Silri was already savoring the moment of her triumph.
All the power she had managed to gather — both openly and in secret — was now about to crash down on the Dominion's base.
The system's layout, its capabilities, astronomical objects, and navigational hazards were perfectly well known to her.
After all, Sol Sixx had worked on Maramere for a long time.
In the past, a petty bandit, a fighter for "freedom" against the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
The Zann Consortium had collaborated with him for a long time, receiving unregistered Stygium crystals from Maramere.
After the collapse of the Zann Consortium, Silri picked up this splinter of the powerful organization too, allowing Zann to pretend from the shadows that he was the one running Maramere.
A double game that had paid off in full.
Now, Sixx's gang was destroyed, and any attempt to bring the Karthakk system back under her control by simple means was impossible.
However, this was even better.
The Dominion had brought hundreds of ships here — and that was just the military vessels.
The transports numbered in the thousands, but until now, the local movements had not aroused her suspicions.
Now that it had become clear that her plans to pit the Dominion against the Zann Consortium had failed, it was time to restore order.
Pellaeon had already shown that, if not a fool, he was certainly not the simpleton he had seemed before.
Perhaps he was even cooperating with Zann.
Because the fact that the Dominion had used the Invincible-class heavy cruisers — handed over to them for obviously no good reason — looked far too suspicious.
Pellaeon's obtuseness and the inertia of his thinking certainly showed themselves when he decided to use the access codes to the minefield deliberately "leaked" to him through Barita.
It was a pity that only the Invincibles were destroyed, and not a larger force.
Still, depriving the enemy of such ships, two of which were clearly equipped with cloaking systems, was also no small victory.
Thankfully, the breach in the minefields had been closed, the access codes changed once again.
And now the enemy would clearly not take a single step to overcome the defenses of Kamino and Rothana again.
He understood perfectly well now that it was impossible, even if you had excellently armored stealth starships.
And now Silri would take back her jewel — the Karthakk sector.
For the most part, a useless territory, but, like in any other controlled sectors, one could always recruit a considerable number of cutthroats into her army.
In this respect, the alliance with the New Republic was mutually beneficial.
She would gain control of the Karthakk system, and the Republicans wouldn't even stick their noses in there; she would drain a significant number of criminals and other scum from their sectors into her army.
All of them, without a doubt, would die in the very next battle.
But in return, she could always resort to Fey'lya and his troops to solve her problems.
She had, of course, had to go against the advice of Darth Ziilenlos and provide direct evidence of the Dominion's involvement in the attack on Rendili and the capture of the Reaper, as well as other ships.
No, she had not revealed to the New Republic the secret of the enemy's clones, of course not.
On this point, Silri fully agreed with Ziilenlos's plans — there was no need to give the paranoid Bothans a reason to distrust her herself.
She simply provided one of the corpses of the enemy's fallen soldiers, claiming to have obtained a dossier on the deceased from the enemy.
Fey'lya had needed nothing more.
He had joined the opportunity to get even with a long-time adversary who was constantly thumbing his nose at him with great pleasure.
Apparently, the Bothan decided to play out the situation with the possible disclosure of compromising evidence about his collaboration with Pellaeon.
After all, what kind of cooperation can there be when one of the "partners" is striking the other's facilities, right?
To avoid looking like the one playing catch-up, the President of the New Republic had given her invaluable support in striking the Karthakk system.
And today, Silri and the fleet she commanded would defeat the Dominion where they least expected it.
Strike their secret base.
Recapture the ships the Dominion had taken from Rendili.
Silri would gain control of the Karthakk system with everything that remained after the Dominion's defeat.
And the New Republic could wave victory flags in front of its citizens.
And even tell them how great they were, how they avenged the treacherous enemy, deprived him of his base in the very heart of the New Republic.
And in general, they were simply magnificent fighters against pro-Imperial regimes.
However, Silri suspected that Fey'lya would not keep his word regarding the division of the Karthakk sector.
She, for example, did not intend to keep hers.
On the contrary, she would make maximum use of the Bothan forces allocated by Fey'lya to achieve success and conduct further negotiations exclusively from a position of strength.
Silri was not stupid and understood perfectly well that the Dominion was not interested in the Karthakk sector solely for Stygium.
With the right approach, something valuable could be found in any sector of the galaxy.
Dead planets and moons rich in minerals.
Recruits for the army and navy.
Wealth to plunder.
But the Dominion hadn't even poked its nose out of the Karthakk system for a long time, even though the cargo turnover there was incredible.
The Dominion had obviously found something in the system, or built something themselves, for the system to appeal to them so much.
Silri suspected that this was where Grand Admiral Thrawn's secret clone factory was located, as well as the Dominion's factories and repair yards — at least a part of them.
