The more time Eric spent on this moon, the more he marveled at how astonishingly fate could turn out for a single celestial body.
The vast, sprawling tropical jungles of Yavin IV teemed with life.
Whisper-birds soared above the dense jungle canopy.
Troops of arboreal woolamanders fed on quite tasty fruits in the dense jungle canopy; soldiers from the local garrison weren't far behind them, along with a group of scientists engaged in a hands-on study of the flora and fauna.
The trees were also home to another species of rodent known as stintarils.
Large, shaggy herbivores known as runiips crashed through the undergrowth beneath the trees, while howler predators stunned their prey with loud cries.
The Moon Rivers also teemed with life, including aquatic gandarks, slimy salamanders, crystal snakes, crustaceans known as fish-catchers, crustaceans, serpentine tyrslos, and armored eels.
Swarms of vicious piranha beetles roamed the air in terrifying flocks, searching for prey.
All of this caused certain inconveniences for the Dominion colonists, but installing repulsor generators, contact fences, and clearing the undergrowth adjacent to the temple grounds — which the scouts had chosen as a camp — eliminated some of the problems at the very first stage.
The current problem was that too many woolamanders had appeared as pets within the camp's territory.
And it would be fine if these fruit lovers posed no threat whatsoever and caused no trouble — they just hung around in the treetops, eating fruit, bothering no one — Eric wouldn't have reacted to that.
As the biologist from the reconnaissance group explained, on Yavin IV woolamanders have natural enemies — piranha beetles and stintarils — and it was by hiding from them that the woolamanders started infiltrating the protected territory.
And driving them out would be a big problem — the simplest solution would be to turn off the protective electronics.
Then the woolamanders would leave.
If anyone didn't know, or had forgotten what woolamanders look like — here's a pictogram.
But then their natural enemies would come, and they would force the territory to be cleared.
Between two evils, Eric preferred to create his own, so he left everything as it was.
After all, it was better to have tamed woolamanders that, through their habits, at least let the researchers know which fruits were edible and which weren't, than to keep exposing soldiers to danger.
Often, relying on the Empire's previous work — conducting naturalistic experiments using the "I'll bite this, seems tasty" method — the Dominion, thanks to the dim-wittedness of some representatives of the Esumi people, who were tasked with penetrating deep into the jungle and clearing territories, discovered local plants that came to be called "grenade fungi."
Small, spherical ones that, once dried, turned into explosives.
This knowledge delighted the chemists but disappointed the idiots who decided to chew on the novelty in violation of instructions.
Therefore, the fact that woolamanders loved to throw half-eaten pieces of fruit, and that their males held throat-singing competitions in the morning, was deemed the lesser evil.
After all, the scout stormtrooper squads, who weren't too pleased with the situation, quickly explained to the local fauna that they shouldn't play pranks — doing so usually earned a blaster bolt to the face, after which the offender was butchered and roasted, with the meat being demonstratively eaten in front of the other woolamanders.
The latter got the hint and started playing fewer pranks (for the most part), though they didn't stop entirely.
Still, scouts are stubborn guys.
If they want something, they'll get it.
In the end, the woolamanders would run out before the stormtroopers gave up the idea of retraining the stupid animals to start their throat-singing half an hour before the base's wake-up signal.
They hadn't yet managed to train the animals to replace alarm clocks with a specific wake-up time, but the woolamanders were already serving as guard animals, bursting into song whenever they saw dangerous animals approaching the camp.
Eric himself hadn't noticed when, but he'd developed something like an affection for this planetoid.
Woolamanders certainly wouldn't replace ysalamiri, but as cute, clumsy household pets — yeah, why not.
Especially since they didn't bother the lizards — those creatures didn't care what happened around them, as long as there was food to eat and a place to sleep.
Currently, Thrawn's envoys were racing across the planet, accompanied by security and patrol groups, searching for something they weren't talking about directly, but had demanded that no squad leave the base territory without ysalamiri cover. Deliveries of the creatures to the jungle-covered moon would soon rival food supply shipments.
Honestly, Eric couldn't understand how some dead fallen Jedi, who'd been dead for almost four thousand years, could pose a threat to the intelligent beings in this world, and he would have argued the point if not for one significant "but."
Asajj Ventress.
The former general, now a Jensaarai Defender (formally, not by right, as the recently arrived head of the Order, Saarai-kaar, had put it), enjoyed slightly more trust from the rear admiral.
And if she said this Exar Kun was truly dangerous, then it must be so.
Therefore, all that remained was to maintain security measures and place more cages with ysalamiri in the controlled territories.
It was decided to stop letting the lizards "free-range" for now — local predators were eating them far too often.
