Nine years, five months, and sixteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, five months, and sixteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
— Fodeum Sabre De'Luz, — the being sitting across from the jensaarai, seemed to taste the name. — You have an interesting approach to choosing a starship.
Aside from the two stormtroopers standing behind Fodeum and guarding the exit of the large compartment at the Imperial outpost in the Pakuuni system, there was only one sentient present. And he was sitting against the opposite wall of the outpost commander's office. They were separated by about six or seven meters... Imperials do love to build on a grand scale! You could fit an entire Gungan dormitory here, and still have room to spare!
The commander of the Graceful Lady looked into the crimson eyes of the blue-skinned being sitting before him, clad in a snow-white Imperial-style uniform with a command panel on his chest. Any sentient familiar with the insignia of the Empire could say with certainty that he was looking at a grand admiral. In person.
Again.
An Imperial grand admiral. In front of a simple merchant. And not just any merchant — a Hutt alien?! How is that even possible? The Imperial Navy, like the army, did not allow women or non-humans to hold command positions. Hmm... That's a funny comparison. Does that mean that for the Imperials, women are non-humans?
But Fodeum didn't have time to develop his thought.
— Your reward, — a hand in a snow-white glove pushed a credit chip across the table to him. One look at it was enough to tell — there were twenty thousand here. Twenty, bloody, thousand Imperial credits!
Considering that the exchange rate in the galaxy is five Imperial credits equal to four Republic ones, he now had a fabulous sum in his pocket! Enough not only to repair the Graceful Lady, but also to buy supplies for several years ahead! And still, there would be enough for a comfortable life for several months. Just how important is this Captain Tomax Bren to the Empire if they paid such money for his delivery?!
— Thank you, — trying not to show his confusion, Fodeum reached out and took the chip, which he immediately put in his pocket. — Uh... Am I free to go?
— Of course, — allowed... what race is he? He looks kind of human. But blue skin. Pantoran? Red eyes like a Duros... Hmmm... no, of course, judging other people's preferences is wrong, but it seems like humans don't really like Duros in that way. It seems someone — either the mother or father of this Imperial — had a taste for the exotic. Okay, that's not relevant right now. The main thing now is to get out of here and... — But not now.
Fodeum, already standing by the doors, guarded by a couple of stormtroopers, looked with longing at how the "dolls" blocked his exit.
Casting a look full of pleading and despair at the Imperial officer, he found not a hint of regret in him. With a sigh, he returned to his place.
So, what does he want? No, of course, if this blue-faced guy is a telepath, like those Umbarans, then I can apologize for my seditious thoughts, but...
— Captain Bren informed me that you and your companion are somewhat short on funds, — said the Imperial.
— Ehm... — Fodeum imagined how Vex would be snidely reminding him that he shouldn't have been so frank with Bren during the flight. Looks like he created problems for himself. — Your reward will be quite enough...
— On the contrary, I insist that we are still in your debt, Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz, — said the Imperial. Okay, blue-face, why do you keep repeating my full name? Are you trying to show you've memorized it? — Our shipyard will put your starship in order. It won't take long — half a day at most. After that, you will go and earn more credits.
— Well... yeah. If we find a suitable contract, — Fodeum scratched the back of his head. — When your cargo hold can only fit ten metric tons of cargo, not everyone will hire you. YG-4210s were designed by Corellians about a hundred years ago...
— Your starship is two hundred and four years old, — said the Imperial. — And it is not in the best condition. Our engineers will fix this flaw. We will also provide you with a freight contract.
Well, this is not the kind of gratitude he was expecting.
— Thanks, of course, — why is his head itching so much? As if someone is tickling his subconscious. Unpleasant... It brings back memories of the days when the teacher was rummaging around in his brain. It's good that these are Imperials — they definitely don't have any Jedi. — We can handle it ourselves somehow...
— I must insist, Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz. The repair and modernization of your ship has already begun, — said the Imperial. The jensaarai felt his hands clench involuntarily. It's good that the Imperial doesn't see it, busy petting his lizard. Who keeps a brown lizard as a pet? And it's half a meter long! Really, it looks like a living piece of sh...
YG-4210 - Graceful Lady.
— Sentients like you are a great rarity in the galaxy, — said the Imperial, looking at Fodeum with such a look that... it made him feel uneasy. — Force-sensitivity among sentients is not as common as one would like.
"Well, that's it, they'll take me somewhere to a dungeon and shoot me like a Jedi," Fodeum thought sadly. After all, you can't prove to them that you are a jensaarai and have nothing to do with the Jedi. That you wanted to lay down the Light Side, that you've been fed up to your liver with all these exercises, meditations and so on... And in general, he lost his lightsaber...
— I am offering you a job, Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz, — is this blue-skinned guy mocking him?!
— Uh-m-m... — well, his mentor told him — learn to control your thoughts and your tongue! You should have listened when the elders spoke, and not run away, laying down a big and thick one on... — What kind of job?
— We need a transport, — said the Imperial. — From one point to another. Your ship has a Class 1 hyperdrive, instead of the Class 3 or 4 required by regulations. That means you'll be back in a standard week — you won't need to fly through uncharted space, strictly along hyperspace routes. You will deliver one person and return for your reward. Fifty thousand credits.
— As my father used to say: "Don't be shy about the size of your salary," — muttered Fodeum, completely confused. — And what's the problem?
— It's quite likely that your abilities in the Force will be required, — the Imperial said as if it were obvious. — To convince someone of something. You'll figure it out when you get there.
— You may think that I'm a Jedi and capable of such things, — Fodeum tried to wriggle out of it, — but that's not true... In fact, I'm very, very weak at using the Force...
— I suggest we don't resort to banal deception, Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz, — suggested the Imperial in a tone as if he were having a social conversation, not talking to a representative of that rare category of sentients whom the Empire had been exterminating for the last twenty-five years. — My consultant noted that you possess a good sensitivity to the Force. Given this fact, I can assume that you were either born into a Jedi family, or you are part of a Force-sensitive society. The first assumption is unlikely, since the Empire, unfortunately, has discovered and destroyed most of these families, — to... unfortunately? — I assume that you belong to the second category. Tell me when my assumption matches reality. Zeison Sha, matukai, jensaarai...