Otherwise, there was no point in dragging the Reaper and the captured ships such a distance.
And to be surrounded by territories controlled either by the Syndicate (which positioned themselves as "neutral") or the New Republic.
Perhaps it was here that she would find the long-desired but missing droid factory from Hypori, captured by the Dominion last year on a tip from Tyber Zann.
Or maybe there was a production facility for space mines and invisible asteroids that the Dominion used to seal its borders?
Or deposits of precious metals that, rumor had it, belonged to Captain Nym?
Or…
Only a warning from the Force prevented her from flying across the entire bridge when her flagship — a Keldabe II-class battleship — lurched out of hyperspace.
Without ever reaching its target.
"What's happening?!" she screamed.
"We've dropped out of the hyperspace jump ahead of schedule!" the flagship's commander reported. "An ambush!"
"Contact all fleet ships!" Silri demanded. "I want them to switch to defense! Launch fighters, wipe out the enemy pilots! Immediately!"
She just needed time to assess the true scale of the problem they were facing.
They had arrived at the outer reaches of the Karthakk system.
Dead ahead hung the Mercenaries' Spine station, a sort of checkpoint on the way to the Locus.
Silri Syndicate's fleet and the Bothan starships were emerging from hyperspace near their flagship.
But instead of seeing a lone station and a small garrison of ships, possibly a pair of Interdictors that would be helpless and left at her mercy by the enemy, Silri discovered something else.
Dozens of Star Destroyers, heavy cruisers, corvettes, and frigates surrounded her fleet in a semicircle.
The Dominion fleet had been waiting for her forces, prepared for the attack well in advance.
But worst of all, Interdictor-class Star Destroyers were indeed present here.
The two ships that had dragged her vessels out of hyperspace had retracted their gravity well projectors and were calmly sailing away from the uninvited guests, upon whom salvoes of turbolasers and proton torpedoes from swift bombers were already raining down.
Silri had barely registered the fact that the enemy fleet was smaller than her own when she saw on the tactical monitor…
Stations.
Three dozen Golan III defense stations, positioned in five echelons above and below the enemy fleet.
And they were also opening fire on the fifty-odd ships of the Syndicate and the New Republic.
"This is impossible!" the thought flashed through her mind, contradicting the entire operation plan.
The Dominion couldn't have known about the invasion!
Ziilenlos had promised that this operation would go exactly according to his plans!
The first reports came in.
A dozen battleships, her main strike force, had been hit in critical areas — command bridges, engines…
Before her fleet could raise its shields, all of them had been damaged by a raid of fast bombers.
The Crusader-class corvettes had survived the raid relatively well, but there were damaged vessels among them too.
The New Republic's starships were in even worse shape.
Fey'lya had provided far from new ships, mostly escort frigates and outdated cruisers, but collectively they were a force to be reckoned with.
And the Dominion had reckoned with it.
They were taking out the light fleet forces while they were defenseless.
"We're retreating!" Silri demanded, realizing there was nothing to gain here without the element of surprise.
If the enemy knew about the attack, it was no wonder the Reaper would also join the assault.
Engaging in battle with an unfinished, but still a Super Star Destroyer, would be foolish.
"Ma'am, we're in an artificial gravity zone!" the flagship's commander reported. "Retreat is impossible."
"How is that possible?" she pointed at the pair of Interdictors that, minutes earlier, having made a micro-jump, were now in the rear of the main forces and were turning around to join the slaughter. "Those ships deactivated their gravity well projectors!"
"Yes, ma'am, but we are in a similar field! It appears to cover nearly half the system…"
"A Gravity Well Generator Station!" a cry rang out on the bridge, and Silri saw the scanner operator pointing at some structure located behind the enemy fleet, not far from the Mercenaries' Spine.
Like two truncated quadrangular prisms, fused at their bases and attached to their peaks with massive dishes, their surfaces bristling with numerous conical emitter rods.
A Gravity Well Generator Station.
Such stations had been used by the Galactic Empire in the past to protect particularly valuable star systems.
Later, during the Galactic Civil War, such installations were frequently destroyed by the Rebellion, as they interfered with their beloved "hit-and-run" tactics.
The Empire, suffering losses on such costly objects, ceased their construction, while the Alliance to Restore the Republic bled the Imperials dry with their raids.
Prohibitively expensive, not to mention that such stations hindered movement in the system not only for the enemy but also for allies.
Who in their right mind would spend the cost of a Super Star Destroyer on building such a mechanism when it has virtually no defenses and any Rebel pilot could blow it up with a single torpedo?
However, Silri was now panicking, realizing she hadn't ended up in this situation for nothing.
And there was only one way out — to throw part of her forces at destroying that station.
Sacrifice them so that the rest could escape.
