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***
The Nebulon-B-class escort frigate named the Angelus was no young starship.
It had long served with the Alliance to Restore the Republic.
It had traveled from being a ship built at the Kuat Drive Yards for the Imperial Starfleet to a vessel captured by Rebel Alliance operatives many years ago.
And since then, it had repeatedly served as a flagship for a small formation during patrols of remote territories.
In principle, the history of this class of starship was interesting in itself.
Developed to fight remnant Separatist holdouts, it nonetheless proved effective against Alliance starships, originally designed to repel starfighter attacks.
In the Rebel Alliance, and later the New Republic, this ship type was often used not only as small flagships but also as hospital ships, saving soldiers' lives directly on the battlefield.
But today, the Angelus served as the flagship for the entire New Republic flotilla force.
Anyone would have said this decision would bring death to the commander and total disorganization of the forces.
But Admiral Trell'yar did not think so.
He understood perfectly well who they were going to fight.
And he knew the worth of his allies.
He wasn't even surprised that, instead of the promised number of starships, the New Republic's allies had brought only half of what they pledged to the Karthakk system.
It was no secret to him that the enemy would clearly try to destroy or disable the main line forces of the united fleet.
The Dominion often did this — they eliminated the most serious opponent first on the battlefield.
Almost always.
But light ships of very specific types, the Dominion preferred to capture.
Probably their brains worked a little better, and instead of a "zoo" in their own fleet, the Dominion preferred to unify their forces regarding the types of starships they used and captured.
Trell'yar sat calmly, watching the battle unfold.
Taking a sip of wine from his glass, he smiled when he was informed that Dominion landing craft had docked with the Angelus.
"Offer no resistance," he ordered.
The calculation was disgustingly simple.
As always, among those who started their careers in the special operations units of Bothan intelligence.
Trell'yar had already encountered the consequences of battles against superior Dominion forces.
Admiral Trell'yar.
He was the very commander of the Bothan fleet who came to General Solo's aid after the Battle of Honoghr.
More precisely, after Han Solo's beating at Honoghr.
Not under his real name, of course, but there were justified reasons for that.
He was the one who advised Fey'lya and the ruling clans not to send the Bothan fleet to the coordinates where Grand Admiral Thrawn was located near the planet Soulex.
Simply because he clearly understood: the situation reeked of enemy deception.
Just like when the group of Bothans, including himself, obtained data on the construction and status of the second "Death Star."
The vulnerable target turned out to be a well-planned trap.
Funny enough, upon receiving the order for the Bothan forces to oppose the Dominion in the system, and then the Karthakk sector, Admiral Trell'yar also suspected it was a trap.
That's why he moved his "flag" from the Mon Calamari star cruiser to an escort frigate.
A better chance of surviving such a meat grinder.
Trell'yar wasn't worried about his future.
He had stopped being afraid a long time ago.
When was the last time?
Several years ago, when the department of the late General Cracken obtained data on his work for the Galactic Empire and tried to arrest him, he had to go underground on his homeworld of Bothawui.
Yes, Cracken himself assumed that he and his men wouldn't easily capture Trell'yar and bring charges against him.
Back then, Councilor Fey'lya had staunchly defended his, Trell'yar's, innocence, but the matter could only be finally resolved by interrogating the missing Bothan himself.
And he, of course, had no intention of cooperating with the New Republic's investigation.
He knew perfectly well how it would end.
It was simpler to hide and keep a low profile.
Change his name, partially his appearance, and adjust his profession — from spy to fleet officer.
In memory of everything he had done in the past, the Bothans promoted him to a key military post when they saw his successes in that field.
Besides, they owed him a very, very great deal.
He lived under a false name for almost three years, until the Bothans took the power rightfully theirs in the New Republic.
And now he could come out of the shadows.
Considering that the enemy in the Karthakk system had clearly prepared for an attack, part of the Silri Syndicate's forces never arrived, and the available ships were insufficient for victory, Trell'yar let the situation and the battle take their course.
