General Bel Iblis set aside the documents he'd been studying when the door to his office aboard his flagship — the MC90-class Star Cruiser Defiance — slid open.
Past the guards, two beings entered.
Completely different in their approach to tactics, strategy, and military service, these individuals, along with others like them, represented the opposites from which the entire Alliance was somehow cobbled together.
Not just the Rebel Alliance, but the one that senior officers and government officials now hesitantly, in hushed tones, called the Galactic Alliance.
Hmm... the Galactic Alliance.
Of course, there was a strictly official and pompous name: "The Galactic Federation of Free Alliances," but few wanted to waste their breath on that mouthful.
The Galactic Alliance was enough to understand what was being discussed.
And also enough to stir up Garm's old fears that Mon Mothma and her circle were aiming for total power.
Of course, the Alliance Leader had explained that such a presumptuous name was merely a marketing move, meant to show the connection between the new state and its predecessors in a favorable light...
And so on and so forth.
"General Solo, Admiral Arkh," Garm rose to greet the arriving Alliance commanders, intending to shake each of their hands. "I'm glad you responded so quickly."
"I was in the neighborhood," Solo said with a grin, the greeting exchanged almost matter-of-factly.
The Harch, on the other hand, blinked his numerous eyes, clearly unsure what was expected of him.
Admiral Arkh.
His countryman had once again shed his well-known guise as a hardened smuggler, becoming a model commander acting almost strictly by regulation.
Thankfully, the formalities were finally over, and the persecution of the general on flimsy grounds had ceased.
The amount of blood drained and nerves frayed...
An absolute mountain.
"My Star Tide just finished repairs after the Belderone sector campaign, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," the Harch explained dryly, his chelicerae clicking, which made the Corellian with the Bloodstripes sitting next to him flinch, unaccustomed to such sounds. "And frankly, I need to get back to the front line as quickly as possible... Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk..."
"Of course, Admiral, I understand completely," Bel Iblis said. "I didn't call you here for caf."
The situation in the Belderone sector was indeed politically explosive.
The Alliance had conducted a punitive and rescue operation, pulling thousands of its prisoners of war out of captivity.
And logically, that should have been the end of it — withdraw from the neutral sector that didn't want to join the allies.
But the initial intelligence reports, backed up by verification organized by General Madine's Alliance Intelligence, had confirmed an undeniable fact.
Dominion agents were operating in Belderone, actively campaigning, persuading, or coercing people into an alliance with the state led by Vice Admiral Pellaeon.
The work was, of course, crude — nothing compared to what Grand Admiral Thrawn had done, conquering parts of the galaxy one after another, sometimes even "graciously granting the petition for entry into the Dominion" to various galactic territories.
Analysts pointed out that this indicated the low qualification of Dominion agents.
From this, it was inferred that Thrawn had personally planned a significant portion of his intelligence operations, rather than just giving orders and relying on tactical execution by his subordinates in the competent agencies.
The Alliance, remembering what a threat the Thanium Worlds sector had become, could not allow the same to happen in Belderone.
So Bel Iblis had been forced to give the order, allowing General Kota to move troops in after the rescue mission.
Admiral Arkh, a middle-tier commander, had risen through the ranks thanks to the raiding tactics he'd developed.
Commanding only old MC40 light cruisers, then-Commodore Arkh had managed to penetrate deep into Imperial Space fleet rear areas, cut their communications, destroy escort ships of supply convoys, and deliver the convoys themselves to Alliance planets.
He had joined the Alliance after its split from the New Republic and had long served as a simple commander, attracting little command attention.
Until, during one battle, the command ship of the flotilla he served on was knocked out of action.
Taking command, the Harch had organized the retreat of the remaining ships, lured the enemy into a field of Hapan-made gravity and self-propelled magnetic mines that had been dropped during the withdrawal. Then, calmly using his speed advantage, he had finished off the damaged enemy vessels.
Since then, he had commanded forces that, like Thrawn's "wolf packs," operated on enemy communication lines.
