor he was holding alongside another soldier from his squad, a small pile of bodies had already formed.
Which the enemy decided to use as cover.
The special forces had their own opinion on that.
Unlike the enemy, who needed the reactor undamaged by explosions to blow the ship, they had the ability to throw thermal detonators.
One such device sailed right over the improvised barricade.
The explosion scattered the pile of bodies down the corridor, hitting five Zann Consortium fighters who had taken cover behind their fallen comrades.
Two of the wounded silently tried to crawl away from the line of fire, but precise shots from the special forces finished them both.
"Hold this position," Orsan ordered the soldier, changing position.
Stepping back from the corridor, he met the technician's gaze and nodded for him to take the vacated firing position.
"Second corridor, what's your status?" he asked into the comlink.
"Holding," the report was not encouraging. "One wounded."
Without asking unnecessary questions, the captain rushed to the engine compartment.
That's where the second passage into the part of the ship his unit had occupied was located.
And that's where the other two soldiers of his squad were fighting.
Arriving on the scene, he saw one special forces trooper had taken a wound to the thigh but was still firing.
The other had taken several blaster hits to the left side of his chest and could no longer support his comrade with return fire.
Which meant this position was in greater danger.
"Two minutes," Makeno indicated the time until he could help the soldier who was still shooting.
The man just nodded silently, firing a burst.
No additional words were needed.
It was obvious that the wounded man should be tended to first.
Any special forces trooper would do the same.
Orsan dragged the subordinate wounded in the chest away, unceremoniously tore off his chest plate.
From the field medic kit, he extracted the necessary medical supplies for treating and stabilizing the wounds.
An injection of painkiller along with an anti-shock drug, spraying bacta, a bacta patch over each wound on his subordinate's chest.
"Thanks, Commander," the man said weakly. "You've already sa..."
"Save your breath," Orsan ordered.
The final step in the first-aid protocol was a small dose of adrenaline to keep the wounded soldier conscious.
Only then did Orsan take up the defensive position.
"Switch!" he ordered, taking down a pressing enemy with a precise shot.
The man's arms flailed like a ballroom dancer's as he collapsed to the deck.
The second soldier, stepping away from the line of fire, began treating his own wounds.
The quick, calm, measured actions of a professional who knew well that his wounds weren't fatal, but also that he needed to take care of himself.
And could afford to, as long as Orsan covered him.
The bandaging took less than two minutes, during which Makeno pinned another four enemy fighters to the deck.
Knowing neither pain nor fear, they came straight on.
Disregarding losses, ignoring the few wounded, the Zann operatives tried to overwhelm the Fleet Special Forces with sheer numerical superiority.
It might have worked on someone else.
But not on Captain Makeno's team.
The enemy had nowhere to hide from the special forces' blaster fury.
Not that they were trying to.
The soldier who had bandaged himself threw a thermal detonator at the approaching enemies — the last one, by the way.
The enemy fighters scattered like ragdolls.
Of the ten caught in the blast, only two got up.
And even then, not for long.
A couple of shots, and the corridor held only corpses.
"First squad, status?" Makeno asked.
"Attack repelled," the technician reported. "No wounded."
"Collect ammunition if possible," Captain Makeno ordered.
Hutt knew how much longer they'd need to hold on this ship until it was all over.
"Sir," the wounded man called out to him. "Movement."
No need to ask where.
The enemy could only approach from the far end of the corridor.
But Makeno could see that for himself.
In the red light of the emergency lamps, armored enemy fighters were advancing towards them...
Who, for some reason, weren't firing.
Orsan adjusted the sensitivity of his helmet's visor.
He smirked.
He opened the comm channel.
"Captain Makeno speaking," he addressed the approaching Dominion stormtroopers. "The reactor hall and engine compartment are under our complete control."
The approaching squad of armored soldiers stopped dead in the middle of the corridor.
"Copy that, sir," the voice of the Dominion stormtrooper squad leader came through the helmet. "Our cruiser has boarded the frigate. The crew has been eliminated. Do you require assistance?"
"Not really," Makeno smirked, looking at his subordinates. "Special forces always manage on their own. But since you're offering, I have a request — pick up my wounded. Two soldiers."