Almost immediately after the battle began, the Dominion cut off all communications in the system, and Trell'yar simply couldn't control the actions of the New Republic's starships.
Contacting command to report what was happening was also impossible.
All that remained was to enjoy the masterful beating of the Silri Syndicate's fleet.
And wait to be captured.
Trell'yar had no doubt that he, like the other Bothans, would soon be exchanged by the Dominion.
At the very least, he himself was too valuable to President Fey'lya and other Bothan authorities for them to leave him to rot in the captivity of the Dominion and their interrogators.
So, there was nothing to worry about...
With a characteristic hiss, the armored doors opened, and stormtroopers in white armor with Dominion markings appeared on the bridge.
"Nobody move, and you will... live," the stormtrooper commander said the last word when he saw the calm raising of hands by the Bothan specialists standing a couple of meters away from their personal blasters, neatly stacked on the holographic terminal.
"We surrender," Trell'yar grinned, looking at the bewildered soldiers of the 501st Legion.
* * *
Each of the Nulls loved a good fight.
Just like their mentor, Kal Skirata.
But he also hammered into their heads the idea of a different kind of victory.
There were better ways to outsmart an opponent than simply walking over their dead bodies.
The Nulls had been proven right about this over the thirty years since their desertion.
And so, without any pangs of conscience, they worked, cutting through a bulkhead with a plasma cutter.
"Ordo told me this would be easy," said Jaing, carefully burning through the metal, avoiding contact between the plasma and the wiring.
"Nothing is ever easy," Kom'rk replied, stripping the insulation from power cables and connecting to the wires with clamps.
Finding the right code combination wasn't difficult for an experienced and intelligent saboteur.
The door panels slid apart.
"Let's go," Kom'rk called to his brother.
Unlike the other Nulls, he spoke less.
But his personality matched — cheerful, good-natured, inventive.
Jaing followed his brother.
They moved through the technical sections, bypassing the locks on blast doors and lowered bulkheads.
The enemy was isolating parts of the ship from each other with the clear intention of trapping the intruders and bringing their troops to them.
The Skirata Clan and their allies weren't idle either.
The approaches to their position were heavily mined, and automatic turrets were set up.
It wouldn't hold the enemy for long, of course, but it would give them a hell of a time.
The necessary time required to reach the central computer and navigation database would still be gained.
Kom'rk and Jaing were handling the first objective.
The Yayax Squad guys — the second.
The rest were just playing their roles.
A pair of Nulls moved through the empty technical corridor, ready to open fire at any moment.
The only lighting was the red glow of emergency lamps, just enough to push back the darkness, letting them see their surroundings in familiar shapes with good clarity.
The night vision filters in their visors had been turned off back when Null-6 and Null-10 separated from their brothers and crawled through a garbage chute into the adjacent ship section.
Reaching another locked maintenance hatch, Kom'rk opened it with the same ease.
A wave of heat washed over both of them, which would definitely have burned their eyes if they weren't wearing sealed armor suits.
"And here's the sauna," Jaing joked.
Null-6 made no comment about the fact that they had entered the reactor cooling shaft.
Why bother, when both knew perfectly well this was exactly where they were heading?
There were several ways to reach the central computer, or rather, its core.
Those who worked with MandalMotors technology knew this.
The Skirata Clan did.
Delta Squad didn't.
So, let them head for the main terminal; the Nulls would connect through the power and life-support channel.
Jaing fired a grappling hook, casting it across the shaft, creating a path over the ten-meter gap.
Falling inside would have unpleasant consequences involving pain, death, and most likely, being roasted on the side.
In any order, it was unpleasant.
Null-11 checked the cable's fastenings, then slid along the line first.
His kama fluttered in the air as he silently flew downward — not bad for an 85-kilogram man in full gear.
The cable was set at an angle.
So, from their hatch, they would enter the one a level below on the opposite side.
Why?
Because their target was there, one level down.
Kom'rk took a breath and hesitated before following his brother, who had just opened the lower hatch and crawled inside.
Not much longer now.
He landed next to Jaing, who helped him get inside and not fall.
Both were back in a technical tunnel.
