Anyone who has survived a concussion in a relatively enclosed space usually doesn't laugh.
Nausea sets in, the body seems to lose its normal coordination, a roar in the head, an almost complete absence of sound...
And a total lack of understanding of what happened.
In his years of life, Jahan had been through this too often to let his body be so careless with the short window of time the explosion had granted him.
The foxhole had literally saved his life — hundreds of small structural fragments had flown past him, embedding themselves like assorted shrapnel into the floor of the shelter around him.
Judging by the angle of the fragments' entry, if he hadn't prepared such cover in advance, he'd be an unappetizing piece of meat stuffed with shrapnel, a bloody mess adorning what remained of his skeleton.
Peeking out from cover, he once again thanked his tactical training instructors, who — as if forgetting they were training a future Imperial agent — had drilled a single mantra into him.
"Got free time? Dig a trench. Nothing to do on the front line? Dig a trench! Not the one who has to repel the enemy army's advance? Dig a trench!!! You might not be needed on the line of contact, but a trench warms the soul, saves lives, and is simply beautiful in itself!"
Strangely enough, it was this bizarre logic from an infantry instructor that had saved his life.
Him — yes, but not the enemy fighters.
Jahan coughed from the acrid smoke of burning plastic and insulation, looked around, trying to identify threats before his hearing returned (if it returned at all).
The domed roof had collapsed completely, burying everyone who had broken through inside.
Hundreds of tons of metal structures from various eras had rained down from a height of hundreds of meters like a deadly rain, automatically turning them into something like practical kinetic munitions — the kind artillerymen in ground units used for training on mass-driver installations.
Well, back when those were still in use in the Empire.
The snipers on the roof hadn't escaped being destroyed either.
Some were incinerated by the blast, some shredded by shrapnel, some had the opportunity to experience the thrill of a short free-fall.
Judging by how deeply a scout trooper's body had been impaled on one of the rusty beams, he hadn't had a single chance.
Jahan glanced once more at his "foxhole."
Nothing serious, really — a simple two-meter pit in the floor, formed quite a long time ago and widened by the Dominion Intelligence agent to the necessary dimensions.
And yet, this pit hadn't been filled with construction debris, trapping him under the rubble.
A vague suspicion stirred in his mind that coincidences weren't coincidental at all, and he had a deep conviction that Mace Windu — if he hadn't known — had certainly guessed this outcome.
And had taken precautions with his Jedi sorcery to ensure the agent survived.
Jahan looked at the spot where his old friend had fallen, struck down by a shot.
But because of a two-meter chunk of ceiling that had crashed down on that spot, not even a flicker of hope passed through his mind that — by some miracle — the Sluissi could have survived.
In this nightmare, designed for the enemy, only he himself had survived, and so...
An unknown force ripped him from his spot, dragging him across the ruins of the shelter, with no regard for the scratches appearing on the agent's body, the bruises forming, or the fact that his knee nearly tore off when it slammed into a structural truss jutting from the rubble.
But it was precisely this jolt of adrenaline that returned Jahan's ability to interact normally with the world around him.
Sounds crashed down on him all at once.
The crackling of a raging fire somewhere beyond his field of vision.
The groan of a metal structure buckling under its own weight.
The prolonged moan of someone dying.
"I'll kill you with my own hands!" the hysterical scream of a creature standing on the hull of a "flying fortress" crushed by a pile of stone and scrap metal.
Based on appearance, definitely humanoid.
Most likely even human.
His clothes were torn, with burn marks visible in places.
Two eyes glowing like molten gold on a face covered in dried blood mixed with soot.
And a crimson lightsaber held forward by the humanoid, like an energy spear.
Onto which the Dominion agent's body was about to be impaled.
Not a chance!
Jahan grabbed his vambrace, activating the internal mechanism, hoping that one of the late Alessi's "toys" hadn't been damaged in the recent technogenic catastrophe.
The portable flamethrower had a limited supply of fuel mixture, but it was enough to blast a five-meter stream of fire directly into the Inquisitor's face.
The invisible force dissipated as the enemy dove aside to escape the torrent of searing flames.
Jahan landed chest-first on the decidedly soft pieces of structural debris, overcame the pain in his body, and got to his feet.
The wrist-mounted flamethrower beeped, reporting its fuel mixture was depleted.
"Should've taken the Mandalorian one," Jahan thought absently, tearing something resembling a simple metal rivet from his belt.
A flick of his hand — and the miniature detonator landed at the feet of the enemy, who had thought to throw a piece of masonry at him.
The explosion was quite weak — it wouldn't even tear off limbs, in truth.
But the purpose of this special munition wasn't lethality.
The specialized explosive, whose manufacturing cost equaled the price of a brand-new executive-class aircar, detonated as intended.