"Where is Ziilenlos's fleet?!"
The answer was silence and the bewildered looks of her subordinates.
Thirty Keldabe II-class battleships and an equal number of Crusader II-class corvettes had never shown up for the rendezvous with the Silri Syndicate fleet and the Bothan ships.
* * *
She did not resist when two Imperial Guardsmen in black-and-blue armor unambiguously gestured for her to move forward.
The armored doors, behind which lay the bridge of the Super Star Destroyer, swung open the moment she approached within a couple of meters.
Dia expected to see the familiar interior of an Imperial-style bridge.
And she did see it.
Only it was flooded with pale blue light.
The girl walked forward along the catwalk that divided the bridge in two.
To her right and left, in the "pits," behind working terminals, were people.
Very similar to each other.
So much so that they could have been called twins.
But what mother could carry and give birth to three dozen babies, each the spitting image of the others?
Her suspicion intensified when she saw the face of a middle-aged man giving orders.
If you added another thirty years, gave him a lush mustache, and diluted his hair color with gray…
"Pellaeon?" Passik gasped.
The man measured her with a careful gaze.
"Captain Pellaeon," he corrected, nodding towards the central catwalk in front of a row of trapezoidal viewports that occupied the entire forward part of the bridge. "You are expected."
There was no doubt left.
Clones.
She had heard that in the last years of the Old Republic, and for the first fifteen years of the New Order, the Empire had produced clones like blasters on a conveyor belt.
But then something happened, and the clones first ended up exclusively in the 501st Legion, subordinate to the terror of the galaxy, Darth Vader, and then completely vanished from the face of the galaxy.
There were rumors that some clones served in the Rebel Alliance, but Dia personally had never seen one.
She walked forward, and her trained saboteur's eye increasingly noticed the differences between a standard Imperial bridge and the place where she now found herself.
And it wasn't just the light.
They used similar lighting in landing bay compartments too, but there it served a specific purpose.
Here, however…
The "pits" were surrounded by metal railings waist-high to an average human.
Next to each operator's workstation was a container marked as belonging to medical equipment.
The specialists, and Pellaeon himself, had individual pouches on their belts, in which oxygen masks with portable canisters were easily visible.
Her eyes also noticed that the operators sitting in the chairs were strapped to the backs with metallized safety belts.
An interesting solution.
In the event of decompression, the bridge crew wouldn't go flying out into space, but would remain in their seats.
And they could survive in a vacuum for some time thanks to the "self-rescuers" in the pouches.
She presumed that in the ten technical lockers conveniently placed near the workstations, there were light spacesuits.
Exactly—there was even a note about how many were stored in each technical niche.
Convenient.
Well thought out.
On the bridge, the guard consisted of—in addition to the guardsmen she already knew—at least two squads of stormtroopers.
Judging by the chevron patterns on their pauldrons, it was the infamous 501st Legion, but below the emblem and official designation, she could make out an inscription: "Thrawn's Fist."
Uh-huh, the symbols of the Empire never die, as long as someone knows how to use them properly.
What also baffled the girl were the cages with lizards, placed so they wouldn't get in the way of the specialists bustling across the bridge.
She had seen similar cages in some places on this ship before, but she hadn't yet noticed such a concentration as in this superstructure.
Did they have a zoo here or something?
Overall—it was a normal working atmosphere on a ship whose bow was hovering over the enemy fleet, which was engaged in intense crossfire with the Dominion ships and defense stations that had it in a semi-encirclement.
The girl was escorted all the way to a massive chair set in the middle of the central platform.
Someone was apparently sitting in it.
The girl smirked.
Well, sure. First, they loaded her with information about Tia, Kreb, the death of "Morda," Captain Horn's involvement in her sister's death, the relationship with the New Republic and the treachery of Fey'lya, the collaboration of Mon Mothma with the Iceheart…
She couldn't even remember everything she had read in that time.
And now, obviously, they had decided to "process" her completely.
Well, well, let them try.
There was no one in the galaxy she would trust at the first word.
Did they want to impress her with something?
Too late.
Nothing could surprise her anymore…
"Good day, Dia Passik," Grand Admiral Thrawn greeted her without even looking, stroking a lizard dozing on his lap. "Make yourself comfortable. I'd like to show you how the New Republic cooperates with a criminal organization known as the 'Silri Syndicate'…"
Dia had never suffered from nervous disorders.
But for some reason, her right eye twitched involuntarily right now.
So it does exist…
* * *
A boarding action always happens unexpectedly.
Even if you prepare for it on a regular basis.
"Hold on to your gadgets, boys, we've got the flagship's coordinates, we'll be there in a few minutes," the voice of the ever-cheerful Twi'lek echoed through the boarding compartment's intercom. "We're attacking a Keldabe-class battleship. Uploading all the info on it to your visors now."