But this one wasn't as comfortable as the previous one.
Despite the helmet's active noise-canceling, the rhythm of the reactor's fully automatic cycle pulsed continuously.
The only crew here now were droids.
The entire ship's complement was on alert, trying to kill the intruders.
That was the plan — when they finished, they'd just slip away somewhere far without much fighting.
Better yet, without any fighting at all, because otherwise it would be awkward to explain why there were corpses deep in enemy territory, in the central part of the ship, when all the clone commandos were supposed to be operating in the superstructure.
Of course, the Dominion would figure it out eventually, but when would that be?
By then, the clan would have solved all its problems.
Another twenty minutes of crawling through a network of tunnels meant for droids, and both Nulls reached their goal.
"There it is," Jaing opened the exhaust maintenance hatch, making sure no one was nearby, and climbed out first.
Kom'rk followed.
Null-10 pointed to what looked like a row of large power shields arranged around a central column of thick cables.
"I hate dust," Kom'rk said, standing up to his full height and looking regretfully at the centimeter-thick layer of dust on the floor. "Don't they ever clean in here?"
"I bet they don't even know a tertiary control terminal exists," Jaing chuckled. "At MandalMotors, they used to joke that it was created specifically to have a place to send a crew member as punishment."
Kom'rk, along with his brother, began carefully inspecting and then opening the panels of the backup control terminals.
No, no alarms, no traps.
Even the hinges and locks were rusty.
A Mandalorian blade instead of a key — and there it was, they had full access to the panels blinking with hundreds of lights.
No one in their right mind would check the operation of every single system and automatic device on a ship.
Not if the control panels reported that everything was normal, as the manufacturer intended.
The racks with control boards inside were feeding the specified information to various lower-level computers, which passed it on to the ship's more important parts, dictating the thousands of parameters required for the starship's operation.
You could say that two Nulls had just exposed one of the neural nodes of the entire dreadnought.
And it was time for a small operation.
"You know, I have a feeling that Dominion soldier was right," said Kom'rk, finding the necessary data port.
"Which one?" Jaing inquired, performing the same task synchronously. "Root directory, looking for the 'Main Systems' section."
"Copy that. The one Kal'buir talked to."
"Need to sync the input. Decided that Mandalorians are building ships for the Silri Syndicate?"
"It looks different externally... Found what we need."
"Me too. 'Alpha' channel."
"Copy that. But notice — this Keldabe is upgraded. But inside — it's like the first version. Isn't that strange?"
"More strangeness than normality," Jaing philosophically replied. "Select 'Diagnostic Connection.'"
"Done. I don't like that someone might have Mandalorian technology, brother."
"That's why we're here," Jaing chuckled. "We'll find where they build these tubs, who builds them, and have some fun."
"Only if they're behind the attack on Kal'buir," said Kom'rk, continuing his work.
Jaing clicked his tongue and nodded, figuring something out in his mind before speaking.
"If everything that happened on Mandalore was a setup, then we have to make sure MandalMotors technology stays in the hands of our people," he finally answered.
"Monopolism? I'm done."
"I don't see anything wrong with that," Jaing was clipping bypass cables onto contacts above and below the port to isolate it. "Bypassing firewall protection."
A synchronous entry was necessary to make the central computer perceive the further work as diagnostics, not unauthorized hacking.
"The Dominion already has ships of Mandalorian design, you know," Kom'rk reminded him.
"You sure that's enough for them?" Jaing asked.
"They're clearly producing Crusaders somewhere," said Null-5. "Besides, I heard a couple of Keldabes similar to this one were spotted in the D'Astan sector. So the Dominion is clearly producing such starships."
"Okay... But maybe they were all captured from the Silri Syndicate?" Jaing suggested.
Kom'rk sighed.
He was extremely patient for a Null.
"Look," said Jaing. He removed the bypass contacts and attached them to the contacts of a side vertical port away from the panel. A few more boards connected to his deck replaced the real ones. "Either way, the Silri Syndicate is definitely producing ships using technology stolen from MandalMotors. Agreed?"
