Nine years, five months, and ten days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, five months, and ten days after the Great Resynchronization.
To say that Lando Calrissian's "Nomad" was impressive would be an understatement.
The hull of a massive Dreadnought-class heavy cruiser, once mass-produced by the Rendili StarDrive shipbuilding company, formed the basis of this self-propelled enterprise. Numerous alterations and modifications made it barely resemble its former status. And according to Lando himself, the starship could no longer be used for its original purpose - the engines (those that remained) were removed and sold on the market, and numerous systems designed for combat were long repurposed. This self-propelled giant no longer even had weapons. And its only defense was a small number of fighters parked in the ship's bowels. Hangars were not provided on such six-hundred-meter cruisers by the manufacturer, but Lando and his craftsmen managed to achieve the desired result.
Although, it must be admitted, a large part of the "Nomad's" defense was the terrible astronomical conditions in which it had to operate. Increased stellar radiation, the remoteness of the planet from major hyperspace routes, and unbearable heat on the sun side of Nkllon. The latter was mitigated by the "Nomad's" use of walking supports made of forty horribly distorted and repurposed Imperial walkers. According to Calrissian himself, some of this equipment had been bought from scrap yards, stolen, won in card games, or acquired by other, more illegal means.
However, there was no denying that the enterprise was excellent. Mr. Calrissian had a knack for profitable projects. And he did not hide his entrepreneurial spirit. If he used to dabble in semi-legal schemes, at this point... the former general of the Rebel Alliance and New Republic was now seeking to make a living exclusively through legal means of earning. Or at least, he was trying not to publicize his "dark deeds" in front of his young employees.
— You know, — a smile played on Calrissian's swarthy face, — I haven't regretted hiring you for a single moment, Rederek. You're turning out to be a magnificent administrator!
Lando Calrissian.
The young administrator only smiled in response to the praise from his superior.
— Just think of it! — Calrissian continued enthusiastically. — Persuading me to spend a million credits on purchasing a new batch of 'diggers'! And on the very first day, these thirty new drills mined metal worth a third of their cost! Right now all eighty-one of my beauties will unload, undergo maintenance, and be back to work in a couple of hours! Oh, Rederek, you are truly worth your money! Increasing productivity like that – it takes talent for administrative work!
— It is not so much my merit, — Rederek modestly noted. — I merely noticed that with a larger number of plasma drills we could mine more metal. It doesn't take an economic genius to realize the benefit of such a step. If you weren't so tight-fisted, you could have built a couple more "Nomads" a long time ago. I've seen the schematics of this enterprise – it doesn't seem that complicated technically...
— Okay, kid, — Calrissian jokingly wagged his finger at him. — First, it's not being 'tight-fisted,' it's being 'prudent with finances.' Second – in this vast galaxy, even a supernova explosion won't produce too many half-broken ships and Imperial walkers at an affordable price. But you are right about one thing – a couple of new 'Nomads' could significantly increase my earnings. I'll have to think about it.
— You know, I never cease to be amazed by your ingenuity, — Rederek said as they approached the control point of "Nomad". — Such an ambitious project... A walking mining platform! It's a marvel! Imagine what could be accomplished if you invested your money into the development of this project!
— Kid, — Lando chuckled, entering the ship's control room first. — This "Nomad" cost me almost a hundred million credits! For that kind of money, I could have bought myself a Star Destroyer from the New Republic.
— And, are there a few for sale? — Rederek smiled, letting him know it was just a joke. Lando, giving him a somewhat wary look, smiled, appreciating the humor.
— No, of course not, — he chuckled softly. — Even those that are sitting idle at the Harma shipyards will never be put up for general sale. The young government doesn't really need freelance Star Destroyers roaming the galaxy. I confess, if I knew that there was anyone nearby who had a Star Destroyer at their disposal, I would have never decided to do a project like this. And I was thinking about it back when I owned Cloud City on Bespin! Oh, those were the days... If it wasn't for the Hutts, Vader, and his Empire - how good it would have been to live in the galaxy these last thirty years!
— Sir, — one of the operators from the central dispatch approached them. There were three of them working here – in a standard shift. When particularly difficult traverses across rough terrain began, the number of personnel increased proportionally. — The shieldship base is not responding to our requests.
— Is that so? — Lando frowned. — Could the transmitter be malfunctioning?
— No, sir, it's fine, — the operator stated. — We've checked it twice.
— Right, — Calrissian scratched the back of his head. — There's probably a problem on their end. However, the ships are old, anything could have happened. Especially since the buyers for the metals will arrive tomorrow, maybe it's maintenance... Well, let's not guess what's happening there. We have a suitable shuttle – we'll send it to the base for inspection. If someone has broken the equipment again with their clumsy hands – they'll work for me for free for a month!
— Actually, the shuttle is under repair, — the operator said, glancing at Rederek.
— I don't understand, — Lando looked at his administrator. — What happened to my relic? It just came out of repair! Twenty thousand credits, by the way, were spent to make this bird fly!
— Engine desynchronization, — Rederek explained. — One of the mechanics left the calibration key under the casing of the right engine. During the test launch, the winding short-circuited and now the engines are running unevenly. I ordered repairs to be carried out – it will take several days. But it's better than flying in circles because one of the two engines is giving more thrust than the other.
— That's true, — Lando nodded. — In an emergency, we have my "Lady Luck". If necessary, I'll personally fly to the shieldship base on my ship and give a tongue-lashing to whoever's responsible. Oh, right, — the businessman slapped his forehead with his palm, — we don't have shieldships at hand. And we can't call them... And without them, my little one will just get fried in the star's rays. No, just imagine that disorganization?! Rederek, what are you looking at?