Although, according to the biologists, Yavin IV was suitable for ysalamiri to breed and subsequently restore their population in a controlled manner, Saarai-kaar herself was clearly not thrilled that creatures capable of suppressing the Force would inhabit the moon, the future seat of the Jensaarai Order.
However, Eric didn't care about the Jensaarai leader's "quirks"; Thrawn's order was more important.
And if this place was becoming the Jensaarai headquarters and training camp, then so be it.
Currently, renovation work was being completed to turn the structure known as the Great Temple into the Order's main building.
In the past, this ancient structure had already been used as the headquarters of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.
In the year before the first Death Star's destruction, Rebel Alliance scouts had scouted this moon as a potential base.
The Great Temple was deemed the most suitable for housing everything necessary.
After the Alliance's repairs, the interior of the Great Temple had changed so much that its original Massassi builders would never have recognized it.
The stone walls had been largely replaced with metal, and cast panels were used instead of wood to divide the rooms.
The Rebels had also excavated new levels in the rock beneath the ziggurat to create a series of underground hangars connected by a turbolift platform.
On the first and upper floors, many rooms had been converted for modern use, such as the War Room.
Only the Great Audience Hall, a vast throne room located on the very top level of the Great Temple, had been preserved, as it was deemed too beautiful and pristine for the techs to subject it to modifications and alterations.
The Dominion workers hadn't touched it either.
Proper maintenance of the new base required a large support staff.
Eric didn't know how the Alliance to Restore the Republic had solved this problem, but the Dominion used service droids and had no issues with cleanliness.
Layout of the Great Temple during its control by the Alliance to Restore the Republic.
Inside, the Great Temple was divided into four levels, each corresponding to a step of the ziggurat — thus, each level was larger in plan than the one above, but all were equipped according to similar plans with small cells, chambers, and corridors surrounding a large central space.
When the Rebel Alliance created its base, the outer surface of the Massassi temple was left as untouched as possible without compromising the structure and security.
The interior spaces, however, were roughly hewn out by the Rebels before being filled with chambers and the main central elevator bank.
Rebel engineers also reinforced the temple's original stone floors with ferrocrete.
In the past, the base was powered by a generating station assembled from stolen reactor components of an Imperial Star Destroyer, located two kilometers from the temple.
After the destruction of the first Death Star, the Alliance-controlled structures were heavily damaged during the subsequent Imperial onslaught (six months since the Arrival.)
, and the generating station was no exception.
General Jan Dodonna, covering the retreat, lured a significant number of Imperial forces into the Temple, then set off explosives.
The Great Temple wasn't badly damaged, but the demolition charges inflicted significant casualties on the advancing Imperial troops.
Dominion engineers had to expend considerable effort inspecting and reinforcing the structures.
However, this was done to ensure safety and as a precaution, since the millennia-old buildings seemed impervious to decay and hadn't suffered serious damage from the explosions.
The very top level was almost entirely occupied by the Great Audience Hall, which the Alliance garrison had used as a ceremonial hall.
Saarai-kaar intended to use it as a training hall, so necessary equipment was currently being brought in.
One level below, during the Alliance's time, were the officers' quarters, as well as the base's security, communications, and medical facilities, with the central room serving as the command center; the Jensaarai planned to use it for the same purpose.
The immediate guard and security of the Great Temple was already handled by Dominion Guardsmen, whose gold-and-black armor stood out against the gray overalls of the specialists and the white-and-black armor of the Stormtrooper Corps fighters.
This guard unit was not directly subordinate to Eric, but its actions, like those of Thrawn's envoys, were sometimes coordinated with him as the senior military commander in the sector.
Since the Jensaarai were not officers of the Dominion's regular forces solely by virtue of their exceptional status, as far as Eric knew, hours of tactical military training were also allocated for their training process, conducted by Dominion instructor-officers.
Their involvement in the Dominion's work in customs, counterintelligence, and other areas implied that they needed to be in constant communication with the command and receive necessary medical care, so it was no wonder that the well-trodden path was used to speed up the "settling-in" process.
On the third level from the top, the Alliance command had housed the Battle Room, from which, for example, the attack on the Death Star was controlled.
Eric suggested restoring the level as a military coordination center.
Given that among the Jensaarai there were those who not only defended the Dominion but also served as valuable specialists on the front lines, sometimes leading certain army and fleet units, the Order needed to be aware of what was happening in the galaxy.
According to Saarai-kaar, she was increasingly observing a certain revanchism among the young recruits, former Jedi, Dathomirian witches, and other Order members, who were advocating for closer cooperation with the armed forces.
