Nine years, five months, and twenty-one days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, five months, and twenty-one days after the Great Resynchronization.
And yet, there is something enchanting in watching, through the transparisteel of an Imperial Star Destroyer's combat bridge, the impenetrable blackness of space, studded with specks of stars, the waves and particles of light from which will reach this very star system... After how much? Thousands of years? Tens of thousands?
That's not particularly important now. The main thing that worries me is that the Chimaera and its formation have successfully completed their flight to the Rugosa system.
Located in the eponymous system of the Sanbra sector of the Outer Rim, this moon has a rather interesting history.
The Sanbra Sector.
According to old Republican and later Imperial studies, this world was once part of the sphere of influence of the now extinct Rakata race. According to rough estimates, the Rakata settled here just over thirty thousand years ago, as evidenced by some architectural monuments found on the planet itself.
Much later, the moon was discovered by Toydarian scouts—fellow members of the nation of that flying junk dealer from Tatooine named Watto, who once owned Anakin Skywalker as a slave.
The attractive climate and warm oceans made it attractive to the Toydarians as a place to relax. According to Imperial researchers, at the time of the discovery of Rugosa and its active colonization, the Toydarians had already established relations with the Hutts. The latter quickly subjugated the Toydarians, but they managed to keep the location of the planet a secret from their masters for a long time. When this deception was exposed, the Hutts released a plague of unclear origin on this astronomical body, which led to a change in climate, the drying up of the oceans, and the loss of the moon's attractiveness. Now it is effectively a dead world, the surface of which is littered with truly beautiful giant corals, of interest to a certain circle of specialists and researchers.
However, there were no such people here. Even the Toydarians themselves preferred not to appear here unnecessarily. Any settlements were absent in this practically dead world, and the only known and stable hyperspace route had led here for many hundreds of years. Since the planet turned out to be poor in minerals, the extraction of which is too costly to implement, there were no other reasons for the appearance of any sane person or other sentient in the entire galaxy.
Actually, that's why Rugosa was chosen as the meeting place.
— Admiral, sir, — Captain Pellaeon approached me. — All the ships of the flotilla have reached their destination. We're receiving a signal from Major Himran. A Skiff-pulsar and Niles Ferrier's ship docked to it have been registered on the scanners.
— Excellent, captain, — I said. — Send a message to Major Himran on the Crusader that his work is done. He and the prisoner must immediately come aboard the Chimaera. The Skiff-Pulsar should remain at the required coordinates with a remotely controlled charge for detonation. Mr. Ferrier may be free. Remind him that he owes me ships for saving his life.
— Will be done, Admiral, — the commander of the Chimaera said, without a hint of mockery in his voice. — A message has arrived from Moff Ferrus. Mr. Fodeum Sabre De'Luse has successfully completed his mission on Hoth and is returning to Tangrene.
— Tell the Moff to appreciate the work of our courier and get a detailed report from him, — I ordered. — Have new data arrived from the Nemesis and Dead Head?
— Only confirmation of the last information—they are moving at cruising speed, ahead of schedule by thirty-nine minutes, — Pellaeon reported. — Honestly, I'd like to know if they dumped their cargo and passengers into space instead of landing them on ships.
— Well, after the operation is completed, you will have time for such questions, captain. Initiative in the performance of assigned tasks is what we need right now, — I said philosophically. — Note that Captains Schneider and Astorias should be thanked for their efficiency.
— Grand Admiral, sir, will there be orders for the fleet?
— All crews should move to a yellow alert level. Order the Sentinel, — I named one of our Interdictor-class Star Destroyers, which, despite the smooth maneuver, unlike the rest of the fleet's starships, ended up outside the zone of Rugosa's gravity. Two Victories—the Crusader and the Steel Aurora, along with a couple of other Interdictors that had arrived earlier than us and were in ambush, had rebuilt into a marching formation. As was prescribed by the plan. — Move to the designated point and activate their gravity projectors. Let the Strikes and Tartans provide its escort. After all, the Sentinel is the first to engage in battle. Check that the captain of the Sentinel transmits to us and the rest of the flotilla the vectors of the deployment of the projectors. And invite Master C'baoth to the bridge in half an hour.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon, after a short salute, turned to the left and headed towards the communications section.
— You do not intend to wait for Booster Terrik to arrive at the agreed coordinates? — Mara Jade, standing near me, was surprised.
— I never intended to, — I replied. — The Sentinel will pull his ship, and all those he brings with him, out of hyperspace ten minutes earlier than the estimated time. And therefore, — I glanced at the ship's chronometer, — we have about forty to forty-five minutes before everything starts.
— Do you think that Booster Terrik will arrive for a meeting exactly one day earlier than the deadline he himself set? — Jade was surprised.
— I'm sure of it, — I said, watching the Sentinel, having made a short hyperspace jump within the system, take its assigned position in space on the path of the vector of entry into orbit of Rugosa. The rest of the fleet was reaching its positions on sublight engines. Despite the fact that it seems like it's easy to just take and make a micro-jump within the same star system, in reality it turns into a significant nightmare for navigators. Considering the distance separating us and the Interdictor, it will take us several hours to reach the target. The planned and unexpected guests should arrive much earlier. Which fits into the framework of the adjusted plan. — Do you know anything about this planet's involvement in the Clone Wars, Lieutenant Jade?