But the time had come when he had to be recalled to reinforce Raam Kota's forces in Belderone.
Belderone Sector.
The enemy could not be allowed to expand their bridgehead on the Perlemian Trade Route.
Belderone, which intersected the latter — one of the galaxy's key hyperspace routes — would, if the enemy controlled the sector, become not just "cut in two" (as would happen if Lianna were captured), but frankly useless for connecting the rear to the Alliance's front-line sectors.
"I take it I wasn't called here for caf, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," the Harch, along with both Corellians, sat down in chairs facing each other. "I don't see any caf machines around here. Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk..."
"I don't make a habit of living at work," Bel Iblis stated. "At least — not yet."
"That's yet to come, General," his countryman chuckled. "By the way. Who should I thank for a crate of Corellian, strictly contraband whiskey for getting my Galactic Traveler reassembled from pieces so quickly?"
General Solo's flagship Star Cruiser had fallen into a Dominion trap after jumping from Lantilles with a fleet of ships meant to set a trap for Dominion raiders.
Now, the good ship, which had been blown apart into armored capsules after the clash with the enemy, was back in one piece.
They'd run tests, checked tolerances, and solemnly returned it to the Corellian with the usual Mon Calamari wisdom: "Don't lose it and don't break it."
"I think you'll have to keep your reward to yourself," Garm cut him off. "The Mon Calamari are busy ramping up MC90 production, so they don't have time to accept anyone's gifts."
"Message received, General." Solo didn't seem upset. "So, what's this secret meeting about?"
"One moment." The Supreme Commander of the Galactic Alliance Defense Fleet locked all entrances and exits to his office, then activated a scrambler.
"You don't trust anyone, even on your own ship, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk?" The Harch's large eyes fixed on Iblis.
He weathered the focus calmly.
Not the first time.
"I prefer to keep secrets secret," Bel Iblis said coldly. "Now, to business. As you know, two of our squadrons have been destroyed — one in the Thanium Worlds and the one sent to Kessel."
"Actually, three fleets," Han Solo reminded him. "My unit also ceased to exist."
"The government is desperately trying to keep rumors of our losses from spreading," Bel Iblis admitted. "It's a half-baked idea, but as long as the flagship is intact, on paper the fleet will still be considered combat-ready and active."
"Since when has the government started doing stupid things?" His countryman seemed utterly unaware of concepts like tact, professional ethics, or basic respect for his interlocutor — or his comrades, for that matter.
"Since the scandal over our defeats started to heat up," Bel Iblis replied. "The loss of the Thanium Worlds and their clear occupation by Dominion forces creates a major threat to Lianna, and consequently — a severing of the Perlemian Trade Route and a staging ground for Pellaeon to push deeper into Alliance territory."
Han Solo shifted uncomfortably.
"If I were in their shoes, I'd already be working on alternative logistics routes," he said. "No matter what anyone says about Pellaeon's mediocrity, he can still knock us around."
"And do it quite easily, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Admiral Arkh agreed, studying Garm with his head slightly tilted.
Like a giant spider, ready to pounce on its prey, wrap it in its web, and drag it back to its nest.
Bel Iblis was about to interject his own remark about things in the Dominion not being so simple, but decided to stay quiet.
His theory that Thrawn was alive and operating from the shadows hadn't gained much traction, despite seemingly obvious facts and evidence. Such talk irritated the Alliance government — especially Mon Mothma and Congress — so Garm decided it was best to keep his minority opinion to himself.
"We're already working on similar options, General Solo," the Corellian explained to his countryman. "And we've immediately run into a certain problem I wanted to discuss with you."
He activated a holoterminal, which displayed an image of two MC90-class Star Cruisers.
Judging by the pattern of stars in the background, there were only two possibilities for what the Supreme Commander of the Alliance was trying to show.
First.
It was the same ship, captured in two different locations somewhere in the galaxy's northeast.
Second.
They were two different, but brand-new Mon Calamari-built ships that...
Well, whether it was one ship or two didn't change the location of the images.
