Ten years, five months, and five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, fifth month, and fifth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year, one month, and twentieth day since the Arrival.)
The wedge-shaped hull of a former Galactic Empire Star Destroyer, known as the Imperial I-class, sailed silently through the airless void of infinite space.
Its narrow bows were aimed at the white glow of a star known in astronavigation references as Breto.
The system of the same name was part of the small Msst sector, located in the Mid Rim.
And at this moment, that star, along with the astronomical bodies orbiting it, were the final targets on Rear Admiral Dorja's path to conquering the Msst sector.
The commander of the Dominion Star Destroyer named Relentless sat in his designated chair, arms folded across the chest of his dark Imperial-pattern uniform, adorned with patches indicating his affiliation with the regular Dominion Fleet.
Back straight, eyes fixed on the main viewport, occasionally glancing at the tactical hologram that blurred slightly in the bridge's bluish glow.
Dorja remained silent, calmly observing how his task force — consisting of one 'Three'-class destroyer, accompanied by four Avenger-class heavy cruisers, one Acclamator-class assault ship, and ten Crusader II-class corvettes — advanced from the system's borders toward its heart.
The Breto system could only be left one way: by reaching the jump point along a well-known vector for hyperspace entry and exit.
But today, that was impossible.
Having spread its artificial gravity nets, a Dominant-class Star Destroyer had positioned itself across that vector.
Veteran spacers might recognize the last as the Empire's well-known Interdictor-class Star Destroyers.
But only a lucky few who survived an encounter with a Dominant could tell you that it shared as much with the Interdictor as the main Dominion Star Destroyer shared with its progenitor, the Imperial.
A hull form well known to the galaxy.
But as many had survived encounters with Dominants and main Star Destroyers as had survived the Knightfall operation thirty years ago, according to official Imperial propaganda.
Zero.
The only difference being that Dominion ships genuinely lived up to that claim.
When the regular fleet finished its operations, nothing and no one remained on the battlefield to give the enemy food for thought.
And Rear Admiral Dorja saw no reason to break this glorious tradition while capturing the Msst sector.
The Msst Sector.
Despite the presence in the sector of Garos IV, a planet loyal to the Dominion — from whose depths a most valuable resource was mined for disguised, explosive-laden asteroids — despite Dorja's desire to cleanse the sector and bring it into the fold of the state he served faithfully, only the second phase of the counteroffensive gave Grand Admiral Thrawn the grounds to give him free rein.
A year ago, Dorja would have thoroughly run down the Grand Admiral and his flagship commander, Captain Gilad Pellaeon, but not today.
Not because he had suddenly fallen in love with either of them.
No.
Dorja had come to respect both as solid professionals, each in their proper place.
Thrawn embodied the power of the order and military might the Empire so imposed, honed to maximum efficiency.
Pellaeon — even if he hadn't been able to reveal himself as Thrawn's student in matters of strategy and tactics — was still his second-in-command, the head of the headquarters of the Dominion Armed Forces.
Responsible simultaneously for analytics, operational intelligence, logistics, and material and personnel support.
Rear Admiral Dorja had no doubt Pellaeon wouldn't last.
He kept that thought to himself, of course.
One warning from Thrawn had been enough to put an end to all personal conflicts among his subordinates.
A year ago, the Grand Admiral had changed his attitude toward Dorja, moving him from secondary fronts and assigning him the capture and control of strategically important hybidium extraction.
And Dorja had succeeded.
As he would succeed in capturing the entire sector.
He had been preparing for this for the last six months.
And there could be no other options here.
After all, Gilad Pellaeon was managing the staff and all other support services of the Armed Forces, wasn't he?
And in the Empire, it was believed his limit was commanding the Chimaera (mediocre at best, honestly) and "retreating to save the lives of his personnel."
What about the rearmament, retrofitting, and modernization of the Relentless and other destroyers of this type under Dorja's command into "Threes"?
And look at the clones coming into the crews!
Equipment?
No issues with spare parts, ammunition — requisition forms under such logistics are always filled out correctly, right...
Even under Vader, you'd only see that in the Death Squadron, and not even every month!
And here, thousands of ships receive not what a state in isolation, acquiring rare and expensive technologies solely through smuggling and the black market, could give them, but what was truly necessary to accomplish the military's objectives.
And for that alone, Pellaeon could and should be respected.
Yes, maybe he's not a warlord.
Maybe he's "rusted."
But in office work and "keeping order" among subordinates, he had no equal.
Of course, Dorja would never tell anyone this, but if he could go back in time, he'd give himself a good kick for wasting so much time bickering with Thrawn and Pellaeon instead of focusing on personnel training.