The virtual display in front of his eyes flickered, unfolding into a three-dimensional image.
Scorch let out a satisfied grunt at the cheerful nature of their freelance pilot.
One of the Shadow Guards silently buried his face in his palm.
The "Deltas" habitually performed a final check of their equipment and weapons.
Everything as usual was working and ready for battle.
The entry point was known—three decks below the conning tower, routes to the objective plotted.
The mission was clear.
The work was routine.
Even the markings on the armor were familiar, even though they were fresh, without scratches or scorch marks.
And the support… it commanded respect.
TNH-0333 moved quite confidently in his new set of armor (he'd adapted quickly), constantly checking to make sure the spare tank of incendiary mixture hadn't fallen off.
"Sir," Boss addressed the Shadow Councilor sitting opposite him. "We've worked with Force-sensitive beings before. What's the plan—are you in the vanguard or bringing up the rear?"
The figure sitting in the crash-webbing, whose armor and cloak completely concealed his form and even the contours of the chair, turned his cast black helmet slightly.
A dark burgundy visor stared directly at the soldier in white-and-orange armor, clutching his DC blaster.
"We go first," his voice was also distorted by a vocoder, making it completely unclear who was before the "Deltas": a man, a woman, a member of a humanoid race, or still a human.
"Understood, sir," Boss obeyed. "We'll cover the flanks and rear."
"Accepted," replied the Shadow Guard.
To be honest, the one sitting opposite Boss, and the one who had met his palm with his visor, exuded such a chilling aura that the "Deltas" first thought the climate control on their armor had failed.
But no, everything was fine.
It was just these guys… They sent shivers down your spine.
Commandos were taught to fear nothing.
But the Shadow Guard…
Only one of them, and the Twi'lek, seemed harmless.
But Boss suspected that assessment was wrong.
Outside was the pitch-black darkness of space, in which the hurricane of a space battle raged.
Inside was only the crimson readiness light, filling the boarding compartment.
Everyone felt the collision with the enemy ship—inertia threw them towards the cockpit.
"Let's work, boys," the Twi'lek's voice rang out.
The securing ramps retracted upwards, and under the glare of the plasma cutter, the commandos formed into two groups along the future breach.
Thirty seconds—and the hole in the hull was ready.
A meter and a half in diameter and half a meter thick—this "disc" was supposed to fall onto the deck of the attacked Keldabe II.
But that same Shadow Guard Boss had been talking to—identified on the display as Darth Maul—standing directly opposite the breach, waved his hand, and the cut-out metal remained suspended in the air.
This being was a recent acquaintance.
He had helped repel the attack on Kilimorut.
A tough type.
Bloodthirsty.
And now he was instantly aboard the enemy vessel, shielding himself from the hurricane of incoming blaster fire with a thick barrier.
In his hand, a double-bladed lightsaber flared to life, dispersing the corridor's twilight, immediately turning into a blurred crimson patch.
Parrying enemy shots and redirecting them back at the foe, Darth Maul advanced like inevitability itself.
The Deltas split up.
TNH-0333 and Scorch operated in the second group, covering the right; Boss and Fixer covered the left.
Energy shields flared gold, absorbing charges of deadly energy.
The tactic of the VX-series commando droids when using these protective devices was simple: a single droid held the shield in front with its left hand, while with its right, it pushed its weapon through the energy barrier and fired its blaster.
The "Deltas" had modernized this tactic.
Boss fired from one knee, holding the energy screen in front of him, while Fixer, hiding behind his shield, could fire from a standing position.
TNH-0333 and Scorch operated similarly.
If necessary, the troopers would switch places, and the second man became the first.
Vex, moving behind them, covered the rear, but that was more of a safety measure right now.
The group had already covered a good fifty meters of the corridor, leaving only mangled bodies in their wake.
The trio of Shadow Guards moved forward like a deadly wall of crimson and violet blades.
The "Syndicate" fighters, a motley mass of beings armed with whatever they could get their hands on, vainly tried to stop them, overwhelming them with the density of their fire.
Nothing worked.
The ship's bulkhead armor, serving as protection for the vanguard, acted like a magnet, attracting more and more multi-colored blaster bolts.
The enemy seemed to have gone stupid all at once, thinking their handheld weapons could achieve what even a turbolaser needed more than one or two hits to accomplish.
At some point, when the "Deltas" switched to rocket-propelled grenades, the enemy sobered up.
The explosions and shrapnel scattered their fragile ranks, and the foe fled, intending to take cover from their pursuers at the other end of the corridor, where there was an intersection.
Turning their backs on three Shadow Guards was the biggest mistake of their lives.
Like a kinetic projectile from a mass driver cannon, the "disc" took off.
