Ten years, fifth month, and twentieth day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, fifth month, and twentieth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year, one month, and thirty-fifth day since the Arrival.)
Inquisitor Freymis had seen much in her lifetime, but what she was observing before her now...
Yes, it would be more accurate to say "whom she was observing," but what stood before her was more beast than sentient.
Executor Sedriss was in a rage.
The right hand of Emperor Palpatine had only just returned to Coruscant from his latest secret mission when he learned...
"Armless, useless, degenerating creatures!" he roared, gripping the edge of the desk in the office that had once belonged to the Supreme Chancellor in the Administrative Building next to the Senate. "How could anyone disgrace themselves so thoroughly?"
Freymis patiently stared at the floor, at the toes of her boots, silently enduring the curses raining down on the entire Inquisitorius.
Except the only living representative of that organization in the office once occupied by the future Emperor was herself.
Four corpses of high-ranking Inquisitors, who had once represented a significant force in the galaxy, terrorizing supporters and Jedi alike, now least resembled the pillars of the Pentastar Alignment's power that they had been lately.
"Windu!!!" the Executor snarled with rage. "To let Windu himself escape! A bunch of useless dandies!..."
The curses poured out like a cornucopia, and Freymis could have defended the honor of her fallen comrades, but she suspected that would end her mortal path.
And she had so much to do ahead...
The Executor raged for a few more minutes, then collapsed exhausted into his chair, which creaked beneath him.
Actually, the meeting had been scheduled at the Imperial Palace, but as she learned, the residence of the Empire's ruler was being meticulously prepared to receive influential visitors...
There was no doubt — the Emperor planned to return to the Imperial Center and take charge of the state that had grown decrepit in his absence.
Hence Sedriss's fury — Palpatine wouldn't pat him on the head for such a blunder.
It was quite possible that such a mistake as Master Windu's escape, along with his accomplices, would reflect on the Executor's own fate.
Naturally!
Chief Inquisitor Drast had shown insubordination and decided to personally deal with the one who, according to rumors, had managed to stand against the Emperor in battle thirty years ago.
He was generally considered dead, but numerous testimonies and facial recognition of those who fled on an Imperial transport ship spoke for themselves.
The Master was alive, and he was a prominent participant in combat operations against legitimate authority on the Imperial Center.
The faces of the other accomplices could not be identified — they had professionally deceived objective monitoring systems.
But the fact remained.
Mace Windu and a group of saboteurs had dealt a treacherous terrorist blow to the back of the Pentastar Alignment and the Empire as a whole.
They had captured and stolen one of the Empire's military transport vessels, full of uniforms and weapons needed to equip the army being prepared.
But worst of all — they had arrived in the Dominion.
"So," the Emperor's henchman's voice, now under control, sounded ominous, "this idiot Grand Moff Ferrus assured you that they had nothing to do with the captured ship's appearance on his territory."
"Exactly, Executor Sedriss," the young woman raised her eyes and looked into the irises glowing with amber light of the Emperor's right hand.
"And you didn't believe them?"
"Who in their right mind would believe that?"
"No, Executor. I considered it disinformation. At first I didn't understand what was happening and why it was so crude, but now that I've been informed of our enemy's actions in the Imperial Center, I understand why they let me go."
"Is that so?" the Executor snorted. "Then speak!"
"Obviously, the enemy realized that their secret sabotage in our rear hadn't gone unnoticed. They have no competent planners left, and perhaps the ship's movement toward where Ferrus and I were was a surprise to him. But they concocted a story designed to divert suspicion... Hasty, illogical..."
"If Traun were at the head of the Dominion now, I'd say we're being literally provoked into buying this story and throwing our full force at them," Sedriss said thoughtfully. "But Ferrus and Pellaeon... Those two are stupid enough to make a secret pact with the Galactic Alliance or the New Republic."
"Or too smart to put on a show we're all supposed to fall for," Freymis thought.
"One way or another, this demands a response," the Executor declared in a categorical tone.
The Lady Inquisitor broke into a satisfied smile.
Those words perfectly aligned with her intention to return to the Dominion at the head of a punitive fleet that would drown these traitors in their own blood, cleansing the Empire's name of shame.
"If I may be permitted, I would like to lead the offensive against the Dominion," she said. "Especially since we have information about a gap in their defenses. The faster we move..."
."..the more chances we have of walking into an ambush," the Executor cut her off. "The Emperor did not restore his trust in me for nothing — my tactic of gradually weakening the enemy is working. We've managed to stabilize the front, and we are no longer threatened with loss of positions..."
