Ten years, four months, and twenty-one days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-five years, four months, and twenty-one days after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year, one month, and one day since the Arrival.)
The Hutt's way of thinking is fundamentally different from a human's.
Representatives of this people claim that Hutts are capable of sensing threats on a subconscious level.
Even without using the Force.
But if you set aside all prejudice and conjecture, you should turn to the facts.
Hutts are prone to healthy and unhealthy paranoia.
And their enemies often try to use this character trait to lure Hutts into a trap.
Such tactics almost never work.
And not even because most traps are designed without the watchful eye of the Hutts' supporters.
The reason for the failure lies in the fact that enemies underestimate the Hutts' ability to be smarter than their problems in the form of cunning creatures of various kinds and races.
In addition to paranoia, over the thousands of years since the Hutts made contact with the galaxy, representatives of this people have become famous for traits like intellect, selfishness, and manipulative behavior.
Hutts were known as powerful and ruthless beings who constantly sought to expand the borders of their domains and those of their individual clans.
Their thirst for power is as insatiable as their appetite for exquisite food — about half of which they understood nothing about, creating an analogy with gangsters who rose "from the bottom," showing off to each other with expensive cars, houses, yachts, and "dolls" chosen as life companions for varying lengths of upkeep.
Hutts prefer to stay at the center of the most businesslike or criminal enterprises.
Questions of morality, or its absence, never bothered Hutts during their adventures.
"Nothing personal — it's just business."
A phrase that could be used as the motto of every representative of this race.
A Hutt will never interfere in a competitor's operation or start a venture until he is sure he will get a guaranteed fabulous profit from it.
Otherwise — the risk assessment of participating in such dubious deals always leads to a refusal.
Consequently, my opponent considers himself the winner regardless of the outcome of this confrontation.
Profit from an enterprise and the strengthening of one's own authority — that's all that matters in any deal a Hutt makes.
Megalomania...
Most Hutts are depraved, preoccupied with an irrational assessment of their own person, exaggerating their fame, popularity, and political power.
They consider their species above the morality that, in their opinion, "inferior" beings perceive.
Megalomania was the cornerstone of the Hutt life philosophy.
There is no Hutt who doesn't want more power, influence, valuables, or wealth than they currently have.
To achieve these goals, Hutts tirelessly accumulate their strength and resources, for which they have discovered a true talent over the long years.
The methods of winning living force to their side are varied — from paying mercenaries to cunning manipulation of sentients through bribery, intimidation, blackmail, and hostage-taking.
If any corner of the galaxy has a full classification of all criminal acts a sentient being can commit, then opposite every article, part, and clause, you can safely write the Hutt race.
Life in the criminal underworld has developed a peculiar code of honor among representatives of this race.
As incomprehensible to the ordinary sentient as the actions of the Hutts themselves.
Representatives of this race do not dissemble when talking with equals or those weaker than themselves about their deeds and crimes.
Justifying one's actions is a sign of hypocrisy in Hutt society, a violation of "style" and "corporate ethics."
Don't try to understand why a Hutt did this or that — if his "tail" is involved, then everything done is aimed at improving the Hutt's well-being.
Hutts do not grovel before the powerful of the world; they play a double game.
Yes, it's a hint of hypocrisy, but within the framework of their own laws and strategies, it is considered a normal behavior among representatives of this race.
Hutts adore flattery, seeing it as a note of good manners in conversation with them.
The galaxy learned its lesson long ago: it is unwise to earn a Hutt's enmity.
Han Solo felt that firsthand.
Hutts prefer elaborate executions of their enemies, doing it publicly to show allies and minions what happens to those who intend to betray or deceive them, or in any other way contribute to the fall of a specific Hutt's prestige and authority in his circle.
And by the latter, Hutts, with their characteristic "circuitous logic," mean the entire circle of sentients who have any idea of their existence.
This clever trick helps any Hutt, one way or another, to invoke the right to protect his reputation against someone who, somewhere, said something to someone about him that the Hutt didn't like, or pretended not to like.
Without a doubt, Hutts knew perfectly well how most sentient inhabitants of the galaxy felt about their race.
They often used rumors and prejudices about their people for personal gain, which fully aligns with their psychological traits.
Expanding influence, increasing wealth, growing income — by any means.