"And what are you trying to tell us with two pictures?" General Solo asked in his typically careless tone.
"The Mon Calamari are giving us two more MC90s, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk?" Admiral Arkh guessed.
"They already have," Bel Iblis said with a grim smile. "The Calamari and the Yavin."
"So what's the...?" the Corellian's countryman began, but the Supreme Commander cut him off, zooming in on the images.
Now both commanders could see that the Alliance ships were in combat, blasting away at an enemy with all guns.
But the target...
"Is this some kind of composite?" Han Solo asked skeptically.
The Harch tilted his head from right to left, as if examining the images from different angles.
"These cruisers are attacking Galactic Alliance transports, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," he said, shifting his gaze to General Iblis. "Mutiny?"
Garm said nothing.
"We have deserters?" Han Solo asked in disbelief, leaning forward.
He sat in that tense position for a few moments, then slapped his forehead with his hand:
"The Calamari can't be our ship! Juno Eclipse commanded it in the Thanium Worlds."
"That ship was captured, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Admiral Arkh said. "Now I understand..."
"Then what about the Yavin?" Han Solo asked.
"Exactly the same," Bel Iblis sighed. "The Yavin led the fleet we sent to attack Kessel."
"Judging by how Command's been avoiding the subject, things didn't go well there, did they?" his countryman's tone grew serious.
"We lost everyone," Bel Iblis nodded. "Apparently, the enemy is using our captured ships to attack our rear bases, our convoys, and so on..."
"They have interdiction ships, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk?" Admiral Arkh inquired.
"No," Bel Iblis didn't hide it. "At least, we haven't found any or received intel about any. It seems the enemy is getting data on the movements of our transports carrying weapons and supplies almost straight from the logistics office. They always show up where our transports drop out of hyperspace for course corrections or intermediate unloading. Swift raids, attacks without mercy or regret. Not a single one of our convoys has survived an encounter with these raiders."
"Then where did these images come from?" Han Solo asked.
"From escape pods before the ships exploded," Bel Iblis admitted.
"So they're not quite so ruthless, are they? Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk." The Harch's eight eyes blinked in unison.
"We were fully aware that cramming the Perlemian Trade Route, practically under the Empire's nose, would be stupid," Bel Iblis continued. "So we started using regional routes, optimizing the delivery of everything we needed through our rear areas. And now, just as our logistics network has stabilized, just as we've tested and fine-tuned new routes, we find out that enemy raiders are operating in our rear."
"It's a logical move, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Admiral Arkh said. "The Dominion has demonstrated its affinity for raiding operations time and again, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk. It's the basics of military science, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk. Raiders are the best solution against an enemy that relies on its rear bases, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk."
And, to be fair, Admiral Arkh was stating things that any former rebel would understand.
And it wasn't just about how the Rebel Alliance had once inflicted heavy losses on the Empire using the same tactics.
Arkh hailed from the Harch race, who had supported the Separatists during the Clone Wars thirty years prior.
No one was about to condemn him for fighting on the side of those who intended to destroy the Galactic Republic — the very Republic the Alliance to Restore intended to revive.
Back then, and even now, a considerable number of former Separatists were among the rebels.
The first fleets of resistance fighters battling the Galactic Empire had been almost entirely equipped with ships that had once served in the Separatist fleet.
And Arkh himself, if you looked into his personal file compiled by Madine's department, was far from simple.
In the past, he hadn't just been one of the Separatist commanders serving the CIS.
He came from the same nest as the legendary Admiral Trench, famous for his ruthlessness and effectiveness in fighting the Grand Army of the Republic.
Arkh had served under him back during the Andoan Wars, which had raged even before the Clone Wars.
Then he had transferred to the service of the future members of the Confederacy of Independent Systems — the Banking Clan.
And after the First Battle of Geonosis, Arkh had openly shown himself as a Separatist commander under Admiral Trench.
But he could hardly be called Trench's student, the way Dominion propaganda loved to push the information narrative about Vice Admiral Pellaeon being Thrawn's student and only possible successor to lead the state.
