Ten years, four months, and thirty-five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, fourth month, and thirty-fifth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year, one month, and fifteen days since the Arrival.)
Allegiance-class battlecruisers began to play a significant role in the Imperial Starfleet approximately three years after the destruction of the first "Death Star" by rebels in the Yavin system.
Allegiance-class battlecruiser
Of the significant battles in which representatives of this type of warship managed to distinguish themselves, one would like to name at least one grand operation, but, unfortunately, the Allegiances never managed to participate in such campaigns.
In internal Imperial Navy documents, Allegiance-class ships were designated as "Heavy Star Destroyers."
Sometimes, military science theorists and historians defined the Allegiance as a typical starship type corresponding to the designation "star cruiser."
Due to its size, power, internal volume, and combat orientation, the Anaxes War College assigned this ship type the designation "battlecruiser," using their warship classification system.
This confusion arose because, besides the Allegiance, there were larger models of battlecruisers, like the Praetor II, whose dimensions exceeded two kilometers and two hundred meters in length, possessed by the Allegiance.
Praetor II-class battlecruiser (art by Ansel Hsiao)
Despite being created exclusively for space warfare and possessing power beyond that of a standard Star Destroyer, before they were recalled to guard Imperial depots and rear-line bases in the Deep Core, the Allegiances served as command ships for flotillas and squadrons, as communication ships (thanks to their enhanced communication devices), escorted larger Super Star Destroyers and dreadnoughts, and patrolled frontier territories in the Expansion Region.
The "Chromed Sting" had ended up in the sector fleet of Allied Tion to lead one of the squadrons assigned to patrol and protect an important ally of the Emperor from pirates, rebels, and other scum.
Rear Admiral Edward Woodstock was given command of the "Chromed Sting" as one of the first commanding officers of formations in the entire Imperial Starfleet.
Rear Admiral Edward Woodstock.
Some saw this as corruption, others as a tribute to Woodstock's origins among the Tion nobility, who, even during the Clone Wars, had not supported joining the Confederacy of Independent Systems and had lost too much for their sympathy towards Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.
And when it is said that a noble lost much, it means he lost A GREAT DEAL.
In the case of House Woodstock, they lost practically everything.
Power, money, territories, honors, privileges, lives...
Little Edward Woodstock only survived because at the time of his House's extermination by separatist scum, he was on Coruscant with his servants and guards.
There, he learned that he had become a nobody overnight.
It was then, thirty years ago, that the fifteen-year-old noble ceased to exist — when his House ceased to exist.
Among the aristocracy, the destruction of an entire influential House is an event that is not forgotten.
For a while.
The enemies of House Woodstock put considerable effort into eliminating the last representative of this line.
In the struggle to preserve their young master, his servants and guards gave their lives.
And he was left alone, with considerable funds that he could have spent to live a life of comfort.
But a noble does not do that.
Especially when he is the last of his kind.
A noble who cannot tear out the throats of those who committed such barbarism as was done to Edward's family has no right to even claim the attention of other Houses.
Very few ways to preserve his life remained.
Even fewer chances to survive and take revenge.
So, by the end of the first year of the Clone Wars, the fifteen-year-old Edward understood that power, force, money, and noble birth had more value in the galaxy than the rules of decency and manners he had been taught.
One man is not a fighter when assassins are hunting you.
Unless you can make it harder for them to collect your head as proof.
So Edward ended up as a volunteer at the Anaxes War College.
Paying for his tuition took most of his remaining funds, but the young man, completely consumed by the learning process, didn't care much about material possessions.
He made every possible effort to hide his identity and study under a false name.
Thanks to his natural ingenuity, logic, knowledge, and understanding of the history of past conflicts, developed by his tutors since childhood, he was able to absorb much faster than his fellow cadets.
The Clone Wars demanded an ever-increasing number of young and talented officers for the battlefields with each passing year.
At a time when clones were fighting for the Republic, the children of aristocrats and the powerful preferred to remain under the protection of their families in the rear, knowing that military honors could be won not only on the front lines.
You just needed to be someone with the right connections, influence, and wealth.
When the heavy losses of the Grand Army of the Republic, in desperation, forced the command to call for volunteers from among the cadets for the fleet, Edward made his choice.
