"You know, I'll drop by later."
"Uh-huh," was all Erik could manage, still trying to digest everything said and seen.
"And the general's not bad-looking," Brandei tried to joke with a nervous chuckle. "With the hair, you could even say cute."
"Brandei," Erik shook his head, breaking the stream of images and associations.
"Yes, Counter-Admiral?"
"Dry up like a vroshti tree in Tatooine's Dune Sea with your hints," Shohashi growled, glancing at General Ventress impatiently drumming her nails on the holoprojector panel.
"Of course, of course," Brandei grinned. "I'm off, pants flying. Thank her for me, okay? Or else I'm starting to get scared of her. Good thing the pants are wet; the second embarrassment isn't visible. And you're pure beskar, didn't even flinch. Watch out, soon she'll be batting her eyelashes at you. I know that type of woman…"
"Brandei," Shohashi addressed his comrade and subordinate again.
"Yes, Counter-Admiral?"
"Get off my bridge before I call security."
"With pleasure, sir," Brandei instantly lost his feigned bravado under the gaze of Ventress looking his way and bolted for the tactical compartment exit almost at a run.
Exhaling to calm his now pounding heart, Erik returned to the holoterminal.
"Let's continue, General Ventress," he said, trying not to look at the crookedly smiling Dathomirian, who fixed him with an appraising and clearly interested gaze.
***
Someone knocked on the wooden door of the small, strictly functional office.
A considerable rarity in times when metal is used instead of wood, and control panels instead of doorknobs.
"Chief, permission to enter?" Captain Shteben's head appeared in the cracked-open door.
Colonel Astarian, tearing himself away from reading another report on his deck's screen and closing the viewed document, waved a hand, beckoning the subordinate.
The operative crossed the small space separating the entrance door from the several plain chairs standing against the wall to the right of the Dominion Counterintelligence chief's desk and took a seat closer to the office's owner.
"Report," Astarian ordered.
"Done," Shteben replied. "Grappa cracked. And his henchmen, nabbed on Genon, too."
Good news, if so.
"Tell me. In detail and thoroughly."
"Well, the overall picture is this," Shteben began. "About five years ago, Grappa ran his operations from his palace on Genon, sticking exclusively to racketeering and profiting from illegal business. All standard, nothing outstanding. He'd throw subordinates who let him down into a cage with a monster and watch them die. Hired various smugglers, bounty hunters, and pirates. One such group under him was Sol Mon's pirate crew, which hijacked ships, stole valuables and riches across the galaxy for Grappa. No witnesses left, ships fenced on the black market with swapped aggregate numbers and identification data…"
"Is this prelude connected to the case we're investigating?" Astarian clarified with his subordinate.
"Directly, sir," the latter confirmed. "During one such raid, Sol Mon's group ran into a Black Sun representative. As you can imagine, the weight classes didn't match. But instead of grinding Grappa to dust, Black Sun made contact and continued operations, using the captured rep as a liaison. From that point, about three or four years ago, Grappa became part of Black Sun."
"Which—is just a front for the remnants of the Zann Consortium, destroyed at the time," Astarian voiced the known.
"That's the interesting part," Shteben smiled. "Grappa worked strictly along Black Sun lines. He didn't know it was a front. But from his stories, that liaison, Makus Kaynif, was actively negotiating business with Sol Mon's group. doubly curious that Sol Mon's name and ship identifiers popped up on Maramere—right during the Zann Consortium's heyday."
"Indeed," Astarian narrowed his eyes. "From which we can conclude that Sol Mon himself worked in the past either for Black Sun or the Zann Consortium."
"I'm inclined to believe the latter," Shteben said. "Referring to data from our colleagues on the Ghost Isle on Maramere, we have records of extensive stygium mining on the planet—no more than ten years ago. Before that time, Sol Mon didn't show up on Maramere."
"So he acted in the interests of the same bosses as Kaynif on Maramere, mining or delivering stygium," Astarian drummed his fingers on the desk. "Add to that: shortly after Zann's escape from Kessel and the creation of the Consortium, the latter started getting ships with superior cloaking."
"Imperial Intelligence assumed it was stygium," Captain Shteben agreed. "But someone mid-level in the Ubiqtorate didn't pass the report up, stating it couldn't be, since stygium is scarce in the galaxy, and its cost would make a single ship with such cloaking as expensive as a star super-destroyer."
"No need to be a Jedi to figure it out—the Zann Consortium found a hookup with those who should've wiped them out in the cradle," Astarian grimaced.
"The deeper we dig, the more we learn how deeply the Consortium infiltrated the Empire," Shteben agreed. "Wouldn't be surprised if ISB operatives were on their payroll too."
"Well, good," Astarian stated. "We found what half the Empire's military was interested in—where the Zann Consortium got the resources for a working cloaking system. How does Grappa tie in?"