Garm considered this such low-level disinformation that he didn't even consider it to contain even a grain of truth.
He'd be more likely to believe that Thrawn had appointed someone like Shohashi to lead after him: someone equally ruthless, unscrupulous, a skilled tactician who enjoyed playing mind games with his victims.
But at the same time, Admiral Arkh currently fit perfectly into the Alliance's military machine.
He skillfully selected competent specialists for his unit, arranging their transfers from any other flotilla, especially rear-echelon ones.
His operations were planned down to the smallest detail.
He wasn't above learning from his mistakes or adopting enemy tactics — a vice that plagued the Alliance's young commanders, no matter how much they tried to break them of it.
His raiders had the highest percentage of captured or boarded enemy transports and light warships.
Raiding...
Yes, Arkh probably had the most experience in raiding operations — it was no coincidence he was one of the most effective commanders among the Separatist remnants during the Nulian Crisis, which had raged eighteen years before the Battle of Yavin IV.
Back then, fighting against the Empire, the Harch and their allies had achieved major victories precisely through raiding tactics.
"So what's our task, General?" his countryman's voice pulled Bel Iblis from his thoughts.
"Unfortunately, because of the heavy campaign in Belderone, I'm forced to recall your forces and place them under General Kota's command," Garm explained. "As for you two, with your flagships and small task forces, you need to do everything in your power to locate and destroy these raiders by the end of the month. Otherwise, our logistics will collapse."
"That's unfortunate, of course, but what leads do we have on these ships?" Han asked. "Do we know the areas they're operating in?"
"They're always different."
"Is there a pattern to their escape routes?"
"None."
"Do we at least know their next target?"
"Any one of the three hundred and seventy-eight supply convoys currently moving through our rear."
Han Solo spread his hands:
"It seems to me we need a miracle, not two commanders and a couple of task forces for search-and-destroy."
"Give me, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Admiral Arkh clicked, "all the information you have on these ships and their raids, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk. If there's any intelligence on their commanders, I need that too, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk..."
"The most we've managed to learn is that the Calamari is commanded by a certain Captain Irv," Bel Iblis said. "A former Separatist, a pirate... He commanded the carrier destroyer Colicoid Swarm in the battle where Admiral Eclipse died."
Han Solo's face went pale.
The Harch, on the other hand, seemed to recognize the names and stared intently at the data on the datapad he'd been given, drilling the screen with his eight eyes.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, General, but Galen mentioned the name Irv as the one responsible for stealing his ship, didn't he?" the Corellian's countryman asked quietly.
"I had to double-check, but yes, that's correct," Bel Iblis nodded.
"A pirate captain who wronged Galen, now flying the ship that once belonged to Galen's beloved... Raids on our rear..." General Solo's face grew thoughtful. "General, forgive my boldness, but does it not seem to you that someone is trying to destabilize our strongest Jedi's psyche?"
"I've spent a good deal of time thinking about that," Bel Iblis admitted. "I've compared the data from the Thanium Worlds battle with what's happening now... I'm inclined to agree with you. Pellaeon, or someone else in the Dominion, has chosen Galen as their target. From what he told us, they tried to capture Juno. She's a good commander, but... why her specifically? If they needed a figure for political bargaining, why didn't they try to capture you? Your wife is the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and Eclipse's other half..."
"The strongest Jedi we know," Han finished for his countryman. "Leia says Galen is probably even stronger than Luke. Well, at least he's his equal."
"I've seen that kid fight," Garm sighed. "One-on-one, without fear, he stood up to Palpatine, who unleashed a sorcerous hell on him... If the clone possesses even half the power of the real Galen Marek, I wouldn't be surprised if Pellaeon decided to lure him into a trap, to use him the same way Thrawn turned Master Jedi Joruus C'baoth into a puppet. That's exactly why I got him attached to General Kota's command. To keep him as far away from the spot they're trying to pull him toward. We don't have that many Jedi."
"Jedi, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Admiral Arkh clicked, tearing himself away from reading the data.
"Problem?" Han instantly switched to readiness for a verbal sparring match.
