Just like last time, Third entered without so much as a knock.
But since they were no longer in the lab but in Ysanne's recovery room, the medic felt no restraint — she held a datapad in one hand and a sandwich in the other.
And she was chewing again.
Honestly, when Ysanne had first seen Third during her arrival at this facility alongside Thrawn and witnessed the brain transplant to Major General Maximilian Veers, she had thought the woman only ate on the job in exceptional circumstances.
But having been here for almost no time at all, she realized just how wrong she had been.
Thrawn had apparently accommodated the valuable specialist, opting not to "box her in."
Third's willfulness was irritating.
But, it had to be admitted, the approach — giving a valuable specialist a little leeway — paid off.
"Stop-stop-stop!" Third waved her hands, mumbling with her mouth full. "What's going on here? I sent you to your room to wait for the test results to finish processing, not to check yourself out! Who let you violate the regime?"
"My duty," Ysanne replied, fastening her crimson tunic. "You and your operation will have to wait a while."
"I could just not perform it at all — it's for your benefit, not mine! What haven't I seen in human brains? Now, Givins..."
"Third."
"What?"
"Get out of my way."
"Listen, lady, I have direct orders from Thrawn — to perform the transplant. I spent a lot of time on the preparation because your case is the most delicate. I was promised a trip to Kessel if you don't walk out of here in a new body as the best version of yourself. So get changed, we'll double-check everything quickly and head to the operating room..."
"Get out," Ysanne repeated in an icy tone. "Or I'll move you so thoroughly that you'll only be able to eat through a straw for the rest of your life."
"Well, that's just insolence! Not only are you the only patient allowed to use encrypted communications here, now you're going to dictate terms to me?!"
"I'm not going to. I am dictating them. And you will immediately do as I ordered."
"That won't work! Hey! Put me in my place! Where has it ever been seen for a patient to move a doctor around like some flower in a pot — from place to place?"
Ysanne turned, standing in the doorway, and looked at the outraged Third with a cold stare.
"Don't put off the preparations for my operation indefinitely, Doctor," she requested. "I'll just oversee a few things and return to your lab. But first — I need to finish what I started."
After which she left the room.
"Well, would you look at that?!" Third threw up her hands. "She's so important, she has business to finish, and I, apparently, don't, is that it? I've never had such a rude patient! Even gangsters are more well-mannered..."
"I can hear you," came a voice from the corridor.
Scowling, Third resumed chewing her lunch.
A brain transplant, and it's turned into some kind of farce!
Maybe I should go transplant Boba Fett's brain into a fresh cloned body, since the operating room is idle?
Just in time, Orun Va sent a Fett clone with the aging process halted after it was grown to the required age.
That'll keep me busy.
But first I need to stop by the cafeteria before the steaks run out!
* * *
Nothing invigorates you in the morning quite like insolence that people are afraid to say to your face.
"Lower your shields, Ambassador Furgan," Admiral Dobramu all but snarled, staring at the cowardly face of the Caridan. "I am here on behalf of the Emperor."
"How dare you?" the ambassador all but sprayed his inhuman saliva. "You show up at my home, destroy my orbital stations, bombard the surface, sabotage the hypervelocity gun, smash the planetary defense systems, reduce my fleet to a heap of molten metal..."
"Fleet?" Akrey nearly choked in surprise. "Wait a moment... Do you seriously believe that a few old Carrack-class cruisers and an ancient Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser constitute a fleet? That's junk. I did you a favor by scattering it across the entire system!"
"You are a deranged bastard, Admiral!" Furgan shrieked. "How dare you hide behind the Emperor's name..."
"Because it was he who sent me to punish the traitors in the Imperial ranks!" Dobramu declared importantly. "Such as Colonel Johans, for example. And you, the Caridan traders of Imperial stormtroopers!"
Furgan seemed completely indifferent to the words about his corrupt past — matters supposedly known to no one outside his inner circle.
"Brintooin — was that your doing?!" The ambassador's tiny eyes widened in horror, presumably.
