Nine years, ten months, and eight days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, ten months, and eight days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and twenty-eight days since the arrival).
The head of the Dominion Counterintelligence Service, Lieutenant Colonel Astarion, remained silent for a full minute after the visitors to his office concluded their version of events.
The counterintelligence officer did not believe a single micron of their story, and both privateers sitting before him knew it.
— So, you had no intention of discovering a planet with remnants of a secret Confederacy production facility and claiming that world for yourselves? — he asked in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he had no objections to the almost absurd tale told by the commanders of the Colicoid Swarm crew.
— That's correct, — Captain Irv replied. — Otherwise, why would we have informed the Dominion about the discovery of the planet Horrn?
— And about the fact that there's an entire settlement of sentients who have restored the foundry, producing Separatist technology and offering minor repair services? — Yazuo Vain added, supporting his captain. — Not to mention, we negotiated with them to accept Dominion citizenship in exchange for protection and access for Dominion specialists to the planet.
Astarion gave a genial smile.
— Those negotiations were handled by Dominion diplomats, Captain Vain, — he clarified. — You merely provided the planet's location data. Do not overestimate your efforts, and certainly do not claim credit for others' achievements.
— In that case, — Irv interjected, — the Dominion diplomats had nothing to do with it either — all the work was done by Intelligence agents.
Astarion's smile widened.
— Let's say that's true, — he said to the men. — However, those are minor details. I'm far more interested in something else. Care to explain how you even found a planet whose coordinates have been unavailable to the average user of the galactic astrogation database for decades?
— What do you mean by "unavailable"? — Irv asked warily, exchanging a glance with Yazuo Vain.
Without a doubt, both former pirates understood that things were not as simple as the Counterintelligence chief suggested.
Seasoning the truth with lies, mixing it thoroughly, and serving it to an unprepared listener was the most common tactic of provocative interrogation used in the Empire.
The issue wasn't that Vain and Irv likely realized they were being played.
It was how Yazuo Vain would react.
Unlike Captain Irv, Vain lacked the composure and life experience to withstand such interrogations.
And that was why his eyes darted from side to side, increasingly looking to Irv for guidance.
The younger privateer clearly understood something was amiss — on their end. Thus, he instinctively hoped for help from his more experienced comrade.
— You forget that I served in the CIS, — Irv said. — I know quite a bit about what you consider classified. However, I can't fathom how the coordinates of that planet could have disappeared when the Old Republic visited it multiple times. It's one thing if the coordinates were lost by the fleet — accidents happen. An ambush, a lucky ion cannon shot destroying all shipboard computers… But as I recall, a battle between the Empire and the Rebel Alliance took place on that planet when the latter attempted to use the CIS's legacy for their own purposes. So, the coordinates are definitely out there. It's strange that the Dominion hasn't already gone there and claimed the planet. The Empire surely had those coordinates.
A solid position.
Backed by facts.
No doubt Irv had planned his defense before reporting the planet to the Dominion.
— I didn't say the Empire lacks the coordinates of that planet, — Astarion reminded him. — I said they're unavailable to the average user. The ISB spent considerable effort ensuring the locations of secret Separatist bases and production facilities were erased from all sources.
— But not from black market dealers, — Irv persisted. — Are you suggesting I've had those coordinates all along, and your counterintelligence agents, who turned the Colicoid Swarm upside down, couldn't find those records? In that case, you should give me a bonus — I'm better at keeping secrets than you are at finding them.
Admirable bravado.
Which only confirmed Astarion's suspicions.
— That matter will be discussed, — the lieutenant colonel declared, having obtained all he needed from the privateers. — You'll receive your reward for discovering the planet later. I trust you understand that disclosing the planet's location is forbidden?
— You've already scrubbed all data you deemed dangerous about Horrn's location from every storage device on my ship, — Irv reminded him. — Even if I wanted to, I couldn't return there.
— All the better, — Astarion stated. — Has the Grand Admiral briefed you on the missions awaiting you in the sectors near the Dominion's core?
— Fighting pirates and other former colleagues, — Captain Vain said with displeasure. — As if we signed up to work for your Counterintelligence.
— You're always welcome to submit an application, and I'll personally review it, — Astarion promised.
— No thanks, we're free privateers, — Vain said with disdain. — I hate wearing uniforms. They make me feel like the employee of the month at a Twi'lek entertainment venue.
— Besides, we're smart enough to know the road back to "free bread" is closed to us, — Irv continued. — You're throwing us against pirates, smugglers, slavers, and other underworld dealers. I wonder, did the Grand Admiral plan from the start to turn us against our former partners, making us prime targets if we try to betray you and run off somewhere else?
Astarion suppressed a smile.
Yes, Irv had guessed correctly.
The Grand Admiral had spent considerable time weeding out the bands and mercenaries who joined his service at the campaign's outset.
