Ubrikkian Industries was a well-established manufacturer.
Despite being a subsidiary of Kuat Drive Yards, as an independent division, the corporation had many of its own components.
Its subsidiary companies included Ubrikkian Private Shipwrights, who could build the most exquisite types of repulsor transports on their own shipyards, like the Imperial "flying fortress" HAVr A9.
Rumor has it that the construction of Jabba the Hutt's barge was also their handiwork, but for the sake of one's health, it's best not to inquire about such things.
Ubrikkian Repulsor Manufactories were no slouches either, nor were Ubrikkian Transports and Ubrikkian Steam Works.
The corporation produced sail barges, landspeeders, cloud cars, swoop bikes, and skiffs.
Ubrikkian Steam Works was involved in droid production, primarily the DD-13 cybernetic medical droid.
Medical Droid DD-13.
Rumor had it that an earlier medical division of this company was responsible for turning a certain Kaleesh into a cyborg who became known as General Grievous.
During Imperial times, things weren't going very well for the Ubrikkians.
At one point, Darth Vader, who during the unified Empire was the Supreme Commander, disliked what the Ubrikkians provided for army supplies so much that he canceled their DD-13 medical droid project for the Imperial Armed Forces.
Ubrikkian stopped production of medical droids and focused on the DD-19 series worker droid.
Though, the "Nineteen" was mostly used as an overseer for other droids.
DD-19 "Overseer" Worker Droid.
Aveka Dunn thought about all this in a split second as the door panel clicked into place, and the motion-activated lighting of the technical compartment flickered on, revealing...
"Ha-ha," Vex uttered nervously, taking a cautious step back from the technical alcove. "Little Ubrikkian bastards... Worker droids, huh?!"
With a quiet whir of servos, dozens of Devastator combat droids were deploying from transport to combat mode.
Devastator Combat Droid.
The Devastator model combat droid is based on the Kellenech Technologies sentry droid model, being a deep, modern upgrade of it.
This model is extremely dangerous in battle due to its high combat survivability.
A series of redundant systems reduces the effect of battle damage from any weapon.
Even if a sixth of the droid's systems are knocked out, it continues to function fully.
For comparison — ordinary battle droids lose their combat effectiveness and functionality even with just five percent damage.
That's three times less damage.
For a combat droid, which is essentially an expendable unit that only misers and blockheads would bother repairing, this is a well-deserved "plus."
The combat capability of a Devastator also doesn't drop significantly under heavy damage, such as the loss of a limb or another critical system.
All this made Devastators an excellent supplement for squads of biological soldiers on the front line.
Aveka hurled both of her thermal detonators into the technical room and dove onto the deck.
The roaring explosions threw a sea of fire and several scrap parts of combat droids out of the room — but Aveka only realized this when she reached the corridor intersection.
"Bridge!" she shouted into her comlink. "Combat droids on board!"
"Get out of there now!" Rederick ordered. "Sending support squads to you."
"Idiot!" the agent shouted. "Check the technical cubbyholes! They're activating..."
Only the hiss of interference came from the comlink.
"Well, that's rancor shit passed through a sarlacc's rectum three times, seasoned with Darth Vader's seminal fluid, and smoked over Emperor's lightning on a fire made from Death Star explosions," the girl automatically shot the Devastator that appeared in her path in the head.
The droid jerked, receiving a hole a couple of centimeters wide, but didn't even think of pretending to be a useless hunk of metal.
Instead, it aimed its weapon at her.
And the identical droid following it did the same.
Devastators are programmed and optimized for using any handheld small arms (blaster rifles, beam guns, pistols...).
Additionally, they can effectively use melee weapons, such as vibroblades, vibroknives, axes...
Officially, the Ubrikkian company has the right to freely sell its Devastators to anyone who has the money for them.
But in reality, to purchase them, one must first obtain a special license.
The Republic Bureau of Arms Regulation justifiably rated the Devastator as a very dangerous model that private individuals should not possess.