"Every rebel must get what they deserve!"
"Then fight the rebels!" Ambassador Furgan exploded with magnificent profanity. "Carida and Brintooin are loyal followers of Imperial law, the New Order, and the line of the late Emperor, whose name you, an arrogant boy, hide behind!"
"The Emperor is alive! Oh, well, and... Rebels... Actually, I destroyed your blockade..."
Though he lost half his Star Destroyers in the process, but that was a minor detail.
"Then he wouldn't try to destroy worlds loyal to him! Loyal stormtroopers! You've left us without orbital defense! Without a fleet! Without planetary defense or anti-air defense! We are defenseless..."
"You would be, if you didn't have a backup planetary shield generator," Dobramu said with hatred.
This was a very significant oversight on the part of intelligence.
The sabotage groups sent to the surface had done everything as required — they found officers loyal to the Emperor in advance, who, using their influence over individual stormtrooper legions, staged a small coup.
They destroyed the defensive systems, sabotaged the defense stations, destroyed the planetary shield generator...
The hypervelocity gun being taken out was especially good...
But then everything went against plan.
Officers and stormtroopers loyal to Furgan went on the offensive, and the conspirators could not save that magnificent weapon — during the rebel counterattack, the hypervelocity gun was destroyed when an atmospheric battery shot down a turbolaser battery, causing it to crash.
Yes, they were all killed, and the surprise attack on Carida did not bring the desired success — they had to destroy the Golan platforms and other orbital objects over Carida, control of which had been reclaimed by Furgan's people.
The effectively defenseless planet should have fallen at his feet, but somehow the planetary shield was restored — immediately after Dobramu's armada destroyed the ground fortifications and the remnants of the planetary defense network and weaponry.
Somewhere there was a backup generator...
With which Furgan cut off from orbit the landing brigade Dobramu had sent to capture the Academy.
In one fell swoop, he lost almost all of his stormtroopers, who were overwhelmed by superior forces on the planet.
He lacked the firepower to breach Carida's planetary shield and force the planet to surrender.
And the burning ruins of military institutions, buildings, residential quarters, and everything else he had destroyed for intimidation did not lead to a popular uprising and the removal of Furgan.
Those rebel scum rallied around the traitor!
"You have very little time left, Furgan, to surrender," Akrey said. "After which, in the name of the Emperor, I will begin a siege of your world. And you will all die — those who started the rebellion, those who collaborated with the Dominion, those who traded Imperial stormtroopers..."
"We did not collaborate with the Dominion!"
"And the valuables stolen from the Imperial treasury by Grand Admiral Thrawn, which adorn your office and residence — are you going to say the traders gave them to you to sweeten your dealings?" the young admiral smirked, watching Furgan's confusion.
"What? What Imperial valuables? What traders?! I received a gift — a gesture of goodwill — from Moff Gronn's adjutant, when I transferred stormtrooper legions to him to fight criminals and..."
"Moff Gronn and his adjutant surrendered Allied Tion to the Dominion," Akrey explained. "And they paid you with Imperial treasures. So rare that you couldn't possibly have been unaware they were gifted to the Emperor by his loyal subjects as a sign of respect and admiration for his wisdom!"
"This is some kind of nonsense! What concern are Imperial treasures to you? I am prepared to hand them over to the Empire..."
"I will take them along with your head, Ambassador. And deliver them to the Emperor as an apology."
"You're insane! You're neither the first nor the last rebel commander to try to intimidate Carida! If you truly speak for the Emperor, then arrange a direct line of communication with him. I will explain everything that happened..."
"That's far too much honor for scum like you," Akrey Dobramu scoffed. "Surrender!"
"Only in the presence of the Emperor himself!"
Oh, of course.
As if he would risk the secret of the Emperor's survival by establishing contact with Byss across half a galaxy set on hostile terms.
For what?
So that a despicable traitor could hear the exact same thing Dobramu had already told him?
Handpicked by the Emperor himself to carry out justice against traitors, he had no intention of granting Furgan or anyone in his rebel circle the opportunity for a private conversation with Emperor Palpatine.