Some merged into a single group — the lieutenant colonel refused to acknowledge Captain Tiberos's coalition as "auxiliary forces." Some perished during missions. Only those remained who had secured long-term "glory" as Dominion mercenaries hunting the galaxy's criminal elements.
The pirate and smuggler world was such that armed conflicts between independent groups were entirely normal. But when one group was hired to destroy others…
After dealing with the Lumini pirates, the Lok Revenants, and a dozen other small pirate and smuggling bands, Tiberos, Irv, and Vain had cut off their way back.
Word of their mercenary work had already spread across the galaxy.
Even if they abandoned the Dominion or tried returning to their old ways, they'd face nothing but trouble.
Without Thrawn's support, they'd quickly become targets for the remaining bands seeking revenge against those who hunted their comrades. Not out of justice — but from a desire to seize the large ships in the "auxiliary forces'" possession.
The Cavrilhu Pirates were a simpler case.
They had always positioned themselves as pro-Imperial mercenaries.
They served eagerly, unconcerned with reputation.
Currently, for instance, the Axzila corsairs were enthusiastically eliminating pirates, slavers, and smugglers hindering the Dominion's control over the Kanz sector.
While the Red Star performed the same task in the Korva sectors, and Captain Tiberos cleared the Maramere sector, these former criminals gleefully cut down their former "brothers-in-arms" in Kanz. And, it must be said, they did so with great pleasure and expertise.
Embedded informants within the bands and ship crews continuously supplied the DSB with accurate intelligence. And, it must be noted, this was highly productive work.
Most importantly — it was effective.
The spoils from pirates and slavers filled the Dominion's coffers, the corsairs received their cut, and the Dominion's influence expanded into new territories.
The Grand Admiral's campaign, focusing on eradicating pirates and other criminals, fostered the integration of new peoples, planets, and sectors into the young state.
Yes, there were dissidents, even terrorist groups and rebels — but they were dealt with swiftly, decisively, and without negotiations.
— If you wish, you can ask the Grand Admiral directly, — Astarion suggested, reverting to his usual expression of cold politeness. — For now, I'm giving you a lead on a new target.
— Who are we robbing? — Yazuo Vain's eyes lit up.
— You're heading to the Calaron sector, — Astarion said. — Your task is to locate and eliminate all criminal groups operating there.
Judging by the shadow that crossed Captain Irv's face, he was clearly not thrilled about the new mission.
— Any issues? — the counterintelligence officer inquired.
— You're suggesting we take a single ship into an under-explored region of the galaxy, where some of the most ruthless pirates operate? — Irv clarified.
— Yes, — Astarion confirmed. — In addition to the Colicoid Swarm, you have a Gozanti.
— That's a bit light if we're going up against multiple groups, — Vain said skeptically. — We could take a serious hit if they've got significant forces gathered there.
— You'll be provided with our intelligence data, — Astarion assured. — As far as we know, there aren't many groups currently. They're also significantly fragmented. Time it right and take them out one by one.
— We'll decide our battle tactics ourselves, — Irv declared. — It's odd that the regular fleet isn't handling such issues…
Astarion couldn't suppress a smirk.
Of the two, the Colicoid Swarm's commander was not only the most cunning but also quite observant.
— The regular fleet has its own tasks, — the lieutenant colonel said. — However, if you're not interested in earning a profit, I can always find someone willing to take the job. The Cavrilhu Pirates are a sizable group…
— We're in, — Captain Irv quickly said. — But we'd also like to know where we'll be based now, since access to our previous base is closed.
— Complete the job in the Calaron sector, and we'll discuss where your ship can find a home, — Astarion stated. — You can handle munitions and minor repairs here on Ciutric. But you must do so as quickly as possible. You're dismissed, captains.
After the pair left his office, Lieutenant Colonel Astarion activated the secure communication line protocols.
The recipient's hologram appeared over his desk almost instantly.
— Report, Lieutenant Colonel, — Thrawn began without preamble.
— The control interview has been conducted, sir, — Astarion switched to a professional tone.
How he loathed this "genial interrogation" approach. Yet it was one of the most effective tools in his arsenal.
— Results? — the Grand Admiral inquired.
— The assumptions of our agents and operatives have been confirmed, — the Dominion's chief counterintelligence officer stated. — Irv and Vain are deliberately traveling the galaxy in search of CIS planets with remaining infrastructure. I'm certain they only reported Horrn because our navigator was aboard their ship. As per your orders, I've implemented the plan to send them to the Calaron sector.
— Have your people ensured tracking devices were placed on the Colicoid Swarm? — the Grand Admiral asked.
— Everything has been done per your instructions, — Astarion confirmed. — They're currently undergoing minor repairs. Our operatives among the Ciutric orbital repair yard workers will install additional tracking devices and a slicing module. I suspect there's an isolated database on board, either well-hidden since our specialists didn't find it, or it's stored in separate data blocks. That's the only explanation for their direct journey to Horrn. From Irv's mention of Republic and Imperial attacks on the planet, he's quite knowledgeable about its history. But he doesn't know about the cable worms the Empire dropped on the planet to prevent its reuse by the Rebel Alliance.