Strangely enough, the initiators of such reforms were precisely the former Jedi, who seemed intent on taking revenge on the enemies of the state they protected for the Clone Wars.
How times and morals had changed...
Jedi eager for battle.
The rooms surrounding the Coordination Center on this level, used by the Alliance as warehouses and technical workshops, were converted at the Order leadership's request into conference rooms, communications and computer bays, as well as kitchens and mess halls.
The lowest level of the Great Temple was used by the Rebels as a vast hangar bay for storing fighters and other equipment; there was also a second hangar below, plus basements and catacombs that remained largely unused.
Access to the hangar was through fire doors at ground level, opening onto a landing platform.
During her visit to the planet to issue "valuable instructions" to the military builders, Saarai-kaar rightly concluded that there was no need to go to the trouble of converting the lower level.
Since the Dominion provided the Order with everything necessary, and piloting their own machines was also an integral part of Jensaarai training, it was decided to store fighters, speeders, transport ships, and other flying equipment in the same place the Rebels had.
With the sole exception that the techs had to carry out a significant conversion of the lower level to Dominion standards.
The point was that since the Order was actively integrating into the life of the state, allowing them to use a motley collection of foreign equipment would be a slap in the face to the patriotism being cultivated.
Just as for equipping the elite squadrons of the Dominion's regular forces, it was assumed that the Jensaarai would receive TIE Defender-class machines for their use.
Considering that the most common category of Order members called themselves "Jensaarai Defenders," this made for an interesting play on words.
The machines would be delivered later, when the Order itself was directly stationed on the moon; for now, the hangars housed interceptors and transports of the Red Star Squadron.
Currently, work was underway to strengthen the soil around the temple and improve its drainage.
They'd already had to strip away meters of earth to bring the lower level back from being "underground," which it had become due to rising soil levels.
No one intended to allow that to happen again.
And although, according to the general plan for the planet, the Order was the main force on the moon, besides the Jensaarai, a military contingent was also supposed to remain, which would take on the full responsibility of defending the moon from attack, as well as participate in the mandatory military training, internships, and education of Order students under the officer course program.
While the conquest of the Gordian Reach and the preparation of territories for the Dominion military base were underway, and the future Jensaarai headquarters was being used as the deployment site for ground forces, there was no one here except for the sentients under Shohashi's control.
He tried not to think about Thrawn's envoys at all — they acted independently, preferring, like Saarai-kaar, to only contact him via holocommunications to request support.
But mostly, they asked him to move troops away from one structure or another that the scouts had discovered and taken measures to study and clear of debris and undergrowth.
Dominion base on Yavin IV.
Eric was just reviewing reports on the use of TIE droids on the TIE fighter platform as patrols and atmospheric scouts, which had been deployed to reinforce base security, when he was informed of Asajj Ventress's arrival.
Shohashi didn't want to deal with the willful woman who had no concept of authority, but at the same time, she was Thrawn's envoy.
Eric would have gladly sent her packing too, but protocol required granting an audience to the Dathomirian witch.
For surface work, Eric was using one of the conference rooms on the Coordination Center level to stay close to the base's main brain center, so the witch's appearance occurred almost immediately after the report.
"Admiral," the woman with the tattooed face and short, snow-white hair graced him with an irritating half-smile, plopping down into the chair opposite Eric without any preamble.
"Lady Ventress," he replied to the greeting with restraint. "It seems you're starting to forget the rules of subordination. You're not a guest in my home, but in my office — kindly observe the rules."
"This is the Order's headquarters, of which I am a member," she snorted. "So, technically speaking, you're the guest here."
"Technically speaking," Eric noted caustically, "until the official transfer of the facility to the Jensaarai Order, this is the headquarters of the military contingent under my command. Which means — you are in my office."
The woman was silent for a while, then snorted again.
"In formalized naval pedantry on the subject of rules, you have no equal, Rear Admiral."
"Spare me the fawning compliments, Lady Ventress, and get straight to the point."
The Dathomirian witch smiled as if he'd told a joke.
"Durron and I have been investigating the abandoned Imperial facilities," she said, knowing full well Eric was aware of this.
Six months after the Battle of Yavin IV and the Rebels' expulsion from the moon, the Empire maintained a military base, a worker outpost, and a mining outpost on the planet.
In response, the Rebels established a new base on the planet to pursue the Imperials, but in a location different from the former "Massassi Station," as they called the Great Temple.
The Imperials were forced to build a new base after the original one was captured by the Rebels.
After the Galactic Empire's defeat at the Battle of Endor, government troops were withdrawn, and the New Republic founded a small village called Wornez on the moon, and Yavin 4 became the headquarters of the Planetary Intelligence Network, though it was later replaced by New Republic Intelligence.