In an instant, it became a bloodthirsty pestle.
And the nearest bulkhead served as its mortar.
Half the enemies were simply smeared across the corridor's decorative panels, splattering their neighbors with blood and the contents of their guts.
The "Deltas" finished off the survivors with precision fire.
"Boss, are we really needed here?" Scorch inquired cautiously on the closed channel.
"I hope so," replied the leader of Delta Squad, finishing off a randomly surviving Syndicate fighter with an accurate shot.
"It's almost boring," Vex's voice sounded nearby.
The girl, clad in armor similar to what the Shadow Guards wore, but clearly lighter, demonstratively holstered her twin blasters.
"Commando," Darth Maul's voice came.
The Shadow Guards had reached the junction, and the whole trio, despite the absence of visible enemies, were frozen in a combat-ready stance.
"Yes, sir."
"Take another path," ordered the second Guard, the one who, bearing a "Katarn" visor, had been slapping his helmet with his palm. "We'll hold them here. Vex…"
"Don't even think about it, Reynar!"
"…you go with them!"
All Boss managed to do was switch his visor mode.
The next moment, a good dozen pale-skinned, tattooed women fell upon the trio of Shadow Guards with wild, blood-curdling shrieks and screams.
Some of them were armed with lightsabers bearing red blades, others with simple cold weapons.
Though these exuded an acrid green smoke.
The trio of Shadow Guards took the hit as an unyielding line.
They didn't retreat, didn't flinch.
Their blades turned into a haze that surrounded each Guard, a deadly ring opposing the weapons of the Dathomirian witches.
The Twi'lek rushed to the aid of the figures in black, but the third Guard, the one with the violet blade, waved his hand, and the armored doors, locked in the "open" position in the middle of the corridor, separated the combatants from the support group.
Vex, kicking the bulkhead, turned to the commandos.
"Open that door immediately!" she ordered.
Her voice was filled with concern for the fighters, and Boss guessed that the second Guard, identified on the visor as Reynar Obscuro, was more than just a comrade to her.
"Sorry, ma'am," Boss confirmed that all the fighters in his squad had their weapons at full combat readiness and had turned off their energy shields. "We have different orders."
"There's no other way here!" the Twi'lek insisted.
"That's not a problem, ma'am," Boss replied, checking the computer which marked the action points for all Dominion forces on the ship. Excellent—no "friendlies" in the kill zone. "Scorch."
"Working on it, Sergeant."
Bulkheads on ships are pretty sturdy constructions.
And if beskar had been added here, as in the early versions of the Keldabe, the "Deltas" would have had a tougher time.
Delta Squad's demolitions expert didn't keep them waiting.
Pulling thermal cords from his backpack, he and TNH-0333 placed them right on the floor.
A moment—and small metal detonator cylinders were inserted into the mass, which resembled children's modeling clay.
"Ma'am, cover your eyes," Boss advised.
"Open this Hutt-spawn door!" the girl tried to fry the control panel with her blaster, but apparently, its mechanisms had been disabled by the forced closure of the bulkheads.
Without a word, the "Deltas" turned their backs to the burn site.
White light flashed, noise hammered at the ears—even the electronics of the armor's active headphones sometimes couldn't protect against that.
When the "Deltas" turned towards the new passage, all that met their eyes were sheets of metal and wiring.
Ripped open, slightly smoking.
"Delta—entry is open," Boss commanded. "Let's move. Fixer first, the rest cover."
"Sir, permission?" TNH-0333 addressed him, raising his flamethrower. "I have a different solution."
"Do it, Sergeant."
Hot flames roared into the meter-diameter breach, sparing nothing in their path.
The flickering lights in the corridor only heightened the tension, adding even more drama to the atmosphere of animal cries and agonized gasps.
But the commandos didn't care.
They were doing their job, just as they had before.
"Ma'am," while TNH-0333 was swapping the fuel tank on his clearly beloved weapon, Boss approached Vex. "I have orders. You're coming with us. Whether you want to or not. The mission takes priority."
The girl clenched her hands into fists and shot him a venomous glare.
That was probably how she got her name.
"Let's go," she hissed through her teeth, drawing her weapon and moving towards the opening first.
But Scorch and TNH-0333, to whom Boss had given different orders over the squad's internal channel, beat her to it.
The distinct characteristic sound of energy shields activating came from below.
Then the roar of blaster fire and the roar of TNH-0333's flamethrower rang out.
"Three-Three clearly loves playing with that thing," Fixer shared his opinion with Boss as the Twi'lek dropped down.
"Effective," Boss commented on the tactics of his fellow assault commando.
"Should we tell her?" Fixer clarified, tapping his helmet's visor.
Boss understood him immediately.
"The mission takes priority," he replied.
