Ringali Shell.
This designation historically refers to the region along the Perlemian Trade Route, spanning the Bormea and Darpa sectors, bordered by the Ringali Nebula.
This part of the galaxy comprised six densely populated systems, connecting the planets Corulag, Chandrila, Brentaal, Esseles, Rhen Var, and Ralltiir in sequence.
A rather bustling locale in terms of trade traffic and population density.
However, with the right knowledge, one could always bypass Republic military patrols and emerge precisely where circumstances demanded.
And now, those circumstances had led to a situation where the Star Destroyer Stalker, drifting in orbit around a planetoid significantly altered by construction structures, encountered serious trouble.
Trouble of a considerable magnitude.
A Star Destroyer of the Imperial-I class, supported by an Immobilizer 418 cruiser, the Black Asp, accompanied by two Acclamator-class assault ships and a Venator-class Star Destroyer.
An armada opposed by the forces of just one Star Destroyer.
Even if it was an Imperial-II, capable of emerging victorious against its "younger sibling" while heavily damaging the rest of the flotilla's starships…
The appearance of these ships, along with the Black Asp deploying its gravity well projectors, was unexpected.
Primarily because the planetoid was located deep within New Republic territory.
— What the…? — Captain Akal Zed, commander of the Stalker, frowned, running a hand over his bald head, now slick with sweat. — What in the name of a Hutt?! Why weren't we informed by the long-range sensors?!
— I don't know… — mumbled the duty officer.
Akal's fury flared at the non-regulation response.
A rigid and uncompromising advocate of strict adherence to protocol, Akal could not fathom anyone deviating from its execution.
Not even an inexperienced young lieutenant, conscripted onto his ship.
The starship's commander strode to his subordinate and, with a single punch to the solar plexus, doubled him over, shoving him away from the control console.
— Long-range sensors are offline, equipment disabled! — roared the ship's commander. — How did this happen?! Why wasn't a technical alert sounded?!
— A… circuit… break… only just detected, — the lieutenant managed, forcing the words out.
— Are you saying we're completely cut off from the sensor systems?! — Captain Zed continued to bellow.
He glared with hatred at the bridge crew, most of whom, like the rest of the ship's personnel, were recent conscripts supplied to the Stalker by the Ubiqtorate. The only worthwhile assignment since the Star Destroyer accepted Agent Blackhole's offer of a new posting.
— Sir, the Venator has opened its hangar bay, — another young officer reported timidly.
— Don't just stand there like idiots, you fools! — shouted the Star Destroyer's commander. — Raise the deflector shields, deploy the fighters! Target that ship!
— Sir, they're beyond turbolaser range!
— Fire!
— Another shot!
— Ion cannon!
— Brace for impact!
The blow did not strike the Stalker — white-blue lightning crackled across the surface of the cosmic rock, within which lay the Ubiqtorate complex guarded by the Star Destroyer.
Yet, contrary to expectations, the facility did not cease functioning — only its turbolaser emplacements were disabled.
Base D8-Red was constructed in the same year the Rebel Alliance destroyed the Death Star.
Captain Zed lacked precise details about the activities conducted on the planetoid. However, from conversations with some D8-Red personnel, the Stalker's commander knew the facility served as a staging ground for covert Imperial operations and secret missions in the Core Worlds, as well as a primary launch point for operations in the Outer Rim.
Once, thousands of Imperial Intelligence agents were stationed here, with the facility's defense entrusted to a hundred naval special forces operatives.
In reality, the Stalker now protected a team of scientists and engineers at D8-Red. They were tasked with developing new weapons and equipment for covert operations.
Now, however, production had dwindled to a minimum, largely because many scientists had been executed by Agent Blackhole's shadow stormtroopers on suspicion of disloyalty to the New Order. Those who remained showed little enthusiasm for innovation, focusing instead on repairing old equipment and studying weapon and technology samples delivered from across the galaxy.
And now, the station was disabled.
The mission to protect it had failed.
Captain Akal Zed glared with hatred at the enemy Star Destroyer, trying to discern who had done this and why.
— Sir, we're being hailed, — reported the communications officer. — Hologram. Imperial Starfleet general frequency.
— Contact Agent Blackhole! — Zed finally snapped out of his stupor.
— The Vector isn't responding, — the comms officer shook his head.
Agent Blackhole had explicitly forbidden contacting anyone else without his direct order.
Such were the security protocols for the Ubiqtorate's covert facilities — better to lose one base than allow the enemy to learn of and track other assets.
The Stalker was considered a missing Star Destroyer, deserted from the Empire — a cover story for the public. Attempting to contact forces like the Pentastar Alignment for help would expose Agent Blackhole's plans and assets.
— Ignore the incoming transmission! — Zed ordered.
— Sir, the station is sending a directed signal to the enemy destroyer! They're surrendering!
— Unacceptable! — roared the Stalker's commander. — Destroy the station!
— Sir, but the scientists and technology… — the duty officer tried to object.
— That's exactly why the base is under attack! The enemy disabled the turbolasers to board it! Nothing meant for the Ubiqtorate must fall into traitor hands! Fire on the base with all guns!