The directional shockwave threw the enemy back several meters, knocking him off the improvised mound that had formed atop the mangled "flying fortress."
Speaking of which...
With a clang and a screech, the top hatch swung open, and a crew member's head appeared, the glossy surface of his black helmet reflectively showing Jahan's figure.
"Does a Hutt know what happened?" groaned the "flying fortress's" driver-mechanic, leaning out to get free of the hatch.
He froze, seeing the dusty boots of the Dominion agent right in front of him.
The enemy's head slowly traveled upward.
"The Hutt knows," Jahan said, driving the metal toe of his boot into the mechanic-driver's throat, crushing his trachea against his spine.
The enemy, wheezing from the loss of his airway's integrity, slid back down into the hatch.
But before that, Agent Cross managed to snatch a blaster pistol from the enemy's thigh holster.
And just in time — the disfigured Inquisitor was already back on his feet.
Jahan, breaking into a run, fired at the enemy.
Having experience facing this type of opponent, he knew beyond any doubt that the probability of dealing damage — not from one shot, but from the entire series he fired at the Inquisitor — was incredibly small, negligible.
And so it proved — the enemy deflected all five shots with his lightsaber.
But not the concussion grenade — the second and last detonator — thrown right after.
Once again, the shockwave sent the enemy flying, generously gifting him with a stream of stone shrapnel blasted from the surrounding structural supports.
Duracrete was a strong material, but also brittle — if you knew how to turn it into rubble.
Just as he was about to finish off the disoriented enemy with the blaster, having no other weapons left, he received a solid butt-stroke and was sent flying sideways.
But the moment his ribs stopped feeling the stock, Jahan took a step sideways, maintaining his balance.
On the spot where he'd been standing stood a barely-alive scout trooper with a sniper rifle, slowly raising his weapon to put an end to this conflict.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jahan noticed another open hatch on the "flying fortress," but his body was already moving, outpacing his thought process by several steps.
Not letting the shooter finish what he'd started, Cross grabbed the blaster rifle by the barrel and yanked hard toward himself.
His right elbow made contact with the carbine's owner's helmet.
It hurt, but the victim hurt more; that was satisfying, but only marginally.
The next second, Jahan twisted his right hand slightly — the one he'd used to strike — and from the awkward position, fired into the enemy's throat.
The scout, receiving a fatal dose of tibanna in his throat, sank to his knees, after which the agent finished him with a kill shot, punching a hole through the wide visor.
Only by the massive melted hole in the enemy's helmet did the agent realize the weapon had been set to maximum power, which meant its gas cartridge and energy cell would run out quickly...
A dry click when he aimed the blaster at the Inquisitor confirmed his assumption.
Tossing the useless weapon aside, Jahan fired the sniper rifle almost without aiming.
The crimson bolt struck a few centimeters from the Inquisitor's feet, but he didn't even flinch.
Jahan fired a second time, but the crimson bolt was parried, flying upward like a flare after contacting the crimson lightsaber.
Bolts tore through the air above Jahan's head, and the agent was forced to retreat.
New fighters in white armor appeared from the direction of the destroyed gates.
They fired wildly in his direction, not even achieving near hits, but that wasn't the main concern now.
Getting rid of stormtroopers wasn't hard.
But the Inquisitor, who was recovering, was a serious problem.
A piece of wood nearby caught fire, taking a bolt meant for the agent. Cross took a step sideways, tripped, tumbled, and somehow got back to his feet.
Shifting the rifle to his right hand, he ducked behind the nearest protruding edge of a duracrete slab, slamming into a rebar spike sticking out of it.
Stubbornly ignoring the pain, he leaned out from cover and fired — not so much aimed as to cause even more chaos among the stormtroopers spreading across the mound.
One of them, hit in the leg, crashed down and rolled down the opposite side of the mound on his back.
But that didn't change the fact that there were more and more enemies, and Jahan's position...
He was protected from the front, but not from the sides, and the stormtroopers were clearly preparing to surround him.
Running back was useless — there was about fifty meters of open, rough terrain with no cover whatsoever.
And the exit through which the diversionary group was supposed to escape was blocked by debris.
"Well then," Jahan said to himself, reducing the number of enemies by one with a headshot. "All that's left is to sell my life dear, so they know how Dominion agents go out."
The combat system beeped treacherously, reporting the gas cartridge and energy cell were depleted.
"Guess it's just not my day," the Dominion agent sighed sadly.
"Sorry, Ellie," Cross thought, punching through another stormtrooper's chest plate with a well-aimed shot. "Looks like I let you down again and left without saying goodbye."