Looking at me with a painfully surprised look, Mara redirected it towards the surface of the moon, which was rapidly moving away from the Chimaera's course...
— There were negotiations between the King of the Toydarians and the Jedi, — she said. — Despite Toydaria's initial neutrality in the war, the Jedi managed to play on the goodwill of the Toydarian ruler and drag him into the war on their side. The Separatists arrived here to disrupt the negotiations, but failed to do so. The ambush they set up for the Jedi did not work, and the Separatists retreated, failing to either pull the Toydarians to their side or kill their king to negotiate with his successor.
— Do you know which Jedi led the negotiations? — I asked.
— No, of course not, — she looked at me in amazement. And it is not her fault for not knowing the answer to this question. In the history textbooks of the Empire, which I managed to study, the Jedi are impersonal. Their names are not mentioned, and their merits, in general, were diminished. — As I recall, a whole squad of Jedi and large forces of clones acted here to defeat the Separatists.
— A slight game of facts, — I commented. — In fact, only one Jedi participated in the negotiations. And a small squad of clones—less than a squad. And at the same time, they won the battle against the Separatists, who outnumbered them many times in number and armament.
— Only one Jedi? — Mara Jade looked at me incredulously. — That can't be true!
— Unfortunately for the official position of the Empire, it was exactly as I told you. However, as far as I know, the history textbooks devote much more time to stating the fact that the Separatists in this battle, as in many others, were led by a former Padawan of the Jedi Order and, concurrently, an assassin of the leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, also a former Jedi, Count Dooku. Do you not find this fact curious?
— No, should I? — the red-haired beauty clarified.
— Point of view, Mara Jade, — I said, looking into the young woman's eyes. — Sometimes too much depends on it. In the past, the Empire made a lot of effort to denigrate and then destroy the Jedi or their followers. I noted a very interesting fact—in historical chronicles, Palpatine's correctors significantly either erased or corrected the merits of the Jedi, either diminishing them or attributing them to those to whom it is more convenient to do so, for example—commanders of units, squadrons, fleets, and so on. For example, after the end of the Clone Wars, Grand Vizier Sate Pestage, on orders from above, falsified posthumous accusations against the Jedi, justifying the destruction of each of them by the forces of the Empire. Which, to a great extent, forced the surviving Jedi to emerge from their shelters again and again in order to attempt to clear their good name, to save artifacts and their heritage, and also—to try to eliminate their opponents, who, in their opinion, were guilty of what happened.
— I must admit, I can't grasp the essence of what you're implying, Grand Admiral, — Mara Jade said, after pondering my words. — The situation you described is somewhat similar to what's happening... But only at first glance.
— Really? — I was surprised. The girl nodded, not hiding and not afraid to show herself ignorant. — We pulled the same trick with Booster Terrik as the Empire did with the Jedi. We falsified data in order to achieve our own results and get the opinion we needed. So, considering the character of this sentient, his love for his daughter, hatred and distrust of Mr. Ferrier, I had no doubts from the beginning that he would bring reinforcements with him. Such people always have a couple of friends who are eager to shoot at the Empire. That's why we have three Interdictors, two Victories, a couple of medium cruisers and a similar number of Tartan patrol ships, perfectly suited for hunting small aircraft and armed smuggler freighters. However, the estimated time of arrival named by Terrik... There's a very high density of hyperspace routes in this part of the galaxy, and therefore, if he were really "nearby," within twenty to thirty nearest sectors of the Outer Rim, he would have arrived at the meeting place much earlier with a second-class hyperdrive of his destroyer. According to my calculations—by a day and a half. But he's not here.
— That's why you sent the two Crusader and Steel Aurora together with two Interdictors ahead, in order to catch him, — Mara Jade said, understandingly. It was obvious that the girl was knowledgeable in the affairs of intrigue, multi-turn combinations, and espionage. But she is not particularly interested in fleet affairs. And yet, at the moment she is the only one with whom I can discuss the situation. Pellaeon has to prepare his ship for battle. — And the presence of his daughter on the Crusader, one of the four ships that would attack him, guaranteed that he would not act at full strength.
— He wouldn't have been able to do it anyway. The Errant Venture is undoubtedly an Imperial-class ship of the second model, — I said. — But it is too heavily disarmed not to make the leadership of the New Republic wake up in a cold sweat at night. Four ships would have been enough to detain this ship with gravity projectors and damage it enough to immobilize it. And we have enough spare parts in the holds, obtained on Tangrene, to bring the starship back to life. Well, I see that Major Himran and his group have already arrived on board the Chimaera. Duty officer, — Lieutenant T'shel instantly appeared next to me. I wonder why, when I need a duty officer, it is always this young officer who is nearby? However, this mystery of fate will continue to remain so for the entire crew for now. As well as the true position of Mara Jade, who is currently listed as my personal adjutant. And I must say, the officer's uniform of the Empire suits her. — Lieutenant T'shel, inform Major Himran that I expect his companion on the bridge.
After saluting, the young Imperial literally disappeared, setting off to carry out his order.