Cable worms were a true scourge for anyone using electricity.
These invertebrates, resembling wires, preferred to live in electrical conduits and fed on the current passing through them. They often ended up on starships, causing power disruptions, and were treated as pests.
The parasite was resilient and generally considered harmless to sentients.
As long as there was an electrical source. Without it, the cable worm would seek any energy source, no matter how small.
There were tales that the parasites could infiltrate a sentient's brain if they couldn't find suitable sustenance. Whether this was true, Astarion didn't know.
And he preferred to live the rest of his life without practical knowledge on the subject.
Almost every ecumenopolis in the galaxy, especially Coruscant, suffered from infestations of these creatures. Security systems on space stations and ships helped mitigate the threat by alerting crews to issues. But that didn't make the problem any less severe.
The Empire often released broods of these creatures on former Rebel Alliance or CIS military bases to prevent their reuse.
The issue was that the parasites had a short lifespan and, surprisingly, feared high temperatures.
But this wasn't widely known.
Honestly, Astarion hadn't even considered who else might know about these parasites, as the information came from Horrn's settlers during negotiations for the planet's integration into the Dominion.
That's why no one in the Empire ever mentioned Horrn, assuming it was infested with cable worms. And few were willing to take the risk.
— An interesting fact, — Thrawn said. — Continue monitoring that ship and its crew. If there are still CIS factories or other industrial assets in the galaxy, we must acquire them.
— What should be done with Irv and Vain if they disobey orders and attempt to flee? — Astarion asked.
Thrawn's system of checks and balances was effective, but criminals were criminals — they might risk it for profit or survival.
— Continue observation, — the Grand Admiral ordered. — If they violate orders, report immediately. We'll resolve the issue once and for all.
Acknowledging the order, Lieutenant Colonel Astarion deactivated the holoprojector.
Making a note in his work plan, he shifted to other pressing tasks.
He needed to ensure the security of new research facilities studying cloning technologies delivered by Grand Admiral Thrawn from Mustafar.
And it wouldn't hurt to oversee the vetting of defected Republicans.
Soon, the prisoners of war were to be returned to the democrats. Steps had to be taken to ensure the maximum number of competent specialists chose to stay with the Dominion willingly.
As for how many of the returned prisoners would be Intelligence informants, Astarion preferred not to think about it.
Let the Director of Intelligence deal with that headache.
Whoever that might be.
***
After reviewing the monitoring system data for the Morrt project droids, I summoned a hologram of the regional hyperspace routes in quadrant R-6.
I carefully studied each hyperspace route known to the Dominion in this part of the galaxy.
Given response times, the task force needed to be close enough to any of these routes to swiftly set a course for the Adega system.
Data archives indicated that Republic ships were in the Ren-Var system before taking a new course.
Right where we simulated an attack by New Republic ships on convoys heading from Lianna.
A rather advantageous starting position.
Based on their course and direction, it's reasonable to conclude this task force is part of the fleet loop they intend to tighten around Lady Santhe's neck.
And that noose is already preparing to close. A few more days, and Lianna's fate will be sealed.
Not in favor of Lianna's government.
An intriguing combination is emerging.
Our rendezvous point is much closer to their target. What took the Republicans days will take us mere hours.
Comparing our time expenditures with those of the Republicans reveals an interesting setup: a trap within a trap.
We could easily destroy this New Republic flotilla, but it would be a protracted battle.
That's not advantageous for the broader campaign.
Moreover, among General Antilles's ships, only a few starships interest me.
The rest… Whether they survive or are destroyed is irrelevant.
My goal is to secure the evacuation of valuables from Ossus.
— Captain Pellaeon, — I contacted the commander of the flagship Star Destroyer via comlink. — The Chimaera is detaching from the fleet. The Crusader, Steel Aurora, and Dragon-III will accompany us. Captain Astorias is appointed senior officer of the remaining fleet during our absence. Orders remain unchanged — monitor the situation and do not intervene until further instructions.
— Understood, sir, — Gilad responded routinely. — Ready to jump to lightspeed in five minutes.
— I'll arrive on the bridge five minutes before exiting hyperspace, — I added after a pause. — Invite the commander of Black Wing squadron, Lieutenant Creb, to meet me ten minutes before we reach the target.
— It will be done, Grand Admiral.
***
The Kauron system in the Maramere sector boasted three reasons that set it apart from most others.
Located in quadrant O-4, the system had a habitable world, already making it noteworthy.
Secondly, it featured a massive asteroid field. Any geological scanner would reveal that these rocky boulders contained valuable minerals. However, this was the Maramere sector.
This meant either you were desperate enough to venture to the galaxy's edge in search of resources, or, like most of the system's population, you could only dream of having a few extra million credits to exploit the local mineral deposits.