"But what's more true is that the one the Emperor trusted more than you has lost that advantage," the Inquisitor thought coldly, glancing at the corpses of her comrades. "And it's likely that 'someone' was Shadowspawn himself, aka Lord Cronal, former Director of Imperial Intelligence, who personally oversaw and was involved in the operation to destroy organized crime clans from within."
Cronal was a man easily carried away, fanatically following the path he had laid for himself.
He had probably veered too far off that "path," which displeased the Emperor.
It happens.
"I will report the situation to the Emperor," Sedriss declared. "If he agrees with our plan that it's time to finish the Dominion, you will be allocated forces and resources to eliminate these traitors. If not..."
The Lady Inquisitor preferred not to think about what would happen to her if the Emperor refused to approve her plan for revenge.
"As you wish, Executor," she demonstrated her submission.
"Exactly," Sedriss said caustically. "As I wish, Inquisitor Freymis. Your band of under-trained Dark Jedi has been feeling too comfortable lately. It's time to remind you that you are nothing more than servants of the Empire, not its masters."
The Lady Inquisitor remained silent, understanding that objections or remarks to what was said could harm her.
"For now, you remain at my disposal," Sedriss announced.
"Yes, Executor."
"Gather a group of Inquisitors and a squad of soldiers," he ordered. "You will depart under the command of members of the Dark Side Elite to a certain planet."
"May I inquire about the purpose of our mission?" she asked, looking at Sedriss from under her brow.
She had spent so much time on her secret missions, and now she had to play errand girl again!
Anger began to simmer inside the Lady Inquisitor.
This upstart Executor was taking too much upon himself!
"The Emperor requires you to inspect one of the planets where his treasury was once located," Sedriss announced. "You are to land on Wayland, sweep the treasury, and catalog what remains."
Judging by the phrasing, the treasury had been plundered.
A mission... vile in its routine.
But at the same time, it was the Emperor's will.
"As the Emperor wishes," Freymis bowed her head, demonstrating her submission to the Empire's ruler.
To him, not to his lackey.
"You are dismissed!" The Executor waved his hand in her direction as if shooing away a mongrel.
Once outside the office doors, the Lady Inquisitor breathed a sigh of relief.
How she wanted to tear her lightsaber from her belt and slice the bastard to pieces!
But she had to restrain herself.
Such behavior would bring nothing positive to the common cause.
As long as Sedriss held the leading role, she would be forced to obey him, for he was voicing the Emperor's will.
But who said the position of Executor couldn't pass to another sentient if Sedriss died?
And not just to "someone," but directly to her.
It was enough to distinguish herself favorably before the Emperor, to remain loyal to him, and not to try to be cunning.
So no matter what small assignments she was performing now, if she could distinguish herself in their execution, the Emperor would elevate her and draw her close, granting her new authority.
And then she would gladly open Sedriss like a can of sublimates in a soldier's dry ration.
And become Executor herself.
She just had to wait.
And execute the assignments flawlessly.
* * *
Over the years, one covert operation starts to look like another.
Torin thought this as he put the ripe fruit back in the crate, smiling at the vendors.
A woman and a man of the Bimm race looked at him expectantly, waiting for his decision.
Bimms.
"I'll take a couple," said the Dominion agent. "I'd appreciate it if they turned out to be the ripest and juiciest."
The couple exchanged glances, then graced him with the most benevolent smiles they could muster.
And nimbly began sorting through their wares, following the customer's perfectly reasonable wish.
Say what you will, but the population of Bimmisaari loved to trade and knew quite well how to act in the customer's favor.
A satisfied buyer would always return here for a product that suited him.
Given that after the collapse of the New Republic, the Bimms, reluctantly, followed Leia Organa-Solo, who led them into the bosom of democracy and made them part of the Galactic Alliance, their business, which hadn't been thriving anyway, had started to stall outright.
Something Mon Mothma used to her advantage.
So it was profitable for the Bimms that a customer left them satisfied with the goods and came back again with credits.
Torin, of course, didn't say this, but he wouldn't be returning to this stall, or to the planet in general.
Not after what he intended to "pull off" here.
As with every performance, he had plenty of spectators today — the market square was packed.
No, of course, the locals and visitors hadn't come here to buy fresh vegetables and fruits.
The Bimms weren't that primitive.
Here they traded Dominion goods.