Moments later, as the Stalker moved into optimal firing range, its hull was struck by two powerful blasts from an ion cannon, clearly surpassing standard ship-mounted weaponry.
— Prepare to repel boarders, — Captain Zed ordered, clinging to the nearest terminal and fighting the weightlessness. — It's the Dominion! We're under attack by the Stormhawk! Only they would use weapons like a v-150 Planet Defender mounted on a Venator! The traitors have struck at the Ubiqtorate!
— Sir, — the duty officer appeared beside him, — if the Dominion uncovered the location of D8-Red, it means Grand Admiral Thrawn has declared war on the Ubiqtorate…
— You're a genius, aren't you? — Zed snapped. — Of course he has! And Blackhole is silent because Thrawn has likely attacked him and other Ubiqtorate assets!
— But then… does that mean the Ubiqtorate will be destroyed? — The duty officer's tone grated on the Star Destroyer's commander.
— I don't care what Thrawn thinks of himself; we remain loyal to the Ubiqtorate to the end! We must protect the station! Even at the cost of our lives!
— No, Captain, — the duty officer raised his standard blaster pistol. — If the Ubiqtorate is finished, we're no longer obligated to fear it.
— What are you blabbering about, you nexu pup?! — The ship's commander lunged with his right hand, intending to strike his subordinate again.
He failed.
But the young lieutenant's shot, piercing his commander's throat, was perfectly aimed.
— Inform all sections, — the duty officer turned to the others, — do not resist the Dominion ships. We surrender — the nightmare of serving the Empire is finally over.
The young lieutenant and most of the crew had the sense not to die for those who saw them as expendable.
The star of the Ubiqtorate began its inevitable descent.
***
The Ubiqtorate's contact station was located in the Parshun system.
Outer Rim, Perrinn sector, Pentastar Alignment territory.
A remote corner of the galaxy.
It was unimaginable that anything here could defy the plans of Imperial Intelligence command.
Yet, the fact remained.
A Mon Calamari MC80 star cruiser, bearing a name suggesting affiliation with the New Republic Defense Force, had never been connected to the Ubiqtorate.
Nor to the New Republic, for that matter.
For the past few weeks, this starship had been part of a fleet of raiding cruisers under Grand Admiral Thrawn's control.
It rarely engaged in combat missions, instead "attacking" military supply convoys transported by Pentastar Alignment starships.
Like dozens of similar vessels, it escorted abandoned transport and cargo ships to a staging system, where other specialists transferred the goods to auxiliary Dominion fleet vessels.
It then returned to its "hunting grounds" without firing a single shot from its artillery.
This did not affect the crew's combat readiness.
The ship's commander ensured that mandatory drills and live-fire exercises occurred on schedule, keeping the crew sharp.
And those efforts paid off.
The MC80's crew, as was common on raiding cruisers, served aboard such ships only temporarily.
They awaited the completion of upgrades to their true vessel, a Dominion regular fleet ship.
In this case, the crew eagerly anticipated returning to the decks of their Victory-class Star Destroyer, the Triumph.
This starship had served the Galactic Empire extensively but was captured by the Rebel Alliance during an operation to seize Coruscant years earlier.
Alongside the Monarch, under new names, they joined the New Republic Defense Force.
Months ago, during the battle in the Ciutric system, when the core of the New Republic's Fourth Fleet was defeated by Grand Admiral Thrawn, these ships ceased serving the staunch defenders of democratic values.
The Triumph was nearing the completion of its refit and would soon join the Dominion's active fleet.
Like other Victory-class ships in Thrawn's fleet, it was slated to receive upgraded weaponry and extensive internal modifications.
Instead of ten quad turbolaser batteries, each Victory would mount an equivalent number of octuple heavy turbolasers.
Eighty main-caliber guns — firepower previously exclusive to Imperial-class ships.
The Triumph's commander watched a Lambda-class shuttle landing in the hangar, showing no emotion.
Half an hour earlier, the same shuttle had departed the star cruiser to reach the station. Then came a signal ordering the ship to proceed to the designated system.
Which the star cruiser did.
A young man in his mid-thirties, clad in a black combat suit, descended the shuttle's ramp.
— Captain, — he nodded to the welcoming officer.
— Agent Bravo-Three, — the Adamant's commander replied in the same tone. — Any new orders?
Escorting an agent of the Dominion Intelligence Service to a target — a Ubiqtorate communications station — was a significant responsibility.
Especially when operating deep within nominally hostile territory.
But the ship's commander had spent considerable time hunting smugglers and pirates in this part of the galaxy, giving him knowledge of "secret paths."
Illegal smuggling hyperspace routes were ideal for delivering the agent to his destination.
And the MC80 was perfectly suited for such a task — covert delivery and creating the necessary informational pretext.
What a lone operative would do aboard the Ubiqtorate station was not his concern. If the scout operated alone, it was by design.
— You may destroy the station, — the operative said calmly.
— Yes, sir, — the Star Destroyer's commander replied just as calmly.