— Jensaarai, — sighed Fodeum. — But I didn't even become a Defender.
— So I understand that this rank is equivalent to a Jedi Knight? — clarified the Imperial. Fodeum nodded in agreement, looking down. What was the point in denying it? If the Empire wants to — they'll beat this information out of him. — Very interesting. And what led you to leave the jensaarai society?
— I didn't see eye-to-eye with them, — said the man. — I don't really want to live in constant fear of being found and destroyed, without being able to do anything about it. And then I lost my lightsaber, I couldn't make my own armor, there were condemnations...
— And who were you afraid of? — asked the Imperial. Apparently, he was not very interested in the details of his expulsion.
— First the Jedi, who are sure that you can't combine the knowledge of the Light and Dark Side, as the jensaarai do, — Fodeum recalled his history lessons. — Then — the Empire, for which there is no big difference either, whether we are Jedi or not — they destroy everyone.
— The Empire, like any other state, can make mistakes, — the blue-skinned Imperial said calmly. — Some would say it's the providence of the Force, but consider that you got lucky, Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luz.
— In what sense? — the former jensaarai looked at him mistrustfully.
— I am the Supreme Commander of the Empire, — declared the blue-skinned... well, let's call him a "guy". He has to be called something, right? — Of what is left of it, of course. I suggest that you stop being afraid for your continued existence and think about the future.
— That's what I'm thinking about, — admitted Fodeum. — That's why I don't really want to work for you...
— You are speaking with prejudice, — the Imperial brushed him off. — What do you think, could you and your jensaarai brethren become Jedi?
— Pff-f-f, — Fodeum chuckled. Then, realizing that the "guy" sitting in front of him was not his friend and was unlikely to be happy with such a manifestation of his interlocutor's reaction. — No, of course not.
— Why is that? — the Imperial inquired. And, judging by his expression, HE WAS REALLY INTERESTED IN THE CORRECT ANSWER! What's wrong with this Imperial?!
— Because the jensaarai separated from the Jedi because of differing views on the Force, — oh, he should have spent more time studying history. — As I have already said — we accept personal attachments, create families, and use techniques of the Dark Side of the Force.
— Like lightning?
— Well... yeah, — some creepy, knowledgeable Imperial. What is he planning?
Fodeum concentrated, directing the Force toward the Imperial to understand his superficial thoughts... And realized that he couldn't. Because the Force around this "man" was as if it was absent. No, not quite. As if it was bypassing him. It became awkward... and scary.
— So, if offered by the New Republic, the jensaarai would not want to learn to be Jedi? — clarified the Imperial.
— How should I know? — Fodeum threw his hands up. — Maybe some of them will. I haven't kept in touch with them for some time.
— Because of disagreements?
— Because I stole their ship to get off the planet, — admitted Fodeum. — It wasn't very nice, of course, but...
— I don't judge you, — said the Imperial. — On the contrary. I'm intrigued. What made you do this? Besides the failed test and the thirst for freedom.
— I don't like that our leader plans to get closer to the pirates, — said Fodeum. — I don't know what it's about, but... I'm sure it won't benefit our people.
— So that's it... Does the group have a name?
— Which one? — Fodeum didn't understand the question.
— The pirate one.
— Oh... Well, yes... the "Invids," — said Fodeum.
And he really didn't like the way the Imperial's eyes lit up.
— So that's it, — this strange sentient, who even the Force avoided, said slowly. — Interesting...
— Not really, — Fodeum grimaced. — The jensaarai deserve more than to help pirates in their attacks.
— An interesting point of view, — said the Imperial. — And what, in your opinion, do the jensaarai deserve?
— To develop, — the failed Defender said confidently. — To seek new knowledge. To become better. That's why we left the Jedi — we wanted to learn the Force also from the Dark Side. But at the same time — continue to promote order and prosperity, and not be the Senate's lapdogs. At least that's what the elders told me.
— Yes, helping pirates in their attacks on civilians is not the most useful way to order and prosperity, — the Imperial remarked. — Maybe then you will like my offer.
— I'll deliver your person, — sighed Fodeum, perfectly understanding that the Imperials simply needed a "clean" ship and pilot in shady business.
— I'm not talking about that, — the Imperial bewildered him. — My view on Force-sensitive sentients is largely the same as the one you voiced. Such sentients — regardless of gender, age, and race — should serve in the name of the good of the people. The Empire must also care about its citizens, and resist the lawlessness and corruption that democracy entails.
"Yeah, sure, and the Imperials are just saints," thought Fodeum.
— Therefore, the Empire itself must change, — the Imperial said, as if reading his mind. — We can become something better than we are now. To learn from the mistakes of the past. To stop oppression and use the achievements of all races for a better future. Who but Force-sensitive sentients, such as the jensaarai, can help us with this? Your knowledge of the Force and your abilities can help us acquire and protect our piece of the galaxy.
— It seems like you're doing just fine without help, — Fodeum said distrustfully. There was something... attractive in the Imperial's words. But everyone knows how two-faced Imperials can be, right?
— Not as much as I would like, — admitted the "guy". Blue guy. — That is why I am looking for allies. The jensaarai can become them.
— And what's in it for us? — Fodeum still did not understand the point.
— You will be able to continue studying the Force, — said Thrawn. — You will settle in my Empire, and become part of its life. No one will oppress you or hunt you. On the contrary — I assure you that the Empire will contribute to the development of your order. No more removal of children from families, no more forced studies of the Light Side alone according to the Jedi teachings. The Empire will provide you with a place, resources, and an opportunity to continue your work.
— And what in return? — Sabre De'Luz was well aware that he had no right to speak on behalf of all jensaarai, but... Perhaps this is the very meeting needed for jensaarai?
— At least you won't have to help pirates anymore to keep them from touching you, — said the Imperial. — Yes, I won't hide it — I will need jensaarai in the armed forces. And in research — everywhere your talents can be useful.
— It's too good to be true, — the former jensaarai did not hide his thoughts.
— As I said — stereotyped thinking, — said the Imperial. — No one forces you to fly to your jensaarai comrades this very minute and persuade them to accept my side...
"His side. Not the side of the Empire," Fodeum noted automatically.