To take revenge, he needed power and authority.
He wasn't going to get it by staying in the rear and hoping for the mercy of old acquaintances — because he didn't trust them.
That's why he had changed his name.
He signed all the necessary papers and, as one of the few volunteers, went to the front.
Later, no stories would be told and no monuments would be erected for that hundred half-trained cadets who were given early promotions to ensign and put in charge of old patrol buckets to plug holes in rear security.
Of the hundred volunteer cadets, ninety-seven died in the very first months of their service.
Another two became invalids, abandoned to their fate after being discharged from ships.
They later committed suicide, unable to bear the pressure of the memories of what they had gone through.
Woodstock turned out to be the only cadet to survive the Separatist fleet "Bulwark" breaking the Foerost blockade.
His patrol ship had taken a beating.
By the time rescuers found them, all that remained of the Consular-class was the armor plating in the bow, baked by enemy turbolaser fire, in which Edward had managed to save several crew members.
He wasn't recommended for an award, he wasn't celebrated as a hero who, with a tub from the Judicial Forces' arsenal, managed to blast apart one of the newest enemy battleships and thereby rendered invaluable assistance to the Grand Army of the Republic in understanding what exactly they were up against.
He was promoted to lieutenant and appointed first officer on an Arquitens-class light cruiser.
Relatively new.
Relatively in good technical condition.
With a relatively combat-capable crew.
With a captain who was one of those who liked to indulge in spice and "slightly adjust the ship's course" to fly past a smuggler, pirate, or some similar scum's hideout.
Edward observed his crew for several months.
Carefully and without unnecessary moves, he analyzed what was happening and what consequences it had.
He evaluated the junior officers...
He was in no hurry to strike, looking for the right moment to make a decisive move.
And he made his play, arresting his captain and several officers during a stop in orbit of Nar Shaddaa.
The ship supposedly needed urgent repairs, forcing it to break away from the convoy passing through Hutt space.
In reality, the ship's captain and his accomplices had taken frozen-in-carbonite slaves on board, which they were supposed to deliver to Coruscant without any problems.
The investigation continued until the proclamation of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine as Emperor.
And then...
He was suddenly issued orders to take command of the same Arquitens-class light cruiser he had served on as first officer.
But he arrived on board as the ship's acting commander.
On his first patrol to the Empire's borders to catch pirates, he got rid of the dumbest and laziest men on board his starship.
Within a year, his crew was one of the most experienced in fighting smugglers and Separatist remnants.
Within two, he was on board a Victory-class Star Destroyer as a gunnery officer.
Within five, he was the first officer on board an Imperial-class Star Destroyer.
Two years after that, he took command of it.
And along with his command badges, he also received an order to report to Grand Moff Tarkin.
And it was there that Edward had to explain to a very, very, very distant maternal relative what the hell was going on and why he had gone to such lengths to go into deep cover.
The Grand Moff listened to the whole story.
From beginning to end.
He asked a few clarifying questions.
For the most part, it was a test of the authenticity of a member of House Woodstock, which Edward passed.
The Grand Moff, who instilled fear across the entire Outer Rim, was satisfied with his distant relative's answer to the question: "So why, when you were left alone, did you not come to me?"
Edward told the truth: "What could the last scion of his House offer the famous admiral other than a tear-jerking story?"
Tarkin liked the answer.
As he liked Woodstock's service record.
As he liked his desire to settle the score with his family's murderers.
Wilhuff Tarkin would not have achieved such a position if he had used his official position as openly as other influential people in the Empire to advance his relatives and favorites in the military hierarchy without reason.
For nine years, Edward served under his command, striking at the Empire's enemies.
And if the "Butcher of Atoa" specialized more in pirates and smugglers, Tarkin chose a more interesting path for Woodstock to gain authority.
Betrayal — something Edward knew firsthand.
So the Grand Moff correctly determined that there might be no one more competent or motivated than his distant relative for finding and destroying rebels.
The Grand Moff found it easy enough to motivate Edward to zeal in his service.
It was enough to say that loyal service would allow him to command more forces.
And to be transferred to the Tion Cluster, where some of his family's tormentors were still alive and well, scattered across various sectors of the Cluster.