"Naturally."
"So we find out where, who, and how they do it."
"Ordo thinks it's Rothana."
"I quite agree with him."
"In that case, we have several options. First — the Silri Syndicate is behind the attack on Mandalore. And everything the Dominion said is true. Then we clearly have to stop them, remove the clones from the Mandalorian government, and take care of the planet ourselves."
"Kal'buir would have wanted that," Kom'rk agreed. "The second, as I understand it — the Dominion is using us for its own purposes, and the attack is their doing, with everything happening being a simulation."
"Mercenaries have always been bought, are bought, and will be bought," Jaing agreed. "Therefore, we can't rule out the possibility that even this battle is staged to earn our trust."
"Since they're creating a clone army from Boba Fett, they need our anti-aging medicine. And our mental copies of minds for training new commandos."
"I'm sure the Dominion has already gotten what it wants."
"The Deltas?"
"Those very ones. The Boss always had a soft spot for service, not a free life. If the Empire hadn't treated clones like cattle, they'd still be serving."
"I know. So, our agreement or refusal won't change anything," Kom'rk concluded.
"Regarding building an army — yes," Jaing agreed. "However, notice. Mandalorian Crusader-class corvets do an excellent job of covering larger ships."
"That's what they were designed for."
"Yes. Now imagine what happens. If the Dominion, by right of might, captures not only Kamino but also the so-called Rothana, where the Syndicate produces these ships? I assume the Dominion is right, and at the very least, modifications to the original design were made by MandalMotors engineers."
"The Dominion is already producing these ships."
"That's an assumption. The only fact is that the Syndicate has such shipyards. Yes," Jaing cursed. "The Syndicate is producing them. On Rothana. I just found confirmation in the central computer. Keldabe... Hmm... modular assembly only. So they haven't upgraded the yards for dreadnoughts. They produce them in pieces, then assemble them. Like Kuat Drive Yards does with their ships, starting with the Venator-class Star Destroyers. We need this."
"Starting the copy," Kom'rk responded.
The simultaneous entry allowed them parallel access to their own equipment as well.
What one saw, the other saw too.
And while one Null, more familiar with MandalMotors technology, searched for what was needed, the second copied what was found.
It was a precise calculation: they saved time and did their job exactly as required.
"There's a difference between assembly from Mandalorian blueprints and under Mandalorian supervision, and the reverse engineering the Dominion is probably using," said Jaing. "Quality and all that. But, either way, whichever option is correct, including a third one — which is best for listing all questions and illogicalities, including the most incredible, and therefore the most plausible, version that both the Dominion and the Syndicate are controlled by a third party. And everything we know is just half-truths."
"'Half' at best," Kom'rk corrected him.
"I decided to be an optimist," Jaing snorted. "Now, this is more interesting..."
"Data on Mandalore?" Null-6 tensed up.
"Yes," Jaing said slowly.
Apparently, he was currently assessing the information.
Null-Six also joined in this activity.
"So, there are clones on Mandalore after all," he said.
"A significant portion of MandalMotors scientists and engineers," Jaing confirmed. "Planted a long time ago, back when the Zann Consortium controlled the corporation."
"Using old resources?"
"Probably," Jaing agreed. "Wait. No. The replacement happened last year."
"Ten years after Tyber Zann took control of MandalMotors."
"Hmm... The magic number. Every time I hear about ten years, I immediately think of Tipoca City."
"You're not alone, brother. And... so what does it mean? The Zann Consortium captured our scientists, then cloned them, and the Syndicate sent ready-made clones in their place?"
"In general terms, I think that's how it was. What, not a bad combination, is it? You remember that Zann only got something from MandalMotors once or twice?"
"The Keldabe and the Crusaders."
"Yes. Let's assume he sent his Vultures, knocked out the minds he needed, took blood samples, copied their consciousness, and then calmly created clones for himself on Kamino all this time. But he didn't finish — the Empire and the New Republic tore apart the Zann Consortium."
"However, control over Kamino and Rothana remained with Silri."