Comlinks, datapads, communicators — all the small items that could be packed into a bag with "cover merchandise."
The Galactic Alliance didn't exactly forbid such trade, but it "created problems" for those selling goods from a state with which Mon Mothma's government had been in a state of undeclared war for over a year.
Actually, that was the right position — when you're waging a war, be so kind as to act like a defender of the fatherland, not a businessman.
You can't fight someone and trade exports and imports with them at the same time; otherwise, in the public eye, the whole conflict turns into some incomprehensible circus where you can't even manage a laugh, no matter how much you want to support the performers.
"The market has stood here for over two centuries," C-3PO translated as they followed their hospitable host down a gentle ramp connecting the second and third levels of the open dome. "Of course, it wasn't always this way. The Tower of Law was actually built here precisely because this spot has always been the busiest crossroads — historically speaking."
But in Bimmisaari's case, the Galactic Alliance turned a blind eye for the sake of everything the inhabitants of the capital planet of the Harla Sector could provide their allies.
The Harla Sector.
To be more precise — right now, representatives of the Galactic Alliance were trying to convince the Bimmisaari Elders of the Law that the planet's highest governing body absolutely had to agree to host a military base and military-industrial facilities.
Torin handed the sellers a credit chip, receiving in return a benevolent smile and an opaque bag (made, incidentally, from plant materials that decompose over time and cause no environmental problems at all) with fruit and a couple of Dominion comlinks, after which he strolled unhurriedly towards the Tower of Law.
His hand involuntarily reached into the bag, and the agent pulled out a fruit, wiped it on the sleeve of his simple vest, and took a bite.
Delicious.
How little does a Dominion agent on a mission need for happiness?
Warm, dry, tasty, and a little bit of blowing things up.
Unfortunately, all of this would happen on Bimmisaari through the fault of those currently gathered on the upper floor of the Tower of Law.
Well, where the small museum of artifacts from the Old Republic era was located.
Founded at a crossroads a little over two hundred years ago, the Tower of Law was surrounded by a vast market and frequently visited by both Bimm races.
A modest building constructed from white stone with horizontal black markings, the Tower was the meeting place of the Bimmisaari Elders of the Law, the planet's main governing body.
Inside the Tower, the walls were covered with large, beautiful tapestries centuries old, their images reflecting the very history of the Bimm people.
The Tower of Law.
Quite interesting, that.
Torin wouldn't have known a single thing about it if, during his mission from Grand Admiral Thrawn to strike at the Alliance, he hadn't received exhaustive information on everything that might interest him.
As for the hiding place, escape routes, and the rest, Torin handled that himself — the Bimms and their attitude towards conflicts currently played into his hands.
Generally speaking, Bimmisaari was worth visiting.
Short-sighted people said it was famous only for mechu and talking trees, but they were fundamentally wrong.
A world with a temperate climate, dense jungles, and forests of Asaari trees, Bimmisaari was the homeworld of the Bimm species, a race of miniature, fur-covered humanoids, with whose representatives Torin was currently trading.
Having built their cities across vast plains, the planet was colonized by a short, near-human race that assimilated with the native population, also calling themselves Bimms. Speaking the same language and sharing the same culture, the Bimms were pacifists and tried to preserve the beauty of their world.
The mere fact that two radically dissimilar races had integrated without destroying each other, treating themselves and others with understanding and peace, was commendable.
And, at the very least, other races that aggressively colonized already occupied worlds in the galaxy could learn from them.
Yes, they too were Bimms.
The very same "incomer" near-humans.
Discovered by scouts from the Galactic Republic during the Great Manifest Period, Bimmisaari was colonized by a race of miniature near-humans about two thousand years ago.
Forming a unified society with a ban on all types of weapons, the Bimms were governed by a council of Elders of the Law and petitioned the Galactic Republic for a seat in the Galactic Senate.
Establishing the Tower of Law in their capital, Glastro, the Elders of the Law gathered inside the Tower, while outside, a bustling market operated where the trading of a vast array of items took place.
Having gained representation, the Bimms remained loyal to the Republic for centuries, but the Republic's twilight eventually led to Bimmisaari falling within Hutt Space.
The Bimms welcomed refugees from the Republic who were resettled in their world by the Refugee Relief Movement during the Clone Wars, and they held great respect for members of the Jedi Order. They simply didn't flaunt it left and right, which is why Imperial Star Destroyers didn't show up in orbit to remind them of the Empire's stance on Jedi.