After looking at the chronometer, I nodded in time with Pellaeon's message that the Sentinel, thanks to its deployed gravity installations, had "fished out" a good dozen armed freighters and ancient light ships from hyperspace, transmitting the identification signals of Yazuo Vayne.
— Tell Captain Vain to have him and his subordinates organize cover for the Sentinel, — I ordered, stroking the ysalamiri that had settled comfortably on my lap. — Well, since almost all the actors are in place, the performance will begin soon... Captain Pellaeon, transmit to our ships the order: "Move to lightspeed." It's time to close the trap.
***
No matter what corner of the galaxy it is, arriving there, especially at an orbital station, is always frustratingly monotonous.
And so now, a traditionally gloomy employee of the customs of the Sluis Van orbital complex stood before him. This is not a rebel officer—the local customs. Yes, it is part of the rebel customs service throughout their state, but the quality of work and the qualifications of the staff are much lower. Which means that everything will be even easier.
A human. A little over thirty. Overweight. The rank of sergeant. Judging by the reddish whites of his eyes—he hasn't had enough sleep. His uniform is ironed poorly. Bags under his eyes—health problems or from chronic fatigue? Too harsh with the passengers of the shuttle that Sergius arrived on. Which means that the customs officer is in a bad mood.
There were several other sentients in front of him—both humans and aliens. And each of them, regardless of how they behaved with the customs officer, received a set of reprehensible remarks from him. Zabrak, who, in the customs officer's opinion, was taking too long to take documents out of his backpack, was sent for a personal inspection. It is clear that this alien has nothing extra on him, the customs officer was just letting off steam for a few extra seconds of his waiting for the passenger's documents. A Twi'lek, who tried to show his friendliness, was sent for a medical examination—the customs officer decided to check him for the transportation of drugs such as spice inside the body. A trick as old as the world and has not worked for a long time—considering the quality of customs scanners, something like this is impossible in principle. Twenty years ago.
A woman with a child, who were being checked in front of Sergius, were sent by the customs officer to the migration department—something he didn't like in their identity documents. Some minor formality that he could easily fix just by scanning the parent's identification card and directly accessing the citizens' database. Sergius knew this, the customs officer was just making fun of the civilians.
A small man, vested with power... And who is it saying that the new Republic is better than the Empire? The regime has changed, but the immoral types in the structure of the authorities were there both under Palpatine and under democracy.
However, he is not here to restore order. A petty power-monger in a responsible position is a problem for those who put him here.
Well, what he saw changes the scenario of behavior with this individual.
— Documents, — the customs officer said, holding out his hand after measuring him with a frown. Sergius placed his identity card in it.
A fake one, of course. As is the identity under which he is acting.
Making fake documents for a Ubiqtorate coordinator is easier than opening a data file. Despite the fact that the Empire has lost ground in most of the galaxy, there are still "safehouses" where it was possible to pick up equipment and necessary gear. In its time, Imperial Intelligence made a lot of effort to ensure that its agents never needed anything when going on missions. Thousands and thousands of secret shelters are scattered throughout the galaxy, where agents could find what they needed to carry out a mission at any time. And which shelter to provide to which particular agent—that was decided by the Ubiqtorate. It was he who determined the funds that would be transferred to intelligence agents to resolve the tasks assigned to them.
Having gone out of the control of the Ubiqtorate, Sergius left, slamming the door loudly at the end. As a sector coordinator, he had access to the Ubiqtorate's archives. Finding and copying the list of still active shelters that had not been compromised was not the most difficult task. It was from one such shelter that he got the armor and equipment for Molo Himron's squad to carry out the operation to capture Mirax Terrik. Now the Major and his people are continuing to carry out the operation, and he has another task. Which required another shelter—with a real machine for making identity cards. The same as the ones that issued IDs to all citizens of the Empire.
Despite the fact that it has been the dominant power in the galaxy for more than a year, the New Republic is still using Imperial technology—they simply do not have the money to develop their own technologies like this one. Therefore, the identity card of a citizen of the New Republic is not much different from that of a citizen of the Empire.
With the exception that now the New Republic maintains an electronic database of citizens, borrowing it from the depths of Imperial citizens. And if earlier the Imperial law enforcement officers only compared the identity cards for their originality (was it a fake?), then the rebels, it must be admitted, have stepped further. But they did it not quite thoughtfully.
They simply copied the databases of the Empire into their own information space, and therefore the fake identities that had been created for years to cover up all kinds of special services of the Empire, ended up there too. Therefore, Sigereus was not afraid of such a check.
— Well, what did a lower-grade power plant mechanic forget on Sluis Van? — returning the ID, the customs officer asked. The question went beyond his powers—he only checked the documents for authenticity, and searched the transport for smuggling, nothing more. Questions about the purpose of arrival are asked in another office. But Sergius did not go for the check last for nothing. By this point, the customs officer was already quite tired, the supply of rotten humor in his arsenal had run out, and his bad mood due to a sleepless night had slightly increased due to complicating the life of ordinary sentients.
— So, — Sergius scratched his nose, continuing to play the part of a simple guy from Tanaab who had broken out into the big world. — I'm just this... I know how to fix ships. Well, the wiring, all sorts of systems. I can even adjust a hyperdrive, if needed. And here it is, well, a shipyard. There must be some work, right?