"Should I praise you for doing your job?" Eric clarified. "Or perhaps give you a pat on the head?"
"Oh, have you missed me that much?" Ventress grinned. "Still, don't force yourself, Rear Admiral, I'll survive. No, the reason for my visit isn't to draw attention to myself. I have a little gift for you. Oh, don't roll your eyes, you'll like it."
Bringing a comlink to her lips, she commanded someone:
"Bring him in."
Just like that, without ceremony.
Eric mentally swore.
This individual evoked rather negative emotions in him due to her independent nature.
"Just like Iran Ryad at the beginning of our acquaintance," an unexpected thought crossed Shohashi's mind.
Two scout stormtroopers entered the office, followed by Kyp Durron, clad in light armor, and a TIE pilot unfamiliar to Shohashi.
The fact that the pilot specialized in this type of craft was believable from his clothing — a black flight suit, well-developed musculature, and the facial expression characteristic of those who had undergone Imperial flight training.
Contempt for death, weakness, enemies.
And here's where the strangeness began.
First, the pilot's uniform showed clear signs of damage — crudely patched holes, scuff marks, and patches over large tears in the fabric.
Second, the flight suit bore an insignia — the infamous gear.
Only it wasn't the Dominion's golden color, but a faded one with shades of white.
Third, his hands were immobilized at the wrists with plastic zip ties — a simple, lightweight equivalent of handcuffs used to restrict a prisoner's mobility.
"What is an Imperial pilot doing on Dominion territory?" Eric asked, gesturing for the scouts to seat the guest on another chair.
Both stormtroopers, without any explanation, sat the prisoner in the indicated spot and stood on either side of him, slightly behind.
"Well, Rear Admiral, this is an uninvited guest who was watching us investigate the abandoned Imperial military base," the Dathomirian witch explained. "My fighters nabbed him when he tried to steal one of the speeder bikes."
"I didn't need your bucket of bolts."
The prisoner's voice was dry, slightly raspy, but it didn't sound like the man was confused or panicking.
Dark brown hair with a streak of gray starting to show, cold blue eyes...
"Report, pilot," Eric demanded.
"My commanders aren't here, and I haven't been informed of my status as a prisoner of war," the stranger cut him off. "You'll get nothing out of me."
Eric looked at him with great interest.
"I told you," Ventress smiled, "you'd like him."
Shohashi ignored her.
"You're not in a position to set conditions, pilot," the commander of the military contingent declared. "You infiltrated Dominion territory, acted covertly, attempted to hack a transceiver in our tactical command network — and these points alone are sufficient to convict and execute you on the spot."
Ventress looked at Eric with surprise.
Did she really think this pilot intended to steal a speeder bike?
"Then shoot me," the pilot retorted.
"Take him outside the base perimeter and shoot him in the legs," Eric ordered the stormtroopers.
The pilot paled.
"Affirmative, sir," one of the scouts' vocoders rumbled, jerking the prisoner up from the chair. "Move it!"
"Damn you, 'Butcher'!" the pilot hissed through his teeth. "They'll find out about your arbitrary rule, whatever game you're playing here. Darth Vader doesn't forgive when this happens to his subordinates..."
"Stand down," Shohashi ordered the scouts, stopping them at the door. "Darth Vader?"
Ventress, not interfering, also became interested.
"Hutt take you, yes!" the pilot growled. "Have you completely gone rogue? The Supreme Ruler will turn you inside out! Shooting down an Imperial pilot, leaving him to be eaten by predators — for that, they'll break your neck, 'Butcher of Atoa,' whoever sent you here!"
"So that's how it is," Shohashi said coldly, leaning back in his chair.
The fact that the pilot knew his nickname and face was hardly news — rumors and gossip are part of how a military machine operates.
Far more interesting was what this prisoner didn't know.
"That's right!" the man tried to strike a proud stance. "I demand to speak with the Supreme Commander of the Empire!"
"With Darth Vader?" Shohashi clarified.
"Hutt take you, 'Butcher'! Do you know anyone else in that position?" the pilot asked in surprise.
"How interesting this turns out," Ventress drawled.
"So you've been here since the destruction of the Death Star," Eric said. "And you don't know anything..."
"What should I know?" the pilot grew wary.
Eric told him.
In general terms.
Without going into details about the Dominion's goals and objectives for the near and distant future.
"I demand to be returned to Imperial-controlled space," the pilot said.
"What nerve!" Durron couldn't help himself.
"You, pilot, can't demand anything from me," Eric noted.
"I am a subject of the Empire!"
"Except the Empire is gone now — only Remnants remain," Shohashi explained. "And, as you might have noticed, the Empire didn't care about you back when they were building bases here, fighting the rebels, or later."