The Empire incorporated Bimmisaari into its territory, making the world the capital of the Harla Sector.
And it wasn't as if the Bimms opposed it.
The Imperial treatment of the locals, the planet's advantageous location, led to Bimmisaari flourishing as a major trading world, which joined the New Republic at the behest of one Alderaanian princess.
Currently, trade turnover on Bimmisaari had dropped by seventy percent — the New Republic was boycotting this trade world, generously slapping sanctions on merchants who traded with the Alliance or within its territory.
Still, the smugglers weren't embarrassed and "made cash" while it was possible.
However, the market in Glastro, Bimmisaari's capital, was no longer as crowded as it once was.
Glastro.
Torin walked through the market, constantly bumping into aliens whose appearance broke up the yellows worn by the locals.
His gaze kept picking out people from other planets — a group of humans, a couple from Barada, an Ishi Tib, a few Yuzzum, something that looked like a Paonidd.
Finishing his fruit, he reached into the bag for another, simultaneously pulling out a brand new comlink, which he began to tune to a frequency alien to the Dominion.
The disguised transmitter reacted to the connection being established, meaning the detonator was armed.
Inek hung it on his belt, then approached one of the kiosks and peered at the metalwork displayed there. The merchant, spotting him, immediately launched into a spiel, pointing at the carving knives.
Torin listened attentively to the seller's advice, exchanged a couple of phrases with him, earning a glimmer of admiration in the merchant's eyes for his knowledge of the local language — Bimmini.
After some light haggling, Inek purchased a couple of good kitchen knife sets, paid, and only after hearing confirmation in his earpiece that the target had exited the Tower of Law, he began his actions.
"Six people," Orra Sing whispered in his ear. "Four guards, the target, and an Alliance diplomat."
"Escort?" Torin inquired.
"Two Bimm elders. No guards."
Well, so much the better.
"We work on the Alliance personnel," Torin reminded her. "The locals must not be harmed."
"I remember," said the Shadow Guardswoman, displeased, whose position was far from here but nonetheless offered a perfect view of everything happening in the market square.
Yes, the Tower of Law was the tallest building here and would have been an ideal sniper position.
That's precisely why Sing wasn't there.
But on the nearby, not-yet-operational shield-projector tower — yes.
Even though it was lower than the Tower of Law, getting to its top was much easier.
Torin moved with the crowd, not revealing his true intentions.
The only way to reach the landing pads was to pass through the market and past him, so there was no need to hurry and give himself away by attracting the guards' attention with atypical behavior.
The agent looked again at his hands, whose surface was covered with a thin layer of synthflesh that left fake dactyloscopic patterns on his palms and fingers.
The Alliance mission was already within fifty meters of him when a parked speeder exploded not far away.
A deserted street, cleared by order of the Elders specifically so the "honored guests" could reach their shuttle unimpeded and depart, attracted no visitors and therefore caused no civilian casualties.
The Dominion does not wage war on peaceful sentients.
Nobody likes terrorists.
The crowd went mad, rushing en masse in the opposite direction of the explosion.
Straight towards the Alliance mission.
The guards worked professionally, rightly figuring that an explosion on their path couldn't be a coincidence.
Surrounding their charges and providing them with some sort of cover, however minimal, they began their retreat back to the Tower of Law.
The noise of the crowd drowned out the shots of the "Nightsting," so Kashan Santhe and the Alliance diplomat could only watch as, one after another, two of their four guards fell, their heads bearing charred entry wounds.
That's why a Shadow Guardswoman, the best sniper of them all, was working in tandem with Inek.
The risk that a local might get hurt was far too high.
And the enemy had exploited this, mingling tightly with the crowd.
"Ceasing fire, tracking the target," Orra reported, but Torin could tell from her voice that she would have continued firing into the crowd if the mission initiator hadn't explicitly forbidden it.
"Working."
Carried by the panicking crowd, Torin found himself beside the Alliance personnel and began to finish the operation.
He wasn't afraid of identification — his appearance was disguised by the same synthflesh and fake facial hair.
The first guard, noticing him, aimed his blaster, but a ripe fruit smacked into his face, filling his eyes with sweet, thick juice.
The blaster fired, but the bolt went high.
The second opponent didn't have time to react — Torin drove a kitchen knife into the base of his neck.
The first guard recovered, clearing his face, only to receive a second blade to the throat and collapse to the ground, wheezing and drenched in blood.
Kashan Santhe and the diplomat tried to flee.