Thus, apart from the Republic Army, Devastators can only be found in the possession of large organizations and very wealthy and influential people who, for their own security, can obtain this license, but for small-scale production.
However, there will always be those who know how to circumvent the law. Therefore, a certain number of Devastators could always be found in small quantities in the "private armies" of large criminal organizations — mostly the Hutt Cartels.
The restrictions described above meant that the Ubrikkian company never saw the enormous profits they had anticipated when releasing this, admittedly very advanced, model onto the market.
Ubrikkian had to reduce production of this droid model, which was a good reason to seize control of production by all the rules of capitalism.
But the Ubrikkians refused to sell the license to the Dominion's shell companies.
And although negotiations are still ongoing, Vex understood that nothing would come of it — and now it's clear why!
The girl fired at the ventilation grate and burned a hole in the decorative plastic.
Pain lanced into her legs and back; she sprawled across the deck, but, gathering her will, twisted around, emptying the entire power cell into the nearest droid, while simultaneously crawling back towards the lifesaving vent opening...
By the time she managed to reach it, her legs numb and teeth grinding from the pain of her wounds, one of the enemy combat droids lunged forward and put an end to it with a sharp slashing motion of a vibroblade drawn from behind its back.
* * *
The Drev'starn had lost its forward shields, the forward section of the Star Destroyer was gaping with a dozen breaches, up to a third of the forward artillery was already destroyed, but the flagship held on.
Maneuvering, Asyr's ship altered its thrust vector using maneuvering thrusters, heading for a higher echelon.
This was done to avoid colliding with the wreckage of two ships — a Galactic Alliance battle cruiser and another Republic-class vessel, deformed by a ramming attack.
The enemy had employed an extravagant tactic — sending their starships to their deaths along with part of the crew.
For no one else could control a starship in any other way — not the central computer, not the automation...
Because all of the enemy's starships were operating independently of each other, asynchronously, which only confirmed the absence of command signals by which a lead ship could control its subordinates.
Except droids could be aboard the ships sacrificing themselves to circumstance.
And it wasn't as if their tactics weren't working.
Having lost four of their old cruisers, they had destroyed three and damaged another four New Republic Star Destroyers.
Asyr had to withdraw the latter, including the flagship, from the battle under the cover of three combat-capable Star Destroyers.
Because the Alliance troops weren't stopping, and the escape pods they were launching spoke for themselves — the enemy was sending their battered starships to their deaths.
And transferring their crews to the captured vessels, where they could be of far more use than on the old tubs.
Even considering that the former starships of Grand Moff Kaine were under-armed, under-armored, or under-equipped, they still posed a greater threat to the Republic-class ships in battle than the outdated MC80a or MC80b.
And from the changed dynamics of the battle, it was perfectly clear that the enemy's tactics were completely vindicated.
The Reaper and two Star Destroyers were increasing the number of operational firing points; the corvettes and heavy cruisers were already maneuvering, not moving in a straight line with minimal course changes.
The flotilla commanded by Asyr had effectively been broken by the enemy — it had lost seventy percent of its combat capability.
With the best will in the world, three Republic-class ships couldn't stand against the reviving Super Star Destroyer and its escort, which was immediately joined on the port side by twelve surviving Galactic Alliance starships.
They had already formed something of a semi-cocoon around the prizes, and breaking through to them from that side was now impossible.
On the starboard side, the situation was roughly the same, except the enemy only had ten ships left.
And from the second Republic-class flotilla — only two damaged ships, dead in space.
And the Reaper was slowly accelerating for a jump, having breached the defensive line of Golan-type defense stations.
At that moment, something was supposed to happen that Admiral Duplex had mentioned — some surprise for the boarders.
But the ships continued moving towards the vector for exiting the system.
And no reinforcements from Duplex himself were moving to meet them.
"It looks like the trap is bursting at the seams," the Bothan woman declared.
The enemy had lost eight old ships — mostly MC80a — and about a dozen of their squadrons.
And in return...