"Understood," his teammate agreed without further comment, jumping into the breach.
Boss cast a glance at the sealed bulkhead, shook his head almost imperceptibly, and followed the squad.
Fixer's question fell into the category of complex dilemmas.
The thing was, the armor's computer registered only two live allied targets behind the blocked armored doors.
But the mission takes priority.
* * *
"Boarding parties have entered the enemy flagship," Captain Pellaeon reported, approaching Thrawn.
"Excellent," the latter replied, watching the battle. "Third group is to relocate to point zero-two-two and cut off the enemy's maneuver to break through to the generator station. Send the 'Avenger' squadron there with Major Kreb at its head—the Bothans are armed with E-wings."
"Yes, sir."
Dia silently watched as one of the New Republic's escort frigates flared up and turned into a fireball before her eyes.
Or at least, what looked like a ship with those call signs.
Though, judging by the name, these were ships from the Bothawui defense fleet, but… shouldn't she believe someone who had faked his own death when it came to the Bothans suddenly deciding to ally with criminals?
"How did you determine that this particular ship is the flagship of their entire fleet?" she asked, pointing to the Keldabe-class battleship that every single Dominion Star Destroyer and support cruiser was currently pounding with ion cannons.
Interesting tactic.
The Dominion's "Syndicate" Keldabes and Crusaders were first deprived of maneuverability and shields, then blasted with ion weapons.
Meanwhile, the New Republic's MC40a light cruisers were destroyed by turbolaser fire.
A trophy-gathering tactic.
First, the ships were attacked with turbolasers and bomber wings for immobilization, then bombarded to suppress their defensive and offensive systems.
Escort frigates, corvettes, and battleships.
Light cruisers and Mon Calamari star cruisers the Dominion showed no mercy to, carving them up with every barrel and every caliber.
"Their strategy was to strike us suddenly in the very heart of the system," Thrawn explained. "Thanks to the 'Dominating' units, they failed. The change in priorities and disruption of their original plan meant the enemy had to issue orders to change tactics."
"You tracked the ship the orders were coming from," Dia understood. "And sent a boarding party there?"
"I intend to obtain information about the 'Silri Syndicate'," Thrawn explained. "And the best way to do that is from the primary source—their leader's computer, or the leader herself."
"Silri is that Dathomirian witch who helped the 'Zann Consortium', right?" Dia clarified.
"You are well-informed. As far as I know, 'Wraith Squadron' hadn't been formed yet at the time of the 'Consortium's' defeat," the Grand Admiral stated. "Additional information?"
"I was a slave on a ship that transported goods for the 'Zann Consortium'," Dia explained.
"Please accept my condolences on that matter," Thrawn said. "Captain Pellaeon. The enemy intends to attack our bombers with 'Star Vipers' at point six-six-four. Inform Captain Bren that his pilots are in danger."
"Yes, sir."
"Belay that. 'Scimitar' squadron has already reacted to the enemy's readiness to attack."
Tia watched as a battle unfolded at the point in space the Grand Admiral had indicated between agile bombers and heavy "Star Vipers."
Apparently, the Dominion ships were the very ones that had caused the New Republic no small amount of trouble with their speed and firepower, capable of disabling entire cruisers with a single salvo.
"The Dominating units," Passik recalled. "Is that a new type of your Star Destroyers?"
"A deep modification of the 'Interdictors,' carried out with a complete replacement of components with those produced in the Dominion," Thrawn said, for some reason making no secret of it. "More weapons, smaller crew, significantly increased effective utility."
The mind in Passik's head was ready to crawl out through the pores of her lekku or push her eyes out of her skull.
What the hell was going on?
Why were they talking to her not like a prisoner of war, but like an old, dear friend they hadn't seen in years?
Was this…
Was this…
Was this even normal?
"I hold no animosity towards you, Lady Passik," Thrawn said. "Nor does any of my subordinates, to be precise."
"But you're holding me captive."
"On the contrary, you are a guest. However, I must apologize for the destruction of your home and the manner in which you were brought here," Thrawn's voice was like the purr of a contented animal. "As soon as our mechanics finish repairing your 'X-wing,' you will receive compensation for your lost property and are free to go wherever you wish."
"Is this some kind of joke?" Dia doubted the sanity of Thrawn's words.
"No," he disagreed. "Captain, two light cruisers are preparing to attack the 'Mercenaries' Spine.' Inform Captain Vigor to veer two vectors to starboard and cover the station with his broadside. Inform the commandant to dispatch two additional squadrons of TIE Interceptors to protect the 'Raider': the 'Star Vipers' will attack under the cover of the cruisers."
"Understood, sir."
"What is this all for?!" Dia couldn't contain herself.
