Nine years, six months, and fourteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fourth year, six months, and fourteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
— And I say to him at that moment: "Where was your head at?" — Yazuo tried to portray the mix of emotions he'd felt in the past. A very distant past.
— And what did he answer you? — asked the man, leaning on his rusty vibro-pike. Yazuo glanced at him mockingly. And thanked his prudence for having thought to put on an oxygen mask when he descended to the surface of the planet Raxus Prime. Not only did this world look like a rusty piece of durasteel from space, urinated on by a rancor, digested by a sarlacc, defiled by a pack of mynocks, and at the end of all these glorious adventures, also hit by a spill of acids of all types and chemical properties, but the stench here was also...
Judging by how the eyes of the ragged fellow, who proudly called himself a customs inspector (but in reality, just one of the members of the local gangs controlling the surface of the garbage planet), were tearing up, he was clearly suffering from the fragrance of the local bouquet of smells. But the ragged fellow tried not to show it. In vain. If you're drawn to turn inside out under the influence of local beauty — don't restrain yourself, let the common good triumph.
Although, on the other hand... what if the local color — in particular, the eye-stinging smell and those suspicious puddles reigning around — were formed precisely because of such releases of inner indignation?
Planet Raxus Prime.
— And what about him? — Yazuo asked again, fondly stroking his vibrosword. — He didn't answer me.
— Why? — the "customs inspector" was surprised.
— Well, he died, — Vayne said in surprise.
— When? — the local criminal was taken aback.
— Right after I asked him the question, — the corsair captain furrowed his brow. — Did I miss another piece of the story about how I chopped off my first captain's head before asking him where his head was?
— Well, looks like it, — the native somehow saddened.
— Looks like you're lying, kid, — grunted a nearby Rodian scavenger. — You said you'd tell the story of how you shot your captain. And now you say you beheaded him... It's kind of suspicious.
— Suspicious is when you fly to a planet for parts, and they ask you to tell about how you killed your commander, — Yazuo sighed.
— Actually, you forced this story on us yourself, — the "customs inspector" frowned. — I just asked you not to wave your vibrosword around.
— And that was only said after your pick hit him on the head there, — the "customs officer" pointed toward the Rodian. — And you'd already started...
— What's done is done, — Vayne sighed. — It's always like that with me — you start talking, and one thought clings to another, like a Jedi clings to life when standing before Vader, and off it goes...
— So, why did you come here? — the man with the vibro-pike inquired. Why-why... So you'd ask!
— Well, they say you've got a lot of parts here for Separatist ships, — he said, throwing glances full of hidden sadness and a desire to end his life immediately at the landscapes of the planet Raxus Prime.
Inspiring reflections on the futility of existence landscapes of Raxus Prime.
Billions of tons of mangled metal, deformed ship parts, huge mouths of artisanal smelters, where metal was delivered after gutting it on site. And all this good stuff was melted into multi-ton blocks of metal... Which was then bought by more enterprising dealers connected with arms manufacturers, starships, or even illegal organizations: everyone wants working ships, like they want to eat.
— It's a lot for some, but for others — you better get out of here, kid, — the "customs officer" said with poorly concealed threat, pointing his vibro-pike at him. His companion, having approached, drew a blaster, aiming it right at Yazuo's chest.
— Hey-hey, — Vayne raised his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. — What's the matter?
— There are too many of you, — the "customs officer" grumbled. — First, you fly in for no reason, then you blow everything up... We had one madman who built a Jedi Temple to scale "one to one"...
— A Jedi, was he?
— For all I care, he could've been a rancor burp, — the interlocutor snapped. — Just after him, another one came with a lightsaber and gave our gang a good beating. And spoiled a lot of good goods when the Imperial Star Destroyer dropped from orbit onto the surface of the planet...
— Guys, — Vayne shook his head disapprovingly, — am I the only one who sees a problem the size of a Wookiee's butt in your logic?
— Well, speak, — said the Rodian.
— I don't have a lightsaber, — for clarity, Yazuo opened his cloak and spun around, allowing those present to inspect him from all sides. — And I didn't come here to fight or ruin anyone's plans. I need parts — preferably more, better, and cheaper.
— And the money? — the "customs inspector" said uncertainly. — We only work with 100% prepayment in cash.
— Yeah, and my wife kept her fidelity to me, — Vayne mumbled, but they heard him.
— What do you say? — the man standing closest didn't understand his words.
— I say it's hard to believe. First, I'll look at everything you have, — Yazuo declared. — Maybe you'll just, perhaps, take my money and ditch me?
The couple exchanged glances. They seemed to have realized that it was time to go on the offensive.
— What do you mean "maybe"? — the "customs officer" was surprised. — Fork over everything you have, and you'll stay alive. We'll borrow your little ship for free and get off this planet...
Yazuo glanced at his starship, on which he arrived on Raxus Prime. Apparently, the locals were very tired of the local scenery, so they wanted to escape from here in any way possible. And capturing a single ship, especially from the hands of a reasonable being like Yazuo, who doesn't pose a great danger, is a very common practice. Especially in this fragile little world...
— Well, as you wish, — Yazuo said, dodging the first swift lunge. Addressed to his right side. At the same time, he was nimble enough to avoid the opponent's shot, taking cover behind some piece of rusty metal. A blaster shot clicked against the improvised barrier, another one...
Leaping out from behind the cover, Yazuo with a precise shot made a hole in the Rodian opponent's throat, after which he easily deflected the man's pike lunge, noticing out of the corner of his eye how the already dead Rodian fell with a splash into an acid puddle. His meager equipment, as if assembled from parts found in a junkyard, hissed, and his body began to melt, turning the surface of the pale green liquid into a foamy formation with a definitely not very pleasant "scent."
It took only a few seconds to disarm the opponent. The blade of Vayne's vibrosword sliced through the pike, causing the man to scream, jumping a meter away from the privateer and shaking his disfigured hand, missing several fingers.
— Oops, — Vayne smiled. — That was awkward.
A punch to the face disoriented the opponent, but at the same time, returned his ability to think straight. At least in the matter of giving truthful answers:
— Where can I find the parts? — Yazuo growled in his face, for the correct understanding of his own intentions, poking his weapon into the opponent's chin. One careless movement — and the vibro-cell of the sword will start working, cutting his head into several parts. However, you can simply press the trigger, and the blaster built into the vibrosword will make a neat hole in the man's chin all the way to the brain. If the native has one, of course.
— I-in the warehouses! — hysterical notes sounded in the scavenger's voice. Well, what did you expect? You can't attack the one who brought you money. Otherwise, it'll turn out very badly later...
— And where are the warehouses? — Vayne demonstrated his charming smile and the ability to negotiate.
— A-a-a... at another group, — the boy sobbed. — We don't have anything. There are only two of us left after the f-a-a-all of the destroyer...
— So, you were fooling my head, — Vayne stated, looking around suspiciously. Any kind of filth could be lurking in this garbage dump... But it seems there was no one here. It's even kind of offensive. You fly in for a shootout, and here a couple of paupers try to cheat you out of the blue...
— Y-yes, — the guy confirmed with tears in his eyes. — W-w-we needed your ship. O-o-oh, my fingers!
— Don't stick them where you shouldn't — they would've stayed in place, — Yazuo said didactically. — Is that group as crazy as you?
— N-no-o-o, — the scavenger cried like a child. — They do business honestly, they deal with large companies...
— So, like, they won't cheat? — Vayne chuckled.
— N-no-a, — the defeated opponent shook his head.
— You know, — Vayne smiled. — I think I'll believe you. For a change, of course...
— T-t-t-thank you! — the scavenger was glad. — So... I'm going?
Yazuo grinned.
— "Believe" doesn't mean "forgive," — the young privateer chuckled, driving his weapon into the head of the con-man scavenger.
Shaking the corpse off his vibrosword, the man returned to his ship with a firm intention to find those who would sell him the damned Separatist equipment. Because after the sixth... no, the seventh, that small gang near the destroyed hull of the Imperial Lambda-class shuttle also counts... So, after the seventh attempt to cheat him out of the blue, the young commander of the Black Pearl had already ceased to exude the same enthusiasm regarding his purchase, which he had in the past.
***
— Looks better than the last time when she just arrived here, — Captain Pellaeon stated, examining the massive bulk of the Golan II-class space defense station. An imposing, gray-shining durasteel armor, blinking with marker lights ("Are there too many of them on the station?" — Gilad thought), the protective orbital station, captured during the attack on the Dafalvian Sector of the New Republic, surpassed the Imperial Star Destroyer in its dimensions, making Chimaera seem like a little teenage girl, who at any moment could be offended by a giant in armor and with a powerful shield standing in front of her. Curious pair, of course... A flagship of the Grand Admiral, armed to the teeth, and a combat station with a virtually impenetrable shield, inferior in terms of the amount of weaponry to a ship that hung in the orbit of Tangrene.
And now, dozens of eyes are directed at the newly commissioned battle station. Not to mention the transport shuttles delivering a full-fledged crew to the Golan — soldiers, technicians, pilots, a full set of gunners. Inside, there were still technicians and several engineers to monitor the operation of all systems. Once the tests are completed, all sentient beings, except for the station's garrison, will leave its board and be reassigned to other facilities.
Manufacturing damaged elements of ship hulls, regular repairs, production and configuration of cloaking devices, equipping several ships with them, work on asteroids, alterations of plasma drills, purchase and placement of raydonium, acquisition of new starfighters for the fleet, training of pilots and "volunteers," repair and modernization work on fleet ships, various projects, such as "Asteroid," "Sunburn," "Morrt," work with Separatist droids, purchase of new weapons and defense systems, a project to create a new type of bomber, entrusted to Captain Tomax Bren, and much more... All of this resulted in huge, simply exorbitant sums for the fleet's budget. But the Grand Admiral seemed not to intend to save money. Every time the next spending threatened to punch a hole in the budget, Thrawn found another way to find additional funding. And at the same time, the not-so-large technical staff of Tangrene, despite the regular replenishment of specialists who had passed the counterintelligence sieve, clones, and the feasible participation of specialists from repairing ships in projects, was constantly overloaded with work.
Especially it concerned the upcoming operation.
Sitting in his command chair, Grand Admiral Thrawn studied the sensor readings from the deck transferred to him by the chief engineer Reyes. The man with the optical implant was nearby, ready to give the necessary explanations to the Supreme Commander.
"Or, to receive deserved punishment immediately," thought the commander of Chimaera. However, the latter is unlikely. Rukh left the orbit of Tangrene on a cargo ship, Major Grodin Tierce on assignment, Nemesis and Lieutenant Mara Jade left the system, heading on their next assignment. If Reyes disappoints the Chiss, then who will carry out the death sentence? Gilad prudently left his blaster in the armory. Now that there is no mad Jedi clone on board, things have become calmer. And there is no need to be constantly tense like a string and expect that someone will try to fry you with their extraordinary abilities.
— Looks indistinguishable from the factory version, Chief Engineer, — Thrawn nodded with satisfaction, looking at the man standing next to him. — Are the projectors disguised?
— Yes, sir, — Reyes confirmed. — We combined them with the marker light stanchions so they wouldn't attract attention in the visible spectrum.
— Maybe they should have been made with a function to retract them under the armor during non-operational hours? — Pellaeon suggested, earning a wary look from Reyes.
— It doesn't make sense, — he answered with poorly concealed irritation. — Damage to even one cloaking field projector leads to the detection of the entire object — the missing segment of the cloak will allow the enemy's sensors to fix at least part of the station. So, hide or don't hide the installations, they will still be useless in case of enemy fire with the cloaking screen activated. And even if we hide them under the armor, it is enough to break through it in one place, damage or destroy at least one projector — activating the rest is pointless, the cloaking effect will be broken.
— Everything concerning the modernization of the combat orbital station is progressing according to plan, Captain, — Thrawn said, looking at the commander of Chimaera. — And in strict accordance with it. Chief Engineer Reyes, — the owner of the eye implant tensed up, obviously expecting a reprimand for his skirmish with the commander of the flagship Imperial Star Destroyer. — According to the report from the station, all personnel are in their places. You can continue the test as soon as you are ready.
— I am ready at any time, Grand Admiral, — Reyes said proudly. — As you know, no type of signal passes through the cloaking field. What will the reaction time be?
— This is the first test, — Thrawn reminded. — I think five minutes will be enough. You will conduct the remaining verification activities independently during our raid.
— Yes, sir, — Reyes reported, taking out a commlink. — I will pass the instructions to the senior engineer at the station.
— Be so kind, — Thrawn said calmly, watching the engineer walk away. — Is the fleet combat-ready, Captain?
— Yes, sir, — he replied. — Repairs were carried out simultaneously with unloading. Supplies and fuel are loaded, landing parties and lost starfighters, as well as other types of ships, have been replenished. Ship commanders have reported their readiness. We are ready to depart.
— Have there been any reports of malfunctions from Phoenix and Dragon? — the Supreme Commander asked a new question.
— No, sir, — Gilad replied. The trophies from the time of the Ambush at Rugosa finally received new names. Thrawn issued them literally in the morning, which is why the fleet was still confused between the renamings. But they should be ready by the time of the flight. — And yet, sir, I think it is risky to drag a Venator converted practically on the fly into the thick of the battle.
— Its systems have been tested and are in full order, — the Chiss noted.
— But there have been no shots from the main battery, — Pellaeon objected.
— For these purposes, there are several old freighters on board this very Venator, the restoration of which is recognized as impractical, — the commander noted. — And one more thing, Captain. That ship, at the sight of which you can barely refrain from un-regulation language, is called Dragon. Don't forget it.
"Yeah, I wish I understood why this name was given to the ship," Pellaeon thought. However, if you take into account WHAT it is armed with... Oh, almighty and all-knowing Charters! This is not a starship, this is... a laughing stock... Not a ship, but a huge flying reactor. Not only did they put in order all the systems without exception inside the Dragon, updating some, replacing others, they returned its standard armament, stuffed fourteen squadrons of TIE interceptors inside, and also turned half of the hangar and the internal premises into a nest for a solar ionization reactor, now the Venator-class star destroyer, if you look at it in profile, looks like a pregnant bantha... Shameful. How shameful... Honestly, if this craft doesn't work, the crew of the ancient vessel will simply be laughed at on the other ships. Oh, I hope it doesn't explode in the process of operation.
Not to mention the fact that in order to complete this ship, it was necessary to actually disarm the base on Lajnuri...
— Let's wait for the completion of the tests, — Thrawn said. — After that, we jump to the reconnaissance point.
Pellaeon sighed furtively.
— You are concerned about something, Captain, — the Grand Admiral was not asking, he was stating a fact.
— The Imperious is two days away, sir, — Gilad reminded. — He could join the mission...
— Captain Shohashi and his crew are busy evacuating our forward base on Lajnuri, — Thrawn said. — With the help of the captured star destroyer, they will take everything that is of value and importance to us from there. And after that, he has a number of other tasks. Which, like this one, are secret.
"Yeah, the only thing that was of value there by your order has already been taken out," Pellaeon thought. — "And Sentinel is gone, and Neutron Star is limping towards Tangrene... And everyone will be here in a day or two. Why not wait for the rest of the ships?"
— We have enough forces, Captain, — Thrawn said as if reading his thoughts. — Chimaera, Executrix, Stormhawk, Death's Head, Implacable, Relentless, Belligerent, Crusader, Dragon, Phoenix, Black Asp, both Interdictors... Seven Imperial-class star destroyers, one Victory I-class, one Venator-class with global modernizations, one Acclamator II-class assault cruiser, full of special-purpose landing craft, three ships with gravity projectors. Not to mention the fact that all CR90-class Corellian corvettes and one DP20 are going on the mission with us. I won't even mention the transport train of Star Galleons.
— You could have called at least the Unyielding from Wayland... — or left Nemesis! But no, now a handsome little lieutenant is going to ride around the galaxy on an Imperial Star Destroyer. Well, honestly, I'd bet my hand that there's something between this beast and Thrawn! Actually, no one's against it, but why give your mistress a whole ISD to work with?! Just give her Lando Calrissian's Lady Luck (this trophy from the time of the Executrix's attack on Nklon was not sold - too conspicuous a ship). Or if everything is so sad — for worst case, Crusader. Or a medium cruiser. Or even a Tartan! It will be more than enough for her... But no, we will run a whole capital ship for the sake of favors-pleasures.
The commander of Chimaera preferred not to think about the fact that he had done approximately the same for his beloved woman in the past.
— And leave the "Mount Tantiss" facility unguarded? No, Captain, we will not risk that. We have enough enemies to strike from the rear.
— That's why you decided to evacuate Lajnuri? — Pellaeon clarified.
— The base has lost its operational value, — Thrawn said. — Captain Shohashi will leave droid scouts in the system to continue monitoring the situation... By the way, have the missions on Honoghr been completed?
— All joint missions involving the Noghri squads have been interrupted, — Pellaeon said. — The data was left on the planet, and the droids too, except for the scouts, of course. The agents are returning to Tangrene. But there are also a number of problems. Khimron and his squads have gone into silent mode.
— They are implementing and extracting, — Thrawn nodded.
— Captain Steben is not communicating, — Pellaeon added.
— Did he receive an order to retreat? — the Grand Admiral inquired.
— And he confirmed receiving it, — Gilad said.
— Monitor the situation, — the commander ordered, without showing the slightest concern. — What's the news from New Cov?
— Skywalker has landed on the planet. He is clumsily trying to sort out the situation with the lynching of the local governor, — Pellaeon reported. — Our people have already set a trap, but...
— But? — Thrawn turned his head and looked intently at the commander of his flagship.
— Sir, with all due respect to the norms of the Charter and discipline, this Jedi is a fool, — Pellaeon exhaled, waiting for a disciplinary penalty to pour on his head. But there's just no strength left to read the angry reports of the group of Imperial agents on New Cov. They've already been sitting there for so long, preparing what's necessary for a beautiful "rescue"... I wish Khimron would return from his assignment soon. In his absence, the duty to work with Imperial agents to issue orders and receive mission reports is assigned to the commander of Chimaera.
— A little more, and our agents will come to him themselves and ask him to release Irenez.
— So, what's the hold up? — Thrawn inquired calmly.
— Um... Sir? — Pellaeon was taken aback. — It's a secret operation...
— Then we need to hint to our lost Jedi just as secretly, — the Grand Admiral said. — So that he doesn't suspect a trap.
"I could have figured it out myself," Pellaeon snarled at himself.
— As soon as the groups return to Tangrene, they have a day to rest, after which they will proceed to the execution of new tasks, — Thrawn said.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon responded. — And what do you intend to do with K'baoth?
Thrawn seemed surprised by his question.
— He is where he should be. Doing what he should be doing at the moment.
— Wouldn't it be easier to drop a bomb on their palace and stop worrying about it? — Pellaeon suggested.
— Unfortunately, unlike Master K'baoth, Corran Horn is still needed alive, — Thrawn replied laconically.
"But didn't the Jedi clone call himself Master?" Pellaeon frowned. Some very strange body movements are going on around this family... The only reasonable explanation for why Corran Horn is still alive is to obtain more and more information from his wife. Which literally pours out of her as soon as the cloaking devices are removed from the asteroid prisons and they are allowed to see her father. And they show footage with her husband... The likely psychological profile of the lady indicates that she will only make contact if both the men dear to her heart are alive.
— Has Captain Irv reached the basing point of his ship?
— Yes, sir. The message came ten minutes ago. He will be at the rendezvous point at the designated time.
— Any fresh data from Sluis Van?
— Hmm... — Pellaeon searched for the desired file on his deck, with which he has not parted lately. — At the moment, there are seventy-four starships under loading and unloading there, mostly escort class or light cruisers. Agent Bravo-2 reports that the theft of weapons from Imperial-designed ships is thriving at the station, with the purpose, presumably, of reselling it on the black market. There is no reliable information about this — the agent does not have a sufficient level of loyalty in the gang.
— I see, — Thrawn said, squinting. — Contact Captain Hoffner — we need to know the range of these goods and the possibility of obtaining them. Are the frequencies he passed to us still silent?
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon replied. — It seems Garm Bel Iblis is in no hurry to get in touch with an unreliable seller.
— Which only increases the relevance of the operation on New Cov, — the Grand Admiral squinted. — Has Commander Dobramu's detachment returned to the Chasin system?
— Yes, sir, — the commander of Chimaera said. Anticipating the obvious question, he added:
— Captain Tiberos has gone on a further free hunt.
— And didn't even mention the payment? — the Grand Admiral, without looking away, gazed through the illuminator at the bulk of the station. Oh, Pellaeon didn't like such behavior of the commander... It's as if he has already decided something, but he is not going to share his thoughts. And then, as in the case with this Dragon and the "Solar Burn" project, it will turn out...
Pellaeon shuddered:
— Yes, sir.
Thrawn turned away from contemplating the station hanging overboard:
— You are concerned about something, Captain.
And again — a statement of fact.
— I don't like the tendency of reducing the number of capital ships in the composition of disarmed transports, — Pellaeon said.
— It doesn't depend on us, — the admiral noted dryly. — Moreover, at the moment we already have a large number of star destroyer-class ships, for which crews will have to be formed for a long time.
— Unless Mr. Zion's modernization project works out, — Gilad noted.
— Even if it does, it will take time to implement it, — Thrawn said. — Not to mention the costs of purchasing additional weapons.
— The Imperious will deliver large funds, — Pellaeon reminded.
— But they also have a tendency to run out, — the Grand Admiral countered.
— Yes, sir, but...
— Do you have another question, Captain?
Pellaeon gathered all his courage into a fist:
— With all due respect, Grand Admiral, it seems to me that we don't have enough forces to succeed at Sluis Van. At the moment, there are more than two dozen Mon Calamari star cruisers, not to mention light forces and defense stations...
Thrawn's gaze instantly turned into a warning and threatening one:
— We are sufficiently armed, Captain, — he said. — Sluis Van will be attacked when we are ready for it. The Sluissi do not have a desire for speed. They carry out their work thoroughly, but slowly. The presence of people and representatives of other races in the shipyards and unloading sections does not accelerate the events — the Sluissi still control everything that happens.
— If so, then why is the theft of Imperial weapons thriving? — Pellaeon couldn't stand it. — Turbolasers, lasers, ion cannons, rocket launchers... After all, by Borsk Fey'lia's order, all Imperial starships were armed and sent to escort and convoy transport caravans. Logically, the commanders of starships should have reported that they have a shortage of weapons.
— If they are not bound by an order from the command — of course, — Thrawn agreed. — Or their reports don't get "up" at some level, blocked by the military bureaucracy of the New Republic. What conclusion can be drawn from this, Captain?
— I don't know, sir, honestly — I don't know.
— The escort of Imperial ships is not armed properly, — Thrawn's eyes lit up. — So far this is a hypothesis, but after completing the mission at the Hosta shipyards, we will check it without fail.
— Yes, sir, — Gilad decided that there would be enough arguments with the command for today. He quickly looked at his deck screen. — Sir. There is a report from Lieutenant Colonel Astarion. That Jensaraai, who is now working with ISB officers and identifying threats, is once again reminding you that you promised to deliver her to her home planet.
— Upon returning to base after completing the current mission, we will settle this issue, — Thrawn said. — Immediately after we conduct another check.
Chief Engineer Reyes approached them.
— They are ready, sir, — he said, averting his gaze. — I apologize for the long wait — malfunctions in the flow control system.
— Is the system functioning optimally now? — Thrawn clarified.
— Yes, sir, — the owner of the fiery eye implant nodded...
— In that case — proceed with the demonstration, — Thrawn ordered.
Pellaeon did not miss the fact that Reyes winced before turning on his commlink again. It seems he's not so sure about his work. It is one thing to use only one or two cloaking screens to hide small asteroids or ships. And quite another — on such a huge thing as a Golan II-class orbital defense station.
— Begin the tests, — Reyes said. — Chronometers are running, time interval — five minutes. Signals on all frequencies at five second intervals. By all means of communication. Activate the cloaking field.
The huge space station on the other side of the main bridge viewport of the Chimaera...
...disappeared.
As if it had never existed some ten kilometers from the star destroyer.
— Start continuous scanning, — Pellaeon ordered, remembering the role of Chimaera in this test.
Thrawn, leaning forward, literally devoured the area of space where the station had previously been with his eyes. But now there was only the solid blackness of space, dotted with myriads of stars. And the edge of the glowing disk of Tangrene, protruding from the left.
A minute of tense silence passed. Every member of the bridge watch was literally afraid to breathe, so as not to destroy the illusion...
It was the first time Reyes's technicians were demonstrating the cloaking field's operation to fleet representatives. Until now, only the shipyard workers and crew members of ships orbiting the planet could enjoy such sights. And even then, only in those rare moments when a full scan of the star system was conducted to detect hidden scout ships. Thanks to the crystalline lattice at the shipyards, this was possible... Actually, this is how the local technicians and counterintelligence officers "found" the hidden asteroid prisons. Where they conducted experiments on the duration of the cloaking field. Unfortunately, despite the availability of schemes and drawings, and an understanding of the principle of operation, the technology was still largely imperfect. And random equipment failures happened all the time. Thrawn, however, demanded impeccable operation of the cloaking systems for many days and months. So far, at best, only a tenth of all the assembled samples could cope with this. None of the engineers could understand the reason for such "behavior" in the equipment, which was assembled according to the same patterns. Therefore, it was necessary to conduct parallel tests. And not to stop work on other projects.
— No signals, sir, — Pellaeon reported the officer responsible for the observation systems. — We also don't detect anything in front of us.
Thrawn turned his head towards the tactical display, examined it for several agonizing minutes, and finally, with a smile of slight triumph, turned his chair to the commander of Chimaera and the chief engineer:
— Excellent work, Mr. Reyes, — he said.
— As I said, the system works, — he said with obvious relief. — We will continue testing to achieve an understanding of the maximum operating time of the station's cloaking field.
— And also use the released personnel to continue work on the camouflage of the orbital repair shop, — the Chiss ordered. The engineer nodded in agreement.
Thrawn turned his face to Pellaeon.
— The tests are completed, Captain. Inform the fleet of the completion of all work within thirty minutes, after which we will form the "Beta" formation and move to the reconnaissance point.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon said, relaxing his muscles. — Is the Hosta operation officially starting?
The smile on the Grand Admiral's face remained the same — barely noticeable and slightly crooked. But, if you didn't pay attention to it, the Chiss's face was stern. And in his piercing eyes, ice seemed to be frozen. If that is at all consistent with the appearance of a Chiss...
— That's right, Captain, — Thrawn said, and a grim satisfaction could be heard in his voice. — Soon, the New Republic will have one less repair and construction base and an entire fleet.
***
The planet Rathalay was located in the eponymous star system of the Mid Rim. The Taldot star sector, in the depths of which gravity held this planet, occupied several quadrants on the tactical map, somehow extending its borders within several of them. But the desired planet, known for its beautiful private beaches and Rathalay fire stones, was located directly in quadrant R-9.
And this was the goal of Major Grodin Tierce. And several squads of stormtroopers, whom he had taken with him on the mission.
Grand Admiral Octavian Grant, the only one of all thirteen commanders who had ever received such a high position from Palpatine himself, had defected to the New Republic. And he had provided his new masters with a huge amount of secret information, including the locations of secret bases and warehouses of the Galactic Empire's fleet. This allowed the enemy to profit from valuable property and inflict extremely sensitive blows on the Imperial Remnants.
A traitor who deserved his fate. And he would be brought to Imperial justice.
Major Grodin Tierce and his subordinates had been watching what was happening at the villa, which was chosen as the place of residence for the former grand admiral by the New Republic, for quite a long time. They had learned everything necessary for the mission to be successful — including the departure of the Republic agent Jen Ors, who was in charge of monitoring the conditions of the traitor Octavian Grant's stay on the planet. The Imperial Guardsman did not interfere — what happened only reduced the problems in carrying out the action.
Tierce was much more concerned about the pirate fortress of Lumini, which was orbiting. A very large group, armed with a lot of Imperial equipment, albeit outdated in many ways, but still combat-ready and dangerous to enemies. Not to mention the Immobilizer 418-class cruiser-minesweeper available to the pirates. A very valuable ship and relatively rare even in the best years of the Galactic Empire. For Thrawn, the capture of this starship and its transfer to the ownership of the forces loyal to him would be a wonderful help.
Unfortunately, the Imperial Guardsman did not have sufficient forces to capture such a ship. He was sent on an action against the traitor, and two squads of stormtroopers as the main striking force — this is all he had at the moment. Eighteen men, trained soldiers and killers by their very nature, not counting himself. This was too little to storm a base of heavily armed pirates. But it was enough to gather information.
And Grodin fulfilled the task he had set for himself. Everything that the stormtroopers could do without the risk of detection, they did. The information that could be useful to the Grand Admiral was collected. And would be provided.
And now, it was necessary to complete another task.
— De-energize the perimeter, — he said into the commlink. The order spread through the tactical communication channel among all the fighters without exception. And those of them who were performing the corresponding task began to implement it.
The traitor's villa was located on the coast of a beautiful beach. A beautiful building, located on stilts, rising above the surf line. More than a dozen living rooms, panoramic transparisteel walls, its own landing pad, idle most of the time...
And tracking systems located on the land borders of the site. Which are now being hacked... And the only detection and early warning system would no longer be a problem. However, it was not worth forgetting about the ten guards hired by the traitor himself. Typical mercenaries, too lazy to do their job the way it should be done. They were just standing on the terrace surrounding the villa, watching with undisguised laziness as nothing was happening around. They only changed their habits when Octavian Grant himself was in their field of vision.
Amazing carelessness? Yes, if you know that this dark-skinned, lean man is a former Imperial Grand Admiral, and not a middle-class businessman who has invested all his fortune in buying this villa and enjoying his retirement. The latter was precisely the cover for the true identity of the Grand Admiral. And as Grodin and his people had already managed to check, the locals did not even suspect with whom they were resting in the neighborhood.
Well, so much the better. Since the New Republic is betting that the main protection of the traitor is the secrecy of his identity and whereabouts, they have miscalculated badly. Grodin did not know exactly where Thrawn had obtained reliable information about the traitor's whereabouts, but it did not matter now. Soon all this would be over.
— Perimeter is under control, — a voice sounded in the earpiece.
The major had no doubt about the truth of these words. A stormtrooper cannot disobey an order — if he is properly trained. It had taken him a long time to understand how strong the indoctrination in the Stormtrooper Corps was, not to mention the Imperial Guard.
Between the forest thicket, in the shade of the palm trees where he was hiding with the main detachment, and the villa was a visible strip of beach — two hundred meters of open space. It would have been possible, of course, to try to attack from the sea as well, but, firstly, there were booms there, protecting swimmers from among the vacationers from meeting sea vacationers, and secondly — a laser control system installed by the New Republic around the residence. And that one certainly couldn't be bypassed. The only suitable place was an attack from the air, because the jungle was also full of tricky electronics.
Actually, for this reason, Grodin ordered to attack on the ground. The constantly empty landing pad was no more than an obvious decoy. Even the Republic agent who was controlling Octavian Grant arrived on a speeder along the beach. Living in a neighboring residence, she could control almost everything that was happening on the territory of the traitor's villa. But she was not there now. She had flown away, and another agent had arrived in her place. Young and clearly inexperienced. Well, he would not be able to mature — he would be destroyed by the second group.
In the very near future.
— Begin, — Grodin ordered, hearing confirmation that the neighboring villa, where the now dead Republican agent was located, had caught fire. As expected, the guards poured out to see the spectacle that had opened up to them.
During his service as an Imperial Guardsman, he had carried out a considerable number of various missions. Including those similar to this one.
It was not difficult for him and his men to make a short forced march. At the same time, he noted with dissatisfaction that he was thirty meters ahead of the stormtroopers. That was the difference between the training of an Imperial Guardsman and a simple stormtrooper. Even if he was a scout trooper from the 501st Legion.
Reaching the sleepers rising above the surface of the beach and the sea, the detachment and Tierce easily climbed up the cylindrical guides to the foundation of the villa. They had studied it perfectly in recent times — both by watching the building, and by obtaining plans of similar residences. They are publicly available on the website of the construction company that builds such housing on the "HoloNet." Amazing carelessness.
In addition to several staircases leading from the beach to the terrace of the villa, the main level could also be reached through a network of technical hatches. Which, in fact, the operatives used.
Slipping into the technical floor, where all the villa's communications were concentrated, Grodin listened. No, not the slightest sign of alarm. As soon as nine fighters were near him, he gave the appropriate commands with gestures.
The operation was moving into the proper phase. It was necessary to hurry — according to the latest refined data, General Han Solo, who intended to receive additional information from the traitor, was a day away from this world. Interesting...
Strangely enough, on such missions for secret penetration and elimination of the unwanted, the most popular among Imperial intelligence and its agents were directly machine gunners. Firearms could always be equipped with flameless and silent shooting devices, while even on the most modern blaster rifles for hidden killings the "night sting," the sound of the shot was always audible.
Therefore, Grodin, armed with two pistols, with PBS already screwed onto the barrels, moved through the corridors. The stormtroopers, scattering throughout the base, did not have the skills of appropriate secret elimination, so they were armed with machine-gun rifles, though also with the necessary equipment for suppressing the revealing factors.
— The landing pad has been cleared, — one of the stormtroopers reported over the communication channel. — Three targets have been destroyed.
So, only seven remained.
And the servants. The only maid, whose behavior and appearance two days ago had raised great questions.
Right in his path, the person in question came out of the kitchen — a middle-aged woman, with the habits of a stalking cat. She was no servant at all. Now, this was no longer an assumption — it was an axiom.
A short fight ensued. The woman in the maid's uniform turned out to be quite nimble, and the blades hidden under her clothes managed to run over Grodin's cuirass several times. But to compete with an Imperial Guardsman in hand-to-hand combat... No, it was not even a joke.
Breaking her arm, he pinned the woman to the floor, simultaneously covering her mouth with his hand. He was holding her in such a way that she could neither wriggle out nor strike him. After struggling in his grasp, the woman finally understood this as well.
— Where is Grant? — he asked in a low voice, to verify his assumptions. The woman did not answer. He broke her finger. She shrieked, but the fabric of the gloves, pressed tightly to her mouth, did not let any sounds through. — It's in your best interest to answer truthfully. Should I repeat the question?
The woman shook her head negatively. Instead, she looked at the locked door in the far part of the corridor. Where the traitor's office was located, according to the plan and observations. The only part of the transparent, aquarium-like house that had normal, impenetrable walls. And soundproofing.
Grodin didn't answer anything. He just broke her neck.
Carefully placing the corpse on the floor, he listened to reports from his fighters. The neighboring villa was already burning properly, and the guards... They would not tell anything anymore.
Approaching the door, he carefully examined the lock. Simple, electronic. No alarm system. The traitor was feeling too comfortable.
It took Grodin a minute to hack the electronics. A quiet, barely audible click of the lock notified him of success. Quietly opening the door, he looked inside.
A small room. A desk. A rack with information crystals. The traitor, sitting in a chair sideways to the entrance. He was relaxed and focused at the same time. A working holographic projector over which a three-dimensional image of a very colorful and widely known character was burning...
— It's not my problem, Councilor, that the trap on Kai Fel didn't work, — Octavian Grant said in a calm tone. — I offered you my personal participation in what was happening. You refused. The consequences are on your conscience.
— It's not time yet, — Borsk Fey'lya sniffed. — You are a valuable asset, Grand Admiral. Once everything is implemented, you will take your rightful place in the armed forces of the New Republic.
— You still haven't established the identity of the Grand Admiral who is acting against you, — Octavian Grant noted.
— It's not that important compared to my plans, — the councilor said.
— You are mistaken, — the traitor declared. — Each of my colleagues had their own favorite tactics.
— And they are all dead, — Fey'lya noted.
— According to you, — the traitor countered. — I see quite the opposite.
— And are you ready to provide the name? — the Bothan leaned forward.
— And are you ready to give me the position of Supreme Commander of the New Republic? — the traitor smiled.
Grand Admiral Octavian Grant.
— Be careful, Grand Admiral, — lowering his voice, the Bothan said. — You are trying to fight on my field.
— I am not trying, I am doing, — the traitor said calmly. — The effectiveness of the strategies I developed for you is close to zero — as is the performance of your commanders, appointed for political reasons. I predicted that Kraken and Leia Organa-Solo's party would conduct a campaign to extract information about the Imperial task force. You considered it nonsense. And now you state that both the information broker and all the negotiators have disappeared. What is this if not your shortsightedness?
— And is using Imperial guns from under-armed former Imperial ships to restore the Lusankya far-sighted? — Fey'lya threw.
— It's logical, — the traitor continued in the same didactic tone. Grodin, who had intended to attack immediately, decided to wait. The events that were taking place were very interesting. — You need a trump card — an Executor-class star dreadnought is suitable for these purposes. As part of the convoys, the decrease in the combat capability of one or two ships is not so noticeable, given the presence of other, fully armed capital-class ships. I have already sent you an analytical note regarding the actions of my alleged colleague — he builds tactics on striking with superior forces against a weaker enemy. Which only indicates that he does not have qualified personnel, which is indicated by the large number of fighters and interceptors destroyed at Rugosa, not to mention the use of TIE bombers in linear combat. He also does not have a large fleet, which means that he is an independent commander, devoid of the support of the Imperial Remnants. Consequently, he will not contact large convoys — he is too attached to what he already has. But he is building up his forces — therefore, he uses boarding tactics. He has repair facilities — otherwise, after each battle, his fleet would remain out of sight for quite a long time. The strike on Kai Fel indicates that he either intends to sell hyperdrives on the black market, which is quite easy to check, or intends to install them on his ships. I advise you to monitor the Imperial shipyards — his ships will surface somewhere. If not, then he has shipyards right at the base. Find his base and destroy his rear — and he will have to come out of the shadows.
— And in your opinion, are we just sitting and doing nothing? — the Bothan asked haughtily. — I have already initiated dozens of false convoys so that he would pounce on them in pursuit of Imperial warships — but not a single one worked.
— I have already said this, Councilor, — the former Grand Admiral said wearily. — Someone is passing him all the necessary information. Therefore, he avoids traps. Strengthen security measures, otherwise you will continue to be in a catching-up position.
— I told Mon Mothma that the Lusankya would be ready in three months, — the Bothan said meaningfully.
— We both know that's not true, — the traitor smiled. — You may be able to arm it, let's say. But the crew still needs to be trained. You are keeping its location secret and are taking too long to ensure that only those who are loyal to you in one way or another serve on this ship. This is an incorrect policy. Your position in the armed forces is precarious at the moment. Until Admiral Ackbar is convicted, his subordinates will look in his direction. And you can't remove him now — there is no evidence. I advised you not to rush with such initiatives — the enemy is only gaining strength. The defeat on Kai Fel and the disappearance of the star destroyer with huge funds on board — all this could have become a burden on his legs, but now it has fallen on yours.
— You don't need to point out temporary difficulties to me, Grand Admiral, — the Bothan sniffed. Even on the hologram, it was clear that his fur was standing on end. — I will deal with Ackbar on my own. There are trump cards against him. You'd better develop a strategy to counter your colleague...
— All right, — Octavian said. — But first, you will give me information about how and where all the Grand Admirals appointed by Palpatine were destroyed. I will check this information, and then give my recommendations. At the moment, I can only say that whoever the commander of the Imperial task force is, he is not using any of the tactics I know of other Grand Admirals. So far, I am inclined to think that this is a self-proclaimed commander who has gathered supporters. He doesn't have much brains or tactical initiative, so he doesn't seize territories, realizing that they will have to be defended. A direct confrontation with you is unprofitable and dangerous for him, so he strikes where you are weakest. Well, and organizes ambushes — with the help of an information source on Coruscant.
— Information on the Grand Admirals is classified, — Borsk Fey'lya declared. — The Chairman of the Provisional Council has blocked access to it. I cannot provide it to you — I don't even know how many of them we killed ourselves, and how many died in internal conflicts. We have already discussed this.
— Then remove her, Borsk, — Octavian Grant advised. — If I am right, and one of the Grand Admirals really faked his death, but actually survived, then it is only a matter of time before you are defeated. Believe me, there was only one idiot among us — and I know for certain that Ysanne Isard along with her ship dived into the star, upset by the death of Palpatine. The rest are outstanding personalities in tactics and strategy. Just imagine for a moment that one of my colleagues has escaped and is now acting under a false identity. And I am wrong, and everything that is happening is part of a grand plan that will lead to the defeat of the New Republic. Then, take my word for it, our agreement that I develop military plans for you will not work. You will be crushed.
— It is in your best interest, Grand Admiral, to act effectively, — Borsk Fey'lya said with a threat in his voice. — If the Imperials win, I don't need to tell you what they will do to a traitor like you. Rumors that you are playing on the Imperial side, as the only surviving Grand Admiral, are already circulating in the higher circles of the New Republic, and it is only thanks to me that they are not gaining strength.
— If I wanted to defect to the Empire, I would have done it a long time ago, — the traitor chuckled. — But I am not doing it, because I know that on Orinda or in any other worlds of the Empire, I will only find death at the hands of my former comrades. You are also waiting for it, if the tactical plans I have developed are carried out by idiots. Take care of the repair of Lusankya. Present it as your flagship — then the Imperial commander will be wary of acting so blatantly. His strikes are nothing more than bites and do not harm you now. But they tend to increase. If his strategy is to cause you small damage, but in large quantities, then he is on the right track. One day, quantity will grow into quality. According to you, the Sluissi are already dissatisfied with what is happening. Your machinations with weapons from warehouses will soon irritate them, and they will directly contact Mon Mothma. Then expect the most adverse consequences.
— You don't need to teach me the basic truths of political games, Grand Admiral, — the Bothan said with undisguised threat. Grodin just smiled. So, not everything is so good with this councilor, as he thinks. Without Grant, all his pathetic attempts to stop Thrawn are nothing more than a ridiculous confrontation between a child and an adult. And that means... this conversation is very meaningful. And the task set before him would have to be adjusted. — Do your job and don't interfere with me.
— Then you do your job, Fey'lya, — Octavian Grant said with similar intonations. — I do not intend to waste time sitting in my villa and waiting for your colossus on a fragile leg to be defeated. I have a vested interest in the successful implementation of the crisis. Stop holding me back — otherwise, I will change my ally. General Solo will be with me in a day. During this time, you need to either obtain information about my colleagues for me, or I will wash my hands of it. I will not be on a deliberately losing side. It will be easier for me to talk to Mon Mothma herself and take your place in order to solve the problem with the Imperials than to continue acting from the shadows.
— She has already rejected your offer to come out of retirement, — Fey'lya chuckled. — Accept it, Grand Admiral, — you are not needed by anyone but me.
— I need you as much as you need me, Councilor, don't forget that, — Octavian Grant advised, reaching forward. — Twenty-four hours. Exactly one day. After that, our agreements will no longer be valid. And even your agent-maid won't stop me. I warned you — give me the information, or I will join Solo and Mon Mothma.
With these words, the traitor turned off the communication device. Judging by how the lights of the device went out, the former Grand Admiral had completely de-energized the device.
— Filthy brute, — the traitor cursed, kneading his neck. — No brains, no talent, and yet he still tries to argue. It's no time for games, there's a war going on...
Tierce, no longer hiding, stepped into the office.
— I fully agree with you, Grand Admiral, — he said, knocking the traitor out with a blow from the pistol grip.
— Two to me, — he ordered the fighters. — The rest — search the house, collect all the traitor's personal belongings, all information carriers. Prepare for evacuation. Mine the villa using method forty-two.
— It will be done, Commander, — the squad commander's reply sounded in the earpiece.
Taking handcuffs from the pocket on his belt, the Imperial Guardsman began to shackle his trophy. What he heard, Thrawn was sure to like.
***
— Are you sure, General? — I asked, looking at the hologram of Freya Kovell.
The commandant of the "Mount Tantiss" facility nodded affirmatively.
— We've rechecked his matrix several times. If he has any hidden orders or erased memories, we will never know, — he replied. — Grodin Tierce is clean. There is not a hint of betrayal or receiving orders from the outside in his memory.
So, is paranoia just paranoia? Am I trying to outsmart myself? Maybe so. But, the golden rule of this disease, which pursues all illegal agents, says: "Even if you have paranoia, it's not a fact that no one is watching you."
— Is the fresh batch of clones ready? — I clarified.
— Yes, sir, — he replied. — Selected pilots and other specialists, twenty thousand people. Now we have already completed their medical examination and are preparing them for dispatch to Tangrene.
So, the sixth batch of clones was ready. In the eighty-nine days that had passed since the beginning of cloning operations, up to the recent events, only sixteen thousand cloning cylinders had been in operation. The rest were considered spoiled and decommissioned. But Colonel Selid did what was considered impossible — he restored all the damaged cylinders. And, strangely enough, they worked quite well on a par with those who had no damage. High-quality Imperial repairs, not like Mon Calamari's...
And now I can easily receive twenty thousand clones every fourteen days using Spaarti technology. Despite everything, I was still openly afraid to use the "GeneMod" program. Even despite the general's assurances that the template for the stormtroopers — Major Tierce, was completely loyal to me and my cause, and not a "sent Cossack." A geneticist specialist is needed to work with this program in order to understand all the details. Well, since the agents have now been recalled, after returning from Hosta, I will task Mol Khimron with finding a suitable freelance geneticist.
— The seventh batch of clones has been in incubators for five days? — I clarified. This is how the process takes place — clones are created, then they are sent to training to consolidate the data obtained by pumping in information, and the autoclaves of the cloning center are already filled with new ones.
— Yes, sir, — he said. — The first batch of clones designed to complete crews. Twenty thousand sentient beings.
And this means that by the twenty-fourth day of this month, I will have more than half of the necessary personnel to complete the crew of one star destroyer. Of which I have three "twos" on Tangrene and another "one" on approach to the base. Not to mention the trophies like the "Katana Fleet"... But it is also necessary to equip each star destroyer with stormtroopers — according to the standard legion on board each starship... Yes, I wanted to move on to cloning scouts and counterintelligence officers, but, unfortunately, I have to wait with this until the eighth batch, when out of twenty thousand clones, almost three thousand will be suitable operatives and agents. Otherwise, it will simply be impossible to cope with the verification of our "volunteers."
The crew size of the "ones" and "twos" is unchanged — thirty-seven thousand and eighty-five people. Of these, only two hundred and twenty-five crew members are needed for the first gunners, but for the twins of Chimaera — already three hundred and thirty. At the same time, the minimum crew for the latter is only five thousand people, and for the former — six hundred more.
Moff Ferrus scraped together the maximum possible number of volunteers for the creation of the Triumphal Arch, plus "asked" experienced officers from other ships of the Tangrene Defense Fleet. But it cannot continue regularly. Simple mathematics again and again suggests that in three months of continuous cloning I will be able to complete only two full crews and sixty percent of the third. Given the number of starships available... It will be long. Very, very long. So long that I definitely will not be able to cope.
But it is not worth risking, reducing the time of clone production. This is a very bad idea.
I'll have to mix crews — clones and volunteers. It may even be necessary to partially remove sailors and officers from other ships...
— What about my special assignment, General? — I asked.
— We're working as usual, sir, — he replied. — As with a thorough search of the storages and the labyrinth. If there is what you are looking for here, we will find it.
— I have no doubt about that, — I said. — If there is additional information — report immediately.
— Yes, sir, — the hologram dissolved, leaving me in the semi-darkness of my own chambers.
So, at the moment, the "Katana Fleet" alone needs more than three hundred and sixty thousand crew members. Another one hundred and fifty thousand people are needed now to complete the star destroyers and other ships already under my command. And more trophies are expected...
I urgently need a million naval specialists. Is it too much?
A reserve doesn't weigh down your pocket... Especially since the previous six generations of clones are either distributed to trophy ships or assigned as technical specialists at shipyards, production facilities, or are undergoing training to complete our rapidly growing starfighter fleet... One way or another, but out of the entire "Katana Fleet" I will be able to complete only three dozen heavy cruisers in the near future — those that will be repaired by the end of this month, and the training of their crews will be completed. The remaining ships will have to make do with either the minimum crew for the time being, during the production of new clones or the recruitment of volunteers in large quantities.
But where to get them if no Imperial Remnant will purposefully help me in this matter, I do not trust Krennel and Baron D'Asta one bit. Karida is also not an assistant for me — they have already expressed their "fie" with silence in response to the offer of cooperation... I cannot start a conscription — otherwise I will have to declassify my identity, and dragging out the replenishment of personnel through the system developed by Moff Ferrus is too long...
I urgently need an almost pro-Imperial planet, full of sentient beings burning with enthusiasm to join the ranks of my fleet... Which needs to be saved from imminent threat in the near future, so that the grateful rescued will agree to follow me to the end and not worry that other Imperials will look at them askance...
Hmm... Hmm... Hmm... Somehow I miscalculated with this moment, postponing the implementation of the plan against Krennel until "later". I'll have to speed up a bit right after Hosta. But this is guaranteed to deprive me of more ships necessary for the Sluis Van campaign. Consequently, there will be great sacrifices. And the Lusankya "loomed" on the horizon...
Otherwise, I risk having a fleet that simply has no one to command.
And this is simply unreasonable and frankly stupid.
But how to speed up events so that it does not lead to...
Oh, damn. And why did I stop looking at my very first notes... ? This solves a lion's share of the problems. True, it adds new ones.
Well, I still have a whole standard week to think everything over and weigh the odds. And the orders to Imperial agents should be adjusted...