In the Empire, Hutts were treated with disdain.
Among the highest officials and military of the collapsed state, the attitude towards this species was as immoral, disgusting, domineering, and power-hungry.
At the same time, the Empire did not seek to eradicate the Hutts, which already raises a lot of questions.
The answer is quite simple: the Hutts, one way or another, managed to interest local executors and governors, securing only the appearance of subordination.
In reality, they continued their dealings, but now having Imperial officers as patrons or debtors.
An interesting feature.
In the Hutt language, there is no such concept as "criminal."
At least, this word does not have the same meaning that most races living in the galaxy give it.
Many traditional concepts that other civilizations considered criminal actions were professions according to Hutt thinking.
Human crimes were not considered shameful by Hutts at all — they completely included them in the list of "ordinary Hutt routines."
Thus, the term "criminal" in the Hutt language was merely a descriptive and collective image of the entire people.
Leaving aside the analysis of the race as a whole — a considerable number of prominent scientists and cultural figures that Hutts could also boast of — it is worth separately highlighting a significant stratum of society that constitutes the vast majority of their race's representatives.
Criminal authorities of one level or another.
Small and large figures.
They deserve close attention and a concentrated analysis.
Hutt crime lords despised physical labor and combat, preferring to leave such duties to their hired thugs or their slaves.
This didn't necessarily mean Hutts were unarmed: they usually kept weapons, but only for emergencies when events spiraled out of their control.
Such actions demonstrated that Hutts preferred their deeds to be carried out by their proxies, and they rarely left the safe perimeters of their citadels.
Anyone who wanted to fight a Hutt crime lord had to do it on their opponent's terms, facing traps, barriers, and various minions.
Furthermore, Hutts generally have a habit of acquiring dangerous animals as pets and using them for entertainment, sending their enemies against the creature while the crime lord's sycophants watched.
Those who encountered Hutts claimed it was impossible to negotiate with them; the only ways to defeat them were deception, outsmarting them, or hurting their pride.
This is... valuable information.
Doubly valuable because, having analyzed several Hutt artworks from different time periods, I found hints of this, and the general character traits I've noted remain unchanged for millennia.
Good.
Stability is predictability.
Predictability is the key to developing a strategy.
One representative of a race can differ from another — that is indisputable and beyond doubt.
But at the same time, no matter how different individuals are from each other, there is always something in common.
It is on this axiom that a universal plan for victory over this or that species is built.
The general species-specific character and psychological traits of Hutts include enviable patience — one might even say phlegmatism — inherent in long-lived races.
At the same time, it is easy to notice on some frescoes that Hutts are quite vengeful and follow the rule that revenge is a dish best served cold.
Sometimes — even frostbitten and covered in an icy crust.
And this, in turn, means that sooner or later, you should expect a stab in the back from an offended Hutt.
Logically — at the moment when the offender least expects it.
Hutts do not retreat until they achieve the complete and unconditional destruction of their enemy.
The idea of getting even with one's enemies was an ingrained concept in their civilization.
There is a widespread belief that it is the death of their enemies — elaborate and treacherous — that gives long-lived Hutts a thrill during their mortal existence.
The greater the risk and the more dangerous the operation of revenge, the more elaborate it is for the enemy — the happier the Hutt.
Despite strong competition with each other, all Hutts believed that they occupied a special place in the galaxy because they were superior to other life forms.
Another curious fact — the more weight a Hutt gains, the more authoritative he is considered.
It brought to mind that old bearded joke about a man's growing belly, which is commonly called "authority."
The bigger the Hutt, the more power he acquires not only from his peers but also from non-Hutts.
Those of their kind who were underweight were treated with disgust and contempt — for example, those suffering from wasting diseases were treated as lower-class slaves.
In Hutt society, those rare individuals capable of growing body hair were considered mutants and looked upon with barely concealed disgust.
And consequently, Mi-Ha Hutt is quite respected among criminals — his size speaks directly to that.
Well, then it can be assumed that his mercenary army clearly consists not just of thugs from the street, but also of half-slaves loyal to their master, who will fight for him to the end.
Let's note that thought.
The psychology of thinking should also be considered when assessing an opponent from the perspective of their physiology.