Not only because that's what Dobramu himself wanted.
His mission, like Ysanne Isard's, was fully autonomous, meaning the Emperor trusted them to make judgments and reach final decisions.
Final justice, as it should be.
The traitors cannot be allowed to confuse you and buy themselves even a few more days of life.
Who knows what other treachery they are capable of.
"Then I'll deliver your head to him," Akrey waved his hand, giving several signals to his subordinates at once.
The ambassador's hologram faded.
And the guns of the Javelin squadron opened fire with all calibers on a single section of the planetary shield.
Directly above the ruins of the Academy.
They would have several days before the shield fell and the turbolasers erased the rebel headquarters on Carida with righteous fire.
A long time, but there was no other choice.
"Admiral, sir," the watch officer approached him. "A shuttle has entered the system. Transmitting call signs."
"Authentic?"
"Affirmative, sir. Highest priority. It's the Emperor's Sovereign Protector," the watch officer added a little more quietly. "And he wants to meet with you and Agent Lor personally. Immediately."
A cold sweat ran down Dobramu's spine.
How?
From where?
Why had the Emperor's closest and most loyal enforcers arrived so quickly?
Could that wretch, Agent Lor, have managed to transmit data about Brintooin, and the Emperor decided to punish him?
Now?!
No, no, no — Lor had been isolated from everything that was happening, she couldn't have sent even a short message...
"Sir! What are your orders?"
Akrey was sweating profusely but knew that stalling was pointless.
If he ordered the Protector killed — he himself would be declared a traitor and executed by his own officers.
But if he received him...
Maybe Akrey was just being dramatic, and the Sovereign Protector had arrived not to kill him for the blunder at Brintooin?!
After all, there were no prerequisites for that.
And he was capable of explaining everything that had happened...
"Allocate landing bay three for him," Akrey said, fastening the top button of his tunic. "Arrange an honor guard and a reception of the highest order. It's likely the Protector has brought a message from the Emperor for me that will turn my entire life upside down."
Fortunately, only those stormtroopers who would unquestioningly side with him remained on the ship.
They definitely couldn't defeat a Sovereign Protector, but at least they would buy Akrey the time he needed for a possible escape.
Hutt take it, he had to hope this wasn't about Brintooin!
* * *
If there is an element to be feared while sitting in the cozy, relatively safe belly of a Dominion-made AT-RT, then today Lieutenant Tychus Roach saw it with his own eyes.
Throughout his military career, he had seen orbital bombardment many times, and on a much larger scale.
But being on the planet, right next to the target being bombarded, just three kilometers from the impact point...
No, that was something you never forgot.
Memories stirred of how even the best of the best artillery gunners could miss when dealing with heavy turbolasers mounted on Super Star Destroyers.
But right now, he was witnessing exceptionally precise work.
In the air, above the positions of the 501st Legion units deployed to the hills, a gunship hovered.
Barely visible green targeting lasers stretched from its hull to the roof of the base's above-ground section, allowing the Guardian's gunners to place salvo after salvo with minimal dispersal at the point of impact.
Scant centimeters, instead of the tens or even hundreds of meters of 'spread' from turbolaser shots.
Despite the locked cockpit hatch, the sealed pilot compartment, and the helmet on his head, the roar of the artillery barrage did not stop for even ten standard seconds.
No sooner had one shot struck a side corridor than, an instant later, a 'hit' was registered on the central corridor.
Circling spy droids carefully assessed the damage, then transmitted the data over encrypted channels directly to the flagship Super Star Destroyer.
And a new wave of green coherent fire followed.
From the incessant trembling of the ground, it felt like the joints of the AT-RT's legs were starting to rattle.
At times, it seemed all the weld seams inside the cockpit were about to crack with a deafening sound.
Or that the meticulously tightened mounting bolts would tear loose and flee in unstoppable panic.
Was Tychus ashamed that he was repeatedly overcome by nervous trembling?