"Not with you, t-ts-ts-ts-ts-ts," the admiral shook his big head. "I don't like Jedi, t-ts-ts-ts-ts-ts."
Solo, apparently, wanted to say something in response, but decided to remain silent.
"So," Garm summarized the conversation with the warlords. "General Solo — you'll have to deal with the Calamari. Admiral Arkh — you with the Yavin. The faster you do it, the better. The enemy didn't even bother to change the names on the ships and their identification data… If Congress finds out about this, there will be such an uproar that the confrontation with Thrawn will seem like a child's game in the sandbox."
* * *
The planet Jaminere, capital of the Allied Tion sector, reminded me of Earth like no other world in this galaxy.
The same large and vast continents, visible from orbit as a cluster of the most diverse climate zones.
From deserts to tropics, from tundras to arctic plains.
Incredibly blue oceans, numerous islands breaking up the water surface.
And the lights of sleepless cities, burning like thousands of beacons on the dark side of the capital world.
Even my recent visit to Serenno didn't remind me of home and my past life as much as a single glance at Jaminere.
The planet Jaminere.
"Our troops are cut off on the planets," I summarized Captain Inek's report, who was on a mission in Allied Tion.
"Yes, sir," he confirmed. "There is information that three garrisons have been completely destroyed."
"The remaining fifty?"
"They are holding positions but have supply problems," Inek did not evade.
I glanced down at the ysalamiri sleeping peacefully on my lap.
The little brown lizard, curled into a ball, was shamelessly snoozing, positioned so that my steady strokes landed on its white belly.
What a happy creature.
No cares, no worries.
Live, eat, drink, sleep.
And you get petted and cuddled.
And all you have to do to lack for nothing is just live.
And project a sphere around you that repels the Force.
"I see," I pronounced. "The mood of Jaminere's population?"
"Stable, sir," said Inek.
"Rather," a voice came from another corner of the apartment, "stably negative."
I shifted my gaze to the author of these words.
I eyed the man from head to toe, dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Starfleet.
"Do you have anything to add, Captain Oland?" I inquired, fixing my gaze so I was looking him straight in the eyes.
He didn't flinch.
So he has character.
And his behavior isn't just swagger.
"Yes, sir," the man jumped up from the chair provided to him, tugging at the bottom edge of his uniform. "I have something to add."
"In that case, I expect your comments regarding what Captain Inek said," my calm voice affected the commander of the Victory-II class Star Destroyer named Marut like a red rag to a bull in a bullfight.
However, this is a common misconception.
Color means nothing to a bull, just as to a cow — they practically don't distinguish them.
The bull's rage in a bullfight comes from the irritating fact of movement before its nose.
And nothing else.
"With your permission, sir, I want to say that since 'Lieutenant Mac' took command of the forces on Jaminere, all actions have been reduced to maintaining control over the capital planet," he blurted out. "Mi-Ha Hutt has in that time assembled an entire fleet, possesses enormous military force, the core of which consists of more than three hundred Interceptor IV-class frigates, as well as two Victory II-class Star Destroyers."
"The Arkanian Dragon and the Violator," I indicated my awareness of the problem.
"I agreed to support your agent and his actions in preserving the integrity of Allied Tion," continued Captain Oland, "but instead of the promised raids against the forces of traitors and criminals, all my work has come down to performing the duties of a station-keeper in orbit of Jaminere. With all due respect, I demand to give battle to the enemy in order to restore Imperial control over the Allied Tion sector! Here and now!"
The expression with which the young man blurted all this out even affected me.
In his words, one could hear pain, irritation, incomprehension, resentment, and unprecedented anger.
And the latter was clearly directed at himself.
"A worthy speech, Captain," I nodded almost imperceptibly as a sign of high appreciation for his oratory. "No."
"Excuse me, what?!" the man was taken aback.
"My answer: no."
"But I don't understand..."
The commander of the Marut looked confused, but at the same time desperately tried to keep a straight face.
A curious officer.