— With all due respect, sir, — the administrator smiled apologetically, — I only have the "Nomad" under my command. My competence does not extend to the shieldship base.
— Right, — Calrissian frowned unhappily. He was silent for a few moments, then his eyes lit up. — I've got it! We'll have a shieldship!
— Sir? — Rederek was on alert. — Have you taken my advice and bought another ship?
— No, no! — Calrissian protested. — I was informed five hours ago from the shieldship base that one... of my old acquaintances arrived on their ship. And since they had problems with the hyperdrive, they had to fly all nineteen hours on sublight engines. So, in — Calrissian looked at the chronometer, — in fourteen hours they'll be here. However, Luke is an understanding guy... — Lando pondered. — Yes, I think he won't mind too much if I ask their shieldship to return to the base and contact us from there. At least then we'll know what's going on.
— Would it be convenient to interfere with a client's plans like this? — Rederek diplomatically noted.
— I beg you, — Calrissian brushed it aside, walking to the communications console. — What kind of client is a Jedi? No, of course, he's a good guy, but what does he need several tons of metal for?
— A Jedi is flying to us? — Rederek's eyebrows shot up. — Has something serious happened, and I don't know about it?
— Everything's fine, — Lando frowned, putting on headphones with a microphone. Oh, these ancient audio communication systems... — Well, except for the loss of contact with the shieldship base. No, Luke is flying here on personal business. Okay, give me the connection to the shieldship... four, it seems... Yes, to number four!
Rederek stood where he was before, but his hand slipped into the pockets of his vest. His fingernail caught on a thread in a hidden pocket...
— Skimmer-four? — Calrissian asked, hearing the pilot's voice. — Excellent! — the owner of the "Nomad" was clearly happy that the transmitter had connected with the ship. Even his voice became cheerful. — Lando speaking. We've got a bit of a...
He couldn't finish his sentence, as he jumped back from the panel as if stung, tearing the headphones off his head. Terrible, ear-piercing screeching sounds spread throughout the central post, as if someone were scratching transparisteel with metal. A disgusting instrumental accompaniment. Even Rederek's head started to hurt.
— What is that? — he asked, wincing, looking at Lando. He quickly moved to the communications console and cut off the sound.
— Electronic interference, — he said, instantly becoming serious. — Maybe a solar flare, it's happened before...
— No, sir, — the operator refuted his assumption, pulling away from the instruments. — The pattern doesn't match. It's too regular, not chaotic...
— Someone is jamming our communication channels... — Calrissian stated grimly.
— Who? — Rederek feigned surprise. — And, most importantly, why?!
— I wish I knew, — Lando lamented. — That's what pirates in the Mid Rim usually do before an attack or...
He broke off mid-sentence. Casting a desperate glance at Rederek, he grimaced as if he had tasted something very, very sour.
— Or who? — the administrator clarified. Calrissian was about to open his mouth to answer, but one of the operators interrupted him:
— Sir, our shieldship has emerged from hyperspace!
— Now that's what I call Jedi efficiency, — Calrissian smiled, clapping his hands. — I always said that Luke was a great guy! He realized we had a problem – he immediately decided to stop messing around with the hyperdrive, transmitted access codes to 'number four,' and he's with us in a flash...
— Sir, — the third operator called him quietly. — It's not the fourth shieldship, it's the ninth.
— It's supposed to be at the base, — Lando frowned, moving closer to the orbital scanner console. — Surely those blockheads didn't decide to fly here themselves and tell us what happened to them... Oh, Hutt, are you kidding me?!
— What's going on?! — Rederek, with his hands in his pockets, approached the console where the third operator was sitting and Calrissian was biting his lip.
— An Imperial Star Destroyer has come to visit, — the latter said. — They're launching fighters and landing craft... Hutt, what a precise jump! Just a minute outside the planetary shadow and their TIE fighters are already swarming us! And we're sitting here, without communication, wondering who's jamming us! They'll be pounding on our front door in two minutes!
— We need to raise the alarm immediately! — the third operator suggested, reaching for the red button. But he didn't make it.
A scarlet lightning bolt, that emerged from the right pocket of Rederek's vest, hit the man directly in the back of the head, and he collapsed from his chair straight onto the deck. The second operator, who darted to the side, became a victim of a blaster shot from the right pocket. The third Imperial intelligence agent shot the operator, having already drawn the first blaster from the left pocket.
— What's going on?! — Lando Calrissian asked angrily, furrowing his brows and looking at his administrator.
— Nothing that you should be concerned about, Mr. Calrissian, — Rederek said in an even tone, aiming both blasters at him. — Step away from the panel and don't interfere with the Empire doing its work. I promise, if there is no resistance, you will all survive.
— And if not? — Lando gritted his teeth. He was probably thinking that for the second time, the Empire was taking his brainchild from him. And in such a rude way!
— Then the TIE pilots will blow up the "Nomad's" supports, and in half a day the enterprise will be roasted by stellar radiation as the terminator line of Nkllon reaches you, — Rederek simply replied. — And we'll get what we want anyway. Much sooner.
— I have no doubt about that, — Calrissian snorted. — Don't touch my workers! I'll do everything you need. But you, — he pointed an accusing finger at the intelligence agent, — don't even hope to get paid for this week!
— Another mistake, — Rederek smiled. — I received my three thousand credits in the cashier two hours ago.
It seemed that Calrissian's tooth enamel was crumbling...