No, he wasn't ashamed.
He didn't consider himself a coward.
Nor anyone else who was nearby.
To regain his composure, he glanced at the stormtroopers stationed in the makeshift field camp a few meters in front of his vehicle.
With their commander's permission, the 'boys in white' were sitting on rocks they had been hiding behind not so long ago during the advance, calmly tidying up their gear.
Scraping off dried mud, wiping away scorch marks from blaster shots, checking their weapons...
And it was as if real hell hadn't opened up right next to them.
Ceaselessly, here and there, blindingly bright flashes of aimed heavy turbolaser fire soared upward.
Any single one of those hits would have been enough to destroy an entire company, if not a battalion.
But the stormtroopers didn't even turn their heads toward the roar of impacts — they had more important things to do.
Huge columns of flame rose into the sky above the roof of the base's above-ground section.
The permacrete and its reinforcement began to stink as they melted.
Observers from the positions of the first and second hypervelocity gun emplacements, while simultaneously overseeing equipment dismantling, noted that the roof was starting to give way under the orbital bombardment.
Nearby piles of scrap metal and droid parts flashed and melted.
An unimaginable noise filled the air, splitting eardrums with the hellish music of the bombardment.
The screech of turbolaser charges tearing the atmosphere apart mixed with the rumble of explosions, the grinding and clatter of structures collapsing next to the building that had once served as camouflage for enemy firing points.
And then, after the fifth paired salvo, a ringing, surreal silence fell for a few incredible seconds, during which Tychus thought he had gone deaf because he heard nothing, that he was blind and saw nothing, and the picture before his eyes was only a memory burned into his mind — he realized how wrong he had been to think what had happened was hell.
No, that had only been the gates to the underworld.
The Abyss had merely smiled at them, waved a friendly hand, indicating its presence on Egon-IX.
Hell revealed itself a little later.
This time, the flashes from the bombardment were so bright that the cockpit's polarization didn't help, and the lieutenant instinctively covered his eyes with his hand.
A rolling crash, as if mountains had been split apart, cut painfully through his ears, and the AT-RT stayed on its feet only thanks to the good design of its 'feet.'
It was followed by another equally powerful strike — metal rang inside the cockpit.
Some stormtroopers who had no full-cover shelter literally hit the ground, knocked off their feet.
The surface of the shore nearly stood on end when the sixth salvo struck the protruding part of the base.
Clouds — no, not just clouds as before — an entire ocean of fine particles rose into the air, encircling the structure, completely hiding it from the eyes of the 501st Legion's soldiers and specialists.
But a second later, a powerful gust of wind tore the veil away, revealing to the Dominion soldiers the torn-off tops of two-thirds of the structure, from which, like ripped-out ribs from a sternum, reinforced rods and pieces of flooring stuck out.
Even the unknown super-strong material couldn't withstand the power of Dominion weaponry.
Lambda shuttles flew overhead, quickly landing next to the structure.
Engineering units ran down the lowered boarding ramps, unloading modular structures for overcoming obstacles.
It was clear what would happen next.
Maximum support for the advancement of the available armored vehicles to back up the stormtroopers.
"Rancor Battalion," a strangely distant voice of General Jurgen sounded in the earpiece. "Breaches have been made. Advancing to the central corridor. The 'little ones' go first — stormtroopers move up behind. Any target not wearing Katarn armor and not matching Dominion identification marks is hostile. Priority — elimination."
No prisoners?
Tychus nearly asked the question out loud.
But he held back, knowing that the Rancor Battalion commander wasn't one to misspeak at moments like these.
There was something in this base that the enemy intended to preserve at any cost, throwing everything they had at the 501st Legion.
No other base had fought with such tenacity as this one.
Tychus was among the first to bring his vehicle to the pontoon bridge the engineers had laid to move the equipment away from the ill-fated island.
There wasn't enough solid ground here for the Rancor to bring in AT-ATs, so they were using 'little ones.'
AT-RTs could get inside and provide support in the corridors.