— ...just keep it in mind, — said the Supreme Commander. — From now on, in the part of the Empire that I command, Force-sensitive sentients... are welcome.
"I would like to believe that this is true."
***
— So, the jensaarai are cooperating with the "Invid" pirate group, — said Thrawn, as Mara, after making sure that the visitor and the stormtroopers had left the office, came out of the secret door that led to the escape pod intended for the evacuation of the outpost commander.
She approached the grand admiral, taking a place on his right and behind him. Where the Noghri bodyguard usually was. In the saving coolness of the ysalamiri...
But Rukh was on the Chimaera now, docked at the outpost. It was an interesting "trip".
The grand admiral's flagship delivers supplies to a remote outpost, while a freighter captain arrives here, delivering an Imperial pilot, the commander of a bomber squadron... Coincidence? No, Mara didn't think so.
— But now the reason why the Invid remain unpunished is clear, — as if continuing the conversation with himself, Thrawn said, taking out a tiny device from his ear, with which Mara had informed him about their guest. She still couldn't believe what Thrawn had told the visitor.
— Will it really happen? The creation of an order of Force-sensitive sentients in the new Empire? — she asked. Strangely enough, having appointed her his Hand, the grand admiral discarded the formalities in personal communication. In the old days, she could not even imagine addressing the Emperor without mentioning his status. And the grand admiral... A couple of times during the flight to the Pakuuni system, she addressed him as "you" in the heat of the conversation, and... he simply ignored it. But Jade made a note to herself — not to abuse this form of address to her superiors. You can always come up with a more smooth wording for a direct question to the Chiss.
— It is planned, — said Thrawn. — Even in his madness, C'baot coordinates the fleet's forces perfectly. Within certain limits, but he does it flawlessly and with maximum efficiency. The example of the Invid's elusiveness only confirms this observation — the correct use of a trained Force-sensitive sentient can be costly. With limited resources, we have no right to dismiss such an opportunity to qualitatively increase our combat effectiveness.
— It is unlikely that any of the jensaarai have the same abilities as C'baot, — Mara said cautiously. — They are probably trained like ordinary Jedi — to fight with lightsabers.
— Not scary, — the grand admiral looked at her. — Even a rancor can be taught new tricks.
— If only we know where to get these very tricks, — Mara noted. — The Force is a box of surprises. If you start studying it with self-knowledge — you can't expect that the Empire's jensaarai subordinates will be in any way qualitatively superior to their predecessors. And without progress, they may get angry about the deception.
— No deception, — declared Thrawn. — There is no point in misleading an ally — when he finds out, you can expect a stab in the back.
Mara mentally repeated what Thrawn said...
— Does the Empire have Jedi records? — she finally understood.
— Perhaps, — Thrawn shrugged. — I don't know this for sure. I certainly don't have that data.
— Should I start looking for them? — Mara suggested her first assignment in Thrawn's service.
— In due time, — said Thrawn, looking at her. — Until you are free from the Emperor's last order — there is no point in putting you at risk. Until we receive an answer from the jensaarai about their agreement to work for us — the search for such knowledge will only distract us from the main goal. I don't want to waste your talents where other, less valuable personnel can cope. Now it is necessary to focus on solving the problem with the Emperor's order. This is one of the most important tasks.
Mara felt claws scratch at her heart. In the past, even the Emperor didn't worry about her in this way.
— The Judicator and its escort have arrived on Tangren, — said the grand admiral, looking at the wall in front of him. — As have convoys with supplies, spare parts, equipment, and personnel from Bilbringi. It will take several days to repair the rest of the Star Destroyers.
— Are we going on a campaign? — Mara clarified.
— The Crusader, the Steel Aurora, all three Interdictors, two Strikes, and three Tartans are advancing to the meeting point, the Chimaera will join them later, just before the attack, — said Thrawn. — At the same time we will check how well the trap is organized. The remaining ships are busy transporting the replacement crews and teams of technicians to the deployment site of the "Katana Fleet". We have a different goal.
She honestly wanted to ask — "What is it?". But she realized that there was no point in voicing this question. Thrawn himself will say when the time comes.
***
This type of ship had many names.
But only two took root in galactic society.
The Gozanti-class cruiser.
The Gozanti-class armored transport.
Just under forty-two meters long, equipped with a standard Class 3 hyperdrive, armed with four laser cannons, two turreted quad laser cannons, a proton torpedo launcher, the Gozanti was better suited for escort duties than any other ship.
A long time ago. A long time ago. When it was still considered a cruiser, designed to protect caravans from pirate attacks.
Now, these starships were used in the Outer Rim for a completely different purpose. Trucks. Very well armored and protected. And the logic here is very, very simple — the better protected a transport ship is, the more interesting its cargo is.
— Is the Rabid Ewok ready for work? — Tiberos asked, turning his head towards Emand, who was sitting next to him. The Zabrak, scratching his horned head, nodded in agreement.
The Rabid Ewok, Captain Tiberos's ship.
— Ready as always, Captain, — said the Zabrak, scraping his skull. — Five minutes left until we leave the asteroid field — then they will start accelerating.
— They won't make it, — Tiberos chuckled, looking through the transparisteel cockpit at the huge space boulders floating by.
Rumor had it that the Roche asteroids were the remnants of the homeworld of the Verpine race, destroyed as a result of a bloody civil war, of which no evidence remained. Although the Verpines themselves claim that they do not know the name and location of their home planet, and they only live on asteroids. Moreover, they live comfortably — with the help of massive repulsors, they can adjust the orbits of the smallest and largest asteroids, inside which are the settlements and technical workshops of the Verpines.
And in general, these almost two-meter guys are very strange. Their vision is capable of detecting microscopic damage in any parts without technical equipment. They are able to perceive radio waves, and their natural exoskeleton is able to withstand the impact of any blade (with the exception of a lightsaber... probably) and even a blaster hit.
The Verpines are known as one of the best engineers in the galaxy. From the very beginning of the mess between the Galactic Empire and the Rebel Alliance, the inhabitants of the Roche asteroids helped the latter, secretly creating and repairing their military equipment. And as soon as the New Republic was created, the Verpines joined it and are still active members of it. On whose shoulders lay the care of repairing a considerable amount of rebel equipment.