***
— Grand Admiral, sir, — seeing the Supreme Commander on the threshold of the newly repaired Imperial Star Destroyer's airlock seemed... completely unusual for the Imperial Fleet. Therefore, the rounded eyes of the ship's commander were understandable without any guessing. — I'm pleased to welcome you aboard the "Stormhawk", sir!
— At ease, Captain, — I said.
Captain Morgoth Astorias had never been a timid man. Despite the common saying in the Imperial Armed Forces: "The Storm Corps takes the strong but stupid, and the fleet takes the frail and brave", the commander of an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer did not have poor physical characteristics.
He was middle-aged, of average height, of medium build. Moderately muscular, moderately proactive. Such people are called - the ideal executor. While idiots are not usually allowed on the bridge of a Star Destroyer. Usually.
However, Captain Astorias was an exceptionally intelligent man. His crew was one of the most competent and cohesive. The results of their shooting and maneuvering caused Captain Pellaeon and the entire crew of the "Chimaera" only envy and grinding teeth.
And with all this, the commander of the "Stormhawk" was not proud or verbose. He considered himself above such human weaknesses and did not consider it necessary to pay any attention to envious people.
— I was informed that your crew is eager for battle, Captain, — I slowly walked down the corridor. Rukh moved behind me as usual, but in such a way that he could attack at any moment if there was the slightest threat.
The commander of ISD-I "Stormhawk," Captain Morgoth Astorias.
— That is correct, sir, — the Star Destroyer commander replied quietly but clearly, matching my pace. — Our damage is minor. We have already replaced the loss in the air wing. We are preparing young pilots who have taken vacant places in the squadrons.
"That's pleasing," I thought.
No, the Imperial Fleet had a practice of crew training exercises. But after the Battle of Endor, it was somehow forgotten. Of course, at that time there was plenty to do - infighting and so on. But Astorias, as an adherent of the "old school" of personnel training, did not deviate from the skills and regulations hammered into his head. Rightly and objectively believing – if these methods worked for him and made a commander of one of the most formidable ships of the Imperial Fleet out of a junior officer - then why are these methods of military pedagogy bad in relation to his subordinates?
— How long will the training program be completed? — I asked.
— By the end of tomorrow, we will know which of the potential recruits are suitable for service aboard the "Stormhawk", — the captain replied laconically.
News that Grand Admiral Thrawn had settled on Tangrene, turning the former Ubiktortate planet into his own base, was slowly but surely spreading through the Imperial Space. On one hand, there was nothing wrong with that. In the Imperial worlds, those who need to know about my existence are aware of it - it is not particularly hidden. As such, the phenomenon of betrayal or trading information is absent in the Imperial Remnant - everyone who wanted to, had long since defected to the New Republic or to the warlords who had hidden in the Deep Core. So this information will not leak "to the other side". At least not so soon. Considering that by the time of my appearance on Myrkr in known events Talon Karrde already knew perfectly well about the existence of a Grand Admiral in the Empire and even my name, there are still some problems with secrecy. I understand that Karrde's contacts are quite high in the hierarchy of the Imperial Remnant, because ordinary servicemen are simply not given such information - who the commander is and where he is based - so as not to clutter their heads with unnecessary data. Something really more important might accidentally "fall out" from the state way of thinking. However, given the planned events ahead, the secret of my identity will not remain so for long. Well, it's not critical yet. Of those who have served side by side with Thrawn in the past - most are either dead or in the Empire of the Hand. So the New Republic won't receive any information from them at all. There remained, of course, Mara Jade. And a lot will depend on tomorrow's operation on Pantolomin - at least the answer to the question: "Is she with us or is she pretending?"
On the other hand, rumors of me having a base have also had a positive response among Imperials. And that is encouraging. At least because I now have "volunteers" at my disposal.
Any military man, capable of formulating their request in the form of a report of the established form, can generally request a transfer from a "garrison" unit to a "combat" one. Fortunately for everyone, illiterates were not taken into the Imperial armed forces. Well, or at least those kind of people didn't survive until graduation.
A thin trickle of volunteers flowed to Tangrene. One by one, in twos, or even in entire groups, "volunteers" began to arrive on Tangrene. Those who wanted to serve under my command. It is clear that this was not command staff – ordinary soldiers, pilots, technicians. Stormtroopers were not even given the right to such an initiative - in the eyes of the Imperials, a fighter in snow-white armor does not have their own voice or opinion. This is beaten out of them at Carida and other Imperial academies. So, one had to be content with only the less "drilled" part of the Imperial army and fleet.
But it was better than nothing.
Reluctantly, I purchased small aircraft from Prince-Admiral Krennel. Two full air wings - twelve squadrons. Half of which were TIE fighters, another four were interceptors, and the last two were bombers. Most of the machines were now on the surface of Tangrene, while some of them had already been distributed to Star Destroyers - there was no way to complete the rest of the ships yet. Not only would they be under repair for an indefinite period, but also drawing up the appropriate documentation for them was a hassle. Therefore, to replace the damaged ships, they were sent to the surface of the planet. As soon as a "free" pilot appeared from the new arrivals - after checking their skills on the simulator, they were assigned to one of the destroyers. First and foremost, those ships with the least amount of damage were completed with pilots and other specialists - therefore, they would be the first to enter service.
Yes, of course, there are the Spaarti cloning cylinders. And the first "batch" of clones was already "ready". It was empirically established that it did not take a year to create one clone using this technology. Placing ysalamiri near the cloning facilities completely cut them off from the Force, as a result of which... the clones matured at a dizzying speed that was literally chilling.
Fourteen days from the moment the genetic material was placed in incubators to the appearance of a fully viable clone with all the knowledge of the genetic donor. Very convenient and simple.