Until the doors slammed shut, observers noted the ceiling height in at least the corridors was no less than five meters, which was just the right height for an AT-RT.
After all, they weren't going to move tanks inside!
His combat vehicle was the first to reach the erected structure — a kind of ramp that allowed the AT-RT to climb onto the very roof of the building.
Before Tychus unfolded a picture of a shattered ceiling, more than three meters thick.
Like a layered cake of permacrete, reinforcement, metal interlayers — more melted than destroyed by the impacts — this 'roof' was clearly built to withstand orbital bombardment.
And it would have, if the Grand Admiral hadn't ordered precision fire on a single point.
Without surface guidance, this defense could have been shot at for a very long time.
Powerful floodlights lit up the bottom, dispelling the semi-darkness.
The hole was large enough for an AT-ST to fit through, but that equipment had been wisely not called in.
A short step, the feeling of his stomach rising to his throat, and the AT-ST's feet met polished permacrete.
With a clatter, the 'little one' began moving toward the far end of the corridor, while the next vehicle headed for the control panel, but a second later a report came:
"Path is de-energized and disabled. Need techs for repairs — everything here is literally cut up."
The enemy was concerned with preventing a breach of the base's perimeter from the inside.
Worried about those who had managed to get inside the impenetrable walls of the shelter?
These questions swirled in the lieutenant's head until the beam of his 'little one's' combat floodlight illuminated a massive figure blocking the path ahead.
"Aren't you a bit big for a combat droid?" Tychus muttered doubtfully, taking aim at the structure.
And not in vain — a second later, the frozen metal statue came to life, cutting through the corridor's darkness with a golden fire.
Literally cutting through it!
Tychus only had time to report the enemy when a yellow-golden light slashed across his cockpit, and the front part of the cabin crashed onto the corridor floor with a roar.
And staring straight at the lieutenant was an ugly metal face with eyes burning like molten gold...
A massive golden-yellow energy blade rose upward, like a guillotine blade, while a second one chopped through the AT-RT's legs like a hammer blow snapping the stem of a glass goblet...
The AT-RT's cockpit crashed onto the polished permacrete with a roar, and Lieutenant Roach was already slipping out of his safety restraints.
But he knew he wouldn't make it out of the line of attack...
The corridor's semi-darkness exploded with a mass of air that struck the monster, but it barely seemed to notice.
Its face-mask shifted slightly to the side, and the energy streams cutting through everything in their path reoriented in that direction.
For a moment, Tychus was blinded by a white-blue flash of lightning generated by the nearby Togruta and the terrifying Darth Deimos.
Streams of electricity erupted from their hands, coursing over the monster's armored body.
The ugly metal face let out a long, scraping screech-howl that made everything inside him shrink into a tiny, frightened point...
"Get out of here!" a Zabrak who had appeared from nowhere barked in his face, grabbing the lieutenant by the chest plate and yanking him out of the cockpit.
As if he weighed nothing.
The lieutenant was thrown several meters back from his vehicle, and a small block fell straight into his hands.
"Get this to the Guardian!" Darth Maul ordered, activating his lightsaber and striking somewhere into the void without looking. "Move it, Lieutenant! We're not here for a picnic!"
His weapon pierced the darkness, pausing for a moment...
And then something fell out of the blackness — something resembling a humanoid encased in terrible armor, its face exactly like the one that had nearly destroyed Tychus himself.
The lieutenant looked toward the breach in the ceiling.
Drop lines were already visible there, stormtroopers descending through them into the interior.
Descending and engaging in battle with ghosts that brought death to all living things.
Never in his life had he been so terrified.
And then an unseen force seized him, accelerating him and against his will throwing him out of the corridor onto the roof, where squads of stormtroopers were firing at the killers of their comrades.
Hell had just shown the lieutenant yet another of its circles.
And who knew how many more he would have to see during this battle?
* * *
The moment the Sovereign Protector finished his short but very substantial account, Akrey felt a weight lift from his heart.
The stake that had seemed driven into his spine vanished without a trace.