"Pardon?" For the first time since she had appeared on the bridge, Thrawn showed an interest in her and looked her in the eyes.
"What are you trying to achieve?" Passik asked. "Sending your people to Ryloth, buying slaves to grant them freedom? Why?! This clearly isn't out of Imperial kindness! Are you throwing dust in my eyes to show me you're not the pure evil you are? Sending your pilot, dragging me here, explaining things, fixing my 'X-wing,' paying me money for my own house that burned down through my own fault, if your pet Twi'lek is to be believed… I don't understand! Your hands are soaked in innocent blood up to your elbows, and you're wasting time trying to look like a nice guy to me?!"
"Vex is not my 'pet Twi'lek,'" Thrawn corrected her gently. "According to my information, she is the beloved of the Dark Guard Reynar Obscuro. And they are both, by the way, currently on the enemy flagship. Securing information that interests me—and you as well."
"You didn't answer my questions!"
"Yes, we buy slaves from Ryloth. And from Hutt Space, too. And from many other places in the galaxy. We relocate them to the Dominion and grant them freedom in exchange for citizenship. That is our society."
"You buy slaves to make slaves of them, just under a different sauce?" Dia sneered.
"We act in accordance with requests from their relatives," Thrawn corrected. "One way or another, among the inhabitants or citizens of the Dominion, there are beings whose relatives are in slavery. No, we are not altruists. We buy beings out of bondage and offer them work and life in the Dominion. They are free to refuse—but in that case, the cost of their 'purchase' falls on the shoulders of those who asked us to do so. Such cases are rare, but they happen."
"And you play on the gratitude of the 'rescued'?"
"Yes," Thrawn simply confessed to the inhumanity.
"You are despicable!"
"Watch your tongue, female!" A grey-skinned creature appeared before the pilot, brandishing black blades in his hands. "Do not insult my master!"
"And here's another slave," Dia said contemptuously.
"Noghri are not slaves!" the grey-skinned one declared. "Noghri chose to serve the Grand Admiral after he revealed to us the Empire's deception regarding our people."
"I see no point in arguing," the girl's gaze shifted to Thrawn, and the little grey-skinned freak instantly vanished from her field of vision. "You don't fight slavery! You promote the slave trade."
"That is partly true," Thrawn agreed. "You are correct. I have no excuse. Seven million, eight hundred seventy-two thousand, six hundred and eleven."
"Twi'leks are developed enough not to believe in the magic of numbers."
"That's no accusation of your people being dim-witted," Thrawn explained. "That number is the count of Twi'leks who have been bought out of slavery from your own kind on Ryloth. Add another fourteen thousand two hundred nineteen sentients to that figure — those who chose not to remain in the Dominion after being ransomed. Interesting math, Dia Passik, isn't it? Twi'leks selling Twi'leks into slavery, we buy them out, grant them citizenship, work, housing, help them develop their culture and honor Twi'lek traditions in their national enclaves. I'm not even mentioning the secondary and higher education children from Ryloth receive when they come to the Dominion. I'm not mentioning how uncompromisingly cruel we are, mandating that parents send their children to educational institutions for a full secondary education. I'm not mentioning the Twi'lek doctors, pilots, mechanics, merchants, artisans who work in the Dominion after receiving favorable loans to develop their businesses. I'm only saying that we buy Twi'leks from Twi'leks and give them the chance to become full, unoppressed citizens. And you — a Twi'lek sold into slavery by your own adoptive father to buy a flux condenser for an old starship so he could return to the Zann Consortium — you condemn me for slave trading? Fine, so be it. On those terms, I agree to be a slave-trading Grand Admiral. I pledge to add that prefix to my title, if you can answer me one question. But if you can't, then you will fulfill one request of mine. One conversation with a person I will designate."
Dia felt a flicker of hope at humiliating the arrogant enemy.
After all, even if she lost, she had nothing to lose.
"Agreed!"
This would be fun.
"How many of your kin have been ransomed from slavery by Ryloth's inhabitants in the past year?" Thrawn asked. "The number matters less to me than their names, their stories, and the ones who did it."
Dia felt stung.
Thrawn, you sarlacc, knew exactly where to strike with his questions.
"I know nothing about that," she was forced to admit defeat, realizing Thrawn had known the answer beforehand.
"Let's broaden the criteria," the Grand Admiral offered. "How many pirate gangs, slave-trading cartels, and other criminal scum have stopped appearing on the galactic stage since I and the Dominion took up the task of cleansing the galaxy? How many of them were destroyed by the New Republic, which positions itself as a democratic state? You surely know this answer, since you've worked closely and still work with smugglers of all kinds. And they spread rumors very quickly."
"Don't tell me you're behind the destruction of the Cavrilhu pirates!" Passik flared up.