Playing a country bumpkin is one of the most difficult acting arts that intelligence officers are taught. Mentors always say: "Pretending to be an idiot is much more difficult than being one." An intelligence officer should not play someone else's role. He must get into it so much that the legend becomes a second skin. Therefore, there is nothing strange in the fact that he is now picking his ear while talking to the customs officer. How would a villager from an agricultural world know how to behave in a decent society of big cities? Yesterday he was still herding nerfs and driving them into his father's barn, and then he would go to fix the dilapidated freighters of local farmers.
— With such skills, you're not needed much here at all, — the customs officer snorted. — This isn't a dump like Mos Eisley on Tatooine, but a rather decent office. Go home, kid, before you're left without the last credit in your pocket.
— Sergeant, — a middle-aged woman in a customs officer's uniform appeared nearby. But with officer's insignia. Judging by the relationship, she is the post chief of this pier. It is obvious that one of the passengers has already complained about the arbitrariness of the employee. Well, it worked faster than he planned. — What's the news? YOU sent all the passengers either for inspection or...
— Well, they're all suspicious, — well, the culture of subordination at its finest. Or rather—its absence. It's clear that the sergeant has been serving longer than the young boss, and she has not yet managed to establish herself properly. Therefore, experienced employees simply ignore her, continuing to work as they are used to. All the charms of local security services. If this were happening at an Imperial customs office, the duty officer would have already wiped the entire spaceport floor with this sergeant after the first or second incident, who has obviously been stuck in this rank for years not for no reason. Of course, if it concerned the people. But it was the ordinary Imperial officials who tried not to terrorize them with procedures out of boredom. Exotics are another matter... It's strange that the girl with the lieutenant's cubes on her chest only showed up at the end of the shuttle check. Either most of the passengers silently endured this rudeness, or they don't care. — So I sent them. Leslie, why are you so angry?
— The head of the spaceport informed me about your antics! — the girl said, flashing her eyes. Judging by the way she is looking guiltily at Sergius, who continues to chew gum with smacking sounds and is looking at the clean hall of the spaceport with feigned interest, the young lieutenant is clearly not interested in him as a suspect in illegally crossing the border and espionage. Well, of course, he had just wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.
There are certain stereotypes—that spies or operatives try to look "average" in all respects in order not to attract attention and not to be remembered by passers-by. How many agents "burned out" on such an infiltration tactic? Thousands. And it is good that they were ISB personnel. Imperial Intelligence would not have allowed itself such miscalculations. Or rather—if such cases had occurred (and they could not help but happen over the years of the Empire's existence), then they would simply have been hidden from the public. And that's it. To abandon a failed agent and destroy his personal file from the archive—it's a matter of two keystrokes on the computer of the director of Imperial Intelligence. And no trace... Every operative must understand that, infiltrating an alien structure, and even more so—penetrating the territory of a hostile state, in case of failure, he will be on his own.
— So what? — the customs officer asked with a hint of laziness. — The old geezer is mad at me for losing a thousand credits at sabacc last night, so he decided to let all the rancors loose on me. He should just go...
— In general, I warned you, — the girl-boss threatened him with her finger. Sergius openly appreciated her figure, which confused her even more. And finally formed in her head an image of him as a bumpkin who is unfamiliar with the rules of decency. — Finish checking this citizen and inspect the shuttle.
— So I'm telling him that he came here in vain, — the fat man grinned. — Who needs a lower-grade power plant mechanic here? He won't be allowed on the shipyard, he'll be hanging around here and getting on the nerves of the security guys...
— I don't think it's that bad, — the girl approached them, grimaced, taking Sergius' identity card from the fat man's sticky hands. — Hmm... Have you ever worked in government enterprises?
— No-o-o, — Sergius said, stretching out the words and spreading into a trusting smile. — I grew up on Tanaab. And there is only agricultural business with the government. No, I can fix a mower or a combine, but I like ships more, fixing the wiring, removing and installing equipment...
— Well, who needs you here, — the girl quietly expressed her opinion, continuing to look at the data from his identification card. And there, in fact, are concentrated almost all the data about the life of a fake personality—not only places of study, but also work, medical information, information about arrests and offenses... All the necessary hooks that could ensure him both as quick as possible and slow infiltration. But the Grand Admiral was primarily interested in a safe infiltration that could ensure as long as possible stay of the agent at the enemy shipyards. Small positions, which only people from the backwoods or the province can apply for, suited him for this—you attract less attention, and the authorities are eager to dump all their work on you. — Sir, — finally, she remembered the etiquette of communicating with citizens. The girl looked away from the computer and looked him straight in the eye: — You have experience working in warehouses, right?
It seems that the corporate customs of Sluissi really also have a bonus for finding suitable candidates for work, since they are so interested in his abilities. Hmm, so the rumors are not lying.
— Well, that's like, yes, — Sergius simply blinked his eyes. — I did some work at a friend's father's parts warehouses. Well, to put things in order, make parts catalogs... I'm just this, persistent and tedious, — the customs officers exchanged glances. Sergius frowned, pretending to be thinking. — Ah, no! To-di-ous! — he smiled at his own victory of mind over vocabulary. — In short, they dumped all the work on me that no one wanted to do there. And what about me? And I'm just this, persistent. Well, and I work...