Fortunately, having become something like a sector admiral and governor on Garos IV, the Rear Admiral had drawn the necessary conclusions.
And if he hadn't, someone else, like Abyss or Mor, would already be in his place.
"Admiral, sir," the watch officer addressed him according to the "general rule" which allowed omitting rank prefixes. "A courier has arrived with a dispatch from the Farsin system."
Courier messages were used because Dorja was employing standard tactics for sector capture.
All known routes leading into and out of the sector were blocked by minefields and invisible explosive asteroids, intermixed with gravity field stations.
Thanks to this approach, nothing and no one would cross the sector border from any direction.
The gravity stations would tear a ship out of hyperspace and dump it onto the mine and invisible asteroid fields.
No one survived there.
Standard tactics also included taking control of the sector's HoloNet relay.
In Msst, the transmitter was relatively new — a little over fifteen hundred years old since manufacture.
Fully automated.
And it was currently under a "dome" of an invisible field based on the hybidium mined from Garos IV.
Which prevented any kind of technical signal from penetrating the cloak or escaping from under it.
Complete isolation of the sector from external and internal communication.
And the systematic capture of key systems.
One after another.
Using the identification codes of transponders from the time the ships were still in Imperial service.
Disinformation, pure and simple.
Msst was once a supporter of the Empire.
But even then, the rebels had sunk deep roots here, establishing terrorist cells and rebel movements.
Dorja had eradicated them all on Garos IV.
And now he was finishing them off across the entire sector.
Let there be no regular army of the Galactic Alliance or New Republic in Msst, but the locals didn't particularly like the Empire either.
And here a few remarks should be made.
The Dominion is not the Empire.
And the rebel rabble in the sector is not yet the official authority.
But they are strong enough.
For example, when the Empire left Msst a few years ago, local democracy supporters took control of an old rebel base in the Farana system and restored it, training their militants there to continue capturing the sector's planets and gradually sway the neutrality of local politicians toward the Dominion's enemies.
"What is known from Farana?" Dorja asked.
"The militant base has been destroyed by orbital strike. Troops landed, a mop-up operation conducted."
"Prisoners?"
"Five hundred sentients, sir."
"Deliver them to the prison transport. Counterintelligence officers on site?"
This was necessary to solidify the evidence base for future trials against the militants and their supporters.
"Among the first to arrive there, sir."
"Any changes in the current situation?"
"The enemy continues to launch all their assets into orbit. Even armed civilian yachts."
"Excellent," the corner of Dorja's mouth twitched into a grim smile. "Inform the Scimitar pilots to clear that piece of space junk the locals call an orbital station from our path. Once they report the job done, we make a micro-jump and finish the work in the sector."
"Yes, sir."
There weren't that many significant star systems in Msst.
Garos had been under Dominion control for a long time.
Farsin — now too.
Mont Torri had been his previous target and had also submitted.
The planet Msst itself, with its predatory jellyfish capable of digesting even an adult Wookiee, dissolving it from the inside after paralysis, was not subjected to capture — that would be a waste of effort and resources.
The planet was blockaded; what to do with it would be decided later.
Only two systems remained to be conquered.
The Breta system, interesting both for its planets and its massive, mineral-rich asteroid belt.
And also the Kadannia system; its only inhabited world was the namesake planet, covered in impenetrable and deadly jungles, full of poisonous creatures.
But its subjugation was being handled by the fighters of Kavil's Corsairs and their new commander, whose arrogance and overconfidence had cost Dorja several extra gray hairs and an unknown number of nerve cells.
Well, that was already water under the bridge.
What interested him far more was whether the reconnaissance probes' reports regarding the ice world Saravi, whose orbit his task force was passing, were accurate.
This world, like the first planet from Breto's star, and Indikir, occupying the second orbital position, were unsuited for large civilian populations.
That was precisely why the rebel rabble had placed their underground base on the sandy and arid Indikir, and on its orbit, a space station assembled from scrap metal.
This was where the militants' supporters had fled from other systems.
Dorja did not prevent this.
Why spread forces thin hunting down this scum when they would all gather in one place?
Here they would be easiest to destroy.
"Sir," the watch officer appeared beside him again. "We are receiving an incoming transmission."
"Rebels?" Dorja was surprised.
In the past, the enemy had shown no desire to negotiate, preferring to fight to the last.
Dorja had no objections on that account.
But negotiations...
"On the other hand — if they intend to surrender, then resolving the problem in the sector would take less time than previously planned," the Rear Admiral thought.
"Negative, sir," the watch officer surprised him. "The transmission is coming from the surface of planet Saravi."
Now that was strange.
"Does the transmission have an identifier?"
"Verifying, sir."