Just remember the escape routes Grappa the Hutt had prepared for himself, and you'll understand that if a full assault had been used to capture him instead of a covert operation, we would most likely have missed the accomplice.
Due to their physiology, Hutt structures typically used ramps, as they couldn't use stairs.
Similarly, their anatomy didn't allow them to sit on an ordinary seat; instead, they half-reclined at the dining table.
On one hand, this information seems useless; on the other — it's further proof that Hutts don't participate in conflicts directly, preferring to rely on their assistants and servants, observing events from afar.
Which, in turn, combined with the memory that Hutts are immune to Jedi mental tricks, opens up some very interesting prospects regarding the entire campaign.
Cronal cannot control Mi-Ha Hutt on his own, as he did with the Moff's clone in the Korva Sector, or as he is doing now with Lord Bonteri.
Consequently, the Hutt is either harshly subordinated to Cronal, acting under his next Shadowspawn guise, or is in an indirect alliance with him.
The latter is supported by the fact that there were no significant power redistributions in the sector that could have occurred if Cronal had tried to subjugate the local criminal underworld.
And, more obviously — why would Cronal need a puppet on the spot that he cannot personally control, if he has seized power over the criminal underworld of the Allied Tion?
Exactly — he wouldn't.
The most obvious thing is that Mi-Ha Hutt became Cronal's ally in exchange for some preferences.
Probably — during Cronal's subjugation of the remnants of the Black Sun, he swore allegiance to him as a leader.
Looking at what's happening, there are many illogical, contradictory moves, more characteristic of temporary solutions than a carefully planned strategy in advance.
I won't be far from the truth if I assume that the initial recreation of the Zann Consortium in the shadow of other structures' banners happened on Tyber Zann's own initiative.
Then Cronal joined in, egged on by Palpatine to create a third force in the galaxy.
And later, Cronal developed personal ambitions regarding the Tion Cluster, to which he pays close attention.
But he doesn't flaunt it, so as not to attract Palpatine's and his hangers-on's attention to his schemes.
A plan within a plan, inside which there is another plan...
Probably the same way my opponents' heads hurt when they run into my multi-layered combinations.
Maybe that's why it's so easy for me to understand Cronal and Palpatine's schemes — because I myself weave intrigues like a conspiratorial spider.
As they say, it takes one to know one.
But be that as it may, alliances with the Hutts are a tricky thing.
And such an alliance is only beneficial until one side — in this case, Mi-Ha Hutt — realizes that it's in a more advantageous position than its "ally."
And then business partners turn into furious enemies, each wanting to tear the other's throat out.
All it takes is helping one realize that it's stronger than the other, and that trump cards have fallen into its hands.
Though there's no doubt that Cronal foresaw this situation as well.
Which means the threat to the entire sector must be located close enough to its borders.
This is necessary in case everything went according to Cronal and Mi-Ha Hutt's plan.
If the occupation forces and ships had already entered the sector's territory, then during a communication session with them, the sectoral relay would have activated, catching the subscriber stations in the information space.
And if that's the case, then the pulse transmitter won't be used — its operation is undoubtedly being monitored by the Hutt.
If it isn't activated, Mi-Ha Hutt will immediately understand that the "reinforcements" aren't outside the sector, but inside it.
And that will lead to conflict.
"Grand Admiral," the comlink crackled to life in the apartments allocated to me. "The ships have moved into position. All confirmation codes received."
Silence.
Captain Pellaeon awaits further orders.
Given the relatively even distribution of the enemy fleet's ships across the star systems they control, figuring out the actual location of Mi-Ha Hutt and his "brain center" is a rather difficult task.
You can analyze various data long and hard, and that will undoubtedly bear fruit.
Or you can outplay the Hutt on his own turf.
With cunning.
Defeat at the hands of an enemy's treachery isn't just a blow to the Hutt's reputation — it's also a surefire way to demoralize him and his closest minions.
"Excellent, Captain Pellaeon," I replied through the comlink, rising from my desk. "Have our forces taken control of the sectoral relay?"
It's through this device that we can coordinate our squads' actions within the sector.
In fact, the enemy has had the same capability up until now, and we haven't interfered with it at all.
Even though the sectoral relay is useless for transmitting information beyond Allied Tion's borders, data within the sector is still routed through this device.