He is bewildered, but despite all this, it was he who went to the enemy's lair to blow himself up along with Mi-Ha Hutt.
It turned out...
Not exactly what the commander of the Star Destroyer Marut had planned.
"You see," I countered, not taking my eyes off the man. "But you are desperately clinging to the hope that what was told to you earlier is just disinformation. I will simplify your understanding of what's happening. Since the fall of the Empire, Allied Tion has not been under its control but was a veritable appendage of the criminal organization 'Zann Consortium'. To be more specific, it was here that Moff Gronn, replaced by his own clone, launched the production of blaster disintegrators to arm his fighters. This became known to us thanks to 'Lieutenant Mac' and his subordinates. While you were doing the work of a station-keeper, the intelligence network was working. Perhaps not as noticeably as you would have liked, but still, they don't receive their salaries just because they come to work and start up a terminal in the office. For your other questions, the answer is the same. There will be no immediate strike against the enemy. And Allied Tion will not return under the control of the Galactic Empire or its Remnants. At least, not while I'm alive."
The man chewed his lips for a while.
"Officially, you are actually dead," judging by his expression and pursed lips, he just came up with this remark as an argument, and unfortunately did not appreciate all the consequences of his words.
"There are no sentients without flaws," I shrugged. "Everyone has their shortcomings."
From the side of Agent Inek came a snort.
However, he regained his composure before I gifted him with a heavy look.
"So, I was just used?" inquired Oland. "They fed me a line so that I, all obedient, would hang around here until your arrival, and now I'm completely unnecessary? Because you have no intention of restoring legitimate authority in this territory? That's how it is, Grand Admiral?!"
"If we consider the situation from that angle, Captain, then I am led to suspect that it is you, an officer of the Imperial Starfleet, who intends to use the resources of the Dominion to correct the Empire's mistakes in Allied Tion," I said.
Captain Oland, after a few seconds of silence, gave a bitter smirk.
"Well yes, everything depends on the point of view," he said in a tone as if he tasted bitterness in his mouth from the words spoken.
"We can spend a long time exercising in eloquence and rhetoric, Captain," I continued. "Or you can do the right thing — from my point of view — and come under my command. Along with your ship and crew. After the necessary procedures, you and your people will be returned to your former positions..."
"So I understand, if I ask about the reasons why I should break the Oath I took, you will appeal to that one-time use chip that 'Lieutenant Mac' gave me, is that it?" asked the commander of the Marut.
"And we both understand that I cannot reveal more to you, and what has already been told to you is, as we have already prioritized, our point of view. So yes, consider that I am appealing to that data."
The commander of the Victory-II was silent, pondering what he had already read and what had been told to him.
Once again, the question of trust between all participants in the dialogue came up.
We cannot dump a mountain of evidence of what Palpatine and his clique are doing.
And Oland turned out to be quite a stubborn one, who pursues a completely correct policy of trusting irrefutable facts.
The Dominion needs such commanders.
Too many quite prominent military men were ruined by the fact that under their command there were not enough sentients who were as devoted to the Oath as Captain Oland.
If he decides to join, we will get not only 'fresh blood' for the GeNod-Dominion project, but also an ideologically loyal and, in his own way, honest officer who is respected by the crew.
"Let's say," Oland said hoarsely. "But you have to take into account that I believe you and that such lawlessness is really happening in the galaxy and the Emperor doesn't care about what's happening because he is nursing entirely different plans. But what then? Do you intend to defeat the enemy, who has an entire army and fleet at his command?" asked Oland. "I've heard of your exploits, Grand Admiral. But do you seriously think that your Chimaera and a single Victory-II, the Marut, can handle the enemy fleet in the promised volume."
"Captain Oland, I ask you to approach the observation viewport and look into it. Tell me what you see."
The man, although he had increased the percentage of his trust in me, complied with the request-order, then shuddered when he saw how, from the cosmic void, following the order, the Guardian materialized above Jaminere's equator, dropping its cloaking.
"As you see," I added to what had already been said, "we have something to surprise both allies and enemies…."