* * *
"Captain Pellaeon," Grand Admiral addressed the commander of the Guardian as he entered the quarters, not lifting his fiery gaze from the monitors surrounding him.
"Sir, confirmation received from the assault teams," the clone got straight to business without preamble. "Local Noghri report that the identified enemy dens are under constant surveillance."
"Good," Thrawn nodded in agreement. "Any changes?"
"The enemy bases remain in the same state as before."
"In other words, they're letting us know that the arrival of a Star Destroyer and a Super Star Destroyer in the capital system of the Allied Tion either went unnoticed by enemy observers, or they are perfectly aware of our presence but are not demonstrating preparations to repel a possible attack," Thrawn summarized.
"Exactly, sir," Pellaeon agreed.
Grand Admiral tore himself away from reviewing reports for a moment and looked at the Guardian's commander.
"The enemy fleet hasn't changed its position either?"
"No, sir."
"Movement of individual units or groups?"
"None detected."
"Curious," Thrawn narrowed his eyes. "Captain Pellaeon, how would you react to the threat of one Super Star Destroyer and two Star Destroyers if you had at your disposal numerous ships of questionable combat capability and two Star Destroyers equivalent to one of ours?"
The Guardian's commander thought for a moment, then gave what seemed to him the most logical solution to the problem.
"I would either attack while there was still a chance for surprise due to severed communications with other sectors, or I would concentrate forces for a general battle, focusing on defending the most significant planet in the sector."
"Yes, textbook and logical," Thrawn assessed. "And curious as to why the enemy is hesitating."
Pellaeon wished he knew that.
Any of the enemy units individually was no stronger than the Guardian.
Even the Chimaera could give the enemy a serious beating, despite the enemy's numerical superiority in ships.
The most logical thing would be to attack here and now, but the enemy was hesitating, as if they weren't bothered at all...
"They have an ace up their sleeve?" Pellaeon tensed.
"And more than one, Captain," Thrawn agreed with the correctness of his subordinate's thought. "The Allied Tion shares a border with the Tion Hegemony. And there, as we already have confirmation from Captain Hoffner, Lord Bonteri is in charge, commanding a fleet of purely military vessels equivalent in number to what the Dominion has in the long term."
In other words — the Dominion also had nearly three thousand combat ships.
The other question was that half of them were outright obsolete, and the other half hadn't undergone modernization or repairs yet and wouldn't have even a minimally acceptable crew anytime soon.
"Mi-Ha Hutt is waiting for us to attack them?" Captain Pellaeon clarified.
"I would even say that he wants it," Thrawn smiled. "He's luring us into an obvious trap. Displaying his carelessness and tactical incompetence to force us to strike systems under his control."
"If he expects that our attack will free Bonteri's hands to absorb the Allied Tion, he's sorely mistaken," Pellaeon said confidently. "The official authority is ours."
Despite the fact that the commanders of the traitor Star Destroyers had already reported otherwise, positioning themselves as the legitimate authority in the sector.
And the fleet and army of mercenaries and criminals as "auxiliary forces of the legitimate government."
"Don't underestimate what the Hutt has already done," Thrawn advised. "He commands two Star Destroyers. And their commanders are currently active military personnel of Imperial Space. If we attack, they will instantly launch an information campaign against us, drawing attention to the fact that the Dominion is striking Imperial military units in the Allied Tion. Next, the card will be played indicating that due to the loss of contact with Orinda, the commanders of the Hutt-controlled Star Destroyers appealed for help to the nearest existing Imperial Remnant."
"Which, of course, would be the Tion Hegemony," Pellaeon nodded. "While communications are down, no one on Orinda will even realize that the nominally neutral sector has been lost."
"Consider this situation from a broader perspective than the one you've just described," Thrawn advised. "We know that Bonteri intends to rebuild the core of the Empire of Xim the Despot under his wing. Consequently, all sectors of the Tion Cluster are under attack without exception."
"Without communications, each sector is vulnerable," Pellaeon agreed after a pause. "And therefore..."
He fell silent, thinking.
"As soon as we attack, Mi-Ha the Hutt will call Bonteri for help," Thrawn continued. "Bonteri will thereby receive an excellent opportunity to 'free an Imperial sector from the Dominion.'"
"And, as a result, our expansion of the Dominion will be exposed."
"Not to mention that there is direct confirmation of our activity against the Empire," Thrawn agreed. "Do you understand why this is happening?"
Personally, this Pellaeon clone had not heard it, but the original...
"Grand Moff Kaine said that Palpatine promised not to touch the Dominion as long as its actions did not harm the Empire."
"Correct," Thrawn confirmed. "Though not entirely. We are tolerated as long as it is beneficial. The foundation of the Dominion's security is a promise of non-expansion and non-aggression against the Empire."