Given the impossibility of transmitting data outside the sector through the servers of the Intergalactic Communications Center — which recently survived its second sabotage (and the first at the servers' new location) — and the need for an "official" request for help from the Tion Hegemony, Mi-Ha Hutt will undoubtedly order his Imperial puppets to contact Lord Bonteri using standard long-range communication systems.
Unfortunately, the borders between sectors are too vast to track the presence and location of a pulse transmitter or signal relay on them.
That doesn't change the fact that you can trace the source if you control the relay.
Yes, there is still a chance that Cronal is currently maintaining contact with both Mi-Ha Hutt and Bonteri through the Force, using puppets.
Through the Force, Cronal can order Bonteri to deploy troops, disregarding any semblance of formality.
But in that case, we have a substantial backup plan.
"Yes, sir. The cryptographers have already connected to the servers and are awaiting further orders."
"Remind them to monitor all transmissions — both those arriving in the Barseg system and those leaving it," I ordered. "The enemy will act the moment they receive data about the Chimaera and Guardian arriving in the Corlax and Barseg systems."
"Understood, sir."
After the voice of the Guardian's commander faded, I stared for a few more seconds at the numerous holograms of figurines, paintings, triptychs, jewelry, and other art objects created by the Hutts at various times.
Undoubtedly, only the most ancient of them were made by Hutt hands themselves.
The rest merely reflect their worldview, their desires, their aspirations, and their vanity.
The difference in the masters' approaches and techniques is clearly visible, but at the same time, the key elements — what matters to the Hutts — allow you to trace a common thread and intention.
Each piece of art was analyzed, broken down into pieces of one large mosaic.
And then all of them were synthesized into one overall picture of what's happening in the Allied Tion sector.
Vanity.
Megalomania.
Vindictiveness.
Profit.
Distance from the front lines.
Arrogance.
Sluggishness.
Lack of remorse and empathy.
Total control.
Everything.
Deactivating the holoprojector, I looked at the ysalamiri sweetly yawning in its cage.
The little lizard seemed to raise an eyebrow, not believing that I intended to leave without it.
Hmm...
This is interesting.
Intelligent beings can't understand what I'm trying to achieve, but for a lizard, my actions are the very definition of predictability.
Note that thought.
* * *
The Weequay who delivered the message bowed before the massive bulk of Mi-Ha Hutt.
"Lord Mi-Ha," he addressed him. "Our commanders report that the Dominion's ships have arrived in the Corlax and Barseg systems."
"You're dismissed," came the reply, booming loudly, shattering the silence in the spacious hall.
Dozens of dancers, who had frozen at the arrival of the messenger, silently watched the underling leave their master's abode.
A wave of a short hand — short compared to the body — and the sense of celebration for the single spectator returned.
Light, unobtrusive music began playing again, creating a relaxed atmosphere.
As if no important news had been delivered at all.
The Hutt's monstrous bulk, taking a drag from the hookah pipe near his platform, exhaled a stream of smoke from his lungs with pleasure.
"I told you they weren't all that smart," he said significantly, addressing the figure in a long dark cloak standing beside him. "Attacking Corlax and Barseg is stupid."
"That may indeed seem to be the case, honorable Mi-Ha Hutt," a voice scraped from under the hood, turning toward the Hutt. "But we are dealing with those who built a state out of a dozen scattered sectors in a few months. And also destroyed the Zann Consortium's battle wing in a matter of days. They cannot be underestimated."
"Is that so?" Mi-Ha Hutt burst into rumbling laughter. "But I see things completely differently..."
"When dealing with the Dominion, you can never be sure that everything is going strictly according to your plan," the voice of this living relay continued to rasp.
"Be that as it may, two of the enemy's most valuable ships have left the Jaminere system," Mi-Ha Hutt waved his hand, and a hologram of the Allied Tion sector appeared before him. "So, so, so, my dear ally Shadowspawn, didn't I predict that the Dominionites would first strike at our blocking forces on Corlax IV and Barseg?"
"Corlax IV is the most obvious first-strike target," the darkness under the hood rustled. "Which is precisely why I'm concerned that they took exactly that step."
Mi-Ha Hutt blissfully inhaled another portion of fragrant, poisonous smoke.