Out of two dozen Republic-class ships, only three are combat-capable, seven are damaged, about twenty Star Destroyers of this class are burning on the slips, the shipyards have suffered colossal losses, half a dozen Golan platforms are completely destroyed, and a good dozen are damaged.
Losses in air power don't even need to be counted.
This is a rout.
And a disgrace.
Sei'lar's white fur was standing on end from the single simple thought pounding in her head: "If Argentis hasn't arrived in the system, it means he has problems too. Significant problems!"
The Bothan woman ordered pursuit with all available forces, raining coordinated fire directly onto the sterns of the enemy starships.
Maybe they wouldn't be able to win, but at least they could give the enemy a good wallop for the road.
And then, who knows, maybe they could damage the Reaper's main engines, preventing it from leaving the system.
Then the Alliance would be forced to either abandon or blow up the Super Star Destroyer.
Either way, they wouldn't get their hands on that prize.
"Ma'am," a young watch officer addressed her, on the verge of tears. "What the hell is going on?"
"What are you talking about, Lieutenant?" the Bothan frowned.
"First, they steal the Lusankya from here, which we supposedly then used to conquer Lianna, and then lost under unclear circumstances. Now they're taking the Reaper from us... It feels like we're punching bags, not military personnel and..."
Something clicked inside.
Her delicate little fist struck the young officer in the chest with such force that he flew back several meters and slammed his back into a control panel, smashing through its decorative casing.
"If I hear defeatist talk from anyone again, I'll have you court-martialed!" Asyr snarled, losing her composure. "We are soldiers! Defeats or victories — that's our job! Anyone who is loyal to the Motherland only when she wins, I advise you to submit your resignation papers after this campaign ends and not bring your hysterics into the common cause! Is that clear?!"
Her only answer was a scattered and timid chorus of agreement.
"Now — remember that you are men, and get on a pursuit course for the enemy!" she barked, gripping the edge of the holographic projector so hard that the control lamp caught under her hand shattered into shards, cutting her palm until it bled.
But she no longer noticed that, returning her attention to the battle she was hopelessly losing.
However, the ambitious Bothan hoped for a "consolation prize" a pair of interdictor cruisers that were still holding position, projecting an artificial gravity zone.
While she pretended to be hunting the tail of the retreating enemy, the cruisers would hold her back with all their might, preventing her from jumping into hyperspace.
"Get me Major Wensen!" she roared. "Have his Rogues calculate a micro-jump to the enemy interdictor cruisers."
"But the gravity is there..."
"When the prizes leave, the interdictors will deactivate their generators and follow them! The Rogues will have a few minutes to strike with proton torpedoes and destroy the enemy!"
The crew's faces lit up.
Well, of course.
At least they would get some kind of victory today, on their own terms.
And so it happened.
* * *
Captain Vigor, despite being thirty standard units away from the action, felt uneasy.
The Dominant-class Star Destroyer he commanded was part of the second task force deployed by Grand Admiral Thrawn to blockade reinforcements into the Rendili system.
And, while until now, knowing the tactical and technical characteristics of the newest enemy Republic-class Star Destroyers, he had been skeptical of the relatively small number of starships the Supreme Commander had committed to the operation, now...
Now he frankly pitied those fools who thought they could stand against the Dominion Super Star Destroyer under the modest name Striking Sword.
"This ship deserves a new type name, not to be lumped together with the Executor," the man muttered, watching as the batteries of the nineteen-kilometer giant literally sawed an enemy Republic-class ship in half.
"And it's probably not the strongest compared to the Guardian," the watch officer echoed him, pointing to how a Corellian gunship bearing the New Republic emblem disappeared in a salvo of heavy turbolasers, flaring up like a miniature sun.
Valum couldn't bring himself to say anything to this utterly obvious remark.
The enemy ship was saved by absolutely nothing.
Not its strong shields, not its fairly decent armor, not its evasive maneuvers.
The starship was simply washed away by a wave of turbolaser energy sufficient to burn an entire city with an orbital strike.
Like a spider, it had spread its web, lurking in an inconspicuous spot, waiting for the prey to be foolish enough to fall into the Dominion's trap.