"The latter will be broken if Mi-Ha the Hutt plays his card," Pellaeon nodded understandingly. "And then they'll take us seriously?"
A faint smile appeared on Thrawn's lips.
"And do you think they are playing with us right now, Captain?" he inquired.
"My apologies, sir," the commander of the Guardian admitted. "But honestly, there's something I don't understand."
"Ask questions if you want answers," the Grand Admiral advised.
"If the second condition for preserving the Dominion is 'non-expansion,' then right now we are effectively violating it, aren't we?"
"Absolutely correct," Thrawn agreed without blinking an eye at the statement of the Dominion's blatant disregard for the threat to its existence.
"But at the same time, we are afraid to attack an openly Imperial sector, even though we have already struck some systems supposedly under Imperial control during the first phase of the counteroffensive," Pellaeon summed up his thought. "In fact, all the criteria for an attack on the Dominion that have been set for us have been violated."
"You want to understand why we still exist, despite Palpatine having a huge army and fleet at his disposal capable of burning half the galaxy and sending the other half back to prehistoric times?" Thrawn clarified.
"That's roughly what I wanted to ask, Grand Admiral," the commander of the Guardian confirmed.
The Supreme Commander leaned back in his chair and looked Pellaeon straight in the eye.
But it felt as though he was looking through the commander of his flagship Star Super Destroyer.
"The situation in the galaxy is not developing in the best way for Palpatine, Captain," Thrawn explained in a calm tone. "The offensives of the Pentastar Alignment and Imperial Space have stalled. The New Republic has launched a counterattack, reclaiming its territories. The so-called Galactic Alliance is not sitting idle either. The operation to use the Zann Consortium and the Silri Syndicate has slipped out of Palpatine's control. Instead of being used as a third force against the New Republic, both organizations proved unable to play their role. I think Palpatine has already realized that Silri and her subordinates are out of control. Tyber Zann is blockaded in the Corporate Sector, and we are now absorbing his allied territories. Whatever fleet and army Palpatine possesses, he cannot wage war on three or more fronts simultaneously. He is trying to contain the betrayal among those he counted on, judging by the activation of his agents in key Remnants located behind the New Republic and Alliance lines. Right now, he is squeezing every possible advantage out of the Alignment and Imperial Space to delay his own offensive as much as possible."
"Not the wisest tactic," Captain Pellaeon said doubtfully. "I suspect he has enough competent commanders under him who could explain that he needs to attack now, before his enemies gather strength."
A sly smile appeared on Thrawn's lips.
Which, however, vanished almost immediately.
"There are circumstances that suggest the number of competent commanders on Palpatine's side has decreased," he said vaguely. "The lack of commanders is a reason to seriously consider renewing his army. Palpatine will delay the invasion until the New Republic, in its victorious fervor, stretches its supply lines — just as the Pentastar Alignment did."
"The longer the front line and the lower the enemy's force density along its sectors, the easier it will be to deliver a full-scale strike," Pellaeon said after a moment's thought, agreeing with the Grand Admiral's reasoning. "But in that case, isn't Palpatine taking a risk by allowing us to build up our armed forces?"
"And again, there are several answers to that question," Thrawn drummed his fingers on the table.
Captain Pellaeon didn't show it, but he noted to himself that the Supreme Commander had never done anything like that before.
"The resurrected Palpatine is a rather dangerous mixture of clonic madness, a maniacal desire to destroy his enemies, and a personality mired in secret knowledge, arrogance, and biased opinions toward those around him," Thrawn said. "Palpatine possesses data on our defense systems, which fell into his hands after the defection of the traitor — Captain Dobramu and his like-minded associates. It is a well-known fact that Vice Admiral Pellaeon is at the head of the Dominion's armed forces, which serves as a logical and psychological trap for any of our opponents. Gilad Pellaeon, despite his past Republican and recent Imperial merits, is seen by the enemy as not the greatest tactical or strategic threat. At the same time, most of his opponents overlook the fact that the final phase of Operation Crimson Dawn — thanks to which the Dominion has the fleet it currently possesses — was planned and executed directly by the Vice Admiral. However, that's our opponents' problem."
"You placed the Vice Admiral at the head of the Dominion to lull our enemies into complacency?" the Pellaeon clone clarified, catching on to the Commander-in-Chief's meaning.
"And for that very reason, in battles that may somehow become known to our enemies, we use tactics that I widely employed in last year's campaign," the Grand Admiral nodded. "We misinform our adversaries, telling them that nothing new has been invented, that nothing better can be done. This lulls their vigilance and breeds the pernicious thought that the Dominion can be dealt with easily and effortlessly. And so, our 'antics' are overlooked, allowing us to spend our resources and manpower uprooting what didn't work."