Activating his comlink, he issued orders to the chief gunner.
Within a minute of precise fire, the site where Ubiqtorate agents transmitted messages to their coordinators was reduced to memories.
And a swarm of Morrts Project buzz droids.
To eradicate a parasite, one must eliminate all its parts.
***
The planet Marquarra was located in the Outer Rim, Prefsbelt sector.
Space controlled by the Pentastar Alignment.
This world was sparsely populated and lacked significant defensive structures.
No orbital defense platforms, no fleet cover ships.
The Ubiqtorate did not advertise the locations of its assets. To secure its secret weapons arsenal on Marquarra, the organization relied on an old tactic — using a remote planet with a small garrison of trusted operatives, completely isolated from the command's information network.
Thus, when six Mon Calamari star cruisers emerged from hyperspace, instantly destroying two orbital communication satellites, nothing could stop the New Republic from attacking the Ubiqtorate's arsenal.
This cold-blooded Republican assault would soon, within days, dominate discussions across the HoloNet.
Interviews conducted by Imperial reporters with local residents would describe fearsome Wookiee soldiers landing on the planet and storming the Ubiqtorate facility.
They would recount the extraordinary ferocity with which Kashyyyk natives dispatched the shadow stormtroopers guarding the site.
They would detail how numerous transports hauled dozens of large weapon-marked containers from the depths of a modest mansion on the settlement's outskirts.
The HoloNet would not broadcast residents' musings about the excessive amount of equipment and technology removed by Republican forces.
Nor would it cover details of the Pentastar Alignment's law enforcement inspecting dozens of underground levels of the Ubiqtorate base, thoroughly cleared by Republican troops.
The HoloNet would be dominated by Grand Moff Ardus Kaine's furious statements, threatening the New Republic with retribution for its operation to destroy and demoralize the Ubiqtorate and the entire Imperial intelligence system.
What the Grand Moff would not mention, known only to him and a select few, was this:
The Ubiqtorate had not merely lost its leadership, control over information, and hidden weapon caches.
Dozens, if not hundreds, of its most ruthless, amoral, and bloodthirsty agents were eliminated by the time the news broke.
Always in different ways, always in unexpected places — but death found them all.
No one saw the assassins, and the lack of evidence prevented the identification of the perpetrators or their employers.
The only clue Inquisitorium investigators could grasp was a mention that Jawas were seen near the sites where the bodies were found.
But who would pay attention to galactic scavengers, harmless and pitiful?
The Inquisitorium investigators did not, wasting their time and others' while gnashing their teeth as new reports of deaths arrived.
By year's end, the Ubiqtorate ceased to exist as an organization.
Most of its operatives were killed, its resources and weapons seized.
Those Ubiqtorate agents known to be honest and law-abiding, unlike their unscrupulous colleagues, simply vanished.
Where they went and what they did, the Inquisitorium and other investigating organizations could not determine.
But the events fueled conflicting public opinions about the New Republic's intelligence operations.
No matter how Coruscant justified or denied it, the fact remained — the unearned glory of defeating the New Order's most brutal and ruthless organization fell to them.
***
— Are you sure we're in the right place? — Vex asked.
The Twi'lek cast a sour glance at a container of food waste, from which, judging by the sounds, new life was emerging through the mutation of decomposing scraps.
— Yes, — Reynar replied curtly.
— Because it's unlikely the one you're looking for prowls stinking alleys filled with garbage.
The Shadow Guard rolled his eyes in powerless frustration, listening to the Force.
No, he needed to wait a little longer.
— He won't come here, — the former Inquisitor stated confidently.
— Then why are we—? — the girl nearly shrieked as a hideous creature scuttled out of the container, snapped its pincers, and hurriedly vanished into the alley.
— Boo-boo-boo boo-boo! — Vex muttered, her eyes flashing angrily, hinting that the Shadow Guard should stop covering her mouth with his hand.
— Quiet, — Reynar whispered, locking eyes with her. — Got it?
— Boo-boo-boo-boo-BOO! — Vex tried to kill him with her glare but realized it was futile, so she gestured to her blaster.
Reynar sighed resignedly and removed his hand from her face.
— Jerk! — she declared, glaring at him with disdain.
— Shut up already! — the former Inquisitor hissed. — This is an ambush, not a ladies' book club!
— Excuse me?
— Stop talking!
— Fine, — she huffed. — How much longer?
Reynar suppressed the urge to end his partner right then and there.
But he recalled in time that she was necessary for the plan.
Unfortunately — alive.
At least for the next few minutes.
— Now, — the Force signaled the right moment.
Using telekinesis, Reynar grabbed the squealing Twi'lek and hurled her from the cluttered alley onto the night street.
Vex twisted and fired a burst from her blaster in his direction.
— Die, Jedi! — her voice dripped with fury and contempt.
Perfectly played.
Knowing her, there was no doubt — she meant every word.
And her wish sounded utterly genuine.
She was supposed to knock down a tall man in black robes with a hooded cloak, but he merely raised a hand, and Vex, changing trajectory, hovered above the ground.