No matter how many times mining operations began here, they always led to the bankruptcy of those involved.
And that was the third reason the Kauron system was unique.
Here, in the asteroid field, lay the base of one of the boldest, most ruthless, and bloodthirsty gangs in the entire Outer Rim.
The Cavrilhu Pirates.
Scavengers who always followed battlefields to profit from the wreckage of destroyed ships.
Dishonest barbarians who didn't care whom they robbed. If you were weaker than a Cavrilhu raiding party, you'd be attacked and plundered.
Woe to you if you dared speak out against them.
In that case, pray the pirates killed you rather than sold you to one of their slaver acquaintances.
Because those who did business with the Cavrilhu Pirates were moral abominations, deserving of the gallows.
The Black Pearl was positioned between Kauron's orbit and the asteroid belt.
Having deployed numerous scouts and scanning the asteroids one by one, Tiberos paced the bridge impatiently.
From what he knew, they had stumbled upon this Cavrilhu base almost by chance.
Initially, the regular fleet had given them a thorough thrashing, driving them out of several nearby sectors.
Some ships escaped — and Intelligence tracked their movements to two bases.
Tiberos was now dealing with one of them.
What would happen to the second, he didn't know.
But he was certain Thrawn wouldn't let the pirates go unpunished.
Truth be told, Intelligence had provided the Black Pearl's commander with the vector of the lane the fleeing Cavrilhu ships used to reach here.
He could lead his boarding parties through that route.
Or he could simply start blasting the asteroids to carve a direct path through them.
But he had no intention of doing so.
For one, nearly every asteroid was rich in ore.
Lately, Grand Admiral Thrawn had developed an unhealthy fondness for space rocks.
Given that scanners detected aurodium deposits in some asteroids, blowing them up… wasn't the best idea.
Tiberos doubted that destroying the Cavrilhu base this way was wise.
Knowing Thrawn, such an operation might not only result in no reward but could also prompt a demand for compensation.
Thus, he positioned his two frigates and destroyer to block the asteroid field and sent fighters to sweep the area, making the pirates worry about their safety.
The nerves of these profiteers weren't made of durasteel, so they'd likely panic and attempt to flee the system.
That was exactly what Tiberos was waiting for.
The Morrt project droids would gladly accompany the pirate starships, and the Dominion would be pleased if the Cavrilhu led the auxiliary forces to their next hideouts.
— Captain, we have a contact, — the scanning systems operator reported. — A Kaloth-class cruiser, four transports. Moving along vector six-three-seven.
— Inform all ships, — Tiberos responded. — Nearest fighters, intercept. Disable their engines. I need those ships for boarding.
— Aye, Captain.
The escape vector of the Cavrilhu ships wasn't far from the Black Pearl itself, lying directly between the flagship and one of the captured CIS frigates.
He could send either of those starships to intercept.
An inexperienced captain would have done just that — exactly what the pirates were counting on.
But Tiberos had enough experience in pirate organizations to know this was merely a diversion.
The enemy had far more ships than they were showing.
At the very least, they had more transports.
Their combat fleet had taken a beating, but not to the point where only one cruiser remained.
And the Cavrilhu weren't foolish enough to hope they could break through with such a small force.
No, they were simply distracting attention from their main escape route to allow as many pirates as possible to flee with the juiciest loot.
Moreover, no competent leader of a major group would abandon their base intact. They knew their subordinates included too many fools and ignoramuses who could leave enough traces for pursuers to follow.
That's not how things were done.
Especially not in the Cavrilhu's style.
The pirate ships had already emerged from the asteroid field.
Nearby Delta-7-Dominion fighters engaged effortlessly, entertaining the pirates with their high-speed maneuvers and attacks.
— First frigate, close in on the cruiser and engage, — Tiberos ordered. — Pearl, move to the same point at thirty percent cruising speed. Prepare for a turn and acceleration.
The fact that the Cavrilhu hadn't yet revealed their main forces only showed they didn't have many combat ships here.
Thus, their focus was on evacuating the base and its loot. They needed time — freighters weren't fast enough to outrun pursuit.
Moving one of his starships from its position should provoke them.
You'd have to be a complete idiot not to realize hiding in the field indefinitely was impossible.
Breaking through under the enemy's nose was even less feasible.
So, they'd take the bait, thinking the blockading commander believed he'd waited long enough for any pirates in the asteroid field to have left.
Classic deception — show the enemy you're smart, but act just foolish enough to seem less cunning than you are.
Thirty percent cruising speed would give the enemy hope that the Black Pearl couldn't catch them.
That meant it was time to expect a breakout.
If only scanners could distinguish a powered-down ship from a mere rock at this distance.
Comparing every detected rock to a database for matches was an endless cycle of failure.
— Multiple contacts on vector two-one-four!
— Identify the targets! — Tiberos ordered. — Nearest squadrons, prepare for intercept!
— Six large transports, eight medium, and four Kaloths!