"In other words, Palpatine is letting us live so that we can deal with the Silri Syndicate and the Zann Consortium?" Youth nearly got the better of him, and Captain Pellaeon barely stopped himself from whistling in surprise.
"From all the data — yes, that's what's happening," Thrawn nodded. "First, they were used to destroy enemies, and now that they themselves have become enemies, we are tacitly encouraged to fight them."
"Meanwhile, he allows us to stretch our communications and take losses," Pellaeon coughed into his fist. "Sir, we risk finding ourselves in the same position as the New Republic — unprepared for Palpatine's counteroffensive. This year's campaign has cost us enormous losses compared to last year's operations."
"We are taking that risk," Thrawn agreed. "It's part of our profession. The number of our overt enemies is also increasing. That's why I ordered that some of the art objects he had accumulated in the vault on Wayland be given to those who might prove useful to us and who would serve as an example of Palpatine's conspicuously contemptuous treatment of his subjects."
"The enemy's agents will find them, make the connection, and conclude that they have been secretly cooperating with you, correct?" the Star Super Destroyer commander clarified. "Given that for the Empire, you and the Dominion are renegades, disowned by orthodox Imperials, the suspicion of betrayal will occupy Palpatine for some time."
"Generally speaking, that's the plan," Thrawn agreed. "However, according to our informants, it's not that simple. Palpatine decided to verify the intelligence data using his re-established intelligence service."
Pellaeon took the news of the Ubiqtorate's restoration indifferently: a long time would pass before that organization could pose the same level of threat as its predecessor.
"In that case, will we have problems?" the Star Super Destroyer commander asked.
"You think so?" Thrawn inquired.
"With all due respect, sir, if their agents have even half a brain, they'll realize that no agreements were made," Pellaeon explained his point. "The gifts... they're just that. We didn't get anything in return."
"That's partly true, Captain," Thrawn agreed. "But from indirect evidence, I can deduce that the investigation into our machinations will be handled by an extremely competent and meticulous intelligence officer. One who will discover, for example, that Ambassador Furgan was trading Imperial stormtroopers. And he'll find out that in exchange for a huge sum in jewels and rare ornaments, the ambassador transferred more than fifty stormtrooper legions to Moff Gronn."
The clone processed the information for several minutes before arriving at a definitive conclusion.
"Gronn is a clone in the service of Tyber Zann. Therefore, that's evidence not in our favor, since he was controlled, as we know, by Shadowspawn."
"All correct, Captain," Thrawn agreed. "As was Mi-Ha the Hutt, incidentally. And so a certain question arises. If Palpatine knows about the substitution of a significant portion of Imperial commanders with clones, why didn't he use Cronal to eliminate Zann and order those commanders to unite, creating a foothold for himself beyond the Deep Core?"
"Perhaps Cronal didn't control Zann at that time," the commander of the Guardian suggested.
"Yes, I'm considering that possibility," Thrawn confirmed. "That's why the 'gifts' were delivered to a large number of Imperial Remnants that refused to cooperate with us. Some came explicitly from me — for example, to Colonel Johans and his 'Imperial Hammers.' They were the first to whom I made such an offer. In response, I received a principled refusal to cooperate with Imperial renegades. An identical set of valuables was also delivered by our agent — whose service to me is widely known in the highest circles of galactic governments — to Lord Bonteri."
"Did you suspect that the ruler of the Tion Hegemony might be another puppet?"
"I know it for certain," Thrawn said. "What happened with one cloned Moff, as well as with our Operative Steben, opens up a very interesting vantage point for observing the head of House Tion. For example, thanks to Operative Steben, we know that when taking control of his puppets, Shadowspawn likes to amuse himself by smoking expensive flavored cigars... The pulse transmitters embedded in a number of statues cost us a pretty penny, but they were worth it. They allow us to observe the enemy for a considerable amount of time. And track their decisions, business negotiations, behavior. Of course, to a lesser extent and mostly in official settings, since the art objects are displayed in official reception halls — but that's enough."
The commander of the Guardian was silent for a few seconds.
"Sir, forgive me, but... I don't understand the particular logic of what's happening," Pellaeon admitted. "If the attempt to bribe the 'Imperial Hammers' makes sense because we need a ground army, then the moves against Furgan and Bonteri... I confess, I don't grasp why these specific targets were chosen."
"'Among others,'" Thrawn corrected him. "These three are merely a small number of those who received the art objects — objects we couldn't put to use without risking being exposed by Palpatine's agents as having accessed his vault and turned its wealth entirely to our advantage."
"But now we're revealing it."
"Of course," Thrawn nodded in agreement.
"But... why, if you didn't want to reveal this fact earlier?" Pellaeon couldn't understand.