Spy droids had checked the planets before the attack on the sector began — Dorja had no desire to bull forward at any cost.
It was much simpler to send in droids, recon everything necessary, and advance fully prepared.
But it turned out the report on Saravi was incorrect!
Because nowhere else in the system, besides Indikir and some particularly large asteroids, were structures and power sources detected.
Yes, the latter (and the former) could be camouflaged, especially on snowy Saravi, which evoked an analogy with the planet Hoth, where the enemy had set up a base in the ice.
They were only discovered because they had placed power sources on the surface.
Dorja called up the report on Saravi on his datapad.
He skimmed through it.
Nothing.
Not a single mention of any power sources, artificial structures, or anything like that...
Dorja opened the navigation database.
The planet Saravi had been discovered by the Empire only thirty years ago, shortly after the proclamation of the New Order.
It was supposedly connected either to an inaccuracy in the reconnaissance of this system many years ago, or to Saravi itself having entered orbit not long ago and having been a rogue planet before.
And...
All well and good, but Dorja found his own mistake.
The navigation databases used by the regular Dominion fleet consisted of several sources.
There was Imperial military data, information obtained over a year ago by the Chimaera during an information raid on the planet Obroa-Skai, data captured from the Republicans during the assault on Coruscant, and the Ubiqtorate servers acquired during the destruction of that structure.
All of them were compiled, checked, and sometimes one complemented another, for which the Dominion database had color-coded notes on information sources.
And it was quite difficult to get used to.
At least Dorja still couldn't train himself to regularly double-check the sources of such information.
But his subordinates didn't let him down, and they had made such a reference for the Rear Admiral's study.
He simply hadn't noticed it.
In this case, the color of the information source about planet Saravi indicated the Ubiqtorate.
"Sir, the identifier has been recognized, checked against databases. Match established and confirmed."
"Let me guess," he shook his head. "It's the Empire?"
"The Empire, sir," the watch officer confirmed. "They report that they are an Imperial military base that has been in autonomous operation for a long time. They request assistance and evacuation, with subsequent delivery to territory controlled by Admiral Teradoc in Greater Maldrood."
The Rear Admiral laughed inwardly.
Teradoc's base?
Here?
In the Msst sector?
"A military base?" Dorja chuckled. "Send scouts there and locate the signal source on the planet's surface. Forward the coordinates to the senior artillery officer. And reply to them to stop feeding us vacuum. I'll explain for you, Lieutenant — don't send that to them. The Empire doesn't hide military bases in the Ubiqtorate's data on planets discovered almost by accident and hidden from general access. They want evacuation — let them prepare to surrender to our forces. Apparently, they haven't had long-range communications all this time, nor their own transports. And their own command doesn't need them either. A standard week ago, the remnants of Greater Maldrood were taken by storm by the Galactic Alliance — they hardly know what that is if they've been in long-term autonomy. Long-term autonomy..." Dorja smiled. "Prepare our ground contingent for landing, and the assault gunships for launch on order. Inform them that we have arrived for their evacuation and to relieve base security. Warn them that if anything is damaged or destroyed, instead of a ticket home, they will be introduced to our proton torpedoes and turbolasers. Two cruisers to move forward to demonstrate intent. Launch their starfighters and closely monitor the scanners in case the enemy has planetary defense systems."
The watch officer departed for the comm station to distribute orders and information to the recipients.
Dorja had specifically checked his reasoning before voicing it to the junior rank.
Saravi is absent from open civilian astronavigation atlases and databases.
If so, no one would set up an ordinary, non-secret Imperial Army base there, in that extreme cold.
The most obvious assumption was that it was either an observation post, a listening post, or a secret military base, or...
Rear Admiral Dorja calculated that the proton torpedo launchers located on the main Dominion Star Destroyer's bow section had so far only been used for training exercises and crew drills.
Well, perhaps they would be given a chance to work in real combat conditions.
Orbital bombardment was a fairly simple matter, and at the same time, vivid for those who pulled the trigger on a turbolaser or the firing mechanism on a launcher.
And for those at whom this weapon was aimed...
Their fate was unenviable.
"Sir," the watch officer approached again. "The base commandant is requesting negotiations. They've been on autonomous operation for two years instead of the promised one..."
So, when Teradoc started having problems with the New Republic and the Empire over the division of Zsinj's Empire's territories after the latter's death, he abandoned this base.
Given his reduced forces, it was logical.
So, the Teradocs were in a really bad way if they decided not to risk sending even a well-armed converted civilian ship or a military starship here.
An unarmed civilian vessel wouldn't have worked here — the local pro-Republican militants, given their base in the system, would have torn it apart for scrap.