The crowd shrieked in dozens of languages, but panic prevented them from understanding what was happening.
The pair Torin needed tried to disappear into one of the alleys, but Torin hadn't herded them that way for nothing.
No one ever escapes from a dead end.
And the practically inconspicuous fresh "masonry" a plastic sheet blocking a gaping doorway — had gone unnoticed by the enemy.
Given that they had never been in this part of town, and Torin had installed that cover just last night, their confusion was understandable.
They thought there was no way out.
"Stop!" the diplomat's trembling voice rang out as he raised his hand in front of him, realizing the wall across the street was no illusion and the Inek cutting off their escape was an even more terrifying reality. "I am a diplomatic representative of the Galactic Alliance!"
"Thank you for the reminder," Torin nodded, and with a throw of another knife, pierced his palm.
The massive handle prevented the narrow blade from going straight through, but it was enough to make the man fall to his knees, sobbing, crying, begging for mercy.
"You... you don't understand what you're doing!" Kashin stammered, pressing his back against the wall. "I... I..."
"I know who you are," Torin wasn't particularly fond of theatricals, but the Grand Admiral's plan demanded it. "Do you really think the New Republic will allow you to produce military hardware on Bimmisaari? Right under their noses? You and your Mon Mothma are the same fools you take everyone around you for! The New Republic does not forgive traitors!"
With these words, he drove the blade into the eye of the last member of the Santhe family.
Confirming Kashin was dead, Torin inwardly regretted that he couldn't, one way or another, tell the inventor the true reason for his death.
But such was Grand Admiral Thrawn's scheme, and Dominion Intelligence acted in strict accordance with the assigned task.
If they needed to frame the New Republic, then Torin would wear a different face, leave someone else's fingerprints, and spout New Republic ideological propaganda.
"And now for you, you little diplomat," he promised the man wounded in the hand.
"Six enemy combatants heading your way," Orra reported. "I can take out half. Nod if needed."
So that "response team" from the envoys' shuttle was practically on-site.
Inek nodded.
He needed a little time.
"Three down," Sing reported. "The rest will be on you in a minute."
Torin nodded again and crouched next to the diplomat, automatically catching sight of the flimsy plastic protection in the abandoned house's wall through which he would have to retreat.
"Damned traitors," he grabbed the wounded man by the collar and began to snarl in his face, having first ripped the knife from his hand and threatening the diplomat with it. "You all need to be killed! So that the New Republic can become whole again, and you'll stop filling the galaxy's citizens' heads with nonsense! I'll finish you off right now and be done with it — one less traitor!"
"W-wait!" the Alliance man pleaded. "I'm just a diplomat! I'm conducting negotiations!"
"A word is sometimes stronger than a turbolaser", Torin recalled the instructions on sabotage and agitation work.
"That's exactly why you're going to die!" Torin promised, raising the blade.
"Freeze!" roared the first of the trio of Alliance troopers who appeared in the alley. "Step away from the dip... Hutt spawn!"
Torin grabbed the diplomat, using him as a living shield, holding the knife at his side.
"Kid," the Alliance soldier addressed him, seeing Inek press his back against the "wall," "don't be stupid. Leave our man and you can walk away in peace!"
"And who's going to believe you, traitors!" Torin shouted, kicking the plastic shield.
"It's open!" the "cover team" commander yelled. "Get him!"
But Inek was already acting preemptively.
Of course, he didn't believe in the chance to "walk away" of the Alliance men's own free will.
The fact that the commander had ordered him captured clearly indicated they had already "written off" the diplomat and now needed the operative to get to the one who ordered the hit.
Yeah.
Years pass, states change, but the counter-terrorism playbook doesn't change.
Torin drove the blade into the diplomat's side, careful not to hit any vital organs, and shoved him towards the enemy troopers.
Darting inside the house, he activated the smoke canister he had placed there, pulling a prepared mask over his face that protected him from the tear gas.
The tiny house filled with a choking mixture, making it impossible for the three enemy soldiers to chase him.
Especially as Torin easily leaped over barricades of furniture while the enemy crashed into them bodily.
Diving into a prepared sewer access, the agent was swept along by a stream of filth, heading beyond the city limits.
"Mission accomplished," he reported to Orra. "Meet at the coast outside the city in three minutes."
"Make it five, and go find somewhere to wash off?" she suggested. "I'm already in position."
It was good to have a speeder bike instead of a waterslide in an old sewer whose shafts would make maintenance tunnels jealous.