"Grappa's story is a more recent adventure," Shteben noted. "I'd guess the Zann Consortium didn't send their man to Sol Mon for nothing—they wanted to recruit Grappa from the start."
"And what interested them in a simple gangster?" the colonel wondered.
"Turns out Grappa has a hookup with the Zanibar," Shteben explained.
"Bantha poodoo," Astarian cursed. "That's all we needed."
The Zanibar were tall, skinny sentient humanoids with gray-blue skin and three-fingered hands. They were bald, with long skull-like faces and small black eyes.
It wasn't exactly known where they came from, but scientists assumed their planet was somewhere in the northern galaxy, reachable only by those who knew the precise hyperspace route.
No, there were other scientists who claimed the Zanibar homeworld was long known to galactic peoples and had been visited repeatedly, including by humans and more ancient races, but by now the way there was forgotten, and the Zanibar themselves weren't thrilled about bringing outsiders home.
Allegedly, it contradicted their religious rites, worldview, and other philosophical mumbo-jumbo only an idiot would believe.
And those so dim-witted as to go to the Zanibar homeworld.
The thing was, unlike the pontificating scholars, Imperial intelligence services had already encountered Zanibar.
And had an idea of who they were and how disgusting those creatures were.
Something on the level of the infamous Thyferrans who popped up in the galaxy five years ago.
With the exception that the Thyferrans, dirty scum, pirates, and thugs though they were, the Zanibar, though not outwardly similar, had an "advantage" over the Thyferrans.
They ate their prisoners.
Before the Clone Wars, the Zanibar cannibals were involved in an incident in the Corporate Sector, where their ability and willingness to gut sentients for food and religious rites came to light for the galaxy.
Of course, the Old Republic swept it under the rug, ordering the Zanibar back home.
And conveniently forgetting about them.
But the Zanibar didn't forget the galaxy.
The ISB hunted Zanibar who'd become bounty hunters and assassins across the galaxy.
There was an informal order—not to take them alive.
Under torture, they stayed mum anyway, even if you cut them to ribbons.
They didn't carry compromising data on their homeworld's location.
Left no traces.
The scum knew that one slip-up, and star destroyers would fly to their homeworld, turning the entire surface into molten slag.
"I thought about the same, sir," Shteben admitted. "Grappa collaborated with the Zanibar, handing over his enemies to them."
"And in return?"
"They worked for him as bounty hunters."
"Fair enough," Astarian agreed. "Black Sun decided to bolster its ranks with Zanibar?"
"Grappa didn't ask questions," Shteben shook his head. "A few months ago, Black Sun ordered him to hand over control of the Zanibar to them. He meekly agreed."
"When was that?" Astarian frowned.
"Pretty much right after we struck the Consortium at Shola, Salucemai, Hypori…"
The colonel closed his eyes, sighing in resignation.
So, right after the grand admiral attacked the Zann Consortium's planets, the latter began pulling all available forces into a single fist.
Scrupling at nothing, even carnivorous scum.
Odd that the Mandalorians weren't involved yet.
"Is that all Grappa's role in this?" the Dominion's chief counterintelligence officer clarified.
"Just the tip of the iceberg," Shteben warned. "Grappa organized the baroness cloning operation on Black Sun's behalf. He supplied the thugs with the chemicals needed to knock her out, after which the woman was cloned on Genon."
"What facility was used?" Astarian asked, interested.
"Grappa doesn't know. The cloning process was overseen by Makus Kaynif. He procured the device. He also extracted it from that cave where our scouts nabbed Grappa's maintenance crew. Where the original baroness and equipment are now, Grappa doesn't know, but assumes with Black Sun… in the Corporate Sector."
"Safe to assume the baroness was needed for Grappa so the Zann Consortium could know Imperial encroachments in advance," Astarian surmised.
"That makes sense, given that under the New Republic, Coruscant lacked the military forces for total control of its territories, like under the Empire. The Pentastar Alignment hadn't shown its nose beyond its borders until recently, and only Orinda stirred up trouble. From an intelligence standpoint, Zann correctly pegged his man in the Imperial Ruling Council. A clone controlled by the Hutt, who's actually a small-time racketeer, thinks he's working for Black Sun, whose boss is the Zann Consortium."
"Remove any link—the baroness clone, Grappa, Makus Kaynif, or the nominal Black Sun head, Asib—and tracing the true leadership becomes impossible," Astarian concluded. "A rather dangerous setup, I must say."
"I suspect that's why Sol Mon was with Grappa—he's a backup intel source in Grappa's gang, essentially his right hand. Since Hutts are known for their suspicion, few would think Sol knows anything," Shteben reasoned. "Sir, honestly, from the data our intel pulled from Grappa's palace terminals, it seems Sol Mon wasn't just robbing random rich starships. Those ships belonged to Imperial and Republic bigwigs with ties to ruling circles."