As a matter of fact, that's why they're here.
Tiberos did not have his own informants on the Roche asteroids. And he was not going to trust anyone who was not part of his group.
Therefore, the Rabid Ewok arrived in the Roche system almost immediately after Tiberos received his privateering license. They turned off the engines, got lost among the space boulders, attaching to one of them. And they waited. They watched.
While other pirates either used their agents, who told them where certain "tasty targets" could be located, or took everything that somehow turned out to be within reach during a raid, Tiberos preferred caution.
Caution and planning — that's what he definitely learned from Emand. The ambush tactic in the place where no one was expecting you is an excellent thing. It allows you to deliver a pre-planned strike based on observation of the target.
And they have already identified their target.
A Gozanti-class armored transport, bearing the insignia of the New Republic on its hull. The ship arrived accompanied by a couple of X-wings a week ago, passed through the outer border of the asteroids to one of the repair docks, and stopped. Several times, Tiberos released reconnaissance drones to observe the situation and made sure that he understood everything correctly — the ship arrived for modernization.
Gozanti-class armored transport.
He had the engines replaced, some of the hull plating changed. What happened inside could not be determined, but knowing the nature of the Verpines, they could have improved this clumsy and slow iron quite a bit. But how much — it is not yet clear. However, the privateers could already assess the results of the repair — the ship was moving on its maneuvering thrusters faster than during its arrival here. So, the sublight engines became significantly more powerful. And under the bottom, under the side planes, there were brackets in which the escorting X-wings were fixed. The same pair that flew on their own. An interesting modification — it allowed fighter pilots not to be in cramped cockpits during flight, but in ship cabins. If necessary, they can quickly get from their cabins to their fighters through transition sleeves pressed against the cockpits of the X-wings and protected by faintly shimmering magnetic spheres, which do not protect against the cold, but do hold the atmosphere around the docking point. Considering that X-wing pilots' suits are not closed cycle and going into open space in them is dangerous, it's a very wise technical solution. Yes, a clear improvement. Now the pilots could rest and not think about the fact that they had to either endure the call of nature, or use extremely... interesting technical solutions.
And even more, Tiberos was interested in the cargo containers that were loaded onto the ship before departure. And they were loaded openly, which meant that it was not a secret, but an ordinary cargo. But an ordinary cargo from the Verpines could be very valuable to the Empire.
As were the data on the asteroid defenses, which the drones managed to collect. As well as information that the Verpines were repairing two old Marauder-class corvettes and a whole squadron of X-wings, which arrived shortly before the departure of the Gozanti. The corvettes are good... they used to be. Powerful artillery weapons, the ability to carry on board an air wing of two or three squadrons, and also missile launchers... Yes, it is a dangerous enemy, whose combat power is comparable to the armament of a whole frigate, or even a light cruiser. For ships from the Clone Wars era, it's a worthy opponent. Now though... the ship is very outdated. However, if it is modernized by the Verpines, something acceptable might come out. It was not in Tiberos's rules to hunt in the same place in a short period of time, but you never know what might happen?
Marauder-class corvette.
And this was only on this asteroid. Tiberos wisely did not poke his nose at the rest — you can't see much from the outer part of the asteroid field without launching reconnaissance drones, and Tiberos was not sure that the Verpines did not have good systems for tracking a deep breakthrough to their central asteroids.
— Your thoughts, Captain? — Emand asked quietly, tracking the ship's trajectory using the instruments.
— They turned a truck with armor and guns into a fast truck with armor, guns and a semblance of an air wing, — said Tiberos, looking at a three-dimensional copy of the ship. A good ship. — I want it.
— Huh? — Emand looked at the Captain. Like the rest of the crew. — It's a military vessel. Thrawn will probably take it for himself. Look — the starship is faster than the factory one. There is an opportunity to transport two X-wings at once. I remember that the Empire had variants where they transported four TIE fighters on the external mount of the Gozanti. No, Tiberos, they will definitely take the ship.
— We'll see, — declared the Captain. — Thrawn has plenty of freighters and trucks already. Maybe if we refuse our share, and pay extra, he will give it away. I always wanted a cruiser that can be controlled by only twelve sentients.
— Let's just capture it first, — suggested the former Jedi. — And then we'll see. You can always come up with something to justify it. For example, that the ship exploded during the mission, and we only managed to save part of the cargo...
— If all the Jedi were so cunning, then why were you exterminated? — Tiberos asked.
— There is always a bigger predator. — Emand shrugged.
— Okay, — said Tiberos, looking at the trajectory. — Start the engines. Let's board it. The first and second squads — act as usual. Third — you cannot allow the enemy to shut down the engines or the pilots to get to their X-wings.
He gave the orders over the intercom, so every member of the group on board the starship heard them. There was no need to repeat his orders to everyone. They have been in business for a long time. They know how and what to do. And if the fighters hesitate, the squad commanders will help them.
The Rabid Ewok started its repulsors, gently tearing itself away from the surface of the asteroid. No one bothered to pull back the cables with fasteners, thanks to which the starship was attracted to the surface of the space rock and held there, so as not to fly to the side — the pebble is too small to have its own gravity and hold an object the size of a pirate ship on it.
After flying a few meters away from the stone, Emand, who was in the first pilot's seat, turned on the maneuvering engines. There were several rather large asteroids between the ships, so the Jedi piloted. No matter how confident Tiberos was that his pilots were good, the Zabrak had Force-sensitivity and could react at a level unacceptable to ordinary sentients. In conditions of dangerous navigation in the asteroid field, a better pilot could not be found.
The privateer ship went up at full speed, leaving behind a whitish glow of spent fuel. Thanks to the afterburner and the piloting skills of the former Jedi, they were near the Gozanti before it had time to react.
The turrets and guns of the Republic ship were firing into the vacuum already at the moment when the Rabid Ewok approached so close that it was possible to reach out and touch the ship's antennas with your palm. But that was not what the pirates needed.
The ship hovered over the hull of the Republic starship. Even the updated maneuvering engines did not allow the rebels to tear themselves away from Tiberos's fast ship, which had undergone more than one modernization in shadow ports.