"They just didn't know I was alive!" the pilot faltered. "I was shot down far from here. I wandered for a long time..."
"One more lie, and in addition to your legs, I'll have your arms shot through too," Eric said. "Lie twice, and you'll get bleeding cuts so the predators find you faster..."
The pilot stood there, fists clenched.
Eric noticed that his left arm looked unnatural.
"Poorly healed fractures?" he asked the pilot. "Injury from the crash?"
"Yes," the pilot said through clenched teeth.
"It must cause a lot of inconvenience."
"That mess can easily be replaced with a prosthetic," the pilot looked at his mangled limb with distaste.
I see.
The stranger hadn't reacted to the attempt at personal connection, showing that he'd come to terms with the loss of his limb.
Good.
If you can't get through another way, use the doctrine.
"So, you were shot down during the Battle of Yavin IV," Eric continued. "Your ship crashed in the jungle. Your name and unit, pilot."
"My name is Qorl," he introduced himself. "Sixty-Third Squadron, Death Star."
"Your flight assignment?" Eric began tightening the noose around the pilot's neck.
"Repelling the rebel raid on the station."
"So you've lied to me at least once," Shohashi said.
"No!" Qorl's eyes widened. "Not a word of a lie!"
"Ten years have passed since the destruction of the first Death Star," Eric explained. "The details of its final battle are known intimately. The only unit from the station's air wing that was scrambled was the Black Squadron, Darth Vader's elite escort unit. The Sixty-Third and other squadrons were destroyed by the station's explosion."
"I saw it detonate," the pilot admitted. "But I'm not a pilot from 'Black...'"
"Second lie," Eric stated. "Besides the actions of only 'Black Squadron,' we have data from the station's black boxes. And they've long been analyzed. As additional justification for your affiliation, I can only say that only pilots from Black Squadron had enough bravery and stupidity to try appealing to me in Darth Vader's name. So, pilot. Will you try your luck again, or will you start telling the truth?"
The pilot looked at Eric from under his brow.
"The second," he said hoarsely.
"I'm listening."
"The name is correct. I used to serve in the Sixty-Third, but the Supreme Ruler transferred me to 'Black.' I was shot down over the moon and made an emergency landing. OCC instructed me to wait for evacuation. Then the station exploded. I realized things were bad. Managed to repair my damaged ship, got airborne, tangled with a rebel ship, got shot down again. We had a hand-to-hand fight in the swamp. He managed to beat me. I waited for rescue, then I started traveling — far away from their base. Moved to the islands south of this continent — fewer predators there and more fruit."
"That's why they didn't find you six months later when the Empire arrived," Eric understood.
Given the local realities, yes, the pilot simply hadn't seen the Empire's transport ships.
Maybe he spotted them during the retreat from the planet, but it was too late — even if he could have sent a distress signal, the pilots might have ignored it.
In fact, Qorl himself confirmed this information a minute later, answering the questions.
"In other words, you were abandoned here, written off as expendable long ago," Shohashi summed up. "So your fate was decided long before we met."
"In the Empire, things will be made clear," Qorl insisted stubbornly. "Ace pilots who were members of 'Black Squadron' will clearly carry weight in Imperial society."
"Maybe so," Eric said, thinking the situation over.
"Except I doubt they won't stick you in a line unit and drive you to slaughter against some other Imperial warlord," Ventress noted.
"Imperials don't fight each other!" the Black Squadron pilot declared with fanatical zeal.
"If that's what you think, then you have a lot to learn," Shohashi summed up, addressing the scouts. "Take him to the Crimson Dawn and provide him with all the materials regarding the Imperial Civil War for review."
This procedure fell under the competence of ship security personnel, not ordinary stormtroopers.
Ventress, who knew this, looked at the rear admiral with interest as he silently watched the beings leaving the office.
So focused on Shohashi, she missed something else.
"And what's the point, Admiral?" she clarified.
"While you were studying my expressions, Qorl betrayed his confusion upon hearing about the civil war among Imperials," Eric explained. "Like all Imperials before Endor, he didn't even suspect that a war of all against all could happen within the Empire. Now, hearing this, he'll torment himself with doubts about whether his faith in the Empire is really so strong. After all, he's a pilot who consciously got behind the controls of a TIE craft, knowing he could die on his fifth sortie, or even earlier. But even if that happened, the Empire would win anyway. Now he'll understand that there is no Empire. And everything he believed in, everything he prepared for, everything his instincts were tied to — it's all in the Dominion."
"You think he'll defect?"
"You brought him here thinking he was an Imperial spy," Eric said. "And that he'd give us valuable information."