"The ship has everything we need," Torin cut her off. "We can't afford to delay. I'll wash up when we're in hyperspace."
"I'm starting to like working with intelligence less and less," Sing grumbled. "Do you always set up these little games with fate?"
"It's the kind of job — enduring for the Motherland," Inek replied, pushing off the half-grate of the sewer pipe and submerging his head in the waste so the current could sweep him into a smaller pipe.
And a minute later, in complete silence, he shot out of a drainage outlet, rocketing into the waters of a small but deep river two hundred meters downstream from which Orra Sing's ship was moored, the one on which they would leave Bimmisaari.
Torin's own starship, parked next to the Galactic Alliance shuttle, was now burning like a bonfire, depriving the remaining Alliance personnel of the chance to use the secure "Alliance HoloNet" communications system operating in enemy sectors.
And they wouldn't trust the Bimms — not yet, anyway.
In the near future, the Alliance would start to "tighten the screws," finding local fruit and a brand new comlink at the scene of Kashan Santhe's murder, conduct an investigation, and traditionally punish the innocent.
By tomorrow, the patchwork quilt of the Galactic Alliance would begin to tear at the seams.
* * *
The Chimaera emerged from hyperspace at a distance of one unit from a place filled with debris and lethal danger all around.
The Rothana Route was a hyperspace lane that began at the intersection of the Triellus Trade Route and the Manda Trade Route and led to the planet Rothana, which had been controlled by the Kuat Drive Yards for eight centuries already.
Officially, it was believed that Rothana and the enterprises located there — "Rothana Shipyards" and "Rothana Heavy Engineering" were under the control of the Kuat Drive Yards corporation.
In reality, things were very different.
For corporate tycoons like the Kuati, it would have been extremely unwise to admit that one of their most powerful production facilities had been under the control of the "Silri Syndicate" for several years.
Or, as they thought — the "Zann Consortium."
According to internal Kuat Drive Yards documents, the defensive lines they had erected so that no corporate spy or enemy fleet could reach Rothana were now directly working against their creators.
Kuat had dispatched dozens of ships to resolve the situation but had been unable to do anything, only losing personnel, warships, and research vessels that had failed to breach the defensive perimeter.
This worked heavily against Kuat, if the unknown (to the majority of the galactic population) actual owners of the planet were to use its industrial potential to compete with the recent owners.
After all, Rothana and its shipyards were among the sixty-seven largest shipyards in the galaxy.
However, the "Silri Syndicate" did not seek to announce its presence to the general public, being engaged, as far as I understood, in accumulating its own military strength.
Luckily, they had industrial facilities and a practically inexhaustible supply of raw materials in the areas near the planet.
The Rothana Route acted as a barrier line between the Outer Rim of the galaxy and the planet itself.
Since the planet's location was originally secret, and the data on the existence of such a planet was only made public after the victory over the Confederacy of Independent Systems, the only way ships of Kuat Drive Yards could get there was by uploading encrypted coordinates and an IFF signal from the jump beacons located beyond the planet Molavar.
Before jumping, a ship had to transmit a signal to temporarily deactivate the gravity mines placed along the route.
If this wasn't done, the starship would be torn from hyperspace, hit the minefield, and be destroyed.
Incidentally, a little over three hundred years ago, a power crisis erupted on Kuat after a space yacht with the leader of Kuat Drive Yards, Ursula Kuat, on board was destroyed on the Rothana Route.
Now, before us unfolded a field of debris, all that remained of a starship that had headed here a short time ago.
"Bur-I has been destroyed, sir," stated Captain Tschel. "The debris has been identified. The pattern of confirmation indicates damage from a mine explosion."
"Consequently," I said, stroking the ysalamiri and watching the debris surrounding us, "we can draw certain conclusions."
"Yes, sir, we can. The codes that Lady Baritha gave us do not match reality."
"Correct," I agreed. "Otherwise our ship would not have been destroyed during its journey along the Rothana Route. Which leads to certain thoughts."
"Lady Baritha is a traitor," blurted out the Chimaera's commander.
"Do you really think so, Captain Tschel?" I clarified, looking with interest at the Star Destroyer's commander.
"Yes, sir! The codes she transmitted did not work!"
"Indeed," I agreed. "They didn't work. But is the Dathomirian witch to blame for that?"
Tschel hesitated, looking uncertainly first at me, then at Lieutenant Colonel Tierce standing by my chair.