"Lieutenant Colonel," Thrawn said, and a tall man seemed to materialize from the ground beside him. "File on the operation against the Cavrilhu pirates."
"Yes, sir." The man spent three seconds recording a data crystal on his deck and handing it to Thrawn.
Then the Grand Admiral himself passed it into Passik's hands.
This... was this a joke?
"The Luminii pirates!" Dia spoke again.
"Lieutenant Colonel!"
"Yes, sir!"
"The Zonju pirates!"
"Lieutenant Colonel!"
"Three seconds, sir. Done."
"Slave traders?" Dia asked uncertainly.
"Lieutenant Colonel?"
"I need at least a minute, sir, over a hundred and thirty reports," the man muttered.
After the designated time, he handed over the chip, and the procedure of its migration to Dia repeated.
"Fine!" she exclaimed. "I give up!"
"Captain," Thrawn addressed the commander of his star super-destroyer, still watching the Twi'lek woman. "We have a breakthrough brewing on the right flank. Move two cruisers into reserve and strike with bombers."
"Aye, sir."
Dia felt panic rising.
How did he even know if he wasn't looking out the viewport?
Was the Grand Admiral a Jedi or something?
If so, that would explain a lot...
"There's a duplicate tactical display behind you," Thrawn answered the unspoken question.
Dia turned around.
Indeed.
What an idiot.
"In that case, since our agreement is fulfilled, it's time for my request." The Grand Admiral showed no reaction to her defeat. He didn't even laugh! Didn't smile! "I ask you to speak with Major Kreb when he returns from his mission. One conversation. After that, you are free to go wherever you wish."
"What's the catch?" Dia tensed. "A mine on my X-Wing? A nav computer glitch?"
"No," Thrawn replied. "I only want Major Kreb to have the chance to talk with you as the relative of the one who had his back during a mission. The relative of the one he convinced to leave a criminal and doomed path. The relative of the one he valued but never managed to say the important words to her face before he lost her."
"Are... are you in your right mind, Thrawn?" Dia asked quietly. "You want to cure your pilot's psychological trauma using me?"
"I only want two sentients who lost a Twi'lek dear to both of them to talk to each other," the Grand Admiral said softly. "Perhaps you'll learn something new about your sister, perhaps Major Kreb will be freed from his obsessive guilt. After all, you both have a similar problem."
"What do you mean?"
"Circumstances prevented both of you from personally dealing with those responsible for your loved ones' deaths," the Grand Admiral explained. "Such wounds don't heal. They're like a black hole that swallows everything: strength, aspirations, emotions. Ruin or death — that's what awaits such sentients."
"Time... heals," Dia's voice cracked to a rasp.
"Not true," Thrawn countered. "Bacta heals. Kolto heals. A Jedi healer, at worst. Psychological trauma and mental barriers — you either step over them and live on, or you die beneath their weight."
"So that's your tactic, is it?" the girl defended desperately, repeating a saving thought. "You kidnap Twi'leks to heal your pilots' emotional wounds?"
"You may think so," Thrawn allowed. "The irony of this situation is that my last words applied not only to Major Kreb."
Dia felt like crying from the feelings of loss that the Grand Admiral had disturbed and packed right to the edge of her memory.
She was barely holding them back as it was, to keep from going mad, losing her mind in an alcoholic haze.
And now the fragile film holding back the pain had been shamelessly torn apart by this blue bas... tard.
May a rancor eat you, Thrawn, what kind of monster are you?
"Why are you doing this to me?" Passik asked through tears streaming down her face. "What did I ever do to you?"
"Nothing," the Grand Admiral answered calmly. "As I said — it's not about you. This galaxy is sick, and the disease is progressing, about to turn into gangrene that will infect trillions. And to minimize the damage, I need the best doctors of their kind."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Perhaps you are one of those operating room staff who will help my surgeons get through the operation."
* * *
"Ma'am, Darth Ziilenlos's ships haven't arrived at the rendezvous point!" the commander of her flagship reported.
"I know that myself!" the witch snapped. "Contact him and find out what's going on!"
"Ma'am, we're receiving an encoded message from him," the communications officer told her uncertainly.
"What does he have to say in his defense?"
"'Betrayal is the path to the Dark Side,'" the comms officer read the text, swallowing nervously and glancing fearfully at her.
And not without reason.
The next moment, his neck was snapped by force telekinesis.
"The next one who brings me bad news, I'll flay alive myself!" the witch snarled.
"Ma'am," the first officer, covered in sweat, showed up before her nearly weeping. "The crew reports numerous boarding pods attached to our hull. Boarding party on board. Your witches are fighting them, our soldiers too, but the forces are unequal. We've lost the hyperdrive compartment and the engine room..."
He screamed.
Silri silently carried out her threat.
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