And they did fall.
Ten Republic Star Destroyers with their escort emerged from hyperspace exactly where the Interdictor had set its gravity net.
Deprived of energy shields, blinded like newborn bantha calves, they were in complete disarray, seeing through their main viewports a lone Star Destroyer, practically a twin of the Interdictor.
And they were seized by a desire to deal with such a trifling (compared to an entire fleet) problem on the way to seizing the initiative at Rendili and springing the trap.
Their leader, heading here, intended to stage a massacre horrific for the prize thieves.
But here, he discovered, and it was impossible to deny, that he was on the losing side.
However, he only realized this when, from under the cloak of invisibility generated by stygium crystals, the Striking Sword opened fire on the enemy starships.
The attack itself was the highest degree of mockery from a tactical standpoint.
The commander of the Super Star Destroyer allowed his opponents to savor the anticipation of victory.
For just a few seconds, until the radiation dissipated from their hulls and they were able to raise shields, activate scanners, and bring computer equipment online for turbolaser targeting.
He unleashed torrents of turbolaser, ion, missile, and laser fire upon them.
Like an elemental force that knows neither mercy nor pity, the gunners of the Super Star Destroyer dealt death.
The first to explode was the flagship, which tried to coordinate the attacks but found that the Interdictor was laying down jamming.
Communications, both outside the system and within it, were disrupted by powerful interference.
The Dominion ships — one Star Destroyer, one overgrown brother, and a dozen Crusader II-class corvettes — had no need to coordinate their actions.
The plan was designed so that every regular Dominion fleet ship currently in this part of the galaxy knew exactly what functions it performed, for what purpose, and under what circumstances it was allowed to deviate from the planned slaughter of New Republic ships and the unceremonious destruction of their crews.
The Interdictor blocked communications and the ability to leave the battlefield by jumping into hyperspace.
For this purpose, it had its own air wing and two support and escort corvettes.
They were currently engaged in combat with a squadron of E-wings, who hoped that a starfighter raid would make the Raider flinch, panic, and flee, thereby sabotaging the operation.
But no.
Not today.
Never.
Vigor was sufficiently confident in himself, in his strength, in the competence of his crew, and he knew what they were capable of.
Just as he had no doubt that the Raider would withstand attacks far worse than this.
For instance, one of the seven surviving New Republic Star Destroyers was trying to break away from its comrades and force the Dominator into a line battle.
Based on the assumption that it was facing the weakest (in terms of artillery) variant of the Imperial-class.
But it was sorely mistaken.
The Dominator, ignoring the carnage unleashed by the Baneblade's crew, accepted the unspoken challenge to an artillery duel.
The New Republic's newest Star Destroyer, built exclusively for engaging enemy ships, mockingly charged head-on, knowing full well that on Interdictors, the crucial forward firing arcs—the Imperial-class's key strength—were actually a weak point in salvo density.
So an unpleasant surprise awaited it.
From a range of forty units, the Raider, having reoriented its squadrons of TIE Interceptors, launched its small craft in a raid.
The enemy's attempts to attack directly at that moment met with an impenetrable collective barrage from the Dominion Star Destroyer and both escort corvettes.
The enemy didn't let up, exploiting every advantage of its design—that same concentration of fire in the forward hemisphere.
It hammered the forward deflector, ignoring the harassment fire from the Dominator, following the textbook closing tactic of the New Republic fleet.
At close range, the hit percentage penalty from the inferior electronics—compared to the Empire or Dominion—diminished on its own.
But more likely, the enemy planned to slam a proton torpedo salvo from its launchers at close range, to give the Dominator's crew as little chance as possible to counter such a treacherous attack.
Unfortunately, Captain Vigor was well-versed in New Republic military tactics.
Unfortunately for the enemy, of course.
Its attempts to attack with proton torpedoes from long range were scattered by the laser anti-aircraft fire of the corvettes, which had moved ahead of their flagship.
And at that moment, when the range between the opponents became uncomfortably lethal—thirty units—Captain Vigor gave the order.