Magnetic grapples worked, and the starships docked. The enemy, already understanding what was happening, began to transmit a distress signal. But all in vain. In his time, Tiberos had spent a considerable sum to get an Imperial jamming device. And now it was active. No one will hear and save the cries for help. But the privateers did not have time to gloat over the old pirate trick. The Rabid Ewok's engines were probably detected on the shipyard asteroid, so they needed to hurry. Maybe they can't use the communication systems, but they will certainly react to the suspicious silence of the Republic ship.
There is no need to knock out or cut the airlock — there are electronic lock picks for this. A few minutes of work — and it's done, the way to the ship is clear.
A squad of vikus rushed forward. They just want to participate in some kind of carnage. It's not a pity — even if they get killed, you can always hire new ones. And not waste time on treating the seriously wounded. Everyone in the crew knows why they are here.
Tiberos went with the second squad.
As soon as a group of five vikus disappeared into the round hatch of the emergency airlock, the sounds of gunfire were heard. The enemy was not going to give up their ship without a fight.
Well, that's just great! There is always room for violence and bloodshed!
Having found himself aboard the Gozanti, Tiberos ducked, leaving the line of attack of the enemies entrenched at the far end of the corridor. There were no shelters here — only cargo containers, behind which New Republic soldiers had already settled. And not greenhorns — it is clearly visible that they are trained fighters. Perhaps even some kind of anti-boarding unit.
They are equipped accordingly. Heavy armor, good blaster rifles. They fire in short bursts, saving ammunition. Right, because they don't know how many pirates are on board the Rabid Ewok.
And also because these four fighters are most likely all that the rebels have to repel the attack. It is expensive to have even a squad of fighters on each ship. Therefore, the smaller the starship, the fewer soldiers there are on it.
— Third squad — flank them! — shouted Tiberos, firing another shot from his blaster at the enemy. The first squad has already been half decimated — the rebels shoot accurately and lethally.
Well, it's only worse for them.
A commander of a New Republic soldier unit in standard gear on board the Gozanti.
The second squad, which was led by Tiberos, had both armored vests and weapons heavier than the first squad's blaster pistols. Therefore, it was not a big problem for them to break through.
The corsairs died, struck by accurate fire. The enemy had settled in well behind the barricades, but who were they against the unbridled pirates who had done this more than once?
While the defenders were trying to suppress the landing with barrier fire, Tiberos, easily grabbing one of the vikus by the scruff of his neck and using him as a shield, moved forward. The body of the unfortunate man had already been hit by several shots, but they did not reach the captain. And they shouldn't have — that's the point of a "human shield."
Having reduced the distance between himself and the rebels to one meter, Tiberos pushed the corpse that had been torn apart by blaster hits towards the defenders and switched to close combat.
Rifles in a narrow space are good when you have to shoot at a distance. And when there is a powerful humanoid in front of you, in whose hands there are two beskar maces, it is better to think about something more practical for such a fight.
The rebel girl, judging by the insignia on her armor, who was the commander of the unit, did not have time to react when one of the maces broke her blaster with a crash and knocked its remains out of her hands. She recoiled, pulling a vibroknife from behind her back, focusing her gaze on Tiberos and ready for his new attack.
But he did not need it.
With a clear conscience, he smashed the head of another rebel with the second mace, who was distracted from firing at the privateers for literally a couple of seconds. The sharply sharpened cold weapon pierced the skull, killing instantly. Two shots from the blaster. Which hit his body, were practically not needed.
With a crackle of bones, Tiberos ripped the weapon out of the enemy's skull, hitting the human woman who had rushed into the attack with a backhand blow. She blocked the attack with her right shoulder and flew to the side — the force of the impact was considerable even for her, encased in armor from head to toe.
Tiberos reduced the distance to another enemy, and he, having already figured out what was what, pulled out a pair of vibroknives. He was hiding behind a pile of transport containers, protecting himself from stray fire. The fourth fighter continued to fire his rifle to kill.
The commander of the Rabid Ewok pretended to swing his weapon from above. The enemy wisely moved to the side to act simultaneously with his recovering commander.
The privateer plunged both maces into the back of the Republic fighter who was firing and tore them out with pleasure, watching blood flow out of the huge and deadly wounds. The body of the fighter, who had not reacted to the threat in time, fell to the deck.
The soldier who had jumped to his commander rushed at him, swinging his vibroknives. The female commander came from the opposite side, trying to distract his attention.
It took a couple of seconds to realize that the first squad had been killed, and he was left alone against two. The second squad, as well as the third, moved along the corridor in the opposite direction — their job was to seize the bridge and counter the crew. Tiberos is simply distracting the most trained fighters.
There is something about it — fighting the strongest enemy fighters. Always on the cutting edge, always in good shape, always mobilized.
— Dirty pirates! — growled the rebel man, rushing towards him. The woman mirrored the maneuver, but Tiberos brushed her away, chopping with the mace clenched in his right hand.
The unit commander avoided the blow, breaking the distance. But he did not intend to kill her, allowing inertia to spin himself around his axis and chop the shoulder of the male soldier with his left mace. He screamed when the beskar weapon pierced the armor and easily pierced the muscles, shattering the bone. The enemy lost his reaction for a moment, and Tiberos struck his head with a backhand blow from his right mace.
The edge on the back of the weapon smashed into the unprotected head, breaking the temple and tearing a piece of the skull along with the tissues of the face. With the blow of his second mace, Tiberos broke the disfigured head of the male soldier, spraying the corridor with drops and splashes of blood, scraps of brains...
Turning to face his last opponent, the privateer belatedly realized that he had been ignoring her non-participation in the battle for too long.
He shifted to the side, but a blaster hit still burned his bicep on his left arm. One of the maces fell to the deck, but Tiberos was no longer standing still. With all his mass, he rushed at the last opponent, slamming her into the wall of the corridor. The girl screamed from the impact — he brought his massive fist down on her jaw.
But the girl was not a timid one. And obviously better than she seemed:
— Strong jaw, — Tiberos praised her, stepping aside, having previously thrown the blaster that had fallen out of her hand at the moment of impact against the wall.
She looked at him with hateful eyes, stroking the bruised part of her face. The vibroknife reappeared in her hands.