However, I was still concerned about the possible side effects mentioned in Palpatine's records. "Cloning madness" was a side effect of rapid clone growth. There was no need to guess what it was for long – there was a whole Dark Jedi on my flagship, obtained in this way. However, if I could vouch for his body being an exact copy of C'baoth (at least that's how he looked in the archived holos, found in the HoloNet), then his mind and memories... There was a slight suspicion that all his skills were the result of a program that Palpatine had put into the clone's mind, similar to the one we use for "clone training". And therefore – it was highly unlikely that a clone would be able to fully train his followers. The great is built from the small, which leads to the idea that the Jedi clone is endowed with knowledge without life experience and their own will, thoughts, feelings. The closest comparison to the process that C'baoth calls "training" is giving a child a firearm. It won't be long before the human larva looks down the barrel and pulls the trigger at the same time. Extrapolating the supposed consequences into the realities of this galaxy, one can say with certainty that Force-sensitive subjects trained by the clone will become a very big problem.
That is why the first batch of clones, despite their "readiness," will only be available to my forces after completing medical examinations at Mount Tantiss. Changes in the synaptic connections of the brain, characteristic of "cloning madness," are perfectly tracked by the simplest medical devices. It's like looking at a bad copy of a text document: some lines "float", some have excessive "blobs" of toner.
Thus, the following is happening: despite the fact that there are clones, and the second batch is already "being prepared," the week-long medical examination has not yet been completed. So the first batch of clone-technicians will only arrive in a few days on a "star galleon". And those are the technicians. Who will go to complete the crews of new ships and increase the personnel of the ground base and shipyards. The stronger the rear, the easier it is to fight. Since the prospect of fighting alone against the entire New Republic is a reality, and a harsh one, then I need a rear not just strong, but unbreakable.
And I very much hoped that today's action on Nkllon would give us a little respite in terms of funds and a supply of resources to speed up repairs. And also - "diggers" will arrive, around which the success of the mission at the Sluis Van shipyard is built.
The purchase.
Total - twelve million credits in total expenses. And from all this multitude of machines - only a few were left on "the ground". Another full-scale battle - and we will have to buy fighters again. Despite the fact that there was not even talk about completing the air wing of escort frigates and other ships.
We urgently need money. A lot of money. The trophies barely made it to the black market and will not bring a quick replenishment of funds. So far it's just tears - a thin stream that fills a large pool, in which the manager periodically opens the drain valve to the full.
Capital is needed to continue active operations.
And as paradoxical as it may sound, that is why I am now aboard the "Stormhawk".
From communicating with the Imperial Ruling Council, I came to a simple conclusion: we need to get ourselves out of this situation on our own. They won't be moved by anything - just fight with what they gave you. And don't ask any questions.
The original Thrawn successfully dealt with this thanks to his genius and creative rethinking of the psychology of sentient beings. No matter how much I tried to look at the holograms, I only saw works of art - some beautiful, some ugly, some just rude or, on the contrary, immensely beautiful. But I did not find the pattern, no matter how I laid out the patterns and images, the shape of the objects and other characteristics in my head.
The only thing I can do at the moment is to act logically. In a situation when the Imperial Remnant is not particularly willing to help, letting things run their course, there is only one option left - to seek funding for our projects on our own.
No matter how much I don't want to - the sale of captured property will not cover even a small part of the planned expenses. We need additional sources of funding. I really hope that I will be able to get them during a short voyage.
— You are a native of the planet Nez Peron, Captain, — I said, addressing the commander of the "Stormhawk".
— That's correct, sir, — he replied.
Nez Peron is the capital of a region of the galaxy known as the D'Astan sector.
D'Astan sector.
This is the area of the galaxy adjacent to Morshdine. I would hardly have even remembered it or paid any attention to it if it weren't for the remarkable name of the planet that was part of this sector.
Serenno. The birthplace of Count Dooku, a former Jedi, a former student of Darth Sidious. The leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems who died in orbit of Coruscant. An aristocrat with a huge fortune.
And he is not the only one in the D'Astan sector.
— Tell me about your homeland, Captain, — I suggested. Catching Astorias's surprised look, I simply ignored it.
— The planet Nez Peron is an agricultural world, providing a wide range of products to a huge number of star systems both in the sector itself and beyond, — the captain said. Common information available in any reference network.
— Order a course to be set for the capital of the D'Astan sector, Captain Astorias, — I ordered.
— Yes, sir, — the officer replied without delay or unnecessary questions, giving the appropriate instructions via the comlink. — May I offer you my cabin?
— There is no need for that, — I said. — The flight will last only a few hours. Provide me and my bodyguard with an empty compartment and that will be enough.
— As you wish, Grand Admiral, — the commander of the "Stormhawk" saluted. — The wardroom for senior officers of the Star Destroyer is at your disposal.
— Thank you, — upon reaching a fork, Rukh and I, without saying goodbye to the Captain, headed towards the room indicated to us, while the native of the planet Nez Peron walked in the opposite direction to the turbolift leading to the starship's bridge.
No questions, no suspicious glances, or anything like that. Simple and routine execution of orders.
The ideal executor.
Although, on the other hand, Astorias may have known that the "Chimaera" was delayed in returning to service. The chief engineer of the shipyards, Neil Reyes, after a long silence and work on the drawings, finally issued a verdict - it was possible to install a deflector generator from the New Republic MC30c frigate on the Star Destroyer. But it would take a day to open up the armor plates of the hull, install additional equipment, configure and debug all systems before the ship would enter service with its proper modifications. Yes, I don't have any Super Star Destroyers at my disposal, but that doesn't mean that I will resign myself to the fate of fighting with what the gloomy Imperial genius provides. No, if there is an opportunity to improve the starships under my command, even in such a makeshift way - such projects will be implemented.