Corlax IV — or simply Corlax, as the inhabitants of Allied Tion called it — could be considered one of the few bright stars in the Outer Rim Territories.
An unremarkable industrial world rich in minerals, it had nevertheless made quite a name for itself during the Clone Wars.
Just as thirty years ago, the planet currently housed about three hundred million sentients.
Practically all of them (with few exceptions) worked in manufacturing enterprises as general laborers.
And what they produced, as you might guess, was Clone Wars-era military hardware and battle droids.
Mi-Ha Hutt exhaled another lungful of fragrant vapor with pleasure.
After all, it cost him practically nothing to restore these old factories, almost completely destroyed by the Grand Army of the Republic and the Galactic Empire.
All it took was diverting Moff Gronn's eyes with large investments straight into his pocket.
At least until the mysterious Shadowspawn, who had taken the reins of the remnants of Black Sun, informed him that Gronn was entirely on their side.
The profit from flooding the black market with cheap battle droids and weapons after the Empire's fragmentation had more than covered everything spent on corruption.
He should thank Shadowspawn for that, but the little man wasn't worthy of such treatment.
The planet had joined the Confederacy of Independent Systems over thirty years ago, and it was immediately identified by its raw materials, which the Separatist holdings could use for their war machines.
This nearly led to orbital carpet bombings, which could have resulted in the complete annihilation of the industry and its cheap, practically slave labor force.
But some Jedi got it into his head that he couldn't perform an orbital bombardment.
As a result, nothing was destroyed when the Old Republic needed it to be.
The planet remained one of the CIS's key sources of military hardware throughout the Clone Wars.
It was only in the final period of that conflict that bombings caught up with Corlax IV, and then the Empire rendered the factories inoperable.
Or so they thought.
Currently, having eliminated the forces stationed there by the late Moff's clueless adjutant, Mi-Ha Hutt no longer even tried to hide his illegal activities, openly converting the planet's production lines to manufacture the weapons Shadowspawn needed.
Of course, he had first armed his own army, but that was already separate from current events.
"He intends to capture our source of military hardware and weapons," the Hutt said lazily. "Well then, good luck to him. On Corlax IV, I have over three hundred thousand of my headhunters and almost two million battle droids. Both active and ready for shipment. Plus a planetary shield, anti-space defense forces..."
"Pellaeon has sent a Super Star Destroyer against Corlax IV," Shadowspawn hissed. "This ship's power must not be underestimated! Ysanne Isard, using a less powerful vessel of the same type, crushed two of Coruscant's planetary shields. Pellaeon recently used his ship to destroy mine in the Aparo sector. Not to mention that it's equipped with cloaking systems and has clearly been refit."
"Yes, I remember you said that this Super Star Destroyer crossed from one part of the sector to another in an implausibly short time," the Hutt agreed.
"Which may indicate that the enemy has two such ships," warned the mysterious advisor, who, over the years of their partnership, had never once shown his face or given the slightest opportunity to identify him. "Has the signal for help been sent to Lord Bonteri?"
"Of course," Mi-Ha Hutt snorted. "The message went across the sector border straight to Raxus Secundus."
This was sufficiently unnerving.
But for someone who had spent most of his life in the ranks of Black Sun, such tricks were nothing new.
Humans are so amusing sometimes with their quirks of simple, short-sighted minds.
"Aren't there too many Executors in the galaxy?" Mi-Ha Hutt inquired. "And all in one state. I recall the rebels take the destruction of this type of ship very, very seriously. They spare no effort or resources... And now it turns out that a pro-Imperial renegade state got its hands on two Executors?"
"Does this bother you, honorable Mi-Ha Hutt?" Shadowspawn asked in a venomous tone.
"You humans all keep harping on about some hypocrisy and other nonsense," the Hutt grimaced. "But what's the reality? That Imperial Space, which considers itself the rightful heir of the Galactic Empire — even if they did issue an unofficial warning to the smaller Remnants not to mess with the Dominion — that Dominion isn't just gaining strength. It's also managing to maintain two Super Star Destroyers at once. You, my dear ally, wouldn't happen to know where Vice Admiral Pellaeon gets so much money and sentients to keep these kinds of ships combat-ready, let alone upgrade them with scarce and obscenely expensive cloaking systems?"