He suspected the answer was on the surface, but he couldn't tie together the hundreds of logical threads.
It all seemed like nonsense.
But Thrawn never busied himself with trifles.
So what was he trying to achieve?
"I didn't want Palpatine to know that we had cracked his vault until everything of interest to me and the Dominion had been removed from it," the Grand Admiral explained. "Mount Tantiss is now nothing more than a large hollow structure, inside which any curious agent of Palpatine will find many surprises. Though," the corner of the Chiss's mouth twitched in a smirk, "it will be the last thing they ever learn in their lives."
So, Thrawn had removed not only the valuables and cloning cylinders from Mount Tantiss, but everything else.
Good.
After that, lacking the ability to secretly sell the valuables and art objects that Palpatine had accumulated over his years of power, he began to "gift" them to Imperial commanders.
Supposedly in exchange for their support.
He tried to recruit Colonel Johans but was refused.
Because by then, he was already considered a renegade.
So Thrawn had slipped paintings from Palpatine's collection to the "Imperial Hammers" after announcing the creation of the Dominion.
And then...
"These three are part of one chain," Pellaeon realized.
Thrawn nodded affirmatively.
"Like all the others," he said.
"You had a fleet but no army," Pellaeon said. "You approached Colonel Johans but were refused. That was supposed to show Palpatine that, even though you controlled Mount Tantiss, you lacked the means to acquire your own armed forces. Isn't that too big an assumption for someone who has obtained a cloning laboratory?"
"At the time we first took control of Mount Tantiss, twenty percent of the cylinders were non-functional," Thrawn explained. "It was only through Colonel Selid's persistence that they were started. But as we know, the mad guardian of the vault, a clone of Jedi Master Joruus C'baoth — Joruus C'baoth — had already met those who came to Wayland seeking the vault. And killed them all. The most they could achieve was to scrub the archives. But that doesn't mean Palpatine knew how intact the Mountain was. As he unravels the tangled web of false events I've kindly provided, he will be convinced that even if I had or have cloning cylinders, they're not capable of large-scale production — otherwise why would I have needed Colonel Johans's army?"
"Ambassador Furgan was the second?"
"In this chain of events — yes," Pellaeon confirmed. "Carida is a prime target for the Empire. A source of commissioned officers and stormtroopers loyal to their commander. Isn't it the ideal candidate to replenish the army's losses, given that recruiting Colonel Johans failed?"
"I would even say it was the only acceptable alternative," Pellaeon nodded in agreement. "Considering that Palpatine cannot be unaware of how Furgan and the Imperial Remnants interacted, the news of stormtroopers being sold to you will fall on fertile ground."
"Not to me," Thrawn stated. "At that time, I was already officially dead enough. But no one yet knew of the death of either the real or the cloned Moff Gronn."
And suddenly everything fell into place.
"Regardless of whether Palpatine knows that Gronn was a clone and whose clone he was at the time of his death, the very fact that he paid for the acquisition of stormtroopers with exhibits from Palpatine's collection," Pellaeon rattled off, "means he was cooperating with you, casting suspicion on him."
"And his master," the Grand Admiral continued calmly. "Add to that Lord Bonteri, who is a cloned puppet of Cronal dreaming of creating his own empire within the Tion Cluster — and you get a very interesting combination."
"As if Cronal is playing a double game," the commander of the Guardian nodded, smiling with satisfaction. "And since there is no communication between sectors, any story from Cronal about the Dominion invading an Imperial sector and destroying forces supposedly under his control will be seen as nothing more than the excuse of a traitor who intends to build his own empire under his master's nose. And all this confrontation between 'official' and 'unofficial' Imperial forces in the sector will be perceived as Cronal's attempt to break forces away from Palpatine. Perhaps to lure them into a trap and capture them. Then Cronal would command a significant force, reinforced by Bonteri's fleet, with which he could seize the entire Cluster and adjacent sectors, create his own rich and developed empire — another problem for Palpatine."
Thrawn nodded affirmatively.
"With some reservations regarding Palpatine's ability to verify this version — yes, exactly that," the Grand Admiral confirmed, glancing at a monitor. "We understand perfectly that Palpatine finds it inconvenient to fight all his enemies at once. That indicates a degree of sanity. Which I will also be fighting."
"Sir, but then why give Bonteri part of the collection?" Pellaeon asked. "It would have worked without it..."
"I have no desire to waste my time and resources on destroying the Tion Hegemony, Captain," Thrawn explained. "Since most of the funds spent on purchasing the legions on Carida were in cash, a cover story is needed to explain how we could obtain the money for such an expenditure. I think it's logical that I have no intention of revealing that we possess the treasures of 'Sa Nalaor.' So why, in the context of the strategy above, couldn't Cronal — supposedly cooperating with me — have provided me with funds? Or purchased those legions himself? In that case, why would Cronal need an alliance with the Dominion? Could it be to use our fleet to defeat the forces Palpatine might send to the Allied Tion to help Cronal 'get rid' of us?"