And would also have learned of the base's very existence.
Which the commandant clearly had no intention of doing.
Looks like he was really in a bind, if he decided to contact Dominion starships…
About half an hour passed before the surface reported from the stormtrooper squad commander that Admiral Teradoc's secret base was fully under control, and the security battalion and scientific personnel had surrendered. The facility is secure.
"Sir," the lieutenant looked at him in shock. "They… They didn't even put up resistance! They just surrendered. The stormtroopers disarmed everyone like children, even though the base was well hidden and shielded…"
There's the answer to why it was "invisible" to scout droids.
"I don't understand why they gave up so easily?"
Well, I'll need to clarify for my subordinate.
"Watch officer," Dorja addressed the officer. "We, all our ships, we're still sending Imperial identification codes into space, aren't we?"
"Affirmative, sir. Misinforming the bandit groups… By the way, confirmation came from the Scimitars. Enemy base destroyed. Three Kaloth-class battlecruisers destroyed and two heavy Dreadnaught-class cruisers seriously damaged, reactors shut down. We're facing three old Marauders and six squadrons of small enemy aircraft."
"Thorough report, Lieutenant," Dorja praised. "Next time, don't mix one part of the conversation with another."
"Sorry, sir," the lieutenant faltered.
Still young.
He'll learn.
"Now, regarding why they surrendered," Dorja continued. "Since they've been in long-term autonomy, they don't know what's happening. They don't seem to have transport either. Since there was an enemy base nearby, they didn't stick their necks out to avoid being tracked. Consequently, they know nothing about the Dominion, nor about Teradoc's defeat and the fall of Greater Maldrood. Not to mention the division of the New Republic and the Imperial Remnants operation. They've been in autonomy too long. And they mistook us for ships sent after them. Probably, by the time they figured it out, our stormtroopers had already taken control of the base and personnel. Fast, clean, without unnecessary bloodshed."
"Will you personally go to the facility to examine it?" the watch officer inquired.
"Yes," Dorja agreed after thinking. "But first, we'll finish the job and deal with the rebels. And only then, we'll look at what Trauten Teradoc wanted to hide from the galaxy. I have a feeling it's something extremely interesting — otherwise, he wouldn't have organized the base construction so far from his own territories. Probably afraid it would be discovered there… And beyond the border, no one would look," Dorja couldn't help but smirk. "We got lucky, gentlemen. Let's see what the day brings us next. Attack the bandit formation ships. And make sure no one gets away from here!"
* * *
Planet Trogan.
In the recent past, the planet Trogan was a languishing world that couldn't withstand the competition in the fight for tourism and turned into a languishing little world.
Abandoned not only by the Imperials, but even by the Republicans, who had a habit of grabbing everything that wasn't nailed down.
Our relationship with the Trogan government began when a small provocation and a demonstration of my interest in the planet forced the Imperials, who were hunting my trail, to invest tens of millions of credits into the planet's economy to create an intelligence network.
When the hunt for the Ubiqtorate began, all those spies, who themselves were "under surveillance," were identified and mercilessly eliminated.
Representatives of several other intelligence services also got their share — Republican, for the most part.
But there were also Tion spies here — from Lord Bonteri and Moff Gronn, who were interested in the same question as the others.
Actually, that's how we became interested in the Tion Cluster.
If an enemy comes snooping around wanting to find out your plans, it means he has something to hide and lose, doesn't it?
Now I know what — the Zann Consortium and its backers Tyber Zann and Lord Cronal had their eyes on me.
And the unidentified tattooed spies — those were from Lady Silri and her Syndicate.
All it took was a formal demonstration of my intentions, and suddenly, a planet no one needed became a literal pilgrimage site for spies of all stripes.
And at the moment, Trogan is one of several worlds located outside the Dominion's core territory, turned by us into a fortress world, sitting like a bone in the throat in the center of territories controlled by the Galactic Alliance.
Its population is quite ideological.
And distinguished by their sound-mindedness.
Seeing that the Dominion was providing them support when everyone else had given up on them, the Troganites responded with great enthusiasm to the call for urgent service in the Defense Forces.
Several hundred young people, boys and girls, have already served the mandatory six-month minimum and transferred to positions in the regular fleet.
About two thousand sentients, who once fought in Republican or Imperial units, have been recruited into armored forces or regular fleet ships after successfully passing all checks.
This world has truly become a tourist paradise.
Not for the galaxy.
For the Dominion.
Even though it is surrounded on all sides by defensive structures, and its security is guarded by ten heavy cruisers of the Dreadnaught and Avenger types, not to mention the new Immobilizers, and a quintet of Victory-III-class Star Destroyers forms a fairly substantial battle wing, which, with the support of a large military base, a planetary shield, planetary ion cannons and turbolasers, will turn an enemy squadron into scrap metal, it is still a place for rest and recuperation.