A year before his death, Grand Moff Tarkin fulfilled the promise he had made many years ago, promoting Edward to commodore and sending him to the Tion Hegemony.
Fortunately, it lay within the Outer Rim and fell under Grand Moff Tarkin's jurisdiction.
He served well in his position and within four years became a rear admiral, receiving the freshly launched "Chromed Sting" under his command.
Yes, he was not the first officer to be given command of an Allegiance simultaneously with a promotion.
But he was certainly the only Imperial officer for whom it happened THIS way.
At least, he liked to think that was exactly how it happened.
The circumstances resembled his meeting with Grand Moff Tarkin.
With the sole exception that the conversation was conducted by a man of much higher standing than his deceased distant relative.
Edward was no fool and therefore perfectly understood all the "undercurrents" surrounding him in his new position.
In his hands, he held power comparable to few senior officers in the Tion Hegemony.
But even that was not enough to finish his revenge.
The offer he received and, of course, did not refuse, completely satisfied his desires.
Even more than that — it allowed him to regain what was lost a hundredfold.
But that required time.
Enough time that he had to remain in the shadows and obey.
Observe, draw conclusions, analyze, evaluate.
Go about his official duties, but at the same time — work in secret and continue to fulfill his duty.
He was told much about his career, including that at certain moments his career ascents had been "stimulated" by those observing him.
And they allowed him to open up, demonstrate his intentions and loyalty to the New Order from a practical point of view.
He had to wait and observe.
Remaining just one step away from his cherished revenge.
The final test of endurance.
A test of his faith and loyalty.
Rear Admiral Woodstock did not let down those who relied on his cooperation and loyalty.
Even when the Empire fell, he did not break the agreement.
Though he was sorely tempted to snap the neck of the last representative of that bastard House that had stripped him of his family and titles.
He waited and watched.
He didn't know if his efforts would pay off.
Year after year, his patience wore thin, but he never broke the agreement.
He methodically sifted through the personnel and subordinate officers, identifying those he could rely on when the time came.
And now, when his fleet had emerged from hyperspace and nearly completed its journey through the impassable stretch of space near the Indrexu Spiral, when the duty fighter pairs had returned from reconnaissance, he personally debriefed each of them.
Imperial military personnel quickly adapt to the demands of their commanders.
This isn't anything out of the ordinary — their training makes them that way.
A subordinate must adjust to the character and "quirks" of his commanders, not the other way around.
In the case of the rear admiral, this "eccentricity," which appeared after his transfer to the Tion Hegemony, had a very clear reason, one he had communicated to his subordinates almost immediately.
He preferred to receive and study all reconnaissance data directly from the scouts themselves.
Well...
Someone fraternizes with aliens, someone secretly uses drugs, someone is a sadist, and he feels best when he talks to scouts and asks them the right questions.
Questions that seemed insignificant — but only to anyone other than Rear Admiral Woodstock.
In truth, the reason for such meticulousness lay in two significant factors for Edward.
First.
A reconnaissance picture is never accurate until even the most insignificant details have been obtained.
There had been far too many tragic events in the galaxy that could have been avoided if due attention had been paid to the details.
The rear admiral could not afford the luxury of flying as part of a reconnaissance pair, only to waste time later subjecting the pilots to a full-blown interrogation.
No, he piloted any Imperial (and non-Imperial) small craft perfectly.
But he couldn't afford to leave the flotilla's command post.
There was also a second reason.
Far more important.
It was part of the deal he had made.
And he had long understood why such conditions had been set.
Right at the moment when the reconnaissance pair's commander removed his helmet, stepping over the threshold of the briefing room.
It's not often that after a flight, instead of a familiar lieutenant's face, you meet a completely different one.
A strong, ruthless face, one that could not possibly belong to anyone who had ever, in any way, served under his command.
Edward had an excellent memory for faces.
And he was seeing this face for the first time.
At least — in person.
But he knew perfectly well who stood before him.
A Messenger.
There was no other way to explain the substitution of pilots.
The stranger, whose face nonetheless seemed vaguely familiar, sat down without the slightest hesitation in the seat reserved for the pilot opposite Rear Admiral Woodstock.
And without a trace of fear, looked into the eyes of the commander of the punitive fleet, advancing toward the criminal forces entrenched in the sector neighboring the Tion Hegemony — the Allied Tion.