"Yes," Ventress admitted. "Turns out he's useless."
"On the contrary," Eric countered. "If there's one thing Darth Vader knew, it was pilots. There were no rookies in 'Black Squadron,' no amateurs, no someone's cronies — only those who were true professionals got a place there. Qorl is an excellent pilot, even if he's been idle for the last ten years. Win him over, and we get a representative of the Galactic Empire's elite forces at our disposal."
"It seems Thrawn's laurels don't give you peace — the one who can talk any Imperial into serving the Dominion with a single conversation," the Dathomirian witch smirked. "Decided to follow in his footsteps and recruit a 'valuable specialist' who's been on an unscheduled vacation for ten years? I doubt he surpasses our pilots. And his left arm... He won't be able to fly an interceptor."
Eric gave her a calm look.
"A human body is as easy to fix as a fighter — if you have competent specialists," he said, giving the woman a pointed look, reminding her of what she had done for Brandei in the past. "Qorl is a soldier of honor — it shows. Flying is part of his life. He's ready to trade his arm for a prosthetic just to get back in the fight."
"And he'll be more loyal to those who let him keep his limbs?" Ventress narrowed her eyes.
"Exactly," Eric nodded. "I'm confident you'll handle the task, Lady Ventress."
"I don't answer to you, though," she said with smug amusement.
So when she needs to, she remembers the chain of command.
Good.
"I'm sure Grand Admiral Thrawn will support my initiative and convey his request for you to fix Qorl's arm," Eric said.
"Or else," the witch leaned forward slightly, a sly smile on her lips, "you could simply ask me, Rear Admiral. A favor for a favor, so to speak."
Presumably, if Qorl had turned out to be an Imperial spy, Ventress would have offered her help in interrogating him.
Also in exchange for some favor.
"And what would you want in return?" Eric clarified.
"No, I'm not going to ask you for an orbital bombardment or anything like that," she snorted. "A simple dinner will do. Atop the temple. By candlelight."
Was she mocking him?
"And what do you need that for?" Eric asked.
"Oh, you need it," Asajj laughed. "For me... it will just be pleasant to drink a glass of wine where I took the first step toward disfiguring Darth Vader thirty years ago... You sit nearby, listen to an old woman's stories... Is that so hard for you, Admiral? And I'll heal this 'valuable specialist' of yours."
Eric was about to tell the Dathomirian witch to go clean out the engine combustion chambers on the Crimson Dawn, but then he paused, thinking something over in his mind...
"Your allies are taking a break from searching for Exar Kun, aren't they?" he asked. "I've been told they're planning to relax at the local soldiers' canteen. Without you. Even Kyp Durron was invited. And from what I'm being told, he clearly likes Thrawn's Hand. Her company, not yours."
The witch's face became unreadable.
"It's hard to pretend you have even one friend, Lady Ventress, when you disregard their personal space and wishes," Shohashi pronounced, watching as she stood up with irritation on her face and headed for the exit. "We'll play this game, Lady Ventress. Heal Qorl, and we'll drink wine wherever you say. Where you can incidentally show your allies that you're not an outcast in this society."
The witch froze at the door, turned around, gave the rear admiral a suspicious look, then nodded in agreement and left.
Eric sat for a few seconds, then habitually reached into his pocket for the antique chronometer.
The action, honed to automation, no longer helped, but he hoped it was only a temporary effect.
* * *
"Grand Admiral," Captain Pellaeon was tactfulness itself. "Preparatory work is complete."
Standing next to my chair for a good five minutes, allowing me to dwell in my own thoughts, he spoke only when he realized I had shifted my attention from the Reaper, surrounded by scaffolding and construction.
"Thank you, Captain," I said, taking the datapad. "How is the formation of crews for our new acquisitions proceeding?"
Given that I have separate plans for the Mon Calamari-design ships, moving their crews to the vessels captured at Rendili, considering our presence in the Karthakk sector, goes without saying.
Naturally, these will be 'blended' crews — partially composed of clones, partially former Republic and Alliance personnel, and partially former crew members who switched to our side after the defeat of Moff Gronn or the rescue of Orinda's ships at Brentaal IV.
These beings, though they proved their unwillingness to follow the paths of the Galactic Alliance and the New Republic, must for now remain under scrutiny in the rear.
"Repairs and modernization of the Mon Calamari ships are complete, sir," the commander of the Guardian reported.
"Have we acquired the necessary number of droids to crew these vessels?"
"Yes, sir. Each ship has a full watch complement."
That's all we need.
Droids need no rest, sleep, or anything of the sort.
They're quite sufficient for the task at hand.