The Empire fought with quantity, the rebels - with quality.
In the known events, the Galactic Empire lost the war for control of the galaxy to the rebels. The New Republic also eventually lost. But not to the Empire I know. And not in the coming years.
Therefore, since there is such an opportunity, why not adopt a good tactical method from the enemy? It will be interesting to observe how Imperial quality will fight against New Republic quality.
And as soon as I have enough starships, personnel, and resources - then we will see if my opponents are capable of fighting for real. On all fronts...
Well, for now, judging by the shaking of the deck, the "Stormhawk" has moved and is preparing for a hyperspace jump. Soon there will be a meeting with the ruler of the neighboring sector. And I will have to be impossibly eloquent to convince Baron D'asta to finance my campaign against the rebel scum.
***
When they had extinguished the last fires, patched up the holes and delivered the wounded to the infirmary, Lando didn't know what to think: whether to cry or laugh.
Or to be proud of his people, who, without any command from above, fought back against the Imperial stormtroopers, or to cry that it was all over.
Again.
First, he lost his business on Bespin, and now Nkllon. Time and time again, the Empire took away everything he had built through superhuman efforts, pouring his knowledge and resources into the enterprises, teetering on the edge of success and failure. How much were the bribes he had given to New Republic officials worth?! And that was no less than thirty million credits!
And now the moment had come when the "Nomad" was dead. Without movement motivators, they wouldn't have time to get away to the dark side of the planet and the terminator would catch up with them. Everything was as predicted by that traitor Rederek! Hutt! The bastard even managed to get his salary for the week he spent to study the "Nomad" and plan the attack properly.
Now Lando had no doubt – the shieldship base was out of action. They weren't just silent for no reason, it was as clear as day. And the shuttle that could go for inspection was also disabled for a reason. All these damned Imperial spies! And how sweetly he spun his tales... A million investments - and thirty new diggers! Look, our metal warehouses are already overflowing...
And now, it's all over.
The "Nomad", even though it was moving, was doing so with difficulty. There was no way for them to get out or escape.
The long-range antenna was destroyed, and they couldn't call for help. Even if clients arrived in a few days, they wouldn't be able to get to Nkllon without shieldships. And those, apparently, were destroyed...
And the supplies of mined metal were also appropriated by the Empire. As well as all the accumulated money! No, he still had some money in dummy accounts in banks, but Calrissian had no doubt that the Imperials, who not only robbed them but also cleaned out all the information databases, would definitely get to his untouchable reserve. And a good sum of fifty million had accumulated there! It would have been enough to start a new business!
Or buy a new yacht... It was difficult to say what he missed more - the business he had lost again, or the loss of the "Lady Luck". The Imperials had taken it with them too!
Well, one could, of course, shake the old bones and collect debts from old friends and partners... A couple of hundred thousand would be collected. One could think about where to put them, but...
His thoughts were interrupted by an audio signal from the internal communications panel.
— Lando listening, — he said quietly.
— Sir, there's good news, and there's bad news, — the mournful voice of the second administrator, Lobot, reached him. A cyborg with whom he had been through so much... — Which should I start with?
Lobot.
— Surprise me, — it was laughter through tears, but how else to keep your sanity in this crazy world?!
— In an hour, the motivators will break down, — the cyborg reported. — And we will stop moving.
— We can replace them, — Lando suggested. — In the warehouse...
He stopped himself, biting his lower lip to the point of pain. And what was left in the warehouse? Dust and traces of shootouts? The Imperials had taken everything - even the two Z-95 Headhunter starfighters that he had bought a month ago. Yes, it was an antiquity from the Clone Wars era, but the machines were still running, and they could "bite" painfully. "Could bite," Lando corrected himself mentally.
Z-95 Headhunter starfighter.
— Yes, sir, — Lobot replied calmly. — Even a rancor in the warehouses would hang itself out of boredom.
— You've learned to joke? — Lando was surprised.
— I'm trying not to let you give up, — the cyborg replied. — Now for the bad news.
— Hold on a minute, — Calrissian perked up. — That we're immobile and that we'll be roasted like meat on a grill – that was "good news"?
— Yes, sir, — the cyborg replied without a hint of humor.
Calrissian rubbed his temples with effort. What else had happened?!
— Just tell me, — he said wearily.
— The enemy took all of our plasma drills, — Lobot replied.
Hutt! Hutt! And again, Hutt!
He thought he could rectify the situation by selling off the remaining property, but now...
— Okay, wait, — the man rubbed his forehead. — We had fifty-one working, and the same number were in storage in a non-working condition, as a source of spare parts...
— And you acquired thirty units at the insistence of administrator Rederek, — Lobot noted. — Let me remind you that I was against spending money on working copies, proposing to repair the ones that we already had.
— Yes, yes, yes, — Calrissian grimaced. — But so much needed to be invested in them... It's easier to buy new ones - these don't hold the atmosphere, and the engines are crap... were... Stop. Don't tell me that the Imperials took away our non-working machines too!
— They took everything, — Lobot replied laconically. — Even the personal weapons of the security service, the money and valuables of the crew members, our arsenal, medicines, and parts for our fighters. Although, who needs this old stuff...
— Enough rubbing salt into the wound, — Lando grimaced. — We need to think about how to get out of this mess...