"Divert additional power to the forward deflector," his voice calm, deliberate, unruffled.
"Aye, sir!"
The SEAL system responded flawlessly to the Star Destroyer commander's command.
And now the enemy realized what a huge mistake it had made, closing in with a ship whose defenses had supposedly faltered under the Republic's artillery barrage.
A second salvo of proton torpedoes, more frantic than effective, was impeccably annihilated by the countermeasures of the escort corvettes and the Raider's own forward laser artillery.
The enemy realized the best outcome in this battle would be to simply run, and so, avoiding a collision, it decided to pull back to twenty units ahead of the interdictor destroyer's bow and climb to a higher echelon.
A little trick where the Republic commander transferred power to the lower deflector, making it, for an instant, the most protected spot on the ship.
No standard artillery could punch through such reinforced shields.
But then, Vigor didn't intend to try.
"Launch tubes — fire salvo. And continue launches as ready."
"Yes, sir!"
The latest modernization of the 'new trio' project Star Destroyers included placing three launch tubes per side in the ship's bow.
This allowed the Star Destroyer to slam six anti-ship-class proton torpedoes into the enemy.
Or anti-ship missiles, as the case may be.
Either way — at a range of twenty units, the enemy caught six proton torpedoes in the lower part of its bow.
Two were deflected by shields, and the deflector absorbed the energy of the detonation flashes.
But four tore through the smooth bow of the New Republic warship.
"Artillery — fire at will," Vigor ordered. "Target — the Republic's underside."
And the Raider struck.
The way no Interdictor ever could, a difference no enemy of the Dominators had ever been able to report back to their colleagues in the democratic camp.
Dozens of turbolasers and ion cannons mercilessly hammered the exposed bow section, which the first salvo had stripped not only of its smooth contours but also its deflector shield projectors.
The gray, streamlined armor began to blacken with soot; the armor yielded to the relentless energy, breaking apart in a dozen ways, exposing unshielded interior compartments and bulkheads.
A second salvo of proton torpedoes, their homing heads operating with particularly sophisticated targeting, streaked into the breach, widening the damage zone, tearing the ship apart from the inside with internal explosions halfway through its length.
Like some hideous cosmic octopus, spreading its tentacles in all directions and revealing a terrifying maw, the Republic now resembled a warship less than anything.
So much so that Vigor knew perfectly well there was no point in even trying to capture this ship.
And doing it just to salvage some equipment… Truly, the Dominion no longer needed such cannibalism, scavenging trophies from defeated ships.
Beta team's task was to eliminate the enemy ships as quickly as possible and leave no traces.
"Finish it off," he ordered. "All escape pods and downed enemy pilots aboard. Survivors — to the brig under guard."
"It will be done, Commander!"
Besides, the task was simple.
Extermination.
No mercy.
No trophies.
And so the Raider ruthlessly destroyed its opponent, supported by the corvettes and its own air wing, which had finished off the enemy fighters.
Not a single enemy fighter escaped that battle.
And the Baneblade itself would make sure no Republican escaped from its battle zone either.
Not a single rescue ship or disabled fighter would go unpunished.
Even if search vessels didn't find, destroy, or tractor them in, thousands of buzz droids would do the job — the Dominion ships generously seeded every battlefield they cleared.
Accidents happen.
And the best of commanders have been brought down by them.
The Grand Admiral demanded that his subordinates allow no accidents in their work.
An accident equals a mistake.
And a mistake equals death.
Yours or a comrade's — it hardly matters.
If the New Republic or Galactic Alliance instructors had instilled the same principles in their recruits, the galaxy would have long forgotten that the Galactic Empire ever existed.
But therein lies the weakness of democracy.
The inability to destroy an enemy, to crush them until only memories remain.
All to maintain the image of a noble, magnanimous player on the galactic stage.
And time and again, conflicts will arise because a weak regime — one that hasn't annihilated, hasn't scattered its enemy to atoms, hasn't proven its ruthlessness to one foe — is forced to repeatedly face tests of strength from its neighbors, who perfectly understand this truism.