Over the course of their partnership, Mi-Ha Hutt, though he hadn't managed to uncover his mysterious ally's identity, had still figured out that he was directly connected to the Imperial Remnant.
And that he very much wanted to get a large, prosperous corner of the galaxy in the Tion Cluster for himself.
You could almost admire him.
The way he deftly manipulates sentients and forces unyielding authorities to serve him almost makes you think that Shadowspawn must have had Hutts in his ancestry somewhere.
Maybe that's why he always hides his face?
"I am working on finding out the reasons for this growth in their power," Shadowspawn replied evasively. "However, we should return to our plan for victory."
"Our plan?" Mi-Ha Hutt asked lazily, feigning surprise.
No, he wasn't petty enough to nitpick over his interlocutor's careless words.
It was just never a bad idea to remind this man of his place again.
Profit is profit.
But there was less and less of it coming from Shadowspawn's participation in this venture.
And when a Hutt loses money and precious time, he starts to wonder if it wouldn't be simpler to work alone rather than with a partner who's investing fewer and fewer resources into the common cause.
That smells of betrayal.
Or of Shadowspawn exhausting his own resources, making him increasingly useless.
Or perhaps he simply has no way to get to Allied Tion and intends to keep leading Mi-Ha Hutt around by the nose.
In any of the three scenarios, this kind of cooperation is burdensome.
And it doesn't align with the goals of Mi-Ha's own plan.
"Yes, our plan," Shadowspawn said confidently. "Or... do you have a different opinion about our partnership?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," the Hutt laughed, a gurgling sound. "There was one, and there still is. I'm increasingly convinced that you're an unreliable partner in the conquest of the Tion Cluster's sectors."
The next moment, a crackling sound rang out that made both the music and the dancers freeze.
A crimson blade struck again, but it couldn't penetrate the transparent energy field that invisibly surrounded the platform on which the Hutt's body rested.
"A rare piece of technology," Mi-Ha Hutt said lazily. "From Serenno. Traded it for additional, very rare spare parts for tactical super-droids for House Dooku about twenty-five years ago. Never fails. And it's invisible when active."
"Nothing can stand against the Force!" Shadowspawn promised darkly, striking the transparent barrier with a stream of blinding lightning.
And the next moment, he was flung backward.
"Reflective wave," Mi-Ha Hutt explained, taking another drag from his hookah. "Useful against Jedi and Sith who tend to do that sort of thing. I don't even regret buying a batch of these generators for my reserve bases. All I did was ship them a million more battle droids than they'd ordered."
"So that's who supplied Serenno with an entire army of battle droids and machines!" Shadowspawn hissed, getting to his feet. "Because of you, everything spiraled out of control there! The talking heads of the tactical super-droids suddenly turning into mobile platforms — that was your doing too? Your shipments?"
"I just did some cheap repairs on what they already had," Mi-Ha Hutt snorted. "And made a tidy profit on it, by the way. Enough to buy half the planetary governors in Allied Tion, lock, stock, and barrel."
That, in fact, was what had allowed him to rapidly assemble a huge army and lay siege to enemy garrisons.
Of course, the siege wasn't as effective everywhere as it was on Corlax IV, which had only come fully under his control about a week ago.
The first significant world to fall at the Hutt's feet was Desargorr — a planet known for its beautiful mountain ranges.
Like Corlax, the planet was rich in minerals, as well as scarred by millennia of ruthless mining, much like the numerous moons of the Desargorr system, its asteroids, and comets, all ruthlessly gutted for resource extraction over the millennia.
Taking Dravious required almost no effort.
By present times, it was a dreary, nearly abandoned agricultural world, notable only for a handful of farms from the age of Xim the Despot in the planet's mountains, well-preserved due to the thin air.
The most trouble came from Barseg itself, but it was worth it.
After all, that's where the enemy's second-most-powerful ship had arrived — a modified Imperial-class Star Destroyer named the Chimaera.
Barseg had once been the capital of one of the oldest states in the Tion Cluster: the Kingdom of Barseg.
Later, Barseg formed an alliance with the Kingdoms of Kadinf and Jaminere, creating another state of the Tion Cluster that had since faded into history: the Three Allied Kingdoms.
Like many others, they were conquered by the pirate king, becoming part of the Xera Empire.