Then she was pulled toward him.
— Jedi? — he asked in a low voice.
— That blasted Skywalker crashed my club! — she wailed, pointing her blaster toward the alley. — Hey, you, what's going on?!
— Out of my sight! — Vex crashed onto the street, and the man in black, pulling an elongated object from his belt, strode quickly toward the direction she indicated.
He crossed half the alley before stopping and looking around.
The Force guided him to a hefty garbage bag, which he sliced open with his lightsaber.
In that instant, a small medallion flew from the refuse into his hand.
— Deception! — the man roared, turning toward the alley's exit.
— You're remarkably perceptive, Zasm Katth, — Reynar said, emerging from his hiding spot.
His lightsaber staff spun, and its crimson blades sprang to life.
— Inquisitor! — the Dark Side Elite member declared in a booming tone laced with contempt, igniting his own blade. — Your trap?
— Spreading rumors that Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker came to Axxila to investigate the murder of two councilors found with lightsaber wounds was rather easy, — Reynar stated. — Tracking you was even simpler. You have a keen ability to sense the Force, its Light Side. I had no doubt you'd rush to this alley, drawn by a trinket radiating a Jedi aura.
Zasm Katth discarded the medallion with disgust, staring at the Jedi with eyes glowing yellow.
— Death awaits you, traitor, — he declared. — The Dark Side Elite, Executor Sedriss, know you didn't perish on Vjun.
— All the better, — Reynar Obscuro replied. — I won't have to remind each of you who I am before taking your pathetic lives.
— You will die, — Zasm said clearly. — Here. Now.
The two opponents locked eyes for several seconds before charging forward.
Reynar blocked an overhead strike from Zasm Katth.
His lightsaber staff spun, and the second blade flashed before the face of the Dark Side Elite member, who jerked back.
Had he not, his face would have been severed from his skull.
Katth struck at the former Inquisitor's torso, but Obscuro blocked the blade, delivering an elbow to his opponent's face.
The Emperor's servant staggered back two steps, shaking his head, but his opponent gave him no time to recover.
One of Reynar's crimson blades jabbed at Zasm's leg, but he parried effortlessly, preventing injury.
Reynar Obscuro telekinetically lifted a garbage container and hurled it at his foe, stepping back.
Scattering polymer bags and reeking, the makeshift projectile hurtled toward the Dark Side Elite member.
He leaped, easily clearing the obstacle.
He smirked crookedly, deflecting several blaster shots from Vex, and landed heavily on the pavement, two meters from the former Inquisitor.
The next instant, a telekinetic Force blast sent him crashing back into the container.
Zasm growled like a wounded beast, feeling his vertebrae crunch.
No serious injuries, but the fact that he was doused in stench and filth enraged the Emperor's servant.
He charged forward, accelerating with the Force, aiming to slice Obscuro in half at the waist.
The Inquisitor sidestepped the attack, landing a boot to Katth's stomach.
Katth halted, catching his breath, and turned his back to the alley's exit, anticipating another assault.
His hand twitched, and several containers blocked Vex's line of fire.
Gaining a few seconds, the Dark Side Elite member lunged at the former Inquisitor.
Their blades clashed, crossing.
Zasm leveraged his height, weight, and physical strength, pressing Obscuro with wide, sweeping lightsaber strikes.
Reynar retreated steadily, step by step, nearing the wall of a nearby building.
Finally, parrying another strike, the former Inquisitor faltered, leaving his chest exposed.
Roaring triumphantly, Zasm bore down from above, aiming to cleave his head with a diagonal lightsaber strike…
Suddenly, as Zasm's lightsaber grazed the wall, leaving a molten furrow, Reynar ducked and rolled aside.
Just before the Dark Side Elite's crimson blade severed a high-voltage power cable feeding the residential complex.
A shower of sparks momentarily blinded the Emperor's servant.
Unable to see, he relied on the Force, deflecting Obscuro's strike.
Then, twisting his body, he blocked Vex's blaster shots.
His vision began to clear, the light circles before his eyes fading…
Joy and triumph filled Zasm Katth as his sight clarified enough to discern the outlines of surrounding objects.
The last thing he saw — clearly and inevitably — was the crimson blade of the lightsaber staff slipping between his guard and his body.
While deflecting Vex's shots, he momentarily overlooked the threat from Obscuro.
With his next move, the Shadow Guard severed the Dark Side Elite member's head from his body.
— Second, — Obscuro panted, deactivating his saber and claiming the trophy blade, securing it to his belt.
— Don't you dare take all the credit, got it? — Vex suggested, holstering her blaster pistol. — If not for my improvisation, he wouldn't have been distracted.
— Whatever, — Obscuro waved her off, breathing heavily to calm his racing heart. — The important thing is there are fewer of them each time.
— You're sweating buckets, — Vex smirked, hopping down from a barricade of garbage containers. — And he didn't even push you that hard…
— Beating him took effort, — Obscuro said. — He's fast — thanks to the Force. I barely kept up.