Woodstock remained silent, waiting for the stranger to start the conversation.
And so he did.
"Rear Admiral," he addressed Edward. "Password: 'Delta-Omega-Blue-Blue-Four-Eight-Coruscant-Nine-Bravo.'"
Woodstock felt as if, after so many years of waiting and preparation, the ice in which he had encased his thirst for vengeance and the death of others — long promised to him — had cracked inside.
No countersign was required.
Nor was any verification of this code against databases needed.
Edward knew this password by heart.
He had learned it over the many years since he had agreed to the deal offered him.
"Acknowledged," Edward replied dryly. "Will additional information be provided?"
"Yes, sir," the pilot's voice was a well-trained commander's baritone.
Soft, yet ruthless, accustomed to giving orders and defending its point of view.
"You are authorized to act at your discretion," the pilot reported, pulling a small strip of metal from his pocket and handing it over — adorned with multi-colored bars, those coveted cubes every senior officer of the Imperial Starfleet desired. A new rank, attainable only by those who stand out from the crowd. "The Emperor thanks you for your loyal service and personally promotes you to the rank of High Admiral. From this moment, all armed forces stationed in the Tion Hegemony and any other sectors of the Tion Cluster, with the exception of Allied Tion and the Thanium Worlds, come under your command. In three days, representatives of command from other sectors are to report to Raxus Secundus and inform you of their full subordination, as well as present the heads of those traitors who did not respond to the Emperor's call."
The Emperor...
He alone knew this password.
And he was the one who had given it to Edward when he handed over the "Chromed Sting" for his use.
There could be no doubt.
The Emperor had not died at Endor.
"Instructions regarding those who refuse to obey?" the High Admiral clarified the limits of his authority.
He was now one step away from the highest rank in the entire Imperial Starfleet...
Just one step away.
Years of waiting had fully paid off.
As had his faith in the Emperor and the Empire.
"The Emperor considers you competent enough to destroy the traitors and restore unity to the Tion Cluster under the leadership of the Tion aristocrat dynasty truly loyal to the Empire," the messenger continued. "Under your authority."
Edward cracked his knuckles.
"Bonteri?"
"As promised — he is entirely at your disposal," the Emperor's messenger explained. "He has already been declared an Imperial criminal. But," a sly smile appeared on the pilot's lips, "he doesn't know it yet. The Emperor conveyed a personal request — to finish Lars Bonteri the moment he lights a cigar."
An unusual request, but the Emperor's word is law.
"I will carry out the Emperor's will," Woodstock promised. "Shall I arrange a cabin or a ship for you?"
The fate of the missing pilot did not interest him in the slightest.
All of them — Edward himself included — were merely cogs in one vast Imperial machine.
Sometimes cogs are replaced with stronger ones.
That is inevitable.
"A cabin, sir," a smile appeared on the messenger's lips. "I have been ordered to provide you with maximum assistance."
"In that case, you will be enlisted in place of the pilot whose guise you used to board the 'Chromed Sting,'" the most obvious and favorable outcome for current affairs.
"I have no objections, sir," the pilot informed him. "My transfer documents were officially 'found' in your group's headquarters several hours ago."
That is, at the moment the flotilla emerged from hyperspace.
"How should I address you?" the High Admiral asked the Emperor's messenger.
"I am Marek Stele," introduced one of the most famous aces of the Imperial Fleet. "The Emperor's Hand."
"Welcome aboard the 'Chromed Sting,' Captain," Edward finally recognized his interlocutor. "I believe you've arrived just in time — on our path is a fleet of rebel ships blocking access to Allied Tion..."
"As I already said — Allied Tion has been ordered to be left alone, High Admiral," Stele noted dryly. "And the rebel ships from the so-called Galactic Alliance, which outnumber you three to one — that includes them. Return to the Tion Hegemony and destroy the traitor Bonteri, along with his close associates. Such is the Emperor's will."
"So be it, Hand," Edward could no longer suppress the smile on his face.
The long-awaited vengeance would finally be fulfilled.
"So be it..."
The ace pilot, Captain, Marek Stele, the Emperor's Hand.