An even more ancient interstellar union than the previously mentioned Empire of Xim the Despot.
After the Tion War, Barseg and the entire Tion Cluster were absorbed by the Galactic Republic — but the Kingdom of Barseg survived.
For millennia, Barseg had enslaved the neighboring world of Lorrad, forcing the Lorradians to live in terrible conditions.
The planet was liberated when the Republic conquered Barseg a little over three hundred years ago, but the planet retained its economic dominance over Lorrad.
The Kingdom of Barseg had long included the planet Lianna, which had now broken away from Allied Tion.
Barseg's population was known for its arrogance and pride in its ancient Imperial past.
The planet was notorious for its incredibly rigid caste system, and even during the Empire, many inhabitants of this grim trading world performed the same duties as their distant ancestors.
Mi-Ha hadn't chosen Barseg as one of his last conquests for no reason.
The local rulers were easily hooked by the smell of easy money, hated the Imperials, and so their masses of slaves were readily sent to their deaths against the well-equipped Imperial stormtroopers stationed on the surface.
By the time the last soldiers were killed, and the slaves returned to their masters, they learned that they now belonged not to Barseg's oligarchy, but to Mi-Ha Hutt.
His little empire, built on the labor of slaves grateful for the destruction of the oligarchs and nobles who had oppressed billions for centuries, if not longer.
The main strike force of his army, of course, were the cannibalistic Zanibar from the planet Zo, whom he had once supplied to his acquaintance and distant relative — Grappa Hutt.
Now, however, with the production capabilities of Corlax, resource-rich worlds, and the slaves and oppressed from the most populated planets of the sector on his side — and soon the Colicoid colony from the planet Xifal in the same sector would also respond and join him as armorers — little could stand against him.
A massive pirate fleet, an army, weapons and military hardware production...
"I will crush you like the parasite you are," Shadowspawn continued to hiss threateningly. "Weaving intrigues behind my back won't go unpunished!"
"You'll send your puppy Bonteri's ships against me?" Mi-Ha Hutt burst out laughing. "Go ahead. Right after that, the Cronese Mandate, Indrexu, and others will pounce on your borders. And with my allies, you'll be stuck here even longer. You won't see Allied Tion, and the Hegemony will be so battered that any fool could conquer it — my trusted agents will spread the word to everyone in the vicinity, including the Galactic Alliance and the Dominion. And I, as you understand, will soon have fewer weak ships, but three new powerful ones will appear. And one of them is an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer. Or did you think I would limit myself to just predicting that the Dominionites would try to retake my source of military hardware and slaves, without making my own move? I already have. While you're standing behind my shield, stewing over how I, Mi-Ha Hutt, humiliated and crushed you, using you like the last port Twi'lek, my ships are already moving toward Corlax, Barseg, and Jaminere. With one blow, I'll capture the capital, which is protected by only one Victory-II, and I'll gain control over both an Imperial and an Executor. The remaining Imperial assault legions, upon learning that the capital has fallen, will switch to my side, joining the force that I command. What can you offer in opposition, worthless little man?"
The former ally was silent.
And there was nothing to say.
Whoever he was, he would never, ever tell anyone that he had been outwitted, that a whole sector he intended to make his own with Mi-Ha's help had been snatched from under his nose.
And the fleet in the Tion Hegemony...
They both knew perfectly well that an operation to occupy Allied Tion could only be pulled off by rapidly transferring troops across the borders to secure the new frontiers.
The armies of Mi-Ha Hutt were supposed to take on all the work of conquest, for which he was to be appointed governor of Allied Tion, supplying Shadowspawn with everything necessary.
But as soon as the neighbors learned that part of the fleet had left the Tion Hegemony — and what ships and forces those units would face — they would inevitably attack.
Because the nebula that cuts across the Tion Cluster's sectors makes navigation difficult, and any ships sent on a mission would have to spend a long time away from their bases, navigating through extremely unstable territories.
"If you think I didn't hedge my bets on that score, you're an idiot, Mi-Ha Hutt," Shadowspawn rasped. "The Tion Hegemony's ships are already at the borders of Allied Tion and will arrive shortly to deal with you."