One of the most important rules of infiltration is not to say more about yourself than you can actually do. It would not have cost anything to provide them with information that he had graduated from some technical university and was able to work as a chief engineer. But the problem is that Sergius was not well-versed in technology at the proper level—slightly better than the average man. Therefore, inflated characteristics of a fake identity could lead to undesirable consequences.
— Here, — the girl returned his identification chip to him. And a small flimsi sheet with an inscription that Sergius immediately began to examine. Some address. — You will go to the fifth level, to the warehouse complex. You will find the warehouse manager, give him this, — she placed another card in his hand that she had just recorded from her portable computer. — This is a referral from customs. You'll be assigned to the warehouses. You'll work there for a while, show yourself—you'll make a lot of money. On Sluis Van, your dreams always come true, — she smiled affectedly and winked at Sergius. A simple trick. A marketing ploy that is not in use... How much? Ten years? It seems he wasted a lot of time preparing for infiltration. He could have flown here on a freighter filled to the brim with jewels, piled them up in the middle of the terminal and said that he had flown here to fulfill his dream, and then ordered the construction of some yacht. No one would have said a word—the security service here is clueless to say the least.
— Oh, thank you, thank you, — he pretended to pull a piece of food from between his teeth. He took it with two fingers, examined it, and put it back in his mouth. The customs officers barely held back their disgust. — I'm this, grateful, in short. Maybe we'll meet sometime, huh? — he deliberately made a disgusting attempt at flirting to get a refusal. But the girl will be left with the impression that she had done a good deed and received gratitude from the man. A psychological trick designed to ensure that in the event of a check of the passengers later, she would not look at his file too closely, remembering him as a clumsy man whom she helped find a job. And help is a good thing. Who would want to dig through their own good deeds in a mountain of work days and routines? And the invitation to a date... Well, it is necessary to secure the image of a bumpkin. As the simple commandment of the Intelligence Academy says: "No self-respecting girl will agree to go on a date with someone who picks food from between their teeth with documents..."
The fat man snorted indignantly and headed towards the shuttle.
The customs officer blinked in confusion.
— Um... actually, it's not allowed, sir.
— Okay, — Sergius threw his bag over his shoulder. — Bye for now!
And took a step toward the exit from the terminal.
— I'm free after nine o'clock in the evening! — the girl's voice reached him. Sergius almost stumbled over his own feet. What did you say, you wretched thing?! — As soon as I hand over my shift at the customs post...
— Okay, got it, — he nodded his head. And continued his leisurely walk towards the exit.
He wanted to die of shame. Because the commandment said:
"No self-respecting girl will agree to go on a date with someone who picks food from between their teeth with documents... And no self-respecting girl will go to work in customs, because in a short time she will sink to the level of the spineless men who work there."
An unforeseen nuisance. One that can't be gotten rid of so easily. She knows where he works, and if she's "ditched"—she might get offended and use her position to create problems for him.
Well, that's just great! Now he not only has to sabotage the republican shipyard, but also to take out the republican customs officer. Although... on the other hand, she is cute, clearly has access to corporate information...
Well, and in the end he will have a direct opportunity to properly demonstrate to the New Republic, in the face of its specific representative, that the Empire still dominates.
***
How many times has she been duped recently? Five or six times for sure.
First, the Sly, then a capture team that seems to be Imperial, but it gives the impression that they are from the "former ones" and serve the "Invids". Then the appearance of a whole fleet of ships—including the one that was seen in the attack on New Cov, and it was definitely not the Imperials who tried so hard there. At least that's what they told her.
And now everything is falling into place. Sort of.
She is definitely a prisoner of the Imperials. And all these performances were needed... For what? To confuse her? No, of course, she is of great importance in her circles, as she is able to obtain a considerable number of artifacts, and very valuable antiques at that. For this, her business colleagues and clients respect and value her. But it's unlikely that such games would be arranged just for her alone.
While ascending on the turbolift to the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer, accompanied by the same soldiers in black armor, Mirax stopped doubting that the only one for whom the Empire could have tried so hard as to bring a whole fleet for his capture was her father. A man who owns his own Star Destroyer. Well, she can amuse herself with the fact that in addition to one "Imperial," two "Victories," and two pairs of cruisers, the Imperials brought another Interdictor-class Star Destroyer to capture the Errant Venture, in addition to the two original ones. It's amazing how they assess the combat capability of an almost disarmed "deuce", that they brought a whole fleet here, even with three specialized ships equipped with gravity generators that can create an artificial area of gravity that prevents any type of starships from going into hyperspace!
It seems that the Imperials are really afraid of her father. Amusing, considering the fact that even the New Republic has already stopped clutching their hearts every time they learned of the appearance of the Errant Venture in inhabited worlds. But the Imperials seem to have no idea about the true state of armament of her father's ship, since they have gathered such a fleet. A couple of Victories would have been enough to collapse the Errant Venture's deflectors and smash its artillery along with its engines. But no...