* * *
"Unexpected," the General said when he was informed that the detected enemy flotilla — consisting of one Allegiance-class battle cruiser supported by five Imperial I-class Star Destroyers and four Victory I-class Destroyers, accompanied by two dozen corvettes and escort carriers — had performed a turning maneuver without reaching the line of deployed minefields and invisible asteroids. "Any theories?"
"We assume their scouts managed to detect our minefields," the duty officer reported.
"Were there any detonations?" the General clarified, knowing full well that if even one mine had exploded, he would have been informed.
But he couldn't not ask the question.
"Negative, sir. The closest approach of enemy scouts to the defensive line was ten units."
"Use of hypersensitive scanners?"
"Not registered."
This is strange.
Very, very strange.
Too good to be true.
What Imperial commander, sent to quell unrest in a sector coveted by the Tion nobility, would refuse to attack the Alliance fleet — under which the Dominion's captured ships were actively disguised?
No one.
Not even despite the enemy's superior forces.
The General would sooner believe that the flotilla, upon discovering a large formation in its path, had called for reinforcements and switched to a waiting tactic, rather than retreating.
"Heighten alert," the General ordered. "Has internal sector communication been restored?"
"Yes, sir, an hour ago."
"Send a message to the Guardian and brief command on what happened. Immediately."
"Will be done, sir."
The General shifted his gaze to the tactical display, where the enemy ship markers were leaving the two-hundred-unit scanning radius.
Effectively, the enemy had just foiled Grand Admiral Thrawn's plans to mislead the adversary about what was really happening in Allied Tion.
The General did not believe the enemy had been scared.
He had exhaustive information on who was leading the Tion Hegemony flotillas and had a clear psychological portrait of each of these officers.
It was hardly likely that any of the rear admirals would have dared to disobey the order to attack Allied Tion.
Without a compelling reason — never, under any circumstances — they were too dependent on Lord Bonteri's will.
There was no other direct route between these two sectors.
Only by going all the way around the Indrexu Spiral.
Which would mean weeks of roundabout travel, given the need to fly in real space on sublight engines.
But the approaches to the sector were securely mined and blocked by a multi-layered defense system, analogous to the "Perimeter."
The only exception to this rule, which had become almost standard for sector sieges, was this very path — the one the Tions had intended to use.
But they had failed to seize the opportunity to capture Allied Tion almost bloodlessly, amidst the general chaos.
Too strange to be true.
* * *
According to Imperial regulations on the containment of prisoners, no more than one criminal was allowed to be held in a single cell.
In this case, Captain Oland, like the others standing outside the containing energy field, was observing a rather large number of sentients concentrated in one room.
About fifty... sentients.
Both humans and aliens were present.
Unarmed, dressed only in simple clothes — everything they had been left with after being taken prisoner.
They all looked around warily, trying to understand why they had been gathered in one room.
And they all asked themselves one single question: "What happens next?"
The commander of the Marut would also like to know this from Grand Admiral Thrawn, who stood before the large panoramic window, gazing impassively at the gathering of sentients.
Or from Captain Pellaeon — the clone of Gilad Pellaeon, a well-known supporter of the Grand Admiral, who commanded the Guardian super star destroyer rather than the Dominion itself.
Perhaps the answer was known to the Grand Admiral's adjutant — Lieutenant Colonel Tierce, standing at Thrawn's right hand.
Or to that grey-skinned alien of the Noghri people, with the demeanor of a bodyguard.
Or maybe the commander of the Dominion Star Destroyer Chimaera, Captain Tschel, who watched the gathering with pursed lips, also knew what was to happen.
Surely, the reason for gathering all the surviving officer-allies of Mi-Ha Hutt was known to Agent Bravo-One, known in the Allied Tion sector as Lieutenant Mac, heir of Moff Gronn, who had signed the document for the sector's annexation to the Dominion a few days ago and had resigned his authority.
Power in the sector's systems had passed to planetary and system governments — where that power had not been destroyed during the cleansing or re-established.
Overseeing them were administrators and officials sent from the Dominion's core worlds, who were establishing all sectors of life in Allied Tion at a breakneck pace, accelerating the transfer of affairs to the Grand Moff's apparatus.
Doubtful, of course, but Oland suspected that even the commander of the Dominant-class Star Destroyer, Captain Valum Vigor, standing beside him, also knew the reasons for what was happening.