— So who's the hero for distracting him with blaster fire? — Vex asked, grinning cheekily.
— You, you're the hero, — Obscuro waved a hand. — Now, be a pal — search him, and let's get out of here.
— Why do I have to rummage through a corpse's pockets? — she protested. — He stinks like a dead sarlacc.
— So do you, — Obscuro grimaced. — That's why you're searching.
— You could at least say you're exhausted instead of insulting me, — she scowled, cautiously approaching the headless body. — Acting all high and mighty…
He could've argued, but Reynar barely had the strength to stand.
— Sergeant, — General Maximillian Cain called out, pointing at the nearby AT-AT. — What's that disgrace painted on your walker's hull?
Roach sighed resignedly, meeting the gaze of the Chimaera's ground contingent commander.
— Hunchbacked Rancor, sir, — he said, looking away.
The explanation of the image covering much of the AT-AT's massive hull left Major General Cain's mouth agape.
Painting anything on military vehicles was strictly forbidden by every Imperial Armed Forces regulation.
During the Clone Wars, such "artwork" flourished in the Grand Army of the Republic, but the Empire had put a firm end to such displays in its military.
The Dominion had yet to issue its own regulations on the matter, so Imperial standards presumably applied.
— Explain yourself, Sergeant! — General Cain demanded.
What was there to explain?
A massive black rancor image adorned the AT-AT's hull.
On both the right and left sides.
Painted with durable ship technicians' paint used for identification markings on armored vehicles.
It hadn't been noticeable during the night landing — the walker was loaded onto a landing barge immediately after arriving on the Chimaera.
But with the first rays of dawn, the unknown artist's work became glaringly apparent as Roach's AT-AT returned from patrolling the outskirts of Eidolon Base, which had been stormed all night.
Now, as stormtroopers and soldiers loaded transports with the base's valuables, the vehicles were also prepared for departure.
And a Hutt's luck had Cain show up right here.
Roach's walker stood cramped beside two others, its "artwork" not immediately noticeable.
So either Cain saw it himself, or someone reported it.
The latter was impossible — snitching wasn't the Chimaera's way.
So Cain must have spotted it himself.
— The hull bears a black rancor image, sir, — Roach said. With Veers, he might have been honest, but with his clone, it was trickier. Cain was a model soldier, and you couldn't explain to him that this was just someone's prank.
Roach suspected the stormtroopers he'd cursed at on Mustafar were responsible. But in identical armor with vocoders masking their voices, who could tell who did it?
— Observant, aren't you, Sergeant? — the commander praised. — How did it get there?!
— It was painted, sir!
What else could he say when he had nothing to say?
Blame the stormtroopers?
Hardly believable.
Who would buy that?
All he could do was answer by the book.
— Don't test me, Sergeant! — Cain warned. — Or I'll have your promotion to AT-AT commander revoked! Speak fast — who painted that hunchbacked rancor on your walker, and by what right?!
Cain's loud, commanding voice began drawing the attention of nearby soldiers, mechanics, gunners, and stormtroopers.
It stirred unpleasant associations.
After the Mustafar battle, Cain had nominated Roach for promotion to walker commander.
Roach had resisted with every fiber of his being, not seeing himself in that role.
Behind the controls of a walker — gladly.
But as a commander…
They were starting to attract attention.
Even while awaiting loading, the vehicle crews remained near their AT-ATs, so roughly three hundred people witnessed the interrogation.
— I did it, sir, — Roach said, refusing to accuse anyone or speculate. Why bother, and who needed the truth? Even he wasn't sure if his stormtrooper theory was correct.
— For what purpose, Sergeant? — Cain was taken aback.
— I thought a rancor with a pack would symbolize the unstoppable might of my walker, — the mechanic-driver said without blinking. — The rancor as a symbol of the AT-AT's power, the pack representing its cargo and martial spirit…
Major General Cain blinked.
Again.
And again.
— That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard, — he declared. — Your rancor doesn't have a pack; it's got a hump!
The reaction could've been worse.
— My apologies, sir, — Roach said, feigning guilt. — I'm a mechanic-driver, not an artist, General. I did my best…
— Don't dabble in what you haven't learned, Sergeant, — the Major General advised, shaking his head. — Get that abomination off the armor, now!
— I can't comply, sir! — Roach said resignedly.
— Reason?!
— It's identification paint, sir, — Sergeant Roach explained. — It's bonded to the blaster-absorbing coating… It'll need a full armor replacement…
Which meant nearly dismantling the entire machine.
— What is this nonsense?! — the commander exploded. — Insubordination! Ten days in the brig! And that's if the Grand Admiral doesn't see it! Pray to the gods, if you believe in them, Sergeant, that Thrawn doesn't recall the ground forces' regulations, or you'll rot in a waste pit!
Veers would've reprimanded him privately, but Cain was only the face and memories of his donor. High-ranking clones often forged distinct personalities to assert individuality.
If it had been Jurgen instead of Cain…
— I like it, — another familiar voice chimed in.
Roach glanced over and met the gaze of another Major General.
With Maximillian Veers' face.