— I have good news, too, — Lobot suddenly said. "Is that so?", Calrissian almost said, but bit his tongue in time.
— How good is it? — in reality, he was not counting on anything positive.
— Our shieldship-four is in orbit, — Lobot reported. — We can use the shuttle to evacuate the wounded to it, and...
— Wait a minute! — Lando perked up. — The fourth shieldship! Skywalker is there!
— No, sir, — Lobot replied. — The Jedi Knight is not there...
What a day!
— Well, where is that Jedi's... — Calrissian fumed, turning to face the exit, hearing a delicate cough behind his back. — Oh, Luke!
— Hi, Lando, — the young Jedi smiled modestly. — Sorry I didn't come to your aid. The flight to your shieldship base was difficult, and I went into a meditative trance to rest... And the pilot, for some reason, didn't report that contact with you had been lost...
At first, Lando wanted to hug Skywalker. Then he changed his intentions to the desire to strangle the shieldship pilot. And then he thought and decided that he wouldn't do anything...
— There's little you could have done, Luke, — he waved his hand wearily, sitting down in a chair next to some console. — A whole Star Destroyer has been here. They've stripped us bare... More than two thousand killed, seven hundred sentient beings injured...
— That's very sad, Lando, — regret appeared on Luke's face. — I didn't make it in time... Sorry.
— Don't beat yourself up, — Calrissian said with a wry smile. — One against several squadrons of TIE fighters and TIE interceptors... You're a tough guy, of course, but not that tough.
— Yeah, I really messed up, — Luke summed up. — Again.
— Again? — Lando asked in return.
— Don't worry about it, — the young Jedi advised. — Better tell me what the Imperials needed here?
— Everything that wasn't bolted to the deck, — Calrissian sighed. — I assume the Imperials destroyed the second shieldship before the jump?
— Yes, — Skywalker said. — There's only scrap metal all over the orbit.
— I think our shieldship base is in the same condition, — Lando concluded. — Tell me, does your X-wing have long-range communications?
— Yes, of course, it does, — Skywalker nodded. — But because of Nkllon's radiation, the connection will hardly be good, but...
— Screw it! — Lando waved his hand. — We need to contact the nearest New Republic base! If they send us at least one assault frigate, or even better, a couple, we can get the "Nomad" off the planet under the cover of the last shieldship! We'll leave it somewhere near the shieldship base, and then we'll repair it!
T-65 X-wing starfighter.
Even verbally, the plan seemed insane. There were no guarantees that even if the ships arrived, even if they were able to lift the "Nomad" from the surface of Nkllon, even if they towed it to a safe place... And hundreds of other "ifs".
Judging by Skywalker's expression, he had thought of the same thing.
— Are you sure that the "Nomad" cannot be made to move independently? — he clarified, clearly not eager to contact the New Republic bureaucratic machine. Lando felt disheartened... Even if the Jedi was giving up...
— No, — he sighed. — We'll be fried before we can get to the other side of the galaxy, buy a new modified motivator, and get it here. And we can't even bury ourselves under the surface! The Imperials stole all my plasma drills!
— Uh... why do they need them? — Skywalker was surprised.
— How should I know? — Calrissian flared up. Apologizing to his friend, he sighed sadly:
— All these things can do is melt rock and metal in front of them, flying to the target on radio control. Perhaps the Empire decided to organize its own mining enterprise. Or maybe they're just not the nicest people in the galaxy, and decided to get even with me for a second time.
— Or there's something more behind this, — Luke said thoughtfully. Suddenly, as if remembering something, the Jedi Knight asked:
— They didn't come just for your plasma drills, did they?
— Yes, I'm more than sure they came for the metal and my credits! — Lando snorted. — I have warehouses full of ore and a vault stuffed to the top with money... Nineteen million credits... Equipment, droids, weapons, medical supplies, fighters...
— What kind of metal were we mining here? — Skywalker asked with his characteristic simplicity.
— Almost everything that's in the galactic periodic table, — Lando sighed heavily. — Phreddium, kammris, dolovit - everything that was in the warehouses. I'm sure that if they have a little duracrete, they can build a couple of cruisers. And maybe even enough for a Star Destroyer...
— How much metal did you have? — Skywalker was surprised.
— The output for half a year and a little more, — Lando sighed. — At market prices - just over twenty million.
— I didn't know your business was so profitable, — Luke admitted.
— Well, yeah, — Lando sighed. — If the New Republic had more money - they would have already brought their fleet into proper order a long time ago. As it is, they buy a small batch once a year and that's it. They look with sad eyes and appeal to conscience and patriotism...
— Then, I think it won't be a big problem to negotiate with Coruscant to send someone, a complex from the planet, and get it back to work, — Luke confidently said. — Especially after what happened in the Dafielvian sector...
— What happened there? — Lando asked.
— The Empire easily crushed our sector fleet, — Luke explained, watching the businessman's eyebrows shoot up. — I found out when I was flying to you from Dagobah. Leia, Han, and "Rogue Squadron" are already there, trying to rectify the situation.
— I hope it was better there than it was here, — Calrissian winced.
— I wouldn't say that, — Luke shuddered. — They destroyed the sector fleet base, demolished the medical base... Complete destruction.
— It's strange that they didn't take the sector itself, — Lando said. — By the way, what were you doing on Dagobah?
— Oh, right, — Luke shook his head and pulled a small, flattened cylinder from his pocket. — Found it there, where... — The Jedi hesitated. — It doesn't matter, anyway. R2-D2 said he saw the same toy in your Cloud City on Bespin...
Lando, frowning, took the cylinder in his hand and examined it closely.