"Yes, she built her Syndicate on the ruins, put a rancor to its nose, realized clones are great, but having the originals is even better, and swapped them. Now real specialists work for her, and the clones are on Mandalore."
"Jaing, the difference in knowledge between the clones and the originals is ten years. That... Ah, right, what am I saying. Recopying minds and 're-uploading.'"
"Exactly. You break into the target's house at night, administer a sedative, copy their brain, upload it into a clone. In the morning, the clone with a headache goes to work, and the original is shipped off to work on Rothana."
"And a double success. On one hand, you have your own people inside the weapons development organization who can pass on all the latest innovations to you; on the other, they're also working under your whip. I suspect quite a few clones of Mandalorian engineers were created."
"Trouble..."
"It's been worse. Copying the clones' names for identification. Oh, Fenn Shysa is on the list too."
Kom'rk swore quietly.
"That's not what I wanted to hear," he admitted.
"But I wanted to find exactly this. Read the third paragraph from the bottom. Date of blood sample collection."
Null-6 swore again.
"They couldn't have created a stable clone in less than a year!"
"The Dominion does it."
"That's Spaarti technology. Mandalorians would have noticed that Fenn changed and became duller."
"Logical. Accepted. As a working hypothesis. But it doesn't explain why the Protectors attacked us."
"You think it's the third option after all?"
"I think this whole thing stinks so bad I need new filters for my armor. Either way, but... Kom'rk, just look... File 0810-22/457. Operation 'Substitution.'"
"I see the same thing you do..."
Kom'rk swore again.
"And I was wondering how the hell Tyber Zann managed to so cleverly plunge the entire galaxy into corruption and chaos. All key planets, hundreds of sectors..." he muttered. "It's clones all the way down, clones riding clones."
"I pictured that. Please don't say that again. I have a vivid imagination."
"So the Dominion is right? The Northern sectors are almost completely under Zann's control?"
"Half the galaxy is run by clones here. And notice — many of them took their positions much earlier than ten years after Zann captured Kamino. Last year, two years before that..."
"Zann has some other cloning system."
"Or an acceleration process for creating clones. This is nasty."
"What's nastier is something else," said Kom'rk. "I just calculated... How big is Thrawn's cloning facility, if he can simultaneously crew a couple of Star Destroyers?"
"Hmm... Prudii was saying that in Karthakk, two mobile labs aboard Acclamators are handling this."
"Let's assume it's Spaarti. Then it turns out Thrawn either has several hundred thousand cloning cylinders that produce a large number of specialists once a year, or he can also accelerate clone production."
Silence fell.
"I know what you're thinking," Jaing admitted reluctantly. "So the copies of the Deltas will come onto the galactic stage clearly not in a year, but, say... sooner. Which means our time buffer is minimal."
"That's a very bad guess. But it explains why Thrawn needs Kamino. Millions of cloning cylinders, plus a system to accelerate their production... He'll create a clone army that will make the Grand Army of the Republic look like it's slowly melting in a corner. And once rumors start spreading across the galaxy that troopers in white armor with Jango Fett's face are back in charge, imagine how many of our clone brothers will decide to shake off the rust? He'll have both a clone army and clone instructors all at once."
"For genetic treatment against aging, many would openly agree to serve him," Jaing agreed.
"And on top of that, he'll have Rothana in his hands. Our engineers. Mandalorian technology... Before we know it, we'll be living in a reincarnation of the Galactic Empire. Only not with dear Palpatine at the helm, but with a damned dangerous bastard in a Grand Admiral's uniform running the show. Genetic data on clones across the galaxy will only play into his hands."
"Blackmail, intimidation, elimination, and replacement with his own clones," Jaing listed the alternatives.
"It all sounds very, very bad," Null-6 said. "A clone army on Mandalorian ships, led by Thrawn. The galaxy won't just burst into flames — we'll be lucky to survive in such a hell."
"Kom'rk," Jaing called to his brother.
"Yeah?"
"I asked you not to say anything that would break my wild imagination," Jaing reminded him.