General Jurgen.
Speak of the commander…
— It's not regulation, — Cain stated.
— Oh, come on, — Jurgen waved dismissively. — Emblems aren't regulation either, but Blizzard Force has them. On vehicles, armor, shoulder patches. Look, — General Jurgen grabbed the edge of Roach's jumpsuit, pointing to a patch of a walker inside a gear.
— Blizzard Force is different, — Cain grimaced. — An elite unit with years of history and tradition!
— This guy, — Jurgen pointed at Roach, — took out half a regiment of enemy infantry on Mustafar, breached their defensive line, and even when shot down, managed to crash without crushing his troops or equipment. Sounds like a fine tradition to me, don't you think, Cain?
— Where are you going with this, Jurgen? — Roach tried to act uninterested in the generals' conversation.
Honestly, Jurgen shouldn't even have been there — he'd been reassigned to command a legion on another destroyer. But the Dressed in Amber had joined the Eidolon Base assault to speed up the operation.
— Form a Rancor unit, — Jurgen shrugged. — A couple of orders, and you'll have a division with those patches and emblems. No issues with formality. And no worries about Thrawn asking awkward questions about you or your unit.
— That doesn't solve the problem of an emblem painted across the AT-AT's hull, — Cain said, turning his attention back to Roach. — Your suggestions, Sergeant? How will you justify this indelible emblem? Or will you request the walker's repair for armor replacement?
An AT-AT wasn't an AT-RT or AT-ST, which could be fully repaired aboard a Star Destroyer. Replacing the painted armor would require sending it to a factory. That demanded serious justification, like equipment failure.
But this AT-AT was brand new. All systems functioned perfectly. Sabotaging it just to replace the armor was sabotage — a military crime.
— I'm ready to accept any punishment for my improper actions, sir, — Roach said.
He had no other opinion.
Break the regulations, face the consequences.
It didn't matter if he painted it himself or allowed it to happen — the mechanic-driver was responsible for the vehicle's technical and standardized condition.
— Let it stay, — Jurgen suggested unexpectedly.
— It violates standardization regulations, — Cain reminded him.
— Paint the same on all the Rancor unit's walkers, — Jurgen proposed. — AT-ATs exert psychological pressure on the enemy. Imagine what happens when they see a unit famed for major ground battles from their trenches?
— We're not the Imperial Hammers, — Cain grimaced. — We'd need to earn that reputation, and ground operations aren't the Grand Admiral's strongest or most frequent campaigns.
— My authority ends here, — Jurgen said, glancing at Roach. — Sergeant, you've got few options: disciplinary action, sabotage, or leading the charge to justify that emblem you rambled about. Choose.
Roach sighed resignedly.
— General Cain, sir, I request my crew be placed at the forefront of future attacks, — he said.
— Approved, — Cain clapped him on the shoulder. — One hour after loading, report to me — we'll hit the simulators to test your command skills. If you're going to lead the charge, let's see if you've got the makings of a commander.
— Yes, sir, — Roach sighed resignedly.
— Dismissed, Sergeant!
He didn't want a promotion.
He was comfortable behind the controls.
***
When the mechanic-driver's back was a hundred meters away, Cain glanced at his "twin."
— Think it'll work? — he asked.
— The kid's talented, even if he doesn't see it, — Jurgen said. — He's an ace at the controls, but we need to think about the future of the armed forces. Some can't but want to; others can but don't. The Sergeant's the latter.
— We'll need to keep an eye on him, — Cain said. — The best vehicle commander knows its systems and capabilities inside out, not these "cadet boys" who don't even know what an AT-AT's undercarriage looks like. But it's not guaranteed he understands command.
— He did well on Mustafar, securing a breakthrough, — Jurgen reminded him. — That alone warrants a promotion.
— In rank, not position, — Cain countered.
— Without an officer's academy, 'Sergeant' is his ceiling, — Jurgen noted, eyeing his colleague suspiciously. — So that's your plan? Appoint him walker commander, he proves himself on the simulator, then you push him into mid-level training…
— If the kid finds himself in the commander's seat, we'll solve our officer shortage soon, — Cain said coldly.
He pulled off a heavy glove, revealing black streaks on his hand.
— Listen, was he serious about the identification paint not washing off?
— Not a bit, — Jurgen confirmed. — Either cut off the skin or…
— I'll wear the glove, — Cain decided, slipping it back on. — As long as the techs don't blab that I ordered it.
"And took part in it," he recalled his initial urge to punish the Sergeant for teaching stormtroopers profanities.
It turned out… differently.
Truly, in the military, even a joke can lead to something useful for the armed forces.
— Didn't you let them write off a barrel of alcohol for "parts cleaning"? — Jurgen asked. Cain nodded. — Then they'll keep quiet. Mechanics are like that. They'll use the barrel's contents and never get caught drunk.
***
— Is this the final inventory? — I asked, looking up from my personal datapad.
— Affirmative, Grand Admiral, — Captain Pellaeon reported, standing to my right.
— You've enriched yourself considerably at the state's expense, Great Vizier, — I said, eyeing the man seated across from me.