Now that looked like their main force.
— Destroyer, execute a turn, set course for intercept, — Tiberos commanded. — Increase to cruising speed. Prepare launchers — fire on the cruisers. Fighters, attack the transports.
The Providence-class carrier/destroyer traced an elegant arc, aligning for the intercept course.
Tiberos noticed multiple explosion hotspots in the asteroid field's center — the base's self-destruct system had activated.
The first enemy group's ships were already in distress — the Munificent-class frigates might not be the best ships of the era, but their weapons had been upgraded.
Turbolasers from Victory-class Star Destroyers had overcome the main flaw of Separatist ships — low shot power and poor fire control systems.
Now, the first frigate was vaporizing the Kaloth's weapon emplacements, while its engines and sparse fighter escorts were eliminated by Tiberos's aviation.
The captain watched with satisfaction as the gunners of the other four cruisers relentlessly fired at anti-ship missiles, desperately trying to save their vessels from just retribution.
The Black Pearl's turbolaser fire tore through enemy deflectors, while anti-ship missiles piercing the barrage punched holes in their hulls.
Detonation flares on the pirate ships' hulls bloomed like massive fiery flowers, consuming everything in their path: crew, metal, munitions, and particles in the vacuum.
The enemy starships, engulfed in flames and bathed in white-blue turbolaser streams, blackened, deformed, and turned into grotesque metal husks.
With silent accompaniment, one Kaloth broke in half as half a dozen anti-ship missiles struck its central hull.
The structural frame and supports couldn't withstand the explosive force and shockwave, scattering debris across space, turning them into varied shrapnel.
The second cruiser vanished in a massive white-orange fireball, its power plants detonating.
The third Kaloth lasted slightly longer but became a perforated, depressurized wreck from bow to stern after a dozen broadside salvos, survival inside possible only by a miracle.
The fourth cruiser, abandoning the transports, tried to escape, brutally overtaxing its engines. Fighters trailing it pounded the thrusters, extinguishing them one by one.
By the time the Black Pearl's tractor beams pulled the last armed pirate ship in, less than half its artillery remained.
The pirate gunners fired desperately at the Pearl, but their weapons lacked the power to breach its reinforced deflector.
The Black Pearl's turbolasers had no such weakness, disabling the remaining operational guns in one salvo.
— Commence boarding, — Tiberos ordered, heading toward the exit from the command bridge. — I'll lead it personally.
***
The task force emerged from hyperspace at the edge of Ossus's outer orbit.
Wedge didn't have time to admire the beauty of the binary star system before the ship's first officer stunned him with news:
— Sir, enemy starships detected in orbit!
Tycho, present in the command bridge, was the first to reach the tactical holoprojector, which already displayed friendly and enemy ship markers.
Wedge had brought four MC80 Mon Calamari cruisers, eight Nebulon-B frigates, the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer Radian, and two Corellian corvettes into the system. The ships formed a semicircle to prevent enemy escape until the Radian deployed its gravity well generators.
A standard precaution, though unnecessary since no enemy ships were reported in the system.
Yet, this was precisely why the New Republic's youngest general chose this formation. From the Imperials, one could expect anything — including sudden reinforcements, ambushes, or worse.
Grand Admiral Thrawn, to his credit, excelled at improving the galaxy's tactical acumen.
Some of his tactics were worth adopting.
Wedge started with constant readiness for trouble.
So, finding an Imperial Star Destroyer in orbit around Ossus, accompanied by a Zann Consortium ship, was unexpected.
A Crusader-class corvette.
Not quite the one Republicans were used to encountering, having faced this unfriendly ship that neither let them fly nor bombard freely.
— This will be tough, — Tycho remarked, noting the Crusader.
— Plus, that Dressed in Amber is clearly an Imperial-I, — Wedge confirmed. — Be cautious — the Crusader alone can make your life miserable, and an Imperial-I is loaded with laser cannons like a Gamorrean with filth.
— We'll handle it perfectly, — Tycho said with a smile. — Especially since the rookies need to be brought up to standard.
Wedge thought sadly of how many good pilots Rogue Squadron had lost in clashes with Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Once again, Isard had used them blindly.
And told a wild story about her own cloning.
Almost all the Rogues he knew and called friends had been destroyed by Thrawn's Imperials.
That was likely her true plan.
Well, now they had a chance to settle the score with both the Grand Admiral and the Iceheart.
After all, Dressed in Amber bore Dominion identification markers…
So why not exact a little revenge for those the New Republic had lost?
— The Radian has deployed two gravity well vectors; enemy ships are blocked from escaping to hyperspace, — the first officer of the star cruiser reported.
— Raise deflectors, deploy fighters, — Wedge commanded. — Begin the battle.
***
— Looks like our Jedi had backup, — Mara noted, watching the enemy fleet reposition to trap the lone Star Destroyer in orbit.