— Come on, girl, come here, — chuckled the privateer, inviting her to continue the fight. He stood in such a way as to cut off her way to retreat along the corridor through which she and her fighters had come here. And the woman was well aware that if she rushed in the other direction, in the one in which his fighters had gone — either he would finish her off immediately, or his pirates would do it upon meeting her. You can try your luck in any case, but... The result is a little predictable.
The woman decided to fight.
Tiberos had no objections.
Two minutes later, he pulled his mace out of her torn chest, returning both of his weapons behind his back, armed himself with a blaster pistol and stepped over the corpse. The captain of the Rabid Ewok headed towards the bridge of the cruiser.
Five minutes later, after throwing out the still living and not quite dead members of the crew of the Republic armored transport, the pirates took the Gozanti into hyperspace.
The Republic patrol, based on the central asteroids of Roche, was late to the battle by a shameful seven minutes.
***
— You did an excellent job on Nkllon, Lieutenant Rederek, — praise from the Grand Admiral, and even in person — is worth a lot. — Unfortunately, your other colleagues did not achieve similar success.
— Were they taken prisoner? — the lieutenant of naval intelligence became wary.
— No, they simply could not infiltrate sufficiently to achieve your result, — said Thrawn. — However, that is not important now. You have a new assignment.
Rederek, for the first time in the past few weeks, having changed into his naval uniform, thought with an inner sigh that he would not be able to enjoy his rest at the base on Tangren. They say that after the start of food supplies from the D'astan sector, the monotonous menu became... more varied. And after the return of the Star Destroyer Crusader, it was also more nutritious.
— I am ready, sir, — he said firmly, hoping that the Grand Admiral would not notice the fact that the young officer was uncomfortable having a conversation in the Supreme Commander's cabin in an atmosphere of twilight. And also this Noghri hiding in the darkness of the vestibule... B-r-r! What kind of jokes are these — talking from the dark? And also drawing his sidearm without permission?! If this grey-skinned sentient was not the Grand Admiral's personal bodyguard, Rederek would not forgive this. Yes, it is unlikely that the intelligence officer would have managed to twist this non-human into a knot, but at least he would have made him fear himself.
— This is the Hast system, — a hologram of a star system appeared before Rederek's eyes. Nothing unusual, except for...
— Shipyards, sir? — he clarified.
— Exactly, — said the Grand Admiral. — The secret shipyards of the New Republic, to be more precise, — it cut him to hear that the Grand Admiral called the enemies of the Empire not "rebels", not "insurgents", but exactly as they were used to calling themselves. As if agreeing that the state that overthrew the Galactic Empire had the right to live. Rederek noted this fact, deciding to find out the reasons for Thrawn's similar expressions on his own. More subtly and carefully than asking point blank. — Have you heard anything about the Battle of Hast, Lieutenant?
— Yes, sir, — confirmed the naval intelligence officer. — In official reports, it is called "The Battle for the Hast Shipyards". A battle that took place shortly after the Battle of Endor. Admiral Llon Banjaer secured the support of a private fleet of the D'asta sector, as well as the rebel warlord Zhinj, formed a fleet to strike at the secret rebel shipyards discovered by our intelligence. The strike did not correspond to the interests of the Empire, only Zhinj's needs to remove the threat of a sudden strike that the rebels were preparing against him. The Imperial Governing Council turned a blind eye to this, as Admiral Llon Banjaer convinced them that in the long term this attack would serve to weaken the enemy and Zhinj himself. The attack ended with mixed success. Despite the fact that the combined forces of Llon Banjaer managed to destroy or damage more than thirty enemy starships, the shipyards themselves were not completely destroyed due to the approach of enemy reinforcements from the Mon Calamari sector. Based on the data obtained as a result of the analysis of Admiral Banjaer's actions, it is reliably known that during the attack at least seven MC80-class star cruisers, at least five Nebulon-B-class escort frigates, and at least twenty CR90-class corvettes, were severely damaged and have not been detected in the rebels' possession to this day. It is also known that at the time of the attack, two Star Destroyers captured by the enemy earlier were under medium repair at the shipyards — the Judge and the Accuser. In the enemy fleet, they are called Redeemer and Liberator, respectively. Also, based on mathematical analysis, there are reasons to believe that the shipyards suffered significant damage during the attack. On a tactical level, the enemy retained most of its fleet and repair and construction facilities. On a strategic level, we have a significant grouping of the enemy fleet that has been disabled and has been undergoing repairs for more than five years. The shipyards on the planet have been completely destroyed and cannot be restored, but the orbital ones have been preserved — the enemy has two of them: both are of the first type. But at the same time, significant forces were lost during the battle — in particular, the cruisers of our allies from the D'asta sector, which resulted in a tense political situation. Unfortunately, I am not familiar with the details of the latter.
— You are well prepared, Lieutenant, — praise from the Grand Admiral a second time in one conversation? Yes, in fact, he must be doing his duty well.
— Thank you, sir, — he replied restrainedly. — It is my job to know as much as possible about the enemy's armed forces.
— How long have you been serving in your position, Lieutenant? — the Grand Admiral asked unexpectedly.
— Third year, sir, — he answered without hesitation. Why was this question asked? Does the Grand Admiral consider him insufficiently qualified?
— A short time for a person who is able to so masterfully get into someone else's role, — Thrawn noted. — How did you manage to mislead Lando Calrissian?
— My parents are actors, sir, — said Rederek. — Not the best ones, but they wanted the same life for me. In childhood and adolescence, I studied at acting schools, attended relevant master classes. But instead of the acting profession chosen by my parents, I submitted documents for admission to the Imperial Military Academy. In my third year, I received an offer from representatives of intelligence to partially change the direction of my studies and undergo training in the program of a field agent of military intelligence. I, of course, agreed.
— For what reason, Lieutenant? — the Grand Admiral asked in the same, as if indifferent tone, without taking his eyes off him.
— In my third year, I had to go through a new medical commission, — he did not hide it. He had not seen his personal file, so he did not rely on the fact that the intelligence representatives had fulfilled their promise and corrected some documents. Not in a conversation with the Grand Admiral. — According to its results, it became obvious that I would be expelled due to heart problems. I grew up in the Middle Rim worlds, and my parents were not rich. The doctors overlooked my illness and it was impossible to cure it in time. Since this closed my way to an acting career, my father agreed with someone and this data was not reflected in my personal file of the applicant. I took advantage of this situation and submitted my documents to the Academy. After it was revealed at the medical commission that there were hidden diseases in my personal file, I was facing a tribunal.