— An interesting thing, — he said after a few seconds. — They don't make these anymore. If you hadn't reminded me about Cloud City, I wouldn't have even understood what it was - an unfamiliar design.
— And what is it? — Skywalker was curious. — A data storage device?
— No, my friend, — Calrissian sighed. — No, there is some information in it, of course, but it's strictly classified. It's a homing beacon. It's amazing that it still works. It looks like it was assembled before the Clone Wars - it's obviously old.
— A homing beacon? — Luke asked. — What is that?
— We control the "diggers" using a similar technology, — Calrissian explained. — The device works on a dedicated frequency - within the planet, I think. It works like a ship's beacon - but much more advanced and complex technology. Imagine, — Lando looked at his friend. — You have a ship. And to avoid having a crew on it, you invest in automation. You install advanced computers or buy a lot of droids. And you install equipment like this homing beacon. And when you need a ship, say, you end up on the other side of the planet and don't want to waste time returning to the spaceport, you press a button, — Lando poked at a row of triangular keys on the flattened cylinder, — and the starship flies straight to you.
— And it won't crash? — Skywalker doubted.
Oh, that holy simplicity... They say that you can leave Tatooine yourself, but Tatooine will never leave you.
— Some ships could not only bypass obstacles and choose the most optimal course, but also engage in battle if they had guns on board. A useful thing, in general, — Lando said. — They don't make them anymore - it's insanely expensive. I had such a fully automated yacht in Cloud City, but the Imperials requisitioned it. And they probably disabled the beacon, because the ship didn't respond to the homing beacon and we had to escape on the "Falcon".
— And "Lady Luck" isn't equipped with such a beacon? — Luke clarified.
— No, — Lando sighed sadly. — Otherwise, I would have tried to track the Imperials and direct the New Republic fleet to them.
— You said that your "diggers" work on the same principle, — the young Jedi reminded him.
— Well, almost, — Lando admitted. — Actually, they're manually controlled, you can put a small crew inside. But in case of problems, you can use the control panel and control the "digger". Within reason, of course. It won't jump to hyperspace, of course, but it can definitely move back and forth.
— So maybe we can track the Imperials through the "diggers"? — the Jedi perked up.
Lando looked down at him condescendingly. A Tatooine native, what else can you say.
— If they're not idiots, and most likely they are, they just turned off the beacons. I doubt we have a powerful enough transmitter to send a signal and wait for a response across the entire galaxy, — he said. — I told you - the homing beacon works within the planet, nothing more. No, of course, you can use more powerful communication equipment, such as a ship's repeater - then you can also operate in orbit, but this is all theoretical. In practice, if anyone has ever done such things, I don't know about it. Well, except for the "Katana Fleet".
— Tell me about it? — Luke asked. — I heard it was a fleet of fully automated ships...
— Something like that, — Lando nodded. Realizing that they had been talking for quite a while, the former smuggler gestured to Skywalker to wait and ordered Lobot to organize the transfer of the wounded to the shieldship. There wasn't much room there, but whatever there was...
— The "Katana Fleet" is a cluster of two hundred Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, manufactured at Rendili shipyards, — he explained. — I spent a lot of time and money to find them in my time. Even though the ships are over a hundred years old, or thereabouts, they can give a good thrashing, especially if they operate in groups. The ships are the same as the one the "Nomad" was made from. Six hundred meters long, good armor, a class 2 or 4 hyperdrive, artillery consisting of ten turbolaser batteries, twenty quad laser cannons, ten heavy laser cannons, and ion cannons - to be honest, I don't remember how many. There is no aviation, only one docking port. Now a considerable number of these monstrosities are flying around the galaxy, since the crew on them should be simply huge - more than sixteen thousand sentient beings. But the "Katana Fleet" starships had great automation - and only two thousand crew members were needed. And besides, the flagship could direct the fleet ships on how to move, how to shoot - that is, you only need two thousand crew members on board the "Katana" itself and that's it - you can control the entire fleet. Well, of course, if you're not afraid that someone will board your heavy cruisers and take them away under manual control in a chaotic situation.
— It's strange that such a fleet disappeared, — Luke noted.
— The flagship's crew caught a swarm virus, — Lando explained. The Jedi shuddered. It seemed that even on Tatooine, they had heard of this scourge. — I agree, it's a disgusting thing. It drives you mad and the body devours itself. Madness, in a word...
— So, no one knows where these starships are? — Luke was surprised. — The New Republic would really appreciate them for fighting the Empire.
— If they knew - they would have appeared a long time ago, — Lando sighed, remembering how many millions he had invested in the adventure of searching for the "Katana Fleet". — But there is just as much information about these ships as there is about the "Sa Nalaor". A legend, you could say... Although, I wouldn't be surprised if the Old Republic officials had found this fleet a long time ago and sold it for scrap. Or it perished during the Clone Wars - such battles were going on back then that our clashes with the Imperials seem like a game in kindergarten. Almost every day there was some kind of battle like the Battle of Endor...
Lando fell silent, seeing the young Jedi become sad. Calrissian mentally cursed himself. Few people were privy to this secret - that Darth Vader was the father of Luke and Leia. He himself somehow calmly related to such information and, here, he had blurted it out...
— Sorry, — he said.
— It's alright, — Skywalker smiled strainedly. — Just memories. It's a pity that we can't use this homing beacon to find the ship to which it was attached. I suspect that it may have belonged to a dark Jedi from the planet Bfash, who died on Dagobah. But maybe I'm just looking for the wrong thing in the wrong place.
For a few seconds they sat in silence, after which Luke resolutely got up from his seat.