— Yes, — Ahsoka, standing beside her on the bridge, confirmed. — They want to surround us with two echelons and fire from medium range, forcing us to choose between attempting a breakout — where we'd be shot from all sides at blaster range — or staying put and fending off their entire fleet at once.
Mara glanced at the commander of Dressed in Amber.
The man nodded silently, confirming the Togruta's assessment.
"She's versed in fleet tactics too," Mara thought distantly.
— What are your orders, ma'am? — the ship's commander asked the young woman.
Dressed in Amber had been assigned to Mara for the mission to retrieve Jedi relics from Ossus.
Unaware of her identity but informed of her special status, the commander sought her input to ensure his actions aligned with the mission's intent.
Of which he knew little more than nothing.
The mission had been completed — and exceeded.
Eymand — located.
The reason for his prolonged stay on Ossus — uncovered.
The threat of betrayal by the Zabrak — eliminated by his death.
As for "exceeded"…
Ancient Jedi texts and knowledge had been discovered.
This was exactly what the Jenssarai needed to gain weight among Force-wielding organizations. Based on Eymand's dying words, there was a good chance the recovered artifacts contained knowledge the Jedi lacked before Palpatine destroyed them.
Well, perhaps they had it, but not universally.
Not all of them were incompetent.
Probably.
The Ysanna people — descendants of ancient Jedi who lived on Ossus before the catastrophe that ravaged the world — were discovered. Many were interested in training with the Jenssarai Order.
This meant the few dozen Jenssarai she'd heard of would gain reinforcements. True, the number wasn't large compared to the tribes once under Travgen's control after his arrival.
But it was a start, wasn't it? There were still the Dathomirian witches, after all.
Mara knew little about them — their relationship with the Dominion was unclear. One could assume at least neutral, given the lack of a siege and the presence of an open Dominion diplomatic mission on the planet.
And then there was Luke Skywalker, captured.
He hadn't come to the Dominion willingly or fallen victim to Thrawn's cunning schemes — he was defeated in battle and taken prisoner, per all military conventions.
Now, Thrawn's Hand, the Shadow Guardian, the Dominion's newest Star Destroyer, and a support corvette were blockaded, unable to avoid battle with the New Republic fleet.
— We must preserve Dressed in Amber and its cargo under Dominion colors at all costs, — Mara summarized, aware that failure on the brink of victory was unacceptable. — As for tactics… Inform Grand Admiral Thrawn. There may be regular fleet ships nearby to assist us.
Ahsoka shot her a displeased glance but remained silent.
— Aye, ma'am, — the ship's commander responded, moving to the communications bay. — The enemy will be in range of our guns in twenty minutes. Republic fighters will attack in fifteen, ma'am. My crew is ready to repel the assault.
Mara watched the man, noting how he ran his fingers along the railings surrounding the central platform and "pits."
A small but necessary change in the military environment, introduced at the Grand Admiral's initiative.
Now, at least on Imperial-III ships and others undergoing mid-level repairs, crews had something to grab onto, preventing falls into the "pits" during superstructure damage.
Jade glanced at the Togruta.
— We fight to the last, don't we?
Ahsoka smirked.
— Redhead, you don't even know what ship you're on, do you? We've got enough guns here to give the Republicans a thrashing until Thrawn arrives — without breaking a sweat.
— I think you're overestimating the Grand Admiral, — Mara said. — If he planned to come here, he'd surely…
The red-haired young woman fell silent.
— Tell you? — Ahsoka finished for her. — Don't flatter yourself, friend. You, me, whatever our status — we're just pawns. They don't inform pawns when they're being used as bait.
— You think we're being used? — Jade clarified.
— Used, or the Grand Admiral will capitalize on the circumstances — it doesn't matter, really, — the Togruta shrugged. — I know one thing: if he doesn't show up, I'll be very disappointed in him. I'll have to bear the burden of glory for crushing the Republic punitive squadron on my frail female shoulders…
Come on, really? Crush them? Sure…
***
The young man in the black Imperial pilot's jumpsuit silently entered my quarters, accompanied by Rukh's gray shadow.
— Have a seat, Lieutenant, — I gestured to Creb, indicating a chair against the wall opposite my desk.
— Thank you, Grand Admiral, — the squadron commander said in a flat tone, taking the offered seat.
I wouldn't say Creb was ever a joker, but now, despite the half-intensity lighting panels, he seemed to have aged twenty years overnight.
I had received a report from the Chimaera's wing commander, Major Bren, recommending Creb's discharge from the Star Destroyer.
He had clearly suffered significant psychological trauma, making it difficult to predict his future reactions or whether they'd cause issues.
I wasn't rushing to discharge Creb from the Chimaera.
Not until I had confirmation that this officer was genuinely unfit for service due to substantial reasons.
The upcoming battle was an excellent opportunity to test the core that kept the lieutenant's character from crumbling like a house of cards.
— Is your squadron staffed with recruits? — I began with a neutral topic to establish psychological rapport.