In a plain jumpsuit devoid of ornate embroidery or costly adornments, the bald man with a long nose shrank under Rukh's gaze, looking pitiful.
Like a cornered animal, he sat hunched, glancing around nervously.
His feet were pressed together, only the toes touching the deck.
His hands were tucked under his armpits, his posture signaling withdrawal and reluctance to engage.
— Jewels, art, credits, — I listed the items once stored in this secret place. — And you lost it all when the New Republic seized the base years ago. Credit where it's due — you're both bold and foolish to establish a base where it was already compromised. And in space you don't control. A strategic miscalculation.
Eidolon Base was located on the edge of Tatooine's Northern Dune Sea.
Curiously, how this base came to be is worth noting.
Sate Pestage, as Great Vizier, oversaw the creation of an experimental assault cruiser for the Galactic Empire to advance Imperial military technology. A Strike-class medium cruiser was chosen as the base model. Equipped with various technological innovations, it was intended to rival a heavy cruiser in strength.
Its most notable feature was its starfighter deployment system. After TIE fighters landed or docked in a specialized dual rack in the docking bay at the base of the command tower, the TIEs were moved through maintenance and refueling zones, ending in launch corridors on both sides of the ship. This ensured a steady stream of fighters for short missions.
Officially, the ship embarked on its first and final flight, reportedly destroyed.
In reality, Pestage hid the ship for himself without informing his superiors. It was never used to its full potential, as Pestage laundered funds, using the project's budget to build Eidolon Base and acquire munitions, art, and other wealth from across the galaxy.
The Rebel Alliance and their temporary allies discovered the base during their Tatooine campaign in the year of the Battle of Endor. Everything of value was seized and divided among the operation's participants.
Later, under the guise of "Agent Blackhole," Pestage reclaimed the base, posing as "Imperials disgusted by any Remnants."
He established his command and information center here, which had now been evacuated to the Chimaera.
The shadow stormtroopers guarding the base were eliminated, as were the squadrons covering its airspace.
Much of the information banks were preserved.
Including data from the Imperial Information Center.
The one located in the depths of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant.
It was slicer Zakarisz Ghent's report on who copied that data and when that provided the first clue to Agent Blackhole's true identity.
The slicer revealed that Pestage had copied the database twice.
The first instance was of little concern, but the second, made from the Red Dragon — already known as the Ubiqtorate's flagship at the time…
The rest was a matter of observation and strategy.
— You cannot win, — Pestage declared, breaking the silence. — The Emperor and his army will destroy you and your pathetic Dominion.
Sate Pestage.
Captain Pellaeon gave the former Great Vizier an appraising look that spoke volumes.
— You'd do well to remember that all Ubiqtorate forces are now under our control, — he stated.
— A pathetic structure, — Pestage sneered. — Don't flatter yourself, Thrawn — a few extra destroyers won't conquer the galaxy.
— Which was controlled by an equally pathetic man, — I reminded him. — I dare say, Great Vizier, you have no idea what goals the Dominion pursues.
— You cannot comprehend my greatness, — Pestage boasted. — Only I and the Emperor evaded death, outwitting all enemies! When he strikes, all others will kneel before him! And I'll watch as he burns rebel worlds and smile. Because, once again, everyone will be fooled, and I'll be in power. As always — I'll rule the Empire's mundane affairs while the Emperor delves into the mysteries of greatness and ancient knowledge.
— Interesting, — I gave the man a thoughtful look. — Will this triumph you dream of occur before or after I arrange your meeting with Ysanne Isard?
Pestage's angular face sharpened.
Fear flickered in his eyes.
It was Isard who had set Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel on him, who destroyed Pestage's clone before seizing Ciutric.
— You are insignificant, Great Vizier, — I stated. — Without Palpatine, you couldn't protect yourself from Isard's schemes or save your extensive family from Krennel's purges. Even the Ubiqtorate under your leadership became a mere shadow of its former self.
— Isard is dead! — Pestage said forcefully. — The rebels killed her at Thyferra.
— Do you truly believe you're so brilliant that only you thought to use a clone? — I asked, genuinely surprised.
Until now, I'd considered the Great Vizier a more rational man.
In reality, he was neither cunning nor calculating.
Greedy and self-absorbed — that's who he was.
— She… cloned herself? — Horror swam in Pestage's eyes.
— Precisely, — I confirmed. — And soon, once we return to base, you'll have an exciting meeting with that lady.
— I… Thrawn! — he wailed. — You wouldn't do this!
— Haven't you tired of being proven wrong about that assumption? — I asked.
— She… She'll kill me! — Pestage trembled.
— For what, exactly? — I pressed. — For profiting off the Empire? For orchestrating political assassinations? For planning to surrender Coruscant to the New Republic, earning accusations of treason? Which of this short list of your crimes concerns you most?
— A-a-all of it, — he stammered. — She… I'll do anything for you if you don't hand me over to that Emperor's chained beast!
— Oh, — I exchanged a glance with Captain Pellaeon, who was as puzzled as I. — So Isard has another nickname.