"Yeah, but something has to be done about this," Null-6 said. "I'm seeing hacking attempts on the network. Coming from the main terminal."
"That's Fixer. The Deltas reached the central computer," Jaing explained thoughtfully. "There's no time to consult Ordo. Fine. I'm making an unpopular decision on my own. You have a copy, don't you?"
"A full copy of all the central computer's data will be ready in two minutes. Records, operations, access codes, contacts..."
"Good," Jaing's nervous laugh came through. "I think I know what needs to be done..."
"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Kom'rk clarified.
"No one is going to like this," Null-10 assured him.
* * *
Fixer worked with absorption.
He pulled the control boards from a pouch on his belt and ran a probe over them one by one.
To Vex, he gave the impression of a kindred spirit — a man who would never let any inanimate object get the better of him — but his work was slow going nonetheless.
"Need help?" the girl asked, glancing at the Delta Squad technician.
"Shab," Fixer muttered. "No, ma'am, I've got it."
One board remained in his hands, now connected to the deck by a thin optical cable.
The commando was staring at the terminal in front of him, as if trying to guess which slot to insert it into.
"Sure?"
"Yes, ma'am," Fixer tapped the clasp on his collar, removed his helmet, and ran a gloved palm across his forehead. It glistened with sweat in the dim light from the HUD. "It's not the first time I've dealt with tech."
"Then why are you so tense, like you're seeing all this stuff for the first time?" Vex tried not to worry about the delay.
Or about the absence of two commandos.
They'd apparently gone into Silri's quarters, but nothing had been heard from them since.
Absolutely nothing.
"Ma'am," Fixer seemed to grind his teeth. "I'm not used to working with someone breathing down my neck. It makes my muscles clench, and it makes me anxious and nervous."
"Fair enough," Vex agreed. "When a woman is standing behind a man, it's nerve-wracking. Who knows what she's holding, or what she's planning."
"Yes, ma'am," the clone nodded mechanically, plugging in his connector. He stopped, froze. Rivulets of sweat ran down his head. "Ma'am, that's not what I meant."
Vex stared at him for a moment.
And for some reason, she felt a twinge of guilt toward him and couldn't understand why.
"Not used to working in a team with a young and beautiful Twi'lek?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You always operate exclusively as a boys' band?"
"We were born and trained to work as a team," Fixer said, digging through the data on his deck's screen. "We know what our brother will do in the next second. Each of us is an extension of the other. We think almost identically. We're trained almost identically. We know our brothers as well as we know ourselves. Unforeseen factors slow us down. Like this system," he glared at the terminal with hatred. "It's running at maximum but it's lagging, like its processor is loaded with some very, very complex, resource-intensive process. I'm trying to shut down all peripheral systems to free up at least a little processing power for my work."
"Are you delicately hinting that I'm interfering with your work?" Vex clarified.
"Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am," he added, catching himself. "The process is automated, programs are running, and..."
"It's been a while since anyone blushed in my presence," Vex chuckled, smiling. "Alright, get to work. I won't embarrass you."
"Thank you, ma'am."
Walking over to Boss, the Twi'lek asked, "Doesn't your subordinates' prolonged absence bother you, Sergeant? They should have been back by now."
"No, ma'am," the leader of the Deltas apparently didn't like to talk while working. "They'll manage."
"I don't like that you're giving your troopers orders outside the usual comm channels, Sergeant."
Boss turned his visor toward her.
"My apologies, ma'am. We're used to working like this — alone behind enemy lines. They don't often send anyone else with us."
"This time they did," Vex narrowed her eyes. "Any contact with the Shadow Guards?"
"Yes, ma'am," Boss replied. "They've been extracted to the evac zone and sent to the flagship."
"I want details, starting now!" the girl snapped, grabbing the clone by his chest plate. "Why am I the last to find out about everything?"
"My fault," Boss didn't argue. "The Shadow Guards engaged in combat. Guard Stryn was killed. Darth Maul..."
"I don't give a damn about him! Obscuro?"
"Wounded, but he'll live."
"Any permanent damage?"