"Sir... I think... May I speak with complete candor?"
"Of course."
"I think we ourselves are to blame for failing to capitalize on the opportunity we had. Too much time has passed since Lady Baritha gave us the information. The enemy has undoubtedly changed that data a dozen times by now, so Bur-I had no chance at all to break the blockade."
"Exactly right, Captain," I confirmed. "That is precisely why it was sent here."
"Sir?" Tschel frowned, glancing quickly at the tactical hologram, at the region of space around the Chimaera... "You... wanted Bur-I to be destroyed?"
"That is so, Captain," I confirmed. "The absence of a result is also a result, don't you think. We have obtained comprehensive information about the defensive lines of the Rothana Route. As well as what type of mines are used here and how often they are updated."
Tschel scowled. He looked at the tactical hologram again. I didn't need to follow his example — I already knew what was happening there.
Apart from the Chimaera, located at the very center of an improvised 'bubble' free of mines but not of debris from Bur-I, one could also note a number of indirect data. The very data I had gathered by repeating the tactics of the assault on the planet Lurr to deceive Cronal and gain the lurrian biotechnologists with cloning technology into my service. Breaking through blockade minefields using ships that were obsolete and useless to the Dominion.
"Self-propelled mines have been deployed here," declared Tschel, pointing at the mine-free space formed around the Chimaera. "The radius of the 'bubble' we are in is two hundred or slightly more than that value in standard units."
"Exactly. Do you understand what that means?"
"That to destroy a ship like Bur-I, the enemy had to employ several tens of thousands of self-propelled mines," said Tschel. "If I remember correctly, sir, self-propelled mines operate on a swarm principle. They scan the target, then the data is passed along the chain from the mines nearest the target to the distant ones, thus forming a massive mine 'fist' necessary to destroy the intruder."
"Your memory does not fail you, Captain. Yes, self-propelled magnetic mines operate exactly that way. The more complex the target to destroy, the more mines will be deployed."
That is precisely why Tyber Zann supplied us with obsolete two-kilometer heavy cruisers from the Corporate Sector fleet — they are ideal blockade runners. Considering the modifications and armor reinforcement we installed on those ships, their potential increased.
"Notice the debris," I drew Tschel's attention to a piece of Bur-I's hull drifting a dozen units from the Chimaera's bow, the size of a Corellian corvette. "Does anything seem strange to you, Captain Tschel?"
"Self-propelled mines are supposed to destroy any unauthorized object larger than a speeder," recalled the Chimaera's commander.
"But this piece of hull is not destroyed."
"Yes, sir, and that is strange. I can only hypothesize two versions for what is happening."
"I would be curious to hear them."
"First — the mine software of the Syndicate has been modified to destroy ships but not debris," Tschel licked his lips.
"A decent hypothesis."
"Second — the mines the Syndicate produces have certain operational limitations," Tschel continued. "A standard military scanner has a range of two hundred units. We see an area of empty space of just over four hundred standard units."
"Four hundred ten," corrected Tierce.
"Thus, we can conclude that the Syndicate's self-propelled mines have a maximum detection range of two hundred units," Tschel continued. "Otherwise, our scanners would now detect the approach of enemy munitions."
"Excellent, Captain," I nodded. "Thus a single starship of the type like Bur-I can clear a considerable area of self-propelled space mines. We arrived one hour after Bur-I reached this point. And ten minutes after its systems stopped transmitting telemetry."
"Which can be defined as the survival time of a ship of Bur-I's class," Tschel said automatically. "Fifty standard minutes."
"A fairly respectable time," I confirmed. "Considering that not a single enemy starship has yet arrived here to replenish the thinned minefield, we obtain additional information about the enemy entrenched on Rothana."
"Yes, sir, that is so," Tschel nodded. "However... we only have two ships left. And the distance from here to Rothana is measured in too many standard units for this project to be considered successful."
"On the contrary, Captain," I countered. "We have just received invaluable data on the enemy's defensive line, which we intend to deal with in the near future. The other two ships will solve this problem for us. What do our scanner operators report? Is there any irradiation of the Chimaera's hull?"
"No, sir, there are no scanners here."
"Mass detectors?"
"No cloaked ships detected either."
"Consequently," I summarized, "the Silri Syndicate did not bother to supplement their defensive systems with something like our Project Asteroid technologies or cloaked battle stations."
"I doubt they are that foolish, sir," stated Tschel. "Probably their ships or stations are simply farther from here, or we are simply unable to detect them."