Which is exactly what the crew members of the Guardian and the Chimaera, who arrived two days ago, were doing.
While they enjoyed the beauties of Trogan on their off-duty shifts, I was studying the documents on the results of our operation in Allied Tion.
"Your actions are fully justified, General," I concluded, setting aside the said man's report.
Dryly, but quite thoroughly, the General described everything that had happened at the front assigned to him.
There, where we met with failure.
The operation to misinform Cronal through a demonstration of the supposed alliance between the Dominion and the Alliance, failed.
Which means I lost another chance to widen the rift between Palpatine and Cronal.
"The enemy's retreat is illogical," the General reminded.
"On the contrary," I said, having already received data from our spies in the Tion Hegemony. "Completely and utterly logical. The commander of that formation, Rear Admiral Woodstock, clearly received orders to withdraw and not engage your forces."
"But for what purpose, sir?"
"For revenge," I explained. "Lord Bonteri and his family, as well as a number of other Tion aristocrats who supported the Confederacy of Independent Systems thirty years ago, wiped out the Woodstock clan. And the Rear Admiral has been acting all this time to execute them all to satisfy his vengeance. Over the years he has been in the Hegemony, the Rear Admiral has exterminated everyone except Bonteri. What is curious — every one of them was killed for crimes against the Empire. Our informant believes Woodstock is being manipulated by someone more influential and has been ordered to stabilize the situation in the Cluster."
"What will be my assignment, sir?" the General asked.
"You will return to your fleet," I explained. "As soon as we receive confirmation that the Galactic Alliance has decided to launch operations against Columex, you will begin executing your own assignment. It will be dedicated to deep infiltration into the Galactic Alliance environment. The timing is quite suitable, given their desire to attack Columex, to deprive us of a planet located at the intersection of the Parlemian Trade Route and the Salin Corridor. And once Columex falls, we will lose the ability to influence the Consensus. The Alliance understands this and is betting on it in retaliation for the operation in the Belderone sectors and Allied Tion."
"Yes, sir," the General stated calmly.
"Well," I handed him a datapad with future tasks. "You should prepare, General. And I, with your permission, need to hold a meeting with some very interesting guests. They have already arrived and are about to enter."
"Yes, sir, I am leaving now," the General got up and headed towards the exit of my quarters.
At that moment, the door opened and, accompanied by Tierce, three sentients entered.
Agent Cross.
Jedi Master Mace Windu.
And his apprentice, Jaden Korr.
And while the latter simply stepped aside, letting the General pass by, it was Cross, who walked in last…
The agent stumbled on level ground when he saw the General's face.
But stayed silent when he nearly burned the latter with his gaze.
Yes, who but the best agent of the Empire, and now of the Dominion, knows that face, known to the galaxy.
Maybe not as widely as Luke Skywalker or Mon Mothma.
But in certain circles, he is clearly "popular."
When the General left and the door closed behind him, a disconcerted Cross looked at me.
But stayed silent.
"Glad to see you, gentlemen," I said, indicating the sofa to my guests. "Finally, your mission on Coruscant is complete. I am sure that each of us has something to say to each other. And rest assured, the conversation will not be an easy one."
* * *
Kadannia was a fairly large planet in the Mid Rim region of the galaxy.
The planet Kadannia.
According to the astronavigation database, scientists only assumed that Kadannia was only partially (for the most part) covered in impassable wild and dangerous forests.
Most likely, few people wanted to study them thoroughly enough to report reliable information to the galaxy.
And so, the Kavil's Corsairs had to establish the truth themselves in order to achieve their goal.
And they achieved it.
With a whistle, the chekan embedded itself into the trunk of a relatively young tree, leaving a deep gouge of intrusion in the succulent stem, as thick as a human head.
Tyberos yanked his weapon with pleasure, tearing a huge chunk out of the trunk.
He turned to the sentients standing behind him and extended his prize, oozing a clear viscous sap, to the nearest one.
"What are you standing around for?" he inquired a second later at the henchman, who, like the rest of the mercenaries, was dressed in a chemical protection suit.
Cowards thought something here was threatening them.
"Boss, maybe we shouldn't?" came the muffled voice of the mercenary from under the filtering mask, which provided a sealed breathing cycle for the entire protective suit.
"Should I crack your skull with the second chekan?" inquired Tyberos, reaching for the named weapon strapped to his back, which had become something of a symbol of his work.