"A few new scars, ma'am. Nothing that would put him out of action permanently. Would you mind letting go of me?"
"First, you put away that thing you're poking into my stomach. I already have a man. And I only let him poke various things into my body," she shared from personal experience.
"My apologies, ma'am. It's a blaster pistol. Reflex draw," Boss admitted, holstering the weapon the same moment Vex stopped shaking him by the armor.
"Don't hide information about Obscuro from me again!" she warned.
"Ma'am, we're not used to being distracted from work," Boss admitted. "Your reaction might have interfered..."
The Twi'lek grimaced in displeasure.
"Don't talk nonsense," she said. "I've seen him on the brink of death more times than I can count. An information vacuum worries me more than you can imagine."
"Understood, ma'am. It won't happen again."
Vex was silent for a moment.
"Is he really okay?" she asked.
"A little time in a bacta tank and he'll be good as new. At least, that's what Scorch assured me. And he knows wounds."
The Twi'lek gave a strained smile.
"Well, good," she said. "I guess people like us really do get in your way when you're working, don't we?"
Boss remained silent.
Why speak when it was obvious?
"If you don't change your minds about staying, I'll recommend that you not be tied to work with other squads," the girl said, looking at Fixer, who was cursing under his breath.
"We'd appreciate that, ma'am. And yes, we intend to stay."
"If it's not a secret, why?"
"We were built for war. We know how to fight. We love to fight. As military units, not mercenaries. Though, we are a bit uncomfortable that we'll be getting a salary now..."
The girl laughed.
"If you don't want a salary, you can transfer it to me," she offered. "I promise, in gratitude, I'll buy you various treats."
"Treats, ma'am?"
"Ever had ice cream? Sweets?"
"Yeah, once or twice, ma'am."
"Like it?"
"Not the most calorie-dense food. We're fine with field rations, MREs, and barracks food. Especially since it's quite nutritious in the Dominion, almost like in the Grand Army of the Republic."
"Was it different in the Empire?"
"Toward the end of our service to the Galactic Empire, the rations were increasingly designed for humans, not clones. Every year, it became clearer where things were heading."
"I see... Well, I hope you'll enjoy more than just the food here," Vex wished. "Your partner sure is taking his time."
"Fixer is one of the best tech specialists I've ever had the honor of serving with, ma'am. Only the Nulls are better. If there's anything to extract from this computer, he'll get it."
"There won't be!" Fixer shouted. "Lady Vex, grab the second deck — we have big problems!"
The Twi'lek didn't need to be asked twice.
* * *
Easy to say — you go to that corridor.
In practice, it meant moving across a distance filled with enemies ready to defend.
Corridors, compartments, passages...
Almost every room was packed with foes desperately resisting the invasion of the Dominion defenders.
Ha, and all it took was crossing one deck to reach the flagship's bridge.
Considering there was no other way out from here, Silri had to be on the bridge.
Otherwise...
Otherwise, it was all for nothing.
Fodeum turned to look at the path he and his students had taken.
Walls, decks, and bulkheads splattered with the blood and brains of enemy soldiers; chunks of bodies, cleaved by lightsabers or torn into hideous pieces with the Force.
A slaughter, not a battle.
Then again... was there any point in grieving?
The Jensaarai exist to protect the Dominion.
Those beings wearing the uniforms and insignia of the Silri Syndicate were undoubtedly enemies.
And they came directly into Dominion territory.
Yes, they were lured here — otherwise Thrawn wouldn't have set the trap that caught an entire fleet.
But who asked them to come?
Technically, the Jensaarai were within their rights.
Though they had violated that very principle more than once.
Fodeum even laughed.
The Saarai-kaar stated that the Order would operate within the Dominion, protecting it from enemies, both external and internal.
But how many times had the Jensaarai already fought beyond Dominion territory, acting, as was proper, as elite forces?
Good thing they weren't put in command of troops, like the Republic did with the Jedi.
That option had been tried before.
It didn't work out very well.
"Master, isn't it time we stopped resting?" Magash Drashi asked.
Fodeum looked at his student.