The strong strike in such a way that onlookers have no temptation to share the victim's fate.
The strong know what they are capable of and, without a word, strike with full force, because they know — a wounded enemy strikes from behind.
The weak always pretend to be strong, but they look to others' opinions as if they have none of their own.
Therefore, the weak are merciful when it comes to reparations and punishing those involved in an attack. They destroy only the leader, only the top, leaving the accomplices and executors alive.
The strong kill the guilty, punish the complicit, without regard for others' opinions.
The strong need no one else's approval or viewpoint; they don't seek allies or friends.
They know their own worth.
That's why — the weak get beaten.
The weak are manipulated.
Sometimes this is done by others who are equally weak, but who aspire to become strong.
The Dominion couldn't yet be called strong either — it was merely striving for that title, actively carving its path to the top.
And if it doesn't reach it, then no one will.
Because there is no place in the galaxy for grand gestures or mercy toward enemies — a forgiven foe will learn the lesson and attack again.
Without fail.
Amidst these thoughts, Valim Vigor was concerned with only one question: "What will happen to the galactic leaders when they learn what Grand Admiral Thrawn has been doing to them all this time?"
There was another question, too: "Will they believe it?"
But he already had the answer.
They will.
Why else would spy droids, recording everything that happened and then transmitting it to the ships, be present on the battlefield according to standard Dominion protocol, all the way until the cleanup was complete?
One day, this massive holorecording would become public knowledge across the galaxy, and hundreds of politicians from north to south and east to west would weep bitterly, tearing out the remains of their hair.
* * *
The maw of hyperspace opened before the central bridge, and a weight lifted slightly from his heart.
"Status report!" Rederick didn't allow himself to rest on his laurels just because he was the one who'd stolen the ships from the yards.
"Fifty thousand sapients and droids from the fleet ships are aboard the Reaper," the commander of the lone destroyed MC80b began rattling off, having taken temporary command of the Super Star Destroyer. "We are maintaining control of all previously captured sections of the ship. An enemy droid force is systematically advancing through decks three through ten; we've redirected all our droidekas and some B2s there. Fleet special forces are operating in the enemy's rear. Confirmed, the enemy is using Devastator-model droids. The enemy is tough, but killable. The problem is quantity — there are about a hundred thousand units, according to sensors. And the fact that we've pumped the oxygen out of most sections hasn't stopped them much. They're gradually breaching the bulkheads, and the automation activates atmospheric fields to prevent atmosphere loss on the ship."
And if those magnetic fields were turned off, the oxygen would simply vent into hyperspace.
Interesting — what would come first: would the droids kill them all, or would the life support system fail?
"What about the other ships?"
"Before the enemy's planted demolition charges went off, we managed to receive information from all ships that the droid activation occurred the moment we crossed the defensive perimeter of the defense stations. There was likely some kind of code signal…"
"Can we eject them through the airlocks?"
"Special forces assessed the combat droids — they're equipped with magnetic clamps, so decompression won't stop them."
"Shit," Rederick snarled, kicking the nearest console and activating the intercom. "Mr. Ghent, can we disable the droids through the central computer?"
"Already tried," he complained. "These are autonomous machines. Looks like they were programmed directly, via contact, not remotely. They don't even have virtual interface points for a hack."
"In other words, these are by no means standard models?"
"No, sir. These are specifically modified droids, built for independent operation. Their combat directives are hard-coded and cannot be changed."
And reprogramming them remotely is impossible.
Great.
"We must not let them reach the engines, reactors, navigation equipment, life support, command, or hyperdrive," Rederick warned, drawing his blaster from its holster. "Lock down the bridge and the backup command post. Guard both inside and outside. Put cameras on the mouse droids and send them to patrol the ventilation — that's how we took ships in the past…"
"I'm aware, sir," the former Mon Calamari star cruiser commander said with a bitter smile. "That's how my own ship was taken. I've already ordered the mouse droids out. The ventilation and conduits are clear."