"No, no, boss, what do you mean? I'm nothing, just thought…"
"Don't do what you're not good at," Tyberos advised him, watching as the mercenary, holding out a transparisteel container, began to scrape with a knife at the piece of bush firmly lodged on the tip of the chekan. "Quit playing the Alderaanian princess here! Just grab it with your hands, tear off a piece, put it in the container, and seal it!"
"Boss, but this is poison…" began the second fighter of the Kavil's Corsairs standing next to him.
Tyberos didn't like repeating himself.
With a whistle, the second chekan pierced the right arm of the coward, breaking the ulna and radius bones.
A strangled squealing cry came from under the protective mask, turning into a groan as the mercenary fell to his knees, staring with insane eyes at the wound that had formed.
But the first fighter seemed to gain a second wind.
Muttering something about not needing him to perform obsessive suggestion, he began to carry out the order, placing the piece of plant into the prepared container.
"Boss, may I?" He couldn't do it right away, so he looked at Tyberos with a pitiful look, asking for the first chekan back.
"Scratch it, and I'll feed you to a rancor," snorted the son of one of the most famous hired killers and the well-known in the Karthakk sector pirate squad commander, Captain Nima.
The latter could already be considered dead — Tyberos personally cracked his skull for "all the good things" he had done in life.
Aurra Sing, having received the warning, wisely did not approach her offspring within supernova blast range.
Guess her skull is precious.
One way or another, the chekans, despite hundreds, maybe even thousands of cracked skulls and long-term heavy use, were still in excellent condition.
So, the threat was no more than a warning for the idiot who, under the previous leadership, had felt too relaxed.
As, indeed, did all the mercenaries in the Kavil's Corsairs.
Tyberos was not happy that the burden of leading this organization had fallen on his shoulders.
But crossing Thrawn was not worth it.
Besides, having an entire campaign of mercenaries like the Kavil's Corsairs at his disposal, Tyberos gained the necessary "operational space" to get closer to his goal.
The search for and killing of Luke Skywalker.
The most publicized Jedi Knight by the New Republic was guilty of the death of a Jedi Master, who was the teacher and friend of Tyberos himself, with whom he had done so much side by side…
But not enough to save the Zabrak Eymand's life.
However, he had made his choice.
And the ghostly teachings of the deceased had stopped chirping in his ear about how he was doing everything wrong.
Now Tyberos was confident in his actions.
He and Thrawn had had a long and thorough conversation regarding the future of the Kavil's Corsairs.
Not that Tyberos agreed with Thrawn's intention to start an ideological indoctrination of the mercenaries in order to make them absolutely loyal to the Dominion.
But what difference does it make what they pump into the brains of all these former mercenaries, pirates, tramps, thieves, killers, bounty hunters and other scum at the training courses?
As long as they fight properly.
Because their first combat deployment…
Plenty of corpses, of course.
But the task set by the contract was achieved — the Kavil's Corsairs effectively carried out the first phase of the counteroffensive on their own shoulders, with mediocre support from the regular army.
The fleet, of course, tried harder, but facts are stubborn things, and even Thrawn didn't argue against them.
The Kavil's Corsairs had performed well in the ground operations of the first phase of the counteroffensive.
After all, for successful combat operations involving the killing of a sentient who could be looking you in the face, you need a little more than a blaster and an order.
You also need…
Reproductive organs.
Not everyone has them, of course, but preferably ones made of Mandalorian iron, like the new commander of the Kavil's Corsairs.
The psyche of a killer is something that brainy guys in law enforcement agencies across the galaxy study.
Tyberos never finished institutes or universities, but he had been a killer since his youth.
And he knew that Thrawn's plan to form an ideologically prepared and well-trained private army capable of defending the Dominion's interests on contractual terms could not be executed so easily.
Tyberos didn't particularly like thinking globally, but with Thrawn it was nearly impossible.
He "globalized" himself, and willy-nilly, you had to do the same, even if you didn't want to.
Thrawn acknowledged that he made a mistake in allowing the Kavil's Corsairs to expand to an immodest size of personnel.
Tyberos also believed that there shouldn't be too many large private armies — they take a long time to train.
But what was done, was already done.
At the moment, the Kavil's Corsairs alone numbered ten million sentients in combatants alone.
Besides various kinds of criminals and rabble, there were also former military personnel from territorial governments abroad, who in one way or another ended up on Dominion territory before the activation of the "Perimeter."
They didn't particularly want to return to the army, not understanding what could be offered there that was better than what they could get in the ranks of the mercenaries.
The previous commander of the Kavil's Corsairs had placed these former soldiers in instructor positions, intending to raise the military skill of the rank-and-file mercenaries.
A good idea, yes.
If only the numbers were smaller.
But ten million sentients…
Yes, that's too many.