The stormtrooper paused for a second, then reported:
"A medical team will be with you in three minutes, sir. My orders are to take the ship under complete control. Permission to relieve you at your post, Captain Makeno?"
Orsan rolled to the side and let out a relieved sigh.
Ah...
Clones were good guys.
But humor was definitely not their strong suit.
"Go ahead," he allowed, feeling an unexpected fatigue settle over his body.
"Getting old," he thought with a hint of melancholy.
* * *
After Asajj Ventress finished her report and left the quarters, I turned my gaze to the leader of the Lurrians.
"Do you have anything to add?" I inquired.
"No, Lord Grand Admiral," he replied, wincing painfully. "Our planet is free, thanks to you. But a significant portion of our best scientists and equipment have been taken off-world. I regret to say, but in the near future, we will not be your best assistants. However," the Lurrian brightened, "we will do everything in our power to become a meaningful part of the Dominion, as gratitude for our rescue from the clutches of our enslavers!"
"Of course," I declared.
I harbored no negativity towards the Lurrians on this matter, as their leader might have assumed.
That the Zann Consortium would try to evacuate everything of value from the planet during their attempted breakout was something I had known even before this meeting.
I understood and accepted that the scientific and industrial potential of the inhabitants of the planet Lur could be severely diminished for a time.
"Restoring industry — your independent Lurrian technologies — with Dominion resources available is actually not that big of a problem," I explained. "Our meeting is necessitated by other aspects of your people's genetic endeavors, Leader."
"Yes, of course," he agreed submissively. "I will answer any of your questions, Grand Admiral."
"Cloning," I didn't beat around the bush. "I am interested in how advanced it is."
"Cloned organisms are indistinguishable from their originals," the leader said, slightly bewildered. "Except for rapid aging, of course. But that is not our fault — it is a consequence of the duplication technology we employ."
"Cloning cylinders from the planet Khomm," I nodded in agreement, indicating I understood what he was talking about.
"Precisely."
"Do you have the capability to independently build this technology?" I asked.
"No. Ever since our ancestors purchased the units, we have not been able to reproduce a single one," the Lurrian admitted.
"You didn't try?"
"We did. Many times. We could not obtain the necessary quality of metal and materials to recreate the units," the leader explained. "Using several capsules, we were able to study the construction of the cloning cylinders. But there is obviously some secret to their manufacture, because no matter how many times we tried ourselves, no matter how many times we attempted to replicate the parts by ordering them from third-party manufacturers — nothing works. The operating principle is understood, studied, but... We concluded that the Khommites used an unknown metal to build the equipment, one not found on the periodic table. Furthermore, the parts are machined to a quality level found nowhere else in the galaxy. The tolerance of the components is beyond any possible standard. They seem to be assembled on a molecular level... Any attempt to replicate the technology with even the highest quality materials leads to a deterioration of the cloning parameters. Even the increased production time is not as terrifying as the emergence of genetic anomalies..."
These conclusions perfectly matched those reached by Dominion engineers when studying all types of cloning cylinders we had at our disposal.
It is unknown how or why, but the Spaarti Creation managed to replicate the quality of this technology, possibly even improving it significantly.
No one else had such capability.
Were the coincidences in this universe random?
I was afraid not.
I was more inclined to accept the fact that the Spaarti Creation had once participated in the creation of cloning cylinders for Khomm than to take it as an axiom that no one in the galaxy could replicate the quality of Khomm's technology.
Unfortunately, we did not possess such capabilities either.
All stocks of spare parts for the cloning cylinders had long since been put to use, and the labs worked day and night to create reinforcements for the Dominion Armed Forces.
"What is the production time for your clones?"
"One year, Grand Admiral."
Exactly the same as the Spaarti cloning cylinders.
Another coincidence?
No, I didn't think so.
"Do you use imprinting machines to instill knowledge into the clones?"
"Yes, of course," the Lurrian nodded. "We created..." he hesitated, "created exact copies of the originals."
The imprinting machines had been stolen along with the cloning cylinders.
Troublesome...