The turbolift doors opened and both her escorts, rudely grabbing the younger Terrik by the arms, literally dragged her along the central platform, dividing the "pits" and the combat bridge itself into two parts. The closer the girl got to the observation windows through the efforts of the Imperials, while not forgetting to turn her head to the sides to memorize as many details as possible, the more she became convinced that the Imperials on this ship seemed not to have heard that the days of their former glory were in the past. Every person she saw is focused and attentive. Clear and substantial negotiations between the members of the watch. Exemplary cleanliness on the deck... Well, this is definitely not some schismatic force—an active fleet.
The girl felt the deck under her feet twitch slightly, which could indicate only one thing—the ship had switched to hyperspeed. And... why? If they are luring her father here, then what is the point of leaving the trap...
The deck came alive again, which could mean only one thing—the jump was over. And it lasted only five to seven seconds... How is that even possible? Jumps over such short distances are generally a very impractical thing, and dangerous at that. Strange Imperials. Although... no, their hyperdrive is probably broken. Well, if so, then everything corresponds to the traditional idea of the Imperials—everything is as good as always, but they will never have the money to take revenge on the New Republic.
But... since when have they been installing such chairs on the bridge? Wait, what?!
It seemed to Mirax that she was developing vision problems. A woman on the crew of a Star Destroyer?! Seriously?! Since when?! No, it would have been understandable if she were some "security officer" or from the supply service... No, she is wearing a purely fleet uniform and the rank markings of a lieutenant. What miracles. It seems that the Imperials really have problems with conscription.
Actually, they seem to have problems with the air wing as well. Otherwise, how can one explain the fact that the shuttle on which she and her escorts were flying was launched through the cargo hangar, and not the main flight deck? And these strange mining machines in the cargo hangar... What are they for? Are the Imperials now flying to mine ore on Star Destroyers somewhere in the backwaters of the galaxy? And a Corellian CR90-class corvette hanging in the opening of the main hangar—she was able to notice this oddity while the shuttle was approaching the "Imperial".
A strange kind of destroyer. It seems that its captain...
Mirax got caustic expressions stuck in her throat that she had wanted to unleash on the senior Imperial officer, whose white uniform could be seen from behind the back of the chair. No, of course, it is clear that one of the Imperial officers has imagined himself to be a Grand Admiral, this is not news, they often do that, they are ambitious people...
But it was not a human sitting in front of her. Blue skin, scarlet eyes burning like flames in hell, inky black hair... An Imperial Grand Admiral, about whom rumors have appeared among the smugglers—not human?
What is wrong with this Empire? Why start breaking the stereotypes of ordinary people right away? This is how much the Empire could have changed, that they not only have women in the crews of Star Destroyers, but also aliens? And what about the New Order, the human-centric policy?
— Welcome aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera, Mirax Terrik-Horn, — the alien greeted her in a deep voice filled with notes of power. Mirax, who has had to communicate with thousands of sentients throughout the galaxy, noted that she had never met such an... interesting accent. Light, almost imperceptible. But it was still present. Which directly indicated that the Galactic Basic for this non-human was clearly not his native language. And that immediately added a flurry of new questions regarding what was happening.
— Actually, I was not going to stay, — the girl said, smiling at the stranger. Perhaps this alien, who somehow managed to reach the heights in the Imperial Navy, will be so naive that he will let her go? — If possible, I would take my ship and go away with the warm thought that the Empire has carefully invited me on a tour of the ships of its fleet. And I must say, I am impressed by how everything is just so great here, strictly according to regulations... But my husband is waiting for me at home, and I only flew out for groceries... He must be worried by now, sitting there, worrying. And the droid at home is not charged...
— I'm afraid I have to ask you to stay, — the blue-skinned non-human said, running his hand in front of him. And only now Mirax lowered her gaze below his face, surprisingly discovering a small brown lizard on his lap. Do they have a zoo here too? — Especially since your little lie won't work. Corran Horn, your husband, is currently visiting Sluis Van—assuring the residents of the sector that they are, as always, under the protection of the New Republic. Your childhood friend, Wedge Antilles, the commander of the Rogue Squadron, is there too. Unfortunately, you have no other close relatives who might be eagerly awaiting you on the other side of the galaxy. So you'll have to enjoy our hospitality for a while. Take my word—the show promises to be mesmerizing. I give you my word—you will not remain indifferent. And you can even influence some destinies. Consider it compensation for the forced measure I had to take to invite you aboard.
Mirax wanted to remind him about her father, but she suddenly realized that this strange sentient did not just say "close relatives ... on the other side of the galaxy." Could it be that the Empire, knowing the whereabouts of her husband, also figured out where her father is? Or do they know that he is flying here? Yes, most likely the second.
— You talk too much for an Imperial, — realizing that it was useless to play the fool, Mirax Terrik-Horn replied. Exactly. For business, she could only use the first half of her surname, in order to use the authority of her father's surname where needed. But now, in the face of the representatives of the Empire, she was not only Booster's daughter, but also Corran's wife, a pilot of the Rogue Squadron. — Isn't it time to start the intimidation, torture, and humiliation?
The non-human's right eyebrow raised slightly, expressing his emotions... Probably expressing. Because his face remained impassive.