She was burning with unquenchable rage.
Well, no surprise there.
Silri had used her as a disposable toy, a suicide bomber.
Deceived her, promised she would definitely survive if she poisoned the Dominion command and initiated the detonation of the fake Spaarti cloning cylinders.
Thrawn had opened the girl's eyes to the truth.
Of course, Magash wanted to rip out Silri's guts.
And to do it in a particularly perverse, cruel form of unrestrained violence.
In the best traditions of Dathomirian witches.
"Calm down, woman," Fodeum groaned, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "By the way, did you notice that in this part of the ship, around the bridge, it's like several decks have been removed? Who, I ask, needs ten-meter-high ceilings in a place like this?"
"You're right, Master," Gantoris confirmed. "Standard deck height is three and a half meters. Someone made this huge space here for a reason."
"I've never seen anything like this on ships of this class before," Fodeum admitted, and added more quietly, "And I've never been on them in the past, either."
"Did someone decide to set up an annex to the hangar here?" he asked, letting the Force flow through his stiff body.
Despite the Shadow Guards having killed the Dathomirian witches (at least most of them), the advance had been fast.
But exhausting.
Ah, what he wouldn't give for a rest now, instead of cutting a hole into the barricaded flagship bridge...
Suddenly, the lights went out in the hall.
"Did someone forget to pay the utility bills?" the Jensaarai defender asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"I don't think so, Master," a lightsaber blade flared in Gantoris's hands. "It looks more like the central computer stopped working."
"I can't feel the air circulation," Magash Drashi complained, activating her weapon. "And... something is happening."
"I think you mean this," Fodeum ignited his own blade and pointed it at a faint, shimmering haze that appeared right next to the bridge exit. "I suspect this is not very good, is it?"
A huge figure emerged from the dark void, deafening the trio with its animal roar.
"Haaaa," the Jensaarai let out a nervous laugh. "I think I understand why the ceilings are so high here. Does anyone know what that is?"
"Sweetie," Magash squeaked, trembling with fear. "B-b-ut... Silri said it was dead."
"Oh, we've been deceived. What a surprise," Gantoris sneered, his hand crackling with Force Lightning. "Does anyone have any ideas?"
"Yes," Fodeum admitted, already mapping out a combat strategy. "How insane do you have to be to have a pet like that?"
"Master, what about the situation at hand?" Gantoris was taken aback.
"What are you standing around for?" Sabre De'Luz roared. "Hit it!"
And three tiny figures bravely charged towards the bloodthirsty monster.
Sweetie. Right. A rancor.
* * *
"Sir," Lieutenant Colonel Tierce leaned close to my ear. "There's trouble on Silri's flagship."
As if I expected anything else.
"Who?"
"Delta Squad."
"What kind of trouble?"
"They couldn't get full access to the central computer's data," Tierce explained.
"Technical issues?"
"No, sir. This is clear sabotage. Someone started purging the system by the time the Deltas entered the central computer. A significant portion of the files was destroyed."
"Did we get what we wanted?"
"No, sir," Dia Passik looked at us with interest.
She couldn't hear anything, but she clearly understood that something out of the ordinary was happening.
.".. no data on Mandalore, no codes for the minefields, no coordinates for their bases, contacts, no details on the operation with the New Republic and the Alliance, and..."
"I understand, Lieutenant Colonel," I hate being right in a situation like this, but the outcome was predictable. "Proceed with Plan Beta."
"Understood, sir."
"Any problems, Grand Admiral?" the former Ghost Squadron pilot inquired.
"There is no worse enemy than an ally who marches to his own beat."
It took considerable effort not to quote the line verbatim.
Well, the choice had been made.
All that remained was to get additional data to confirm the hypothesis.
And to let Plan Beta unfold.
"I'm not sure I understand, Grand Admiral."
"It's simple, Dia Passik," I said. "Whoever wanted to harm us will be the same one who helps us win."
"That's not any clearer," the Twi'lek admitted.
"In that case, just watch the developments. It will be... entertaining. And instructive."
"For whom?"
"For everyone."
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