"Well," I said. "Thank you for sparing me some time. The Regular Fleet is already hunting down the enemy fleet that kidnapped your people. As soon as we achieve results, they will be returned to their homeland. As will the units and equipment we are able to recover from the Zann Consortium."
"My people are in your debt, a debt we can never repay," the Lurrian began to lament. "The harsh nature of our planet forced my people to live in close-knit families, and the separation from one family member makes all the others miserable. We will await news from you. Until then... if we can be of any use..."
Well, since you insist.
"The Dominion has its own cloning programs and cloning facilities," I stated. "Teams consisting of specialists in fields related to cloning and genetics have already been created to support their operation. I would like your scientists to also join this project."
"For us, it will be a great honor to stand alongside your scientists!" the Lurrian's eyes lit up. "All of our talents will be directed towards being useful to our new state. Do you have any other assignments for my people?"
"Of course," otherwise I wouldn't have been asking these questions. "The incubators you use to grow your animals aren't Khommite technology, are they?"
"No," the Lurrian declared proudly. "That is the achievement of our own scientists."
"Therefore, you are capable of developing genetically enhanced animals, as before?" I clarified.
"Within the limits of the surviving production base — yes," the leader confirmed. "That's about thirty percent of the incubators — the rest were either stolen by our captors or destroyed..."
"The Dominion will help you rebuild," I announced. "I am confident that your genetically modified animals will find their niche of usefulness within the Dominion."
"We will strive tirelessly!"
Conversing with the Lurrian leader gave the impression of a people who were technologically advanced, but also gullible and good-natured.
Well, we had no intention of using or oppressing them.
On the contrary, we would organize the most effective internal policy possible towards Lur.
"That's good," I agreed. "I will also require your scientists to participate in a number of top-secret scientific projects where your genetic expertise will be simply invaluable."
"Is that so?" the Lurrian seemed to beam with pleasure. "May I ask in what way we can be useful, besides assisting with cloning and creating genetically modified animals?"
"It's simple," I replied. "Several critical issues are on the agenda. The first is genetic therapy for our clones to mitigate the side effect of aging."
"A task insurmountable for most cloners," the Lurrian admired. "My people once researched this, but a lack of resources forced us to abandon it. But we will be happy to help you..."
"And second," I continued. "In the foreseeable future, a race from beyond the galaxy will invade. They are cruel and intend to exterminate all machines, as well as any population that refuses to be their slaves. The Dominion intends to prevent this. But they have biologically modified organisms, turned into weapons, in their arsenal. Our technology is severely inferior to theirs in this regard. For six months now, we have been trying to unlock the secrets of their technology in order to be ready to meet them fully armed."
"If someone had told me that sentients from beyond the galaxy, which are impossible to cross, would try to exterminate us, I would not have believed it," the Lurrian said after a moment of silence. "But a few years ago, I did not believe the Empire would fall, and that criminals would occupy us, forcing us to create an army of soulless clones for them, machines of death that know no mercy or pity... Lur is with you, Grand Admiral. Whatever your order may be, we will do everything to fulfill it. For the sake of our future. And the future of our children."
Brilliant, but good-natured...
The main thing was not to push them too hard.
"I am deeply grateful for such enthusiasm, Leader. My adjutant, Lieutenant Colonel Tierce," Grodin, standing behind me, took a short step forward to identify himself, "will brief you on the details."
An amusing fact.
First, we didn't have a single cloning specialist, and now we had every kind of geneticist imaginable.
All that was left was to subjugate the Kaminoans, the Arkanians, and the Khommites — and the Dominion would have a monopoly on the cloning market.
Left alone in the quarters, I looked out the viewport, enjoying the lights of the Golan stations coming to life in orbit around Lur.
At the very least, we had temporary protection for this world.
This campaign had reached its peak, but was not yet over.
The finishing point would be set by Rear Admiral Shohashi.
Tomorrow.
For now...
For now, I should shift my attention to matters requiring direct attention.
It was time to briefly return to Ciutric and inspect Mister Pent's creation of a HoloNet system within the Dominion.
And I should also visit the mines producing space mines.
The experience of the attack on Lur had given me plenty of food for thought.
It was never too late to learn from one's own mistakes and the enemy's achievements.
It was useful for keeping one from getting too proud.