"We'll reach the rendezvous point with Thrawn in an hour," Rederick announced. "Find a way to get this ship there in one piece and inform him of what's happening. If we can't handle it ourselves… then we just have to hunker down and hope we're lucky sons of bitches and that the Dominion can pull off a second Super Star Destroyer theft from Rendili. I'm joining the special forces — I'll be more use in the corridors and on the decks."
"As you wish, sir," the Zabrak captain in the uniform of the regular Dominion fleet nodded, his face undisguisedly tense. "We'll use laser transmission for communication," he pointed to a pair of technicians tinkering with damaged consoles. "We'll send a directed beam signal directly from the bridge. We'll back it up with salvoes from the turbolasers and ion cannons, using a sound and color coding system.
"Ingenious," Rederick thought. "Who else but Dominion officers would think of using turbolasers as light-signal semaphores?"
"Proceed," Rederick agreed, watching as supplies, medical kits, weapons caches, and plasma torches were brought onto the bridge — the latter to weld the armored doors shut for the safety of the crew inside. "And, one more thing, Captain."
"Yes, sir?"
"I regret that your first assignment in Dominion service might also be your last."
"Yes, sir," the Zabrak saluted, snapping to attention. "In case we don't see each other again, sir…"
Rederick, who had already taken a few steps, turned around.
"Neither I, nor any other serviceman of the Dominion, regrets signing up," the starship commander declared. "It is an honor to kick the New Republic's ass…"
"Just don't forget that you yourselves were serving them and the Galactic Alliance not long ago," Rederick thought with an inward smirk.
Though, it didn't matter.
Onboard the Guardian and the other prizes, there were only two categories of people holding weapons: Dominion servicemen, and enemies.
"A pleasure to serve alongside you, gentlemen," Rederick saluted, and swiftly left the bridge.
He shouldn't be doing this under any circumstances.
When the operation commander is personally involved in the fighting, it means the plan has gone not just rancor-star, but straight into a black hole.
Under any other circumstances, he would have stayed on the command post, if not for one "but."
"Where are you, Vex?!"
* * *
"Cleanup complete," Captain Pellaeon reported, arriving in my quarters and handing over an operational summary.
"Results?"
I could have checked the data-pad, but I always preferred to hear the report verbally first.
Based on minor slips, lexical stresses, and inflections, one can always gauge the speaker's attitude toward the subject.
This was necessary to understand who you were working with and what kind of subordinate you had.
In my past life, this sometimes caused outright bewilderment among subordinates — what, was it so hard to read the report, Commander, that I spent an hour crafting, phrasing it so elegantly a philologist would weep with joy?
Now, though…
The subordinates silently accepted this position, not even showing surprise that it was so.
"Eight Star Destroyers captured, two destroyed. Mixed crews of droids and sapients have been sent to the ships; emergency repairs are underway. The prizes are ready to move to the fleet rendezvous point. Approximately twenty thousand sapients have been taken prisoner, including downed enemy pilots. All escape pods retrieved, debris targeted, buzz droids and spy drones deployed."
"Casualties?"
"Minimal."
There was no need to double-check the Guardian commander's words — he knew the importance of information too well.
"Confirmations from Beta Team and the General's fleet received?" I clarified, moving to the main categories of our operation.
"Beta Team has also finished its cleanup. The General reported his losses," Pellaeon stated them. "Also noted that contact with the prize ships was lost at the moment of acceleration."
Which implied a definite chance of problems.
It seemed the late Admiral Duplex had managed to deliver a certain percentage of trouble after all.
"Change the watches; begin emergency machinery repairs," I ordered. "Inform Major General Veers that his stormtroopers will have to make do with a short rest. As will the Assault Commandos and fleet special forces. We will need everyone."
"Yes, sir. Bring combat droids to full readiness?" Pellaeon inquired.
"Yes, Captain, if you please."
"How many?"
"Activate them all."
Whatever had happened aboard our prizes, it was clearly not a simple communications system malfunction.
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