"A pertinent observation, Captain," I confirmed. "However, our enemy is intelligent enough to understand the obvious truth — the ships that will come after Bur-I could emerge from hyperspace at any point in this 'bubble'. Therefore they will keep their distance. The only way to observe what is happening is visually, using electronic optical amplifiers. Their range of clear detection is not great, just over fifty units. At that distance we would detect ships with mass detectors. Consequently, the enemy is observing at long range. And they are unable to specify exactly what is happening here. That is why we are here now. We are demonstrating to our enemy with all our might that we believed so strongly in the success of our undertaking that the entire Chimaera — the most famous ship of the Dominion regular fleet — has arrived."
"By the significance of the Chimaera, we are signaling our interest in this approach!" Tschel realized.
"Exactly, Captain," I confirmed, looking at the ship's chronometer. "Tell me, Captain. Do you know the difference between stygium cloaking fields and those built on hybidium?"
"An activated hybidium cloaking field 'blinds' the crew, while a stygium one does not."
"Correct," I confirmed. "But there is something else. Unlike hybidium, stygium does not explode upon entering hyperspace."
"Exactly!" Tschel winced in annoyance. "That property was discovered during the conflict with Grand Admiral Zaarin!"
"That's right, Captain," the commander of the Chimaera never ceases to please me with his erudition and quick thinking.
Every day he needs fewer and fewer 'nudges' to think in the right direction.
"Now that we have determined that Bur-I accomplished its task and cleared the way for invasion, only a small matter remains," I looked at the ship's chronometer, then shifted my gaze to the central viewport. "And here come Bur-II and Drill-3."
Captain Tschel looked in bewilderment at the single cylindrical over-two-kilometer body of the Invincible-class heavy cruiser, then turned his gaze to me.
"Signal Bur-II that they may proceed according to plan," I ordered, looking at the bewildered Tschel. "Questions, Captain?"
"Yes, sir," he nodded, having first given the order to the watch officer. Outside the Chimaera, Bur-II, surrounded by massive metal parts on magnetic and mechanical mounts, accelerated, then, enveloping itself in a cloaking field, vanished from scanners and from sight.
"Sir, but there is only one ship here," he said. "And... those are hybidium units, aren't they?"
"That's right, Captain," I confirmed. "With the exception that some of the cloaking fields are based on stygium, which will allow the droid crew to penetrate deep into the minefield — far from the prying eyes of observers. They were mounted on the surface of that scrap metal left over from the work on all three ships of this type, which Bur-II picked up during its transit from the assembly point to this location."
"They are flying blind along the Rothana Route and will certainly be destroyed," Tschel continued. "If Bur-I was stationary at low speed, which is why we got a void radius of over two hundred units, Bur-II is moving at cruising speed. Consequently, they will expand the 'bubble', stretching it to one side."
"Toward the side closest to Rothana," I explained.
"But hybidium will not save them when they ram the first mine in their path."
"Of course it won't," I confirmed. "The cloaking field will be disrupted, Bur-II will be partially detected by enemy mines and begin to break apart, followed by a double explosion of the ship packed with rhydonium and baradium, which will draw in every single mine it attracts during the breakthrough. Presumably, it will be able to create a hole in the Rothana Route minefield half the size that Bur-I managed."
"But... Sir, I don't understand, what is the point of all this? It clearly won't break through to Rothana."
"It doesn't need to," I said calmly. "All Bur-II has to do is divert the attention of enemy observers and gather information about the enemy's mines. And then — detonate and scatter as much debris as possible, characteristic of the destruction of two ships of this type, one of which was equipped with cloaking projectors."
"So that's what the scrap metal left over from the repairs was for!" Tschel understood. "And the double explosion is a simulation of the detonations of ship reactors on two Invincibles."
"That's right, Captain," I nodded affirmatively. "All we have to do now is activate the scanning systems at full power, sound battle stations, and begin moving the Chimaera at slow speed toward the direction Bur-II took."
"We simulate tracking the actions of our second blockade runner?" Tschel realized.
"Exactly, Captain," I agreed again. "Be prepared that after the detonation we will have to leave this inhospitable place and return to the rendezvous point with the Guardian for subsequent mission execution. You will return to Horn, while we," I looked at Lieutenant Colonel Tierce, "will pit our enemies against each other and take from them Grand Moff Kaine's favorite ship. Fortunately, they have kindly brought it into acceptable condition."
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