— I would prefer to do without all this, — he said. Mirax, casting her eyes behind the Grand Admiral's back, saw only the blackness of space and the distant specks of stars outside the bridge. And where are the rest of the fleet's starships?
As if in response to her question, several TIE fighters appeared in sight, escorting bombers from the same family. So, the Imperials raised an air wing? It's unlikely they're doing it just to show off. Which means... everything will start soon.
The girl felt her heart squeeze inside.
— You are not a stupid woman, Mirax Terrik-Horn, — the Imperial said. — I think from the conversation between Mr. Ferrier and your father, which we allowed you to watch, you have drawn the right conclusions.
So that's how it is. So they "let her watch." Well, now everything fits. They specifically misled her, allowed her to see the conversation between the Sneaker and her father, so that she would exhaust herself with speculations about her father's fate while waiting for this conversation. Psychological processing. Well, it's too bad they chose the wrong target.
— Let me guess, — Mirax grinned crookedly. — Now you're going to offer me cooperation options?
— There can be no alternatives, — the Imperial said. — In the near future, both of your loved ones—your husband and father—will be beyond the comfort zone they are so accustomed to. Captain Horn will voluntarily leave Sluis Van and active duty, and your father will soon be here. And what is even more likely—he will bring several of his friends with him. I will make you an offer—only once. Agree—and your father will live. Refuse—and he will die. Before your very eyes. Immediately after my stormtroopers board his ship.
— And how can a simple antique dealer help you? — Mirax asked, more to satisfy her own curiosity than to actually consider the offer.
— You will complete my task, — the Imperial said. — At first I thought you would sell a number of antiques that happened to be at my disposal for the highest possible price. And now, in light of recent events, I believe that there is no need for that. Your help will be much more valuable in another way. You will infiltrate a pirate gang, find out the location of their base and flagship, and then you will get your precious father back. Who will be my guest all this time. And accordingly, I will put in a good word for your husband. So that he does not forget you after the end of the training course that has been prepared for him. If you do everything as you are told—in addition, you will become a quite wealthy woman. The hunt for your father in the territory under my control will be stopped, and the money received will be enough for him to buy himself another ship, but one that is definitely not related to the warships of Imperial construction.
Mirax didn't think long. The necessary words were found immediately.
— The offer would have been really tempting if you hadn't made a mistake about my husband, — Mirax smiled. — Corran would never do such a stupid thing. On the contrary—I believe more that he and Wedge will rush after you in pursuit, find you, and bring you to justice. You know, in a duel between the X-wings of the Rogue Squadron and the Imperial war machine, it is always the latter that is defeated. Despite the size and the rattling of weapons. And Dad... He is able to take care of himself. I am your only chance to influence him, as well as my husband. So, no, your offer is untenable. But so be it, when the nozzles of your Star Destroyer fry the fighters and cruisers of the New Republic, as well as all the pirates and smugglers of the Outer Rim, so be it, I will put in a good word for you. You won't be hanged right away.
— Oh, this faith in the power of insurmountable circumstances, — the Imperial smiled unexpectedly, looking somewhere behind the woman. — Master C'baoth, how is it with Captain Horn?
— As it should be, — turning around, Mirax was surprised to see a tall, gray-haired man in a brown robe sitting down in a free chair near the communication panel. Very similar to the ones worn by the Jedi in ancient times. — He is upset, enraged, and heeded my words. I can feel him even from the other side of the galaxy. As soon as we finish playing your toy ships, he will open his mind to my call. And he will run away, and he will fly to me to gain the power that is due to him. Nothing will interfere with my plans! I foresaw this! Everything will happen as it should! Corran Horn is destined by the Force itself to become a Jedi!
"Is this an Imperial Star Destroyer or a freak show?"—Mirax thought. A woman in uniform, an alien commanding them all, now an obviously insane old man with a mania for grandeur...
— Well, — the girl looked at the Grand Admiral. — You have quite the crew. It's impossible to look away. All of them are a perfect match. But your old man can say whatever he wants—Corran will never...
— How dare you, insignificant dust at my feet, question my words?! — the old man's angry and hysterical voice reached her. Looking at him, Booster Terrik's daughter shuddered.
The frail old man had crossed the entire bridge in a way unknown to her and was now standing next to her, looking down at the girl. His eyes were burning with a crazy fire, his lips were whispering some incoherent words, and his fingers, bent like the claws of an animal, were about to dig into her throat. She involuntarily took a step back, but remained in place—her escorts, who continued to hold Mirax, did not even flinch.
— Master C'baoth, — the blue-skinned sentient addressed the madman just as evenly. The old man threw him a scorching look. At the same time, an unknown short man with a terrible face appeared next to him, who blocked the old man's path in his robe. — She is not worth your attention.
Master... a robe... Mirax felt that she was feeling dizzy. Master is a way of addressing meritorious members of the Jedi Order. Who, for a minute, were all exterminated by the Empire. But judging by how even the air around the old man was turning into a substance charged with unknown and intangible particles of energy, it was unlikely that the Imperials had dressed up the madman just to scare her.
The old man's hooked fingers grasped the medallion dangling on his chest. And almost immediately, like a spent tornado, the old man relaxed.