Astarian pondered.
Something serious was brewing.
Very serious.
"So, we have one thread of leverage on Orinda," the colonel concluded. "Since controlling the Imperial Ruling Council was so crucial to Zann, and given how easily he created a prominent sentient's clone, aren't Sol Mon's raids not just robbery, but capturing genetic material and originals' knowledge for cloning?"
Shteben was silent for a moment, mulling over his boss's words.
"To abduct, clone, and return Baroness D'Asta where she was taken, Grappa and Black Sun had little time. So they used something that allows cloning sentients quickly and without memory integration issues."
"We know the clone Fina D'Asta dealt with the Hutts, passing Imperial intel in exchange for funding her activities. Now she's out of control, and naturally, right in her sector, an anti-government uprising pops up. With Hutt tails sticking out. Ever heard of GeNod program clones acting against their masters' programming?"
"Never," Astarian shook his head. "They're hard-programmed for obedience. No glitches observed."
"Then we can assume Fina D'Asta's clone wasn't made with GeNod."
"It's just a hypothesis for now," Astarian objected.
"Yes, a working theory," the operative agreed. "But we don't have others yet. I think we need to unravel this web of intrigue further. If we can nab Sol Mon, we might learn a bit more."
"Sol Mon, for all his involvement, might be just another pawn in this game," Astarian stated. "Yes, he undoubtedly knows more than Grappa himself, but Makus Kaynif surely has far more enticing info than those two. We need to know where he got the cloning cylinders, who did the cloning, where the equipment is now, and if there's more."
The captain nodded silently.
The grueling work of the Dominion's cloning labs was known to counterintelligence like no other.
The clone factory was the Dominion's ultimate secret, preserved by any means.
It allowed significantly boosting fleet and army-stormtrooper combat readiness without resorting to Imperial-style conscription: everyone of age to the draft board.
But if two tens of thousands of Spaarti cloning cylinders once sufficed to crew a slowly growing fleet, now…
There were so many ships, fighters, armored vehicles that in some categories the ratio reached a hundred machines per crew.
And that was a big problem.
Which even the program transferring Defense Force veterans, given priority contract rights with the regular fleet, couldn't cover.
The flow of Imperials with combat experience fit for front-line service dropped after news of Grand Admiral Thrawn's death spread across the galaxy.
Yes, inside the metropole it was known (to whom it concerned) that it wasn't true, but that only boosted volunteers among the populace eager to join the regular fleet or stormtroopers right away.
Without experience, without needed knowledge and practice, such fighters would screw up so much in their first battle that cleanup would take ages.
Unfortunately, even redirecting them to the Defense Forces, freeing trained cadres for the regular army, didn't play a big role in fleshing out the fleet and army.
All experienced specialists and officers fit for service under the grand admiral in combat had long been transferred to the regular fleet.
The Ciutric Hegemony fleet, the metropole's core, had twice renewed its personnel—the first practically in full, already in the regular army, the second—four-fifths.
Increasing recruits didn't ensure contractor numbers—the current Defense Force staff lacked the experience and service record to stand in line with the main Dominion forces.
So the cloning cylinders churned out clones of serving specialists nonstop.
Today, by schedule, the second batch of clones should've started checking knowledge loaded via imprinter machines. If lucky, they'd help recommission and return the star destroyer Death's Head to service.
And the few remaining from the second batch would transfer to one of the captured Sluis Van "ones"—now named Commander Darren, after the star destroyer Captain Rensen's commander, killed in that battle.
Incidentally, word was that names like Captain Rensen, Resolute, and Lunar Shadow (the destroyers the Dominion lost in last year's campaign finale) would return to the fleet and be assigned to captured destroyers.
Because, again—there were too many.
So access to even a couple-three new cloning cylinders would be a significant contribution to the Dominion's cause.
If only the specialists would sort out those junk incubator knockoffs from Mustafar.
Seemed like cloning cylinders, seemed assembled, and thus functional, but somehow… off.
Well, what's "normal" for those clueless about cloning, relying only on leftover Imperial research papers?
Intel was supposedly hunting needed specialists galaxy-wide, but nothing new emerged in the Dominion's special services on that front.
"I'll discuss the interagency op with the brass," Astarian said. "For now, keep working Grappa—I want to know everything he knows. More than sure the gangster has decent connections in the underworld. Especially since the Hutts until recently had their own interests in several Dominion worlds' inhabitants. Grappa surely knows something about which Hutts hired thousands of fighters from underdeveloped worlds a year ago as cheap cannon fodder."
Shteben nodded slowly.
His thoughtful gaze indicated he was running scenarios in his head, cross-referencing with existing info.