Only Oland himself was unaware.
And he very much hoped to receive an explanation regarding why they had all gathered here today.
Meanwhile, into the huge fighting pit, located in the old district of Jaminere — where once the most bloodthirsty animals from across the galaxy had been delivered to die for the amusement of the Tion aristocracy — more and more prisoners continued to be brought.
The faceless soldiers of the 501st Guard Assault Legion were directing a relentless stream of dozens of various sentients into this vast pit, more like a crater formed by the explosion of a large-caliber kinetic projectile.
"I must admit, your initiative with the false signal in the name of Mi-Ha Hutt has fully justified itself, Agent Bravo-One," Grand Admiral Thrawn broke the silence.
"Thank you, sir."
Oland understood what he was talking about.
The Guardian had broadcast a signal in which a hologram of Mi-Ha Hutt was giving the order to all his units to cease hostilities and proceed to an uninhabited world for regrouping.
The pirates and bandits, the brutes and rapists who made up Mi-Ha Hutt's army, obeyed.
Not all, of course, but the vast majority flew in and landed where ordered.
Then three warships entered orbit of that world.
The Guardian.
The Chimaera.
And, of course, the Marut.
The appearance of two other Star Destroyers — the Arkanian Dragon and the Violator — was news to Oland.
Until, right after them, the Occupier arrived under the command of Captain Vigor.
He reported the completion of the mission and the capture of the traitor Imperials and their ships.
Formerly their ships.
And then... the order was given for orbital bombardment of the mercenary concentrations.
The soldiers' faith in the inviolability of Mi-Ha Hutt's order was so strong that the gunners of all six ships had to work hard to kill everyone on the surface.
Millions of mercenaries.
A whole army of cutthroats that, ideally, could have become a weapon in the Dominion's hands.
After all, didn't they have "Kavil's Corsairs" and smaller private armies?
The problem was that a significant portion of the arriving fighters were Zanibar.
And the rest — mercenaries fanatically loyal to the Hutt.
Missiles, turbolasers, bomber strikes, and attack gunship runs...
Everything the six Dominion ships had was brought to bear.
An hour later, leaving behind only a scorched continent where the fighters' gathering had taken place, the Dominion forces landed troops and captured the random survivors.
And now they were all here.
Along with the officers, including the commanders from the Arkanian Dragon and the Violator.
Those present regarded the latter with undisguised disgust.
All except Thrawn.
In his short time, Captain Oland had learned that his new commander could be provoked by only one thing.
Unjustified loss of personnel.
But such losses were practically nonexistent.
On the contrary, it could be said that the Dominion's armed forces had been instantly reinforced by forty legions of stormtroopers trained on Karide.
Thirteen legions had fallen, wholly or partially, in the fight against Mi-Ha Hutt's criminals.
Out of respect for the valor they had shown — fighting for weeks, surrounded, against a superior enemy — Grand Admiral Thrawn ordered the legions to be included in the guard list.
All fifty-three.
Some would have to be formed anew, others would take a long time to refill...
Perhaps this could be done quickly, as there were tens of thousands of sentients in the sector eager to escape the swamp of everyday life in remote Allied Tion and see a new life.
Or perhaps it wouldn't be quick — the Dominion had some intricate scheme for replenishing its regular army and fleet, one that didn't take sentients without combat experience, even after training as such.
Most likely, these sentients would have to serve for a time in the Sector Defense Forces, and only then join the Dominion's regular forces.
But that would come later.
"Are we waiting for someone?" Oland quietly asked Captain Vigor.
"A few more guests," he whispered back confidentially. "I think you know them."
The commander of the Marut was about to ask who, when the old bulkhead separating the observation post from the surroundings slid aside with a loud hiss.
"Grand Admiral, sir, permission to enter!?" a familiar voice rang out.
Oland glanced at the commodore entering the room.
Middle-aged, calm face, precise movements.
"You're late, Commodore Brandei," Thrawn replied. "We almost started without you."
"My fault, sir," Brandei, as he was called, seemed a bit flustered. "The local orbital controller... He got a little nervous when he saw the arriving ships. Kept trying to find a discrepancy in our identification codes and transponders. Insisted those ships had been destroyed long ago..."