Tyberos understood why Thrawn was throwing the mercenaries ahead of the regular army — he didn't have that many stormtroopers himself, and the training schools hadn't yet graduated enough former cadets educated in all the canons of military science.
Thrawn didn't say it directly, but at the same time, Tyberos perfectly understood that after the second phase of the counterattack, at best a tenth, or more realistically a twentieth, of the current number of combatants would remain from the millions of mercenaries.
Any other sentient in Tyberos's place might have objected, started making demands to the Grand Admiral, stomping their feet…
Tyberos just shrugged.
Better fewer but of higher quality than a crowd of armed sentients who wouldn't live much longer on the battlefield anyway.
The new head of the Kavil's Corsairs didn't see a particular problem that the high mortality rate among his mercenaries would somehow undermine the combat effectiveness of the company under his command.
He proposed to Thrawn to hand over to him any convicted criminal whose guilt had been irrefutably proven, and whose punishment would be a long-term or life sentence, or even the death penalty.
The Dominion's Defense Forces regularly weed out the nests of those who deserve a firing squad in their new and also old territories, so there is never a shortage of new fighters.
True, the influx is much less than the natural loss, but still it's better than the option where the company is completely bled dry in battles.
Tyberos proposed a fairly simple scheme.
The Kavil's Corsairs closed open recruitment of combatants, except for the above-mentioned category.
Yes, this should have been prevented earlier, but who knew that besides criminals, hundreds of thousands of sentients from among yesterday's children or youth would rush into the ranks of the mercenaries.
The Dominion has its own plan for them.
And it is definitely not connected with the future generation of Dominion citizens dying on the battlefield without having lived properly.
But like this… A criminal would receive a mandatory five-year contract of service with a pro-government mercenary organization, where he would, since he ended up in their ranks, carry out, like other mercenaries, the tasks set by the state on the military front.
For good pay and full provision with everything necessary.
Upon completion of the contract — obtaining citizenship for those who didn't have it, restoration of rights, removal of the consequences of the committed crime.
The term of the contract is differentiated depending on the acts prohibited by Dominion law committed, in favor of an increase according to the principle: the worse your past, the longer you have to atone for it.
And no one cares what laws you violated and at what time — Imperial, Republican.
You will be judged anyway according to Dominion rules.
If you're not killed during arrest, of course.
Thrawn didn't really like the idea of the contract and "rehabilitation," but Tyberos had prepared on this issue.
And he gave him numerous examples of those who had survived the first phase of the counteroffensive.
The whistle of blaster shots, bombs falling literally down your collar, shells, mines and other "delights" of war considerably sober the mind and make you think about whether you have lived correctly.
And whether this is the meaning of life.
Thrawn is not weak-minded either and perfectly understands that not very many will live to the end of the contract.
And those who can do it — they will definitely not break Dominion law again.
And, as Tyberos assumed, as soon as this was announced among the convicts and defendants, there was no end to those wishing to trade a trip to Kessel for a ghostly chance to gain freedom.
Actually, for this reason, despite huge losses, the numbers of the Kavil's Corsairs are what they are at the present moment.
And which they will leave as quite well-off sentients with clean biographies, given the salary is almost the same as in the Dominion's armed forces.
Tyberos noted from his own experience that service for the benefit of the Dominion gives a lot, if not everything.
It depends on your needs.
All this is good.
His boys are fighting and so far there have been no complaints about their work — they fight a lot, they die a lot.
They lack discipline — and the objection he had just heard and suppressed only confirmed that fact.
Tyberos himself, fortunately, apart from the Black Pearl, Thrawn had also placed two trophy MC90 battlecruisers at the disposal of the Kavil's Corsairs, in addition to the support of the regular Dominion forces, continued his hunt for the strongest Jedi of the Galactic Alliance.
No, it was not Luke Skywalker, who had disappeared from the galaxy's view after he "killed Grand Admiral Thrawn" during the Battle of Sluis-Van at the end of last year.
Every sentient hunter looks for a goal that would captivate them and force them to mobilize their forces in order to find and capture a desirable sentient target.
The harder the hunt, the better.
Tyberos was finishing preparation for the hunt for the Jedi he had encountered in the Thanium Worlds.
A certain clone of Darth Vader's long-dead apprentice, who had taken the name Galen.
In honor of his progenitor — Galen Marek.
And for that he needed a substance, for which he had arrived on this planet Kadannia, covered in dense forests and jungles.
The fact is that this transparent viscous liquid, the sap of a plant, is nothing less than one of the most potent toxins in the galaxy.
Kadannia, in this regard, is a treasure trove for those seeking natural poisonous and paralyzing substances.