— Thanks for the information, Lando, — he said. — I think I should go to the nearest New Republic base and ask for help for you. Since the Imperials jumped out of the planetary shadow, what's my X-wing worse for?
— I'll be incredibly grateful to you, — Lando approached the young Jedi and shook his hand heartily.
For some time, Lando watched Skywalker leaving, pondering that the boy from Tatooine had been less focused and withdrawn before. Maybe it was his flight to Dagobah? As he said - a dark Jedi was killed on that planet. But by whom? Was it the same strange old Jedi Leia had told him about? Allegedly, he trained Luke before he came to Cloud City to save them all from Darth Vader.
Yes, a Jedi's soul is a mystery. If these were matters of the heart - Lando could have helped him with advice. But as far as the Force was concerned, Calrissian was a complete layman. Like most of the galaxy.
***
Exiting hyperspace beckoned me with its unnatural, attractive beauty. There was something in this physical phenomenon - to overcome the light barrier with such ease and routine, while in my homeland any scientist-physicist would give anything to look into the hyperdrive. And "under the hood" of the solar ionization reactor that provides the Star Destroyer not only with energy for the jump, but also powers its systems with a considerable surplus.
During the time the "Stormhawk" spent in hyperspace, I had the opportunity to thoroughly prepare for a high-level meeting.
Nez Peron is located in quadrant O-5 in the eponymous star system of the D'Astan sector. The latter is a vivid example of how industrialists and aristocracy can turn a part of space into a very, very profitable business.
The sector is practically a small empire. Self-sufficient, possessing a huge trade fleet, receiving, and still receiving, orders from the Imperial Remnant for the construction of freighters and bulk carriers - huge transport starships in which a Star Destroyer can easily fit.
The sector is ruled by a noble family of aristocrats of the D'Asta family. The family is headed by Imperial Baron Rages D'Asta, who once served on the Imperial Ruling Council but in recent years had withdrawn from foreign affairs, shifting this burden to his daughter.
Rages D'Asta is rich enough to maintain a fleet of warships. The largest private military fleet in the galaxy. Well-built and well-organized. The Baron is an ardent supporter of Imperial morals, but what is pleasing is that he is a moderate xenophobe. For him, there is no disdain for any race only because of their skin color, hair, eyes, number of limbs, scales, tail, or fur. If a sentient being is useful - it means that he will work, even if he is a bothan, whose race does not have the best reputation in the galaxy.
Currently, in addition to supplying food and transport ships, Baron Rages D'Asta continues to sympathize with Imperial Space despite the fact that the government based on the planet Orinda has been proving its incompetence and excessive thirst for power for many years. And yet, the Baron considers the Imperial Ruling Council to be the legitimate government. But he does not agitate or fight against other Imperial Remnants. Actually, having forces at his disposal equal to the size of several New Republic sector fleets, the Baron does not seek to provide his ships to any of the Empire's warlords, limiting himself to purely business considerations. The Imperials feared and valued him – that's why his daughter was given such a high position.
The question arises - why, with such military power, does he not try to conquer a couple of sectors from the New Republic? The answer is simple: the private fleet of the D'Asta sector does not have a large number of large warships. Its forces are contained in numerous corvettes and frigates. In addition, in the same year when Palpatine and Vader died, one of the Imperial admirals secured the support of the Baron and received several cruisers from him to attack the Republic shipyards. Despite the Imperials' victory "on points", the Baron's ships did not return to their deployment sites, having been destroyed by the enemy. And this greatly affected the authority of the aristocrat himself. There were rumors that it was because of this - the loss of part of his power - that he left the Imperial Ruling Council. But something tells me that the reason for such a radical decision is not at all simple. Perhaps I will be able to solve this mystery during a personal meeting with the Baron. And maybe - even conclude a full alliance.
Given the Baron's pro-Imperial sentiment, one could try to play out the scenario: "I will fight the common enemy - and you give me money!". Whether it will work or not is difficult to say now. But without trying - we won't know.
Especially now, in light of the successful attack on Nkllon and the rich booty received, we can not fear imminent ruin. Oh, if only Pellaeon knew what a storm of emotions raged in my soul when he reported on the results of the "Executor" mission. But I had to remain impassive. One should play their role so that Stanislavsky would change his catchphrase.
The victory on Nkllon allowed me to change the rhetoric of my visit. If initially I planned to voice the request for funding (oh, how quickly arrogance fades in times of need. And then I believed: "I won't ask, they'll offer everything themselves, they'll give everything themselves!") on a mutually beneficial basis, hoping to intrigue the Baron with contracts for food supplies, now, with the increase in working capital, there is an opportunity to offer Rages D'Asta much more. As an entrepreneur and politician, he should understand the benefits of contractual obligations with the Supreme Commander of the Empire. After all, in addition to contracts for food supplies, with additional funds, I can offer him to sell several Corellian CR90 corvettes in service with his fleet. According to the recommendations of our chief engineer, these starships were most suitable for basing on racks in the hangars of Star Destroyers. And I'm not even talking about the fact that the private fleet of the D'Asta sector does not disdain to use TIE series equipment - and in significant quantities. Perhaps the sector has its own production line. And it will be cheaper to purchase equipment from the Baron than from the Prince-Admiral.
But all this is just planning. Let's see how they turn out in practice.
— We are being hailed, Grand Admiral, — the commander of the "Stormhawk" informed me.
— Respond in my name, — I ordered. — And inform the planet that I wish to meet with Baron Rages D'Asta.
— Yes, sir, — Captain Morgoth Astorias replied simply and laconically.
The ideal executor.