"Is that so?" Thrawn turned to the man who had entered and took a step toward him, leaving his entourage behind. "Please explain, Commodore, why I, unlike the orbital controller, do not know that the ships assigned to you were destroyed?"
Brandei was taken aback for a second.
The tragedy of the situation was shattered by Captain Tschel snickering into his fist.
"Forgive me, sir," he hastily put on a mask of seriousness. "The commodore's face..."
"Tschel," Pellaeon hushed him quietly. "Be quiet."
"Yes, sir," he replied automatically. "I mean..."
He wasn't allowed to finish by Lieutenant Colonel Tierce, who silently placed his hand over the Chimaera commander's mouth, preventing him from breaching protocol any further.
Oland shuddered.
The Grand Admiral's adjutant's movements were more like those of an experienced killer.
And his action could easily shift from the category of "shutting up a chatterbox" to "snapping a neck."
The commander of the Marut made a mental note — to do whatever it took to ensure Tierce never pulled a similar trick on him.
Pretty damn scary.
Even during the Battle of Jaminere, he hadn't been this scared.
And then there was that bodyguard, engrossed in playing with knives...
"Are your companions shy about joining, Commodore?" Thrawn inquired, extending his hand.
Brandei returned the handshake.
"Certainly, sir," he broke into a modest smile and turned toward the still-open doorway. "Gentlemen commanders! Please, don't delay!"
Men entered the room.
Exactly ten.
All as one — in the uniform of the Dominion's regular fleet.
The same uniform Oland himself wore.
And their faces were so familiar...
The commander of the Marut mechanically looked at the insignia on the sleeves of their uniform jackets.
Immortal, Tyranny, Emperor, Thunderer, Grey Wolf, Garret, Zelpin, Warlord, Skeletor, Protector.
Ten Star Destroyers with which Moff Gronn had set out to defend Lianna.
Ten Star Destroyers that had been considered destroyed.
Ten Star Destroyers in whose survival, despite any refuting information, Oland had never believed.
And now he stood facing his comrades-in-arms, most of whom he knew personally.
The others...
Well, there wasn't a single one of Gronn's toadies here!
"Well, well!" grinned the commander of the Grey Wolf, shaking the bewildered Oland's hand. "Guys," he addressed the other officers, who were exchanging handshakes with the rest of the Dominion personnel, excluding Thrawn and Tierce, who were silently observing the final preparations. "Isn't this the commander of the Marut! Oland! The little rancor! Alive! I almost lost what little hair I have left on the bridge when I found out you decided to blow yourself up in that gang's lair! Admit it — were you hiding the fact that your nerves are made of Mandalorian iron? Or were you shy about showing us how strong your willpower was, and only once we were all out of sight, you spread your claws and showed who's really an officer with a capital 'O'!"
Among the grizzled officers, Oland had always been in the position of a younger brother whose blaster is taken away so he doesn't accidentally shoot himself.
A very rough comparison, of course, but in the most dangerous operations in the sector and beyond, none of the commanders he knew would let him take risks.
A sort of guardianship that Oland was ashamed of and angered by when they told him: "You're still a little rancor! Grow up — then you'll be the first to attack!"
It took a few minutes for him to receive encouraging claps on the shoulder from his senior comrades, who no longer looked at him as "the little one."
More like "just a bit taller."
Almost an equal.
"Gentlemen officers," Lieutenant Colonel Tierce slightly raised his voice to attract everyone's attention. "Please proceed to the observation window."
The commander of the Grey Wolf couldn't resist and ruffled the hair on Oland's head.
"I thought Thrawn was going to toss us all into a black hole when he got tired of reading our reports," he whispered in Oland's ear. "Sorry, kid, that you had to go through that crap. We all," he nodded towards the officers Oland knew, "asked to be sent here to pull you out of Allied Tion."
"You asked Thrawn about me?" the commander of the Marut was taken aback.
He might not be a sniveling youth anymore, but the realization that officers twice his age and experience had crawled out of that cesspool and still remembered him…
His throat tightened in a way he hadn't felt since childhood.