He wanted to collapse into a chair and spread across it like a formless mass, savoring the extra time he'd been given.
"Are you sure about this?"
Agent Lor looked completely bewildered.
Confusion was firmly settled on her face; the girl was restless and clearly thrown off balance.
And Akrey was inwardly rejoicing.
Well, of course.
It was pleasant to know that the one digging a pit for you had lost support from above and was now left to his own devices.
The admiral's inventive mind was already calculating options.
"I... I simply cannot understand how this could have happened," Elizabeth Lor forced out. "Yes, Moff Gethlos is certainly no model of Imperial loyalty — the Director established that he was engaged in some kind of behind-the-scenes games — but betrayal... he's far too cowardly for that."
"And yet it is so," declared the Sovereign Protector, whose stern face showed hints of the discomfort the medical droid's treatment was causing him.
Numerous abrasions, cuts, wounds, blaster burns...
This man had gone through hell on his commander's orders to deliver news that shed light on much.
Not everything, but much.
Still, something about this story seemed wrong to Dobramu.
"Lusankya is an Executor-class Star Super Destroyer," he reminded them. "How could Moff Gethlos, who commands only medium Strike-class cruisers and a few Star Destroyers that fell to him after Teradoc fled to the Deep Core, defeat such a ship — and furthermore, capture Ysanne Isard?"
"Moff Gethlos is a traitor who turned to the Galactic Alliance for help," said the Sovereign Protector. "It was their fleet that played the decisive role in defeating Lusankya and capturing Ysanne Isard. She and the Super Star Destroyer are now en route to the enemy's base for repairs."
"Once Lusankya is integrated into Gethlos's fleet, he will gain the strength to allow the Galactic Alliance to stabilize the front in the region of Teradoc's former holdings," Elizabeth Lor said, licking her lips dry from agitation.
"Not to mention that if they can 'crack' Iceheart, the rebels will know far too much," Akrey continued. "Gethlos doesn't know the Emperor is alive — he's only had contact with Executor Sedriss. But Isard is fully aware of the true state of affairs. If they break her..."
"No one can break the Director, my lady!" Agent Lor said firmly, playing into Akrey's hands without realizing it.
"The real one, maybe not," he agreed easily. "But the one we have is just a clone. Who knows how things will go..."
"Executor Sedriss will call Gethlos to account!" Elizabeth declared confidently, glancing at Dobramu with hostility. "We must inform him of what has happened immediately..."
"That's what I tried to do by going to Bast Castle on Vjun," the Protector said. "There's no one there. The Executor's flagship is not responding to communications. I contacted the Alignment, Coruscant, Orinda — no one knows where Executor Sedriss is. He did not bring his fleet to the rendezvous point to counterattack Admiral Sey'lar's positions and halt the advance on Coruscant. There is suspicion that he has also deserted — at least, that's what the agents say."
"The Executor has turned against the Emperor?!" the agent cried out in horror.
"As if it's the first time," Dobramu snorted. "Darth Vader was also an Executor. And his envy, his desire to overthrow the Emperor and take his place, drove Vader to oppose the Emperor. Sedriss has also slipped out of control — it cannot be otherwise. Otherwise," he emphasized the word, "his strange behavior is simply inexplicable. He supervised Gethlos's work and direction — and Gethlos attacks Lusankya, which was investigating Gethlos's secret activities on the planet Nam Chorios. And the Executor himself disappears with his fleet... It's all too suspicious."
"This requires immediate intervention!" said the Sovereign Protector. "We cannot allow the Emperor to lose Lusankya and the Director. Given the instability of the front against the Galactic Alliance and the New Republic, I cannot permit such a failure. You must go to the Director's aid, free her, and punish the traitor!"
"That is exactly what I will do," Dobramu declared, glancing sidelong at the agent, who was looking at him with bewilderment.
""Oh yes, you think I'll balk at facing the Ice Queen once I crush Gethlos and his hangers-on,"" Dobramu gloated darkly to himself. ""You think the Emperor