"It can't be that we stumbled into upcoming underworld showdowns over a droid factory on Hypori?" he asked. "The Zann Consortium's recruiting thugs every way possible. Hutts are grabbing 'meat.' Zann's building ships, no doubt Hutts are too…"
"Yes, but the Zann Consortium controls the Corporate Sector, with its motley but solid fleet," Astarian reminded. "The Hutts are in a similar spot. Only they've got Hoersch-Kessel right next door and connections galaxy-wide. I very much doubt that if those two orgs—the Hutts and Zann Consortium—clash on the battlefield, the winners will be ones we can keep talking to."
"Not to mention the high chance they're working together…"
"Yes, to our great regret, that'd be a catastrophe," Astarian sobered.
The Hutts and Zann Consortium didn't touch each other while Jabba the Hutt lived, having made peace with Tyber Zann.
And they warred solely due to those two's mutual hatred.
And if Tyber Zann truly stood behind reviving his Consortium, who knows what fine strings of the Hutt soul he plucked.
After all, he was shipping goods to Hutt Space.
Whether he was using them blindly, as fleet thought, or paying the Hutts resources for support, remained to be seen.
By Dominion Intelligence.
Counterintelligence could only do its job and watch so nothing outlandish happened inside the young state.
And it boiled in nearly every sector—over the last thirty days, counterintelligence handled over ten rebellious separatist groups in the metropole and a dozen on peripheral worlds, mostly Chasin.
And all, to a one, controlled and funded from abroad.
Imperial Remnant, New Republic, Corporate Sector, even Tapani nobles—everyone tried to stick their hand in divvying up the Dominion Grand Admiral Thrawn built.
And this was just the beginning.
Maybe some would back off, realizing they failed the first try and testing the Dominion's structure for strength was folly, but the stubborn ones would keep at it.
And counterintelligence's task was to ensure they failed.
Now and in the future.
"Be that as it may, we keep working," the Dominion's chief counterintelligence officer declared.
"As always, sir," Captain Shteben echoed, heading for the exit with the office owner's permission.
Much work ahead.
Astarian, meanwhile, began tallying interim results for the upcoming report to Grand Admiral Thrawn.
***
Captain Anilex, leader of the Dominion-aligned Cavil Corsairs group, stood at the decorative railing for several minutes, observing the distribution of delivered reinforcements for his organization on the parade ground.
After that, he returned to the small table on the mansard and sank into the wicker chair opposite me.
Taking a mug of caf, he took several sips.
Then he couldn't hold back and asked directly:
"Sir, you do realize a good chunk of them will desert to the enemy or shoot their own to bug out at the first chance?"
"That's why I delivered the Kessel freedmen straight to the Cavil Corsairs," my explanation somewhat surprised the captain. "Your fighters are the only unit where all the destructive sentiments of former prisoners will surface long before they hit the front."
"Betting that a semi-legal group of ex-pirates and corsairs will be the place where they loosen up and start 'testing the waters'?" Anilex clarified.
"Exactly, Captain," I confirmed. "Lately, despite the abundance of conflicts galaxy-wide, some forces decided they could shake, break, and carve up the Dominion somehow. The Dominion Security Service, our counterintelligence, outplayed our foes. And gleaned quite valuable intel to help us strike back at certain ill-wishers. While they're busy with new problems, we'll finish prepping for a full-scale strike with all our might. But until then, no one should know we're the ones acting against them. As you understand, for that I need fighters with no direct ties to the Dominion. And the choice fell on you, since your org trains recruits to stormtrooper standards."
"Which you so kindly shared with us," Anilex reminded.
Not fully, of course.
Only what beats the nonsense and brings to heel.
Long drills and drilling combat actions to automatism.
Sending these sentients to Captain Irv or Tiberos would be stupid and pointless.
Anilex was the only one of the three auxiliary unit leaders with not just space forces but infantry too.
And that's exactly what I'd need in the near future.
Those not directly tied to the Dominion, not flying under the home flag, and linked to the D'Astan sector, of which Axxila—where I currently was—was part.
"Either way, by the time you finish with these cowards and traitors, we'll know who can blend into your org and who should've stayed on Kessel," I continued. "I've already told them your org's general rules, but I think it won't hurt to remind them once more. And so on until they memorize them as clearly as combat skills."
"My sergeants will start training next morning," the Cavil Corsairs commander assured. "Medics will get them on their feet today, and tomorrow we'll assign to units. But I must warn you—can't make fighters out of them quick."
"Excellent," I approved. "Better spend more time on prep and training they neglected before than litter battlefields with thousands of corpses. Back to what I said. I'll need some of your units to fan flames under my enemies' asses."
"So we have a mission, sir?" Captain Anilex clarified, squinting slyly like an interested businessman.
"Spot on," I nodded. "Rouse your fighters, Captain. The Cavil Corsairs are off to war. We'll start with the D'Astan sector, since you're neighbors. The baroness's forces have been seriously pissing me off lately with their lack of victories on the battlefield."
***
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