"Starting from the very first day we entered Thrawn's service," the Gray Wolf's commander confirmed. "He promised he'd look after you, but without any word from here, we were on pins and needles. They only let us in here just now. When it was time to take control of everything…"
A gray-skinned Noghri materialized between the two officers, his already unpleasant face twisting into a menacing expression.
"Understood," the Gray Wolf's commander reacted instantly. "We'll be all attention."
The Noghri vanished as abruptly as he had appeared.
Oland glanced at Grand Admiral Thrawn and shook his head involuntarily.
If he had respected him before for his military prowess and strategic genius…
Who would have thought that a sentient who never showed a drop of ordinary human emotion would pull off an entire operation at the request of defector officers just to…
Just to recruit him?
Or was everything that had happened merely a coincidence?
Or had Thrawn simply fulfilled his new subordinates' request as part of his primary mission?
But then… it was strange that he had been so… persistent about it.
"Prisoners," the voice of the Dominion's Supreme Commander rang out over the fighting pit. "All of you are accomplices to organized crime. Those among you who were once officers swore to fight the enemy within. Instead, you facilitated crimes against the citizens you swore to protect. You betrayed your battle brothers. You fed them to the cannibals alongside whom you then oppressed the civilian population. I despise you. Your actions are too heinous for you to continue being considered representatives of sentient races. Those standing here with me are witnesses to your crimes. The Liquidators of these consequences. Your judges. And the verdict is guilty. There will be no mercy. You are animals. And that is why you are in a fighting pit for animals. Only one of you will leave it alive — the one who kills all the rest. You have thirty minutes to do it. You may offer a reasoned objection and contest this decision. But remember — the longer you talk, the less time you have. Twenty-nine minutes remain in your allotment. I am listening to your appeal?"
Not a single word was spoken.
Oland looked at those present, searching for even one person who would support him in challenging the Grand Admiral.
You can't treat even criminals like this!
They were still sentient beings, and…
The Marut's commander found not the slightest trace on his battle brothers' faces that suggested anyone agreed with his point of view.
Then, looking at the arena, he understood why.
Humans and Zanibar, Rodians and Weequay, Nautolans and Devaronians…
They had once been representatives of dozens of races who served criminals.
After hearing their sentence, not one of them contested it.
Not a single one.
They simply began tearing each other apart, paying no attention whatsoever to who their neighbor had been.
Oland's eyes caught the faces of the Arkanian Dragon and the Aggressor's commanders.
Or rather, what was left of them.
Judging by the state of their bodies, they had been torn apart first.
And they had been surrounded by the most personally loyal sentients from their destroyers' crews.
No, Thrawn was absolutely right.
These were no longer sentients.
They were animals.
"Just what you'd expect from them," the Gray Wolf's commander said with disgust. "Beasts…"
"Lieutenant Colonel Tierce," Thrawn said quietly to his adjutant. "Make sure the stormtroopers finish off the survivors."
"Sir, but you promised them salvation!" Oland burst out.
"To one of them," the Grand Admiral said in an imperturbable tone. "Twelve thousand unarmed beings — even if they've lost the right to be called 'sentient' will not kill each other in thirty minutes."
"That is statistically impossible," Lieutenant Colonel Tierce confirmed.
"That's… inhumane…"
"Yes," Grand Admiral Thrawn agreed. "But there are two nuances, Captain Oland. First — I am not human. Second — all these officers of Mi-Ha Hutt's criminal army and the Imperial traitors are responsible for the brutal deaths of over twenty-seven million inhabitants of the Allied Tion sector. Not to mention the stormtroopers who fell at their hands. No humane court, no firing squad, no feeding of criminals to spice spiders will make the hearts of the surviving witnesses to the bloody slaughter they inflicted on those planets accept any lawful decision regarding these animals."
Oland's mouth went dry.
"And how will they find out? That you executed these murderers in the most brutal way possible?"
"Simple, Captain," the Grand Admiral replied calmly. "We broadcast it across the entire sector. A first and final reminder to anyone who tries to harm our citizens. The same fate awaits them — they will be beaten like the animals they are, for raising a hand against peaceful civilians. Wherever they are, whoever they are — we will come and punish the offenders. As one punishes wild beasts."
For the first time, the Marut's commander found nothing to say.
And… honestly, after everything he had seen back when he almost blew himself up…
He agreed.