— Corran Horn is mine, — he threw at her, after which he hobbled towards the chair he had jumped from. The gray-skinned short man, after standing for a few seconds, darted behind the partition, where he practically dissolved in the twilight where the slightly muted light of the bridge did not reach.
Having calmed the shiver that had come over her, Mirax glanced at the Grand Admiral. And he, with a slight smile on his lips, looked at her.
— You can take the word of our esteemed Master C'baoth, — he advised. — Before you is a Master Jedi. Powerful and ruthless. And burning with a desire to teach your husband, who comes from a family of Jedi, the secret knowledge of his Order. If Master C'baoth said that he contacted your husband, then it is so. Don't underestimate Corran Horn's love for himself. I am sure that, choosing between you and his duty, he will fly all over the galaxy to find his wife.
— And will fall into your clutches, — Mirax wrinkled her nose disdainfully. Yes, she was wrong to think that the Imperials only needed her to lure out her father.
— Corran Horn is of absolutely no interest to me, — the chief Imperial unexpectedly declared. — He is completely in the power of Master C'baoth. As soon as we are done with your father and return to the Empire what rightfully belongs to it, the Master will meet your husband and make him a Jedi, — the blue-skinned Imperial smiled, and Mirax felt a strong desire to scratch out his red eyes. — In his own image and likeness, of course.
— You're all sick bastards, — Mirax said, trying to kick the escort holding her. It didn't work. But she got a blow to the ribs. A light, sobering one. And accompanied by a cracking of bones.
— For such insults on board my flagship, they kill, — the Grand Admiral said seriously. — But I think your stubborn nature will bring you much more pain than a knife breaking your heart.
— Burn in hell, Imperial! — Mirax hissed.
— We'll all be there, — he shrugged indifferently.
— They are approaching, — the old man's voice sounded unexpectedly. Low, focused... Looking at him, Booster Terrik's daughter noticed that the madman was sitting in a chair, closing his eyes, as if what was happening did not concern him at all. — Five minutes... no, seven, and they will be here. Hmm... there are a lot of them... and they are strong!
— Excellent, then it won't be an empty beating of babies, — the Imperial in the white uniform said, checking the chronometer. — They are a quarter of an hour late from schedule. Well, so much the better. Captain Pellaeon, as soon as our guests arrive, transmit their telemetry to other ships. All ships take their designated positions. Form a semicircle opposite the interception vector. Spare no one. Master C'baoth—pay special attention to the Errant Venture. The father of the woman you disliked so much will definitely be on the combat bridge in the superstructure. As it seems to me, our bombers will be able to express all your indignation to him.
— How will I know which ship he is on? — the voice of the gray-haired madman reached them.
— You will see a red Star Destroyer, — the Imperial smiled, looking at Mirax with a hint of regret for some reason. Or did she imagine it? — It will be difficult to miss.
— For the first time, I am happy to carry out your orders, Grand Admiral, — a note of pleasure appeared in the voice of the insane old man. Mirax felt a cold sweat break out on her. If this old man is really a Jedi... She can't allow this crazy old man to kill her father! And judging by the rumors that surrounded the Jedi and the reasons why the Empire was so fiercely destroying them, not all of them were as meek and calm, peaceful and valuing the lives of others, like Luke Skywalker.
— Grand Admiral, — the girl, seeing the chair in which the Imperial was sitting and watching the interstellar emptiness in front of him turn away from her, tried to lunge forward, but her escorts held her back again. And the red-haired lieutenant standing to his right only smiled crookedly. Her face seems somehow familiar... Couldn't they have met before? — I... I said a lot of unnecessary things. I apologize. I want to accept your offer. Tell me what to sell and for what price...
— Battle alert! — a voice on the bridge coincided with the sounds of the buzzer that had invaded their ears with an uninvited chime. — Enemy ships are emerging from hyperspace! Analyzing! One Imperial-II-class Star Destroyer, a Neutron Star-class cruiser, three Carrack-class light cruisers, twelve modernized and armed freighters, thirty-six marks of small aircraft. Correction! New starships are arriving...
A flock of exclamations of surprise, bordering on panic, swept across the bridge. Mirax, looking ahead, was about to smile, seeing more and more arriving ships... But the smile disappeared from her face the very moment she realized that the space in which the numerous starships of Booster Terrik's friends and companions were appearing was already swarming with green turbo laser streaks, hundreds of crimson trails of ship proton torpedoes, and there were already losses among the arrivals... The ships, which were just pulled out of hyperspace by the artificial gravitational anomaly, deprived, due to the suddenness of what happened, of the readings of their scanners, and which had not had time to raise their deflector shields, were absorbing thousands of deadly projectiles, which with every second brought confusion and death to the formation of the sentients who came to her rescue... And even the joy that her father's Star Destroyer had arrived not alone, and that her white counterpart harmonized next to the red "deuce", rapidly covered with black burns, no longer filled her.
— As I have already said, Mistress Terrik-Horn, — the Grand Admiral's voice reached her ears. — My offer was valid only once. And besides, you no longer need to infiltrate the "Invids". Leonia Tavira and her motley fleet have arrived at the scene of their execution themselves.