"Deception upon deception," Pellaeon shook his head. "That's probably why Palpatine won't get involved in our second phase of the counteroffensive against the satellite sectors between the Hydian Way and the Perlemian Trade Route in the north of the galaxy?"
"Exactly, Captain," a smile appeared on Thrawn's lips. "I see you want to say something?"
"It occurred to me that if everything you've planned against Cronal is made known to Palpatine, he won't spend long trying to solve this heap of puzzles."
At least in the past, Palpatine sometimes needed only a hint of disloyalty from an ally to eliminate him.
In the most horrific and cruel way imaginable.
It's unlikely, with such an abundance of very clear hints of betrayal, that Palpatine will allow Cronal to continue existing.
No, if Thrawn is right, and agents of the insane clone are still alive and near him, the Emperor will be given the "right" way to solve the problem.
Which involves not just leaving Cronal in the isolation he currently occupies, but also tacitly granting the Dominion permission to continue destroying the Zann Consortium, which is under Cronal's control.
After all, for that, the Dominion will have to stretch its communications, expend personnel, ships...
Resources are not infinite, and trained personnel even less so.
Palpatine will simply solve the problem of Cronal and the Zann Consortium using the Dominion, to weaken the latter and finish it off after destroying the New Republic and the Galactic Alliance.
Or, at least, consider them weakened enough to throw the bulk of his forces at storming the Dominion's borders.
Which, since Dobramu's defection, have changed significantly.
In the eastern direction.
But not in the west, where the border still runs along the boundaries of the Kanz sector, bordering the territories of the Pentastar Alignment.
And Palpatine is firmly convinced that under Pellaeon's leadership, the Dominion will use Thrawn's already proven tricks.
Which means that what works won't be changed.
That Palpatine knows the "Perimeter" is working is beyond doubt — Cronal told him, after losing most of his strength during the attack attempt.
"Of course not, Captain," the Grand Admiral's voice reached him. "Palpatine won't bother figuring out whether Cronal is actually a traitor or not. He has more important tasks — breaking young Skywalker, making him serve. As for Cronal... can anyone believe that the cunning former head of Imperial Intelligence, himself a Sith, who is no weaker than Palpatine and in some respects even surpasses him, is playing his own game? Given the typical Sith path is betrayal, the answer is obvious."
Thrawn paused.
"Palpatine will simply get rid of everyone connected in any way to 'cooperation' with the Dominion," Pellaeon said. "And to avoid wasting his own strength and resources on Cronal, he'll leave him for the Dominion to tear apart while he deals with his problems concerning the New Republic and the Alliance."
"Exactly right, Captain," Thrawn stated. "Except that by the time these purges begin, the HoloNet will already be in motion. A broad information layer will cover the deaths of all those who thought serving Palpatine was a blessing. Our specialists will try to convey this to the galaxy's population in the most accessible way possible. That's why they're running information operations on the sectors under Cronal's control — shaping the information agenda, spreading it, monitoring the population's reaction, and building manipulation algorithms."
Pellaeon could only silently admire the multi-layered depth of the Grand Admiral's plan.
"Our enemies don't stand a chance," he said. "Those we don't destroy will devour themselves. And those who feel Palpatine's wrath will flee in terror from him, the Imperial Remnants, and the Pentastar Alignment. To neutral worlds, systems, and sectors, or to the Dominion — it hardly matters, does it, Grand Admiral?" the Guardian's commander inquired, receiving an affirmative answer from the Chiss. "The point is that those individuals, dangerous to us in their current positions, will leave them."
"And by the time Palpatine's campaign reaches its peak, his administrative, bureaucratic, logistical, political, and military apparatuses will either be destroyed by the purges or will be suffering a crisis of personnel turnover."
And rookies in those posts — that's at most thirty percent of the effectiveness of those who have been handling similar problems and issues for a long time.
Brilliant.
"Why fight a stronger enemy on the same battlefield, when you can arrange for his rear — the foundation of effective military operations — to be in crisis?" Pellaeon asked.
A rhetorical question, essentially.
"Precisely, Captain," Thrawn confirmed. "I hope that after this conversation, you will stop looking for ways to 'measure up' to Vice Admiral Pellaeon and his position."
"Sir," the clone was stunned — so accurate were the Grand Admiral's words. "I, uh... Sir, I feel I should be no worse than him."