— The intelligence officers made you an offer that you could not refuse, — the Grand Admiral said understandingly. — Either a tribunal, or to say goodbye to the prospects of becoming a naval officer. You chose the second.
— In the same year, the rebels killed the Emperor and Darth Vader, — said Rederek. — At Endor and during subsequent battles, we lost a lot. I have thoroughly studied the Battle for the Hast Shipyards, because, in my opinion, the Imperial Intelligence, having revealed the location of these shipyards, underestimated the enemy's ability to deliver reinforcements in a timely manner. As a result, the tactical goals of the attack were not achieved. Sooner or later, the enemy will repair these starships, and they will be thrown against us.
— Do you think it would be more useful to destroy them? — asked Thrawn.
— Or capture them, sir, — Rederek replied after thinking. — Two Star Destroyers will significantly strengthen your fleet, not to mention the fact that the ships being repaired there will also fit well into the units under your command.
— I see, — said Thrawn. He reached forward, and his hand ran over the keyboard. The hologram disappeared for a moment and then appeared again. Strewn with additional notes. — This information is already several weeks old. Received from our allies. As you can see, the enemy has taken care to prevent a repeated attack on their shipyards.
Rederek looked at the hologram with interest. Judging by what he had the "pleasure" of seeing — things were not good. Two "grids" of Type I orbital repair shipyards hanging above Hast are protected by four Golan-class orbital defense stations. In appearance — two of them are of the first type, one of the second, and the last one... is of the third. That is, it is capable of fighting on equal terms with an Imperial Star Destroyer, and as a probability — even emerging victorious from this confrontation. The air wing of these stations is small — one or two, modifications with six squadrons were less common. The protection — both shields and armor — is top-notch.
Running his eyes over the marks of the starships that were either in the "grids" or docked to them, he realized that all the starships that he had talked about as damaged during the Battle for Hast were still on hold. Which means — they are all still damaged.
— Obviously, the bet is placed on the proximity of Mon Calamari, as it was last time, — Rederek noted. — Four orbital platforms, this, of course, is a great way to hold off the first strike and delay the battle for half an hour or an hour, but without fleet support... These shipyards will not last an hour if we attack.
The young intelligence officer thought, looking closely at a few unusual marks.
— Am I correct in understanding that Imperial equipment is being disassembled on the planet? — he looked at the Supreme Commander. He only nodded affirmatively.
— The key question is how effective their defense is, — the Grand Admiral said. — Your task is to infiltrate the Hast shipyards. I want to know full information about how many ships are at the shipyards, in what condition they are, is it possible to transport them, what forces do the rebels have on the surface of the planet and at the shipyards, and also — are there any patrols. You have one month to complete the task.
— Will I be given a legend or will I develop it myself? — the intelligence officer clarified.
— You will be provided with forged documents and transport to the shipyards, — said Thrawn. — At the moment, Hast no longer has a secret status, and we do not have time for a deep infiltration. Your partner possesses... some gift of persuasion, — Rederek did not particularly like the latter. — But you should not fully trust him. The infiltration will take place according to the scheme of free merchants who decided to make money by delivering goods for the New Republic. The rest is up to your discretion.
— Yes, sir, — the intelligence officer saluted. — Can I go?
— You will leave in a day, Lieutenant, — said Thrawn, and his gaze softened for some reason. — For the exemplary performance of the task on Nklonn, you are entitled to a day of rest. I have ordered it.
— Yes, sir, — turning over his left shoulder, Rederek headed for the exit of the cabin.
— And one last thing, Lieutenant, — Thrawn's voice caught up with him at the very door. The intelligence officer stopped instantly and turned to face the commander. — How long you wear your current command bars will depend on the completion of the task before you. Dismissed.
An undisguised hint. If he succeeds — there will be a promotion. If he fails...
No, he won't fail. The Second Battle for the Hast Shipyards will be a triumph for the Empire.
With these thoughts, Rederek left the Chimaera.
***
"This is definitely some kind of obsession," Niles Ferrier wiped the hailstones of sweat from his forehead. It didn't help — new ones appeared immediately.
Despite the fact that he was standing under the visor of the control platform, and there was not a single source of natural light or heaters around that could have made him hot, the hijacker felt as if he was being boiled alive in his own sweat.
— Stop attracting attention to yourself, you idiot, — a voice rang out from the depths of the dark gap of the corridor leading from the landing zone to the inner premises of the Bunnystar station. Once an Imperial refueling station, it was damaged by the rebels, after which it was abandoned. And only a few years ago did those who took it over, repaired it properly, and turned it into a relatively safe and well-known place, appear. It was rumored that the owners of the station were directly connected with the New Republic, but smugglers, and many well-known bigwigs of both legal and not so legal business found refuge here.
— Y-yes, of course, — said Niles, stammering. — I... I'm afraid of Booster.
— Right now you should be afraid of me, you oaf, — the voice from the darkness said in the same serpentine whisper. — If the operation fails, I will rip out your filthy heart and shove it far away. Got it?
— Y-yes, — Niles sighed resignedly. Casting a glance aside, at the pile of boxes with tools, casting a deep shadow, he sighed when he saw the shadow stir. His companion, a defel, was waiting for his moment.
Meanwhile, cutting through the white-blue atmospheric shield of the landing bay, a ship flew into the dimly lit landing hangar.
A ship he knew well.
Painfully familiar.
The pilot of the yacht, turning off the maneuvering thruster, switched to repulsors. The graceful Pulsar Skate, the personal yacht of Booster Terrik's daughter named Mirax, was landing. And this ship's landing did not take a suspiciously long time.
Pulsar Skate.
The girl clearly became even more skillful at handling her vessel.
With a hiss of compressed air released from the system, the lower hatch of the yacht opened, a ramp came out, gently touching the surface of the hangar with a quiet clang. The first to come out of the ship was a Sullustan — small, plump, inconspicuous. A repair droid rolled out after him. And both froze next to the ramp, waiting for the ship's commander... Hutt, she's still not flying alone!