The subject didn't matter — what mattered was observing his responses.
And how the lieutenant justified his words.
— Affirmative, sir, — Creb replied in a routine tone. — But, with all due respect, I wouldn't call eleven of my clones in my unit, flying the same craft as me, recruits, sir.
Yet his averted eyes suggested things weren't as smooth as he wanted to appear.
— Does working alongside your own clones unsettle you? — I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the lieutenant.
— No, sir, — he answered. — I've already flown with my clones in the squadron. But they all died on Mustafar.
His tone, however, told a different story.
— You're uncomfortable because these clones are from the latest batch, — I stated, continuing to bore into the young man with my stare.
The pilot shifted in his seat.
A direct hit.
— May I decline to answer that question, sir? — Pain and a plea mingled in his eyes.
— You may, Lieutenant. The Charter grants you that right, — I nodded. — Especially since your motivation is already clear to me. You're troubled by the idea that someone besides you shares your sense of unspoken grief and the pain of losing your wingmate. Whom you also saved once. And an emotional bond was forming between you.
— Sir, — anger flashed in the young man's eyes, his fists clenching. — I follow all regulations! Personal relationships with subordinates are forbidden! I'd never allow myself that!
Unable to restrain his emotions, the lieutenant began to rise.
But Rukh's hand unceremoniously pushed him back into the chair, the Noghri having his own view on where and how my subordinate should sit in my presence.
— Lieutenant, I had no intention of reprimanding or accusing you, — I said, adopting a slightly paternal tone. Thank you, political officer, for those "heart-to-heart talks." Who knew they'd come in handy. Especially in another galaxy. — I was merely stating that you and your wingmate were emotionally close. That's not a crime, nor is it prohibited by the Charter. On the contrary, camaraderie and mutual support are what prevent discipline from turning sentients into obedient droids. You can test this principle by speaking with the stormtroopers.
The fact that Creb so fiercely tried to prove his righteousness already indicated he was genuinely attached to the girl.
Whether it was budding affection or merely grief for a lost friend wasn't clear.
Nor was it particularly important.
— I mourn her loss with you, — my words clearly surprised him. — I believe, after serving under my command for so long, you've realized I abhor treating sentients as expendable.
The man nodded, agreeing with my words.
— You're a promising pilot and commander, Lieutenant, — those were the exact words of the dry evaluation Major Bren gave Creb. — One day, you'll be a renowned pilot. Partly because you and your wingmate achieved what most Imperial pilots couldn't: you shot down a significant number of Rogues in a single battle.
— I was doing my duty, sir, — Creb said crisply.
— And you do it magnificently, — I confirmed. — Tell me, what did you feel, shooting them down one after another, as if they weren't New Republic legends but ordinary pilots?
— A sense of duty fulfilled, sir.
— And that didn't conflict with your past admiration for the Rogues? — I asked.
The lieutenant flinched.
— There's no shame in it, — I said. — Adopting useful experience, whether from friend, foe, or neutral party, is commendable. It's personal growth and development.
— Yes, sir, — he replied, slightly confused, unsure where I was leading.
— Do you perceive Tia's death as something closer to you than the deaths of other pilots? — I asked.
— Sir, I…
— Don't waste my time or yours with lies, Lieutenant, — I advised. — This conversation has significant implications, including my trust in you.
Creb licked his dry lips.
— Sir, I… — The lieutenant glanced uncertainly around. Meeting Rukh's gaze, who smiled at the young man, he turned back to me. — I have no intention of distorting the truth or undermining your trust in me…
— In that case, Lieutenant, don't you think a conversation with the Supreme Commander is somewhat extraordinary for a squadron commander? — I asked.
— Yes, sir, — Creb nodded.
— Then I expect you to be candid with me, — I said. — With all due respect to your piloting skill and talent, discharging you due to an inability to resolve your psycho-emotional issues seems the only reasonable option.
Creb fell silent, staring at the floor.
— What sets us apart from the New Republic, Lieutenant? — I asked. — I'm also curious how much you respect those who serve alongside you, who trained you, who trust you to cover their six in battle, rather than chasing Corran Horn to burn out his X-wing's cockpit so he dies in agony, like your wingmate.
The Black Wing commander furrowed his brow.
I could see his nostrils flare and his jaw clench.
Cutting to the quick is what every surgeon must do to remove a gangrenous limb to save the body.
Today, I must be that surgeon.
Creb may have been cloned hundreds, perhaps thousands of times, but he is unique. The original, whose loss, despite stored blood and regular scans, is irreplaceable in the long term.
For the Dominion's survival, until our Academies are operational and recruits replace clones, preserving originals is the best strategy.
The problem is, if the original loses control, we can't be certain clones derived from his DNA won't inherit his psychological instability.
Thus, this conflict of interest must be resolved here and now.
And it must be resolved without removing Creb from his squadron — if he can be guided back to the right path.