— I doubt she'll appreciate hearing it, — Pellaeon noted.
— But it will help us lure her out, — I said.
— No-no-no-no-no! — Pestage wailed. — Thrawn! I'll give you anything you want! No Isard! Ensure my safety! I can convince the Emperor not to attack the Dominion! I'll make sure your little empire remains untouched during his campaign!
— How intriguing, — I leaned forward, hands clasped in a steeple. — Another confirmation that Palpatine has no intention of honoring agreements.
— He doesn't care about agreements! — Pestage stammered. — He's mad! He wants to destroy his enemies — that's all that matters to him! He cares for nothing else! The advisors around him want you gone! I… I'll tell you who they are! And how they plan to do it!
— Very well, — I looked into the eyes of this cowardly semblance of a man. — I await your revelations. The more you tell me that I don't already know, the easier it will be for me to avoid calling Isard's comlink.
— There's a traitor among your officers! — Pestage declared. — He's feeding data on Dominion defense systems!
— Through the Ubiqtorate? — I asked.
— No-no! He has his own contact! One of the dark Jedi serving the Emperor directly! I only relay his words to the Executor!
— Sedriss, — I stated.
— Y-yes! — Pestage nodded frantically. — He disgraced himself after you prevented the destruction of the Noghri. Pathetic worm! The Emperor broke him easily, and now Sedriss seeks to reclaim his place as the Emperor's right hand.
— Which you currently occupy, "Agent Blackhole," — I said, narrowing my eyes and glancing at Pellaeon.
Gilad, having seen much under my command, tried not to be surprised.
A wise approach.
It prolongs life.
— Yes! — A greedy glint flashed in Pestage's eyes. — Thrawn! I can help you preserve your Dominion!
— Oh? — I raised an eyebrow. — And how?
— I'll be a double agent, — Pestage licked his dry lips. — You were hasty, destroying my bases and people — but I know you well. You'll purge the Ubiqtorate from top to bottom to ensure nothing interferes with your plans…
Suppose so.
Orders have already been issued and will be executed as analysts sift through the Ubiqtorate's archives. I cannot afford to spare high-caliber criminal operatives or deranged maniacs.
— … I'll continue gathering intelligence for Palpatine, — Pestage continued. — In fact, it's already prepared…
— You've selected targets for him, — Pellaeon said.
— Yes, — Pestage nodded. — I'll tell you which ones.
— Is the Dominion among them? — I asked.
— Not the top priority, — Pestage shook his head. — Palpatine doesn't care about the Dominion — he's certain that once he reveals himself, all Imperials will rally to him. But you… His inner circle fears you. You fight too well…
A case where talent becomes a curse.
— A significant portion of the Imperial Remnants' forces see you as a leader, — Pestage said. — Many would have deserted, like Captain Abyss, but they fear the Ubiqtorate will do to their families what it did to the Void Wanderer's crew…
— You destroyed a liner with their families not to stop the Void Wanderer, — Pellaeon said. — You wanted to send a message to other military personnel…
— Yes-yes-yes, — Pestage nodded. — Ubiqtorate fanatics have killed as many military personnel as rebels in the post-Endor years — anyone who wanted to leave the Empire. The Ubiqtorate keeps them in line through fear…
"All" is an exaggeration…
— I've yet to hear anything that compels me to spare your life, — I said, though that wasn't entirely true. But those present need not know.
— I'll be your agent, — Pestage reminded me. — I'll make Palpatine personally invested in keeping you alive. I'll make you an icon of the armed forces — so no advisor or confidant can oppose him. They're not fools — they know killing you would enrage those who near-worship you. It would spark unrest among the military, and the assassin would paint a target on their forehead. I'll ensure Palpatine doesn't look at the Dominion — he'll let you take some territories and exist autonomously within the Empire. In return, you'll conquer the galaxy for him! You're exceptional at it, aren't you?
— No, — I said.
— But you've already subdued over a dozen sectors, — Pestage said, astonished. — With Palpatine's forces, you could conquer the galaxy in a year or two…
— A compelling offer, — I acknowledged.
— Agree, — Pestage's eyes oozed greed and anticipation. — And then…
— And then we destroy the Emperor, you take his place, and I become your Supreme Commander? — I clarified.
— The best outcome, — Pestage nodded. — Why leave a madman on the throne…
— No one said that outcome would be realized, — I stated.
— Thrawn… — Pestage grew wary. — What are you saying…?!
— Exactly what I said at the start, Great Vizier, — I declared. — You have no idea what my goals are.
The man's left eye twitched.
— Captain, — I addressed the Chimaera's commander, — plot a course to the base. And prepare a comfortable cell for Mr. Pestage — he'll need rest before meeting his fate.
The Great Vizier began trembling violently.
— THR-A-A-A-W-N!!! — Eyes bulging, the man lunged forward, hands outstretched to strangle me.
With a single punch to the face, Rukh broke "Agent Blackhole's" jaw and sent him into oblivion.
How symbolic…
Oblivion awaits him.