"If you still think you are an inferior copy of Vice Admiral Pellaeon, then you have far too low an opinion of yourself, Captain," Thrawn stated. "For your information, Vice Admiral Pellaeon did not voice even half of the answers and conclusions that you have just articulated."
"I am still quite young, my mind is plastic and not so narrow," the Pellaeon-clone replied automatically.
"Now do you understand why you command one of the strongest ships in the regular fleet, while the Vice Admiral gladly shed the burdens of commanding troops and switched to direct rear-area work in accordance with his position?" Thrawn clarified.
The Guardian's commander smiled bitterly.
"Yes, sir, I do."
It must be unpleasant to think of yourself that way in old age...
But after all — he isn't Gilad Pellaeon, is he?
Thrawn just said that he, if only slightly, differed in a positive way from his donor.
"Sir, may I ask a personal question?"
"You want to know if I ordered the creation of one clone of Gilad Pellaeon, and not thousands, because I wasn't sure I could get the best possible version?" Thrawn inquired in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Yes, sir," the Guardian's commander replied, his voice thick with emotion.
Every clone wants to know they aren't just expendable material created for war.
Not everyone realizes they're afraid to hear an honest answer.
"I see in Gilad Pellaeon the lost potential to be better," Thrawn explained. "Within the framework of Operation Crimson Dawn, he was to replace me for a long time while I and a small detachment of ships resolved... several problems. But operational experience showed he was incapable of fulfilling the duties of an independent leader. He knows it, I know it, and a more optimal solution was found..."
"So that's why Thrawn emerged from the shadows almost immediately after his 'death,' letting the military know he was alive," the star superdestroyer's commander realized.
."..under which he would serve merely as a nominal leader," Thrawn continued. "And he is quite satisfied with the role of Chief of Staff. In that position, he performs well."
"Yes, sir," the Pellaeon-clone replied. "But what about me? Am I supposed to become a better version of Gilad Pellaeon?"
"Captain," Thrawn's eyes flashed, "the only thing you owe me is to fulfill your duties and follow orders. Whether you want to become a better version of yourself — that depends solely on you."
"Understood, sir," the Guardian's commander was perfectly satisfied with that answer. "In that case, may I ask one last question?"
"Of course, Captain."
"We aren't planning to just starve out Mi-Ha Hutt's troops, are we?" Pellaeon clarified.
"Of course not," Thrawn agreed. "Passivity is not welcomed in the Dominion, not in the slightest."
"But if we attack, Lord Bonteri will move his forces into the Allied Tion," Pellaeon reminded him.
"Of course," Thrawn confirmed. "He will. But, Captain Pellaeon, there is a nuance..."
* * *
Dashing around the corner of his hiding spot, Jahan first slammed the stock of his rifle into the nearest stormtrooper.
The warrior in white armor staggered, falling backward, while the agent yanked the weapon from the falling man in one swift motion.
But Cross didn't let the stormtrooper fall.
Catching the armored body under the arms, he used it as a shield, taking several shots in the disoriented soldier's back and returning fire, finishing off several enemies.
And everything was going well — until, with a crack of finger bones, the blaster was torn from the man's hands.
It arced through the air and flew far off to the side.
And atop the hill formed by the scree, the same furious Inquisitor appeared.
"Games are over, you filthy rebel!" he barked, looking at the stormtroopers. "Everyone stay put! I'll finish him myself!"
Fine — if he was fated to die today, he'd at least killed a few more enemies than he'd planned.
Too bad it had to end this way, but.
The Inquisitor parried his shots with ease, which made Jahan's spirits sink.
Luck wasn't on his side today.
Well, even if they killed him now, he always had a couple of thermal detonators on the stormtrooper's belt.
Which he would set off when the Inquisitor came down and got close enough to strike...
Fortunately — or unfortunately — that didn't happen.
The Inquisitor, bounding down the man-made slope in seven-league strides, suddenly just vanished.
Jahan felt a rush of wind hit his face.
As if someone had flung open huge windows and created a draft.
Or, if something big had flown past at incredible speed...
The next second, a mechanical hand emerged from the chest of the nearest stormtrooper, with the horrible screech of tearing flesh and breaking metalloplast.
Bloody fingers made some kind of gesture, and a stream of stones literally swept away the remaining Pentastar soldiers.
And then, the hand left the body of the enemy, dead from a burst heart, and behind his armor emerged the figure of Mace Windu, covered in dirt, blood, and burn marks, dressed in tattered rags resembling Jedi robes.
"No more allies die on my shift," the Korunnai rasped, watching the enemy soldiers pouring into the ruined shelter with hatred in his eyes.
And then...
Then Jahan was glad, like a boy, that he was already gray-haired.
Because seeing one man destroy an army with his own eyes — he wouldn't have had the strength for it in his younger years.