Niles swallowed tensely. He wasn't a timid guy, but... Getting involved with Booster and his daughter... That's dangerous.
"Sly" closed his eyes and silently prayed that the Grand Admiral's plan would work.
As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw a young girl no older than thirty years old descending the ramp. High boots with magnetic soles, tight leggings covering pretty legs. A massive holster with a blaster, hanging on a wide belt, very much like a miniature corset. Black hair, falling down her shoulders in a black waterfall, a simple, but at the same time — attractive face...
Mirax Terrik-Horn.
The girl, at the sight of whom half of the criminal world was drooling, dreaming of dragging her to bed, and the other half was trembling with horror, understanding what her father, who was not prone to listening to the voice of reason, would do to them for it, looked around. She looked at the chronometer. Impatiently kicked the surface of the hangar with the toe of her boots. She looked at her watch again.
— If he doesn't come within five minutes, we're leaving, — she tossed to the Sullustan. — I took a decent detour to see what this collector has to offer... If it turns out to be some kind of dud...
— Go! — hissed the voice from the darkness.
Niles, licking his parched lips, put on a wide smile. And he took a step forward.
— It won't be, — he said in as cheerful a voice as possible. Terrik the Younger turned to the sound of his voice, simultaneously pointing a blaster at him.
— "Sly", — she hissed through her teeth. — I should have guessed it was a setup. We're leaving!
She took a step back. Niles waved a paper envelope in front of her nose. More precisely, not quite an envelope...
— Mirax, no one lied to you. The "Killik Twilight" is really here! — he said, pointing to the envelope. — I just knew you wouldn't make contact with me...
A strange expression flashed in the girl's dark eyes. She stopped, but did not take her blaster away.
— What are you saying, — she said. — Because of you, I lost contracts!
— I know, — said Niles. — Believe me, I am not happy with what happened myself... That's why I'm here!
— To set me up again? — the girl shook the blaster. — Where could you even get the "Killik Twilight"? The painting fell into the hands of the Imperials last year, and since then there has been no word of it!
— I worked with the Imperials not so long ago, — said Ferrier. — It didn't go very well...
— It's always like that with you, — the smuggler noted.
— In short, I stole it! — "Sly", without wasting time on further conversations, tore the paper wrapper off the painting, showing the work of art to Mirax.
Niles didn't know who created it. He was never interested in art. But he had accurate information that the painting depicting the now extinct Killik species, escaping from the imminent threat, which, according to the artist's idea, led the race to extinction, is very valuable in the market of antiques and objects of artistic value.
Because it was painted by an Alderaanian artist. It was created from moss that grew only on Alderaan. And only a coincidence — participation in an art exhibition on Coruscant at the time of the attack — saved it from destruction by the Death Star, as well as the planet itself.
— Hmm, — that's all that Mirax said, examining the work of art. Niles felt that his T-shirt was soaked with sweat during the short five minutes that the girl was examining the painting. — There is no doubt that this is it... "Sly", have you ever wondered if this reservoir, — she pointed to a small transparent flask built into the canvas, — is not needed for beauty?
— Uh... no, — Ferrier admitted. — What is it?
— A humidifier, — Terrik the Younger shook her head. — The painting is painted with living moss, if you can call its style of creation that. And the moss needs to be fed with moisture, otherwise it will be destroyed. I don't know how you managed to steal it, and not ruin it, but if it's not urgently fed with water, it will dry out in a couple of days, or maybe even sooner.
— Okay-okay-okay, — Ferrier waved his hands. — You know better. How much can it cost?
— It depends on who to sell it to, — the girl did not take her eyes off the painting. As did her co-pilot — the Sullustan. Thanks to which, the defel, black as night, calmly sneaked on board, using the cover of shadows. — If on the black market, then five or six million, if at an official auction, then you can get ten, but it will take more time.
— I agree to any amount, — Ferrier smiled ingratiatingly. Meeting Mirax's gaze, he immediately looked away. — Okay. I remember that I really screwed you over. Will half the amount of the proceeds suit you? The second half is mine.
— What, you still haven't paid off your debts? — Terrik chuckled.
— I tried, — "Sly" admitted. — I went to the Imperials, but they cheated me big time. The debts are still there, the "counter" is ticking every month. I had a good order — for buzz droids. I was going to contact your father, but...
— I wonder how far he sent you? — Mirax laughed merrily.
— So far that I had to steal the painting from the Imperials before they decided to cut me up too. Fortunately, the idiot I was working with left the office. And I — the painting in my hands and run. Half the guys died while we were breaking through. Now I want to sell the painting, give part of my money to pay off the debt, and use the second to get as far away from the Imperial territories as possible and hide in a deep hole.
— You know how to do that, — Mirax smirked. — Okay, I need a week to find a buyer...
— In the name of the Empire! Stop! — a thunderous voice, amplified by the vocoder of the armor, rang out. Without hesitation, the girl rushed towards her ship, firing at half a dozen fighters in black armor with deaf helmets. They ran from the main entrance, firing aimed shots on the go at everyone who was standing next to the Pulsar Skate.
— Run! — with his eyes wide with horror, Ferrier pushed Terrik aside, demonstratively holding a paper envelope in front of his flabby body, supposedly with a painting: in fact, it was already hidden under the jacket of Terrik the Younger, and the girl herself was running up the ramp of her ship, trying to shoot back on the go.
And, whatever they said about the Imperial soldiers, they did their job effectively.
The first shots reached their targets.
Ferrier, hit in the leg by a crimson impulse, crashed to the landing pad, swearing and howling like a fat sea animal that fishermen are cutting into pieces, without bothering to kill their prey.
The repair droid crumbled into a heap of mutilated pieces of iron, and next to it, the co-pilot, the Sullustan, fell face down on the floor. The Imperials ran up to the ramp at the very moment when the Pulsar Skate, having pulled in the landing ramp, boldly broke out of the hangar, leaving the limits of the space station.
— Grab him! — demanded a soldier, indistinguishable from the rest of them, from the rest of the fighters, pointing to Ferrier rolling on the floor. But, apparently, this fighter in black was the leader among the attackers. — Take him to the ship and organize a chase after the girl. We need her and the painting intact!