We've used the same 'false signature' tactic for too long for it not to start raising justified suspicions.
The situation at Rendili clearly showed me that operations under false flags on this scale can no longer be carried out without the risk of exposing the true perpetrator.
What happened to our ships is still unclear.
And though information from the New Republic stated that these ships were destroyed, the Republic's reaction...
Too restrained.
As if they aren't displeased by what happened.
That's impossible.
They didn't just lose ships — they suffered a serious blow to their reputation, losing a Super Star Destroyer for the second time at the same shipyards.
And therefore...
The enemy cannot be at ease at the higher levels of command.
Something is happening here, and I am more than certain that we are currently in yet another trap.
The question is — who set it?
The New Republic or the Silri Syndicate?
"Are the tracking device detection efforts underway?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir, in full scope, on every vessel that participated in the battle at and in the Rendili system," Pellaeon assured me. "Our 'Dominating' ships are continuously suppressing all communication channels, so even if we miss something initially, the enemy won't have time to report it anywhere."
"Is the emphasis on pulse transmitters?"
Given the paralysis of the galactic communications system, using such a transmitting device would be logical.
Exorbitantly expensive — a suitable model would cost as much as that same Reaper — but the enemy also used high-cost combat droids.
Which in turn is an indicator of the Fey'lya government's willingness to spend on its traps.
And if I'm right, the ships we captured at Rendili should be packed with tracking equipment.
I doubt I'm mistaken.
I've probably failed to account for some factor.
Something that can operate without the suppression systems causing errors.
Both the New Republic and the Silri Syndicate know exactly that we use suppression technology.
They must have taken measures.
A pulse transmitter?
Yes, it's a guaranteed source of information.
But it's easy to detect — its frequency is easily traceable.
And even if the search takes a long time, nothing prevents simply isolating the spy ship from the general mass.
Then the enemy clearly can't counter this simple action.
Why do they need transmitters?
To track ship locations?
No, not only that.
'Beacons' of any type serve two purposes — tracking a ship's movement and obtaining its location coordinates.
It is precisely for this reason that I am certain that whoever the observer is, they clearly know where we are.
I have hypotheses about why both the New Republic and the Silri Syndicate might have acted this way.
The response to their actions is unequivocal and categorical.
The only question is when they will attack.
Because I am already ready to begin.
"Notify the General that his fleet may depart for the designated target," I ordered.
"Yes, sir."
"Do we have confirmation from intelligence on the location of Galen Marek's clone?" I asked.
"Still no, sir," Pellaeon said, guilt in his voice, as if he were personally involved in the matter.
It's strange that intelligence can't find him.
He should have 'taken the bait' long ago.
Or were Solo and Admiral Arkh able to intercept him?
Or did the withdrawal of both of our MC90s cause the clone to direct his search efforts elsewhere?
Of course, I could use my own reserve channels to find out how things really stand.
And I will most likely have to do so, because the further course of the operation depends on a precise alignment of conditions.
Perhaps I underestimated the progress of the clone's madness.
Or, conversely, his caution.
But one way or another, work in this direction needs to be intensified.
"Captain, when Captain Tyberos finishes visiting Moff Tavira, inform him that I have an assignment for him."
"Yes, sir."
Pellaeon turned to leave when the sound of the bridge doors opening reached my ears.
Turning my chair with interest, I saw Fodeum Sabre De'Luz approaching me.
From the gait of the Jensaarai defender and the expressions on the faces of the students following him, including the Jedi Jaden Korr, they were clearly troubled by something serious and alarming.
So much so that even Rukh stopped playing with his knives and moved closer to me.
* * *
The Bothan's hologram bristled its fur, as if projecting a frightened animal rather than a sentient being.
Though, that could be the case.
"You promised me success!" Fey'lya tried to appear calm, but at the same time, outright panic was evident in his speech and movements. "I lost half of my reserve fleet, the damage to the shipyards and unfinished ships is beyond imagining! Not to mention that the most combat-capable of my admirals is probably dead!"
"The plan was developed perfectly," Silri countered. "That your subordinates couldn't execute it... I think you should question Admiral Sey'lar's about that."
"Do you want to insult a Bothan hero⁉" the President of the New Republic said through clenched teeth.
"No, I'm simply suggesting you consider whether she's in the right place with that level of command," Silri replied calmly. "President, I am working on finding and getting even with those responsible from the Galactic Alliance. It will take a little more time than you'd like."
"Don't play games with me, Silri," Fey'lya warned. "We have agreements. If necessary, I will draw attention to those sectors where you conduct your activities. And I will tell those who are interested that you survived the collapse of the Zann Consortium and what part you played in these activities. I'm sure the late Tyber Zann still has loyal followers who will want revenge."