"I already checked your message," Mi-Ha Hutt boasted. "It left the sector's boundaries, which means even if your reinforcement fleet is at the borders, same as the pulse transmitter, they need at least a week to get here going around the Indexu Spur — that very nebula that complicates navigation across the entire Tion Cluster." In that time, my new ships will prepare a splendid welcoming committee for you.
Shadowspawn attacked him again with Force Lightning, proving he was indeed some kind of Jedi simulacrum, but it wouldn't help him.
Yes, he avoided another hit from the invisible defensive field, but what could he do against an entire squad of assassin dancers who had finally received Mi-Ha's order to finish Shadowspawn?
Mi-Ha Hutt kept puffing on his hookah, paying almost no attention to the death rattles of a dozen dancers who hadn't been lucky in that fight.
Far more important was that the survivors had finally brought him Shadowspawn's severed head on a platter.
Twirling the gaunt face of the young man — deep wrinkles and dark circles under the eyes — in front of his face, Mi-Ha tossed the head aside and took a triumphant drag.
So, he had gotten rid of an "ally."
His new flagship was about to be captured and new ships would join his fleet.
Soon the official power on Jaminere would fall and his regime would take over...
And he had done all of this from the shadows.
A couple of days, and an entire sector would be in his power.
That was an achievement few Hutts of the modern era could boast of.
He could lay claim to the title of underworld king—not of one sector, but of the entire northern galaxy.
True, for that he should first arrange luxurious apartments for himself and his servants on the Executor, so that anyone permitted aboard that magnificent and powerful ship would see his, Mi-Ha's, might, strength, and authority.
And on Jamenere, he should also...
Mi-Ha Hutt frowned, letting smoke stream from his mouth.
Several hours had passed since his ships were supposed to have moved to the fleet rendezvous points.
And they were supposed to report upon arrival for further instructions.
So why hadn't anyone notified him?
"Why aren't the squads sent to Corlax and Barseg reporting in?" he demanded an answer.
"Master, there's some problem with the comm line," the same Weequay immediately reported. "We can't send a message beyond the sector relay..."
The Hutt tensed his entire magnificent, massive carcass.
"But the 'help' signal went through it to the Tion Hegemony, didn't it?" he clarified.
"Oh yes, magnificent..."
"Fool!" Mi-Ha roared, realizing there could be no coincidence. "Prepare courier ships! Immediately inform our squads at the rendezvous points that the attacks on Corlax and Barseg are traps! Recall them at once for my protection!"
But it was already too late...
"My lord," another servant ran into the throne room. "Small craft have entered the system..."
"Affiliation?"
"TIE Defenders, my lord. No identification markings. Just matte-black hulls... and a broadcast signal..."
The second servant hesitated, as if unable to say something shameful to his master's face...
"Don't be silent, you fool, what signal?" the king of the underworld of Allied Tion raged.
"'We are the Dominion Shadow Guard. Pray to your gods, if you believe in them, Mi-Ha Hutt. For we are coming,'" the second servant repeated, stammering.
"Master, this must be some joke," the first servant-Weequay said nervously. "What Shadow Guard? And besides, there aren't that many of them, just a few fighters. Our air wing can handle them — you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Most likely just scare tactics. I mean, who could possibly know your base is located on the old farms on Dravion? Your greatness didn't choose it for nothing..."
The next moment, a series of explosions rang out from outside the building.
"The hangars are blown!" someone's hysterical voice came from the corridor leading to Mi-Ha Hutt's throne room.
"Emergency evacuation!" the latter boomed, reaching for the activation of a secret panel.
An instant later, a greenish flash simply burned straight through the armrest of his dais.
A moment later, two more flashes killed both of the Hutt's servants.
Mi-Ha Hutt turned his head toward the passage where several figures stood.
Almost all of them — in identical black armor with closed visors, making it impossible to distinguish their faces.
All except one.
"Lieutenant Mac?" the Hutt marveled.
"For you, it's Captain of Dominion Intelligence Torin Inek," the man clipped out, not a muscle twitching on his face as he drove a thin combat knife into the eye socket of a bodyguard dancer who had leaped at him with lightning speed. "Time to fry your fat ass, Mi-Ha."
"Kill them all!" Mi-Ha Hutt shrieked like a frightened human woman, spotting a squad of Zanibar in the other corridor.
The first shots rang out.
Lightsabers hissed to life.
The throne room turned into a battlefield.