And they were found exclusively on Kadannia, little studied by galactic pharmaceutical companies.
However, those who worked with them for their murderous purposes knew how to get here and what to look for.
Tyberos had flown to Kadannia solely for a substance called "Senflax."
Eymand had told him about it during stories about the history of the ancient enemies of the Jedi — the Sith.
And it was connected with the history of the first Sith of the current brand — Darth Bane.
He had some connections with a healer named Caleb, who lived on the planet Ambria.
That healer once saved Bane, but later was either killed by him personally, or by his order, or simply by some follower of the Sith.
Caleb had a daughter, who somehow became the head of an aristocratic house and hunted for the Sith spawn guilty of her father's death.
Eymand said that this very woman hired a bounty hunter who caught Bane.
And capturing a powerful Force-sensitive being is not the same as blowing up the Death Star.
That required appropriate preparation.
Tyberos had the physical conditioning and the technique to stand up to the gifted — thanks again to his old friend.
But in this particular case, it wasn't just about killing Galen. It had to be done using that very substance for which he had ransacked that innocent bush.
The Dominion didn't have that many gifted individuals.
And Tyberos's hunt could push the development of tactics for capturing and eliminating them.
At the very least, it would allow ordinary sentients — whom the gifted could easily slaughter — to fight back.
And, from what he'd heard, it would minimize casualties among Dominion guardsmen, who were currently the primary weapon against various kinds of enemy gifted fighters.
Tyberos had volunteered for this mission himself.
Because the hunter's and gladiator's fire within him demanded that he finish that fight.
That was why he had come to Kadannia.
This was where, according to his old friend, the toxin was produced — the very substance that had allowed the bounty hunter who captured Darth Bane to do so and survive.
Senflax was a powerful neurotoxin, a product of a plant found only in the jungles of Kadannia.
It was a pale-yellow liquid, historically used primarily as a sedative that allowed a person to remain conscious while dulling all physical sensations.
The substance caused paralysis of the body's major muscles and nerve endings, though it had no effect on vital organs, regardless of the dosage administered.
Senflax also impaired a person's mental faculties, disrupting the concentration needed to wield the Force.
The perfect poison to coat his hatchets with and use against the Jedi Galen.
"Boss!" suddenly, after the collection of forty containers of senflax was finished, that same mercenary who had been packing the mass into the containers shouted. "Boss, behind us!"
Tyberos turned lazily.
On the branches of a tree, half a dozen meters away, sat a wild predator, a representative of the local fauna.
And it was just about to pounce, to tear the sentients apart.
The commander of Kavil's Corsairs didn't even flinch.
Both his hatchets were occupied.
But he would have been a stupid — and therefore dead — gladiator in the fighting pits of Hutt Space if he hadn't prepared for future confrontations.
The moment the cat — or whatever that flexible creature with a forked tail and four powerful paws was — jumped, Tyberos, just as the head of IsoTech-Dominion had told him, shook his hands in a particular way.
The inner surface of both forearms flipped open, revealing short, portable barrels.
One on each forearm.
The beast had already reached the apex of its trajectory when a portable sonic blaster of Geonosian manufacture sent it flying away from the mercenaries, stripping all the foliage in the vicinity clean.
Straight into the trunk of a massive tree.
The force of the impact was such that the creature's spine shattered and it was literally torn in two.
Ignoring the dying whimper, Tyberos noted that both of his fighters had taken the liberty of clearing out to the old Republic combat shuttle waiting for their group ten meters away.
Well, they'd talk about that later.
He himself hid in the bushes and waited.
For every predator, there's a bigger one.
And they came.
Drawn by the scent of blood, two other cats, similar to the first, crept up to the twitching halves of their unfortunate kin.
Tyberos waited until they were engrossed in their portion of the meal, then activated the new IsoTech technologies built into the optical sensors of his mask.
A dual laser beam, firing straight from the mask's crimson photoreceptors, pierced one creature from rump to head.
The second, just as stupid as his first victim, charged at Tyberos in the same steep, familiar leap.
Tyberos, without much fuss, burned it with the flamethrower built into his right forearm.
"Hah," he looked at the practically cremated carcass of the predator, "now I get why the Assault Commandos love flamethrowers so much."
Tyberos didn't test his luck any further.
Besides, he needed to change the charges in his implants as soon as possible.
One-shot, after all.
Picking up the hatchets the mercenaries had dropped, he whistled as he walked toward his shuttle.
Once inside, he smashed both mercenaries' heads in and lifted the ship into the air, heading for the awaiting Black Pearl.
The Kavil's Corsairs had a new commander.
And he didn't like cowards.
He always had a hatchet ready for them.