"I hear you," Silri said in an icy tone. "I'll contact you as soon as I have the necessary information."
Without another word, she disconnected the hologram projector.
Shattering it with the Force.
"That fur-bag irritates me," she said, turning to the unflappable Darth Ziilenlos.
"He has a quarrelsome nature, especially when he begins to suspect he's being led by the nose," the Sith replied calmly.
"Then you shouldn't have hidden from him that the Dominion was behind the attack, not the Alliance!" the Dathomirian witch hissed like a snake. "We captured one ship before the explosion! And the clones..."
"That's the last thing Fey'lya should know," Ziilenlos cut her off. "His first thought, upon learning that someone has clones, will be Kamino's involvement, as the most famous factory in that field. And that will redirect his attention to us."
"But he doesn't know that Kamino is in our hands!"
"Officially — no. Unofficially, he has enough brains to connect the survival of one of the Zann Consortium's officers with Kamino's inaccessibility and the appearance of clones in the galaxy. And the bridge between us, the clones, and the New Republic's enemies, he'll build himself."
"Perhaps," Silri was silent for a moment. "But in that case, what do we do next? The plan fell apart like a house of cards."
"Their plan — yes," the ancient Sith replied calmly. "But not mine."
"You mean," Silri narrowed her eyes, "you weren't even hoping to catch the Dominion on the attack at Rendili and let Fey'lya declare war on them until complete exhaustion, so you could gain control of the New Republic?"
"Not this time," Ziilenlos answered. "Those droids we got on Ubrikkia for Fey'lya didn't quite play on our side. Admiral Duplex, as is evident, gave them an additional directive — to destroy communications installations. As a result, we received no reports on the enemy's actions and movements, and the droids had to strive to capture ships."
"Which we failed to do."
"But now we know where the Dominion took them," Ziilenlos declared, activating a holographic map of the galaxy from his panel.
"Who would have doubted it would be Karthakk," the witch snorted. "It's long past time to get rid of that thorn in our side. And you kept stalling!"
"I wasn't stalling," the ancient Sith corrected. "I was allowing the enemy to concentrate as many of their valuable resources in one place as possible."
"And what for?" Silri narrowed her eyes.
"Analysis of the clones shows they were produced not so long ago," the Sith explained. "Therefore, our 'gift' with the fake and booby-trapped cloning cylinders didn't work."
"Just like the plan to eliminate their high command," the irritated Silri reminded him.
"From which we can conclude that the Dominion is hardly moving nearly a dozen trophy ships to Karthakk for no reason," the ancient Sith concluded. "We already know about the repair facilities there from our spies..."
"Knew," the Dathomirian witch corrected. "Before Sol Sixxha and his gang were wiped out to the last."
"And that wasn't done without reason," Ziilenlos said instructively. "Karthakk is the Dominion's treasure trove. Perhaps they didn't just haul the trophies there for repairs, but also to replenish crews."
"You think the cloning facilities are concentrated there?" Silri perked up.
"And, at the very least, the ysalamiri we so desperately need," the ancient Sith explained. "Since you disagree with my plan to breach the minefield around Myrkr and capture the Dominion's fortress world..."
"It's an obvious trap!" Silri repeated her justification.
"Then we'll capture Karthakk," Ziilenlos concluded. "The Dominion has already tested the strength of our defenses on the routes leading to Rothana and Kamino. It's time to show Vice Admiral Pellaeon that we're not joking either."
"Attack?" Silri narrowed her eyes.
"In several places at once," Ziilenlos declared. "Not just Karthakk, but the Mandalorian Sector will soon be ours as well."
"Mandalore?" the Dathomirian witch was surprised.
"Yes," the ancient Sith confirmed. "You didn't think I flew there recently for no reason, did you?"
"I thought you wanted to take a blood sample from Fenn Shysa and replace him with a clone," the witch admitted.
"I'm not an idiot — sneaking into Mand'alor's inner circle and making the most obvious move that would lead straight back to us," the Sith chuckled. "I made sure a cloned blood sample of Fenn Shysa fell into Dominion hands. Making that is much faster than a full clone. And when the Dominion starts singing its usual song about rulers being replaced by clones, they'll be in for a big surprise. And Mand'alor, who as a matter of principle will never negotiate or agree to a truce with them."
"And he'll join the Alliance? That's not in our interest either."
"You're wrong," Darth Ziilendos countered, his golden eyes flaring. "The Mandalorians have played into Sith hands once before. They'll do it again. And when the time comes, I'll eliminate the beings who get in my way."
"Your way? You mean 'our way.'"
"Precisely. Just a slip of the tongue."
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