If not… it will be a pity.
A significant loss, but not irreplaceable.
There's always another donor. But that takes time.
Which we don't have.
Locking donors away, as the Kaminoans did with Jango Fett, is foolish. The more experience a donor gains in real combat, the better the clones. One donor may die, or two, or three, but dozens will survive.
And with each battle, they'll grow more experienced.
That's why I don't want to lose Creb or pull him from service — if I can "fix his mind," I need him.
A lieutenant who single-handedly took down multiple Rogues is a genetic treasure.
The elite I need.
— I don't understand, sir, — he admitted. — How does this relate to discussions about my fallen wingmate?
— Directly, Lieutenant, — I said. — War is a profession. Being a soldier or a farmer — each chooses for themselves. You can put a farmer behind a fighter's controls, and he might destroy a Death Star. Whether it's luck or supernatural forces isn't relevant in the context of ideology. Republicans fight to avenge fallen comrades and destroy those who disagree with their vision of the galaxy's future. They're driven by emotions. Every Rogue Squadron pilot had their future, loved ones, or property taken by the Empire, directly or indirectly. Those who did so cared only for themselves, to the detriment of the Empire's interests. A false understanding of their service's goals turned the Empire from a state of order into an uncontrolled machine of intrigue and power struggles. Dominion soldiers fight not for revenge but to execute orders. Each fulfilled order advances the Dominion's objectives. Substituting orders with personal vengeance makes us no better than the Republicans. By aiming to avenge your wingmate's death, you undo everything you did to train Tia, turning a former criminal into a career pilot. She, like you, destroyed numerous Rogues in one battle, her first encounter with them. You can be proud, Lieutenant — you're an excellent leader and mentor.
— Thank you, sir…
— But if you leave this compartment, climb into your cockpit, see Rogue Squadron's identifiers on your scanners, and charge off to destroy them against orders, you'll prove you're no different from yesterday's farmers. Everything you taught your wingmate will be a farce and hypocrisy. You forbade her liberties in the cockpit, yet you intend to take them yourself.
Creb tensed.
— Sir, I…
Raising a hand, I cut off his attempt to justify himself.
— Today, you'll face a choice, perhaps the hardest in your life, — I said. — In a few minutes, our task force will arrive in a system where you'll engage Republicans. I have information that Rogue Squadron will be among them. If you break and seek revenge, I'll understand as a sentient. But as your commander, I'll write you off. You'll never fly again and will be discharged from the regular fleet with a note for insubordination. It's your choice — continue serving, follow orders, and uphold the simple truth: a professional soldier is distinguished from an armed farmer by discipline and a clear understanding of what they serve and are willing to sacrifice for. Follow orders for ideals or pursue personal vengeance — the choice is yours.
The Black Wing commander stared at me for several seconds before looking away.
— I understand, sir, — he said dryly.
His voice carried the usual disciplined tone… tinged with bitterness and regret.
— You must never forget the fallen, Lieutenant, — I said. — Their memory lives with us as long as we do. Their names won't be mere lines in official reports. Dying for revenge is easy. Living to honor them, as your duty and Oath demand, is far harder.
The lieutenant closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.
It seemed the young man had been deceiving himself, thinking the girl meant nothing to him.
Or he'd buried himself so deep in regulations, denying basic human emotions and attachments, that he hadn't noticed how his work became something more.
Only now, having lost her, did he seek to fill the void of loss with vengeance.
A destructive path, as he'd either die trying to destroy the remaining Rogues or succeed.
But what then?
No one who made revenge their life's goal lived long enough to enjoy the future.
The longer vengeance takes, the greater the emotional burnout it inflicts.
Ceasing to clench his jaw, the lieutenant looked into my eyes:
— I understand, sir, — he said quietly.
Yet I had my doubts.
— Permission to leave, Grand Admiral? — Creb asked.
— Granted, Lieutenant, — I said. — We exit hyperspace in five minutes. Prepare your squadron for the tasks assigned.
— Aye, sir, — Creb saluted, rising and heading for the door.
— One last thing, Lieutenant, — I said. The squadron commander froze, pivoting on his left heel to face me. One final test before he heads to the hangar. — Despite common belief, I'm not immune to human emotions. I offer you a choice: you may request that I order you and your squadron to hunt and eliminate Rogue Squadron in the upcoming battle. I won't discharge you entirely — I'll reassign you as a pilot-instructor at the Dominion's upcoming Pilot Academy, named after Lieutenant Tia. — The pilot stared at me silently. — You'll keep your flight certification and can avenge your wingmate. But the path to combat piloting will be closed. Or you can join your subordinates and continue your career as a combat pilot. Before you answer, recall everything I've said during this meeting.
Creb looked down again.
For a few seconds, he was silent, then met my gaze:
— Permission to leave, sir? The battle's soon, and I need to check my pilots' readiness.
The choice was made.
At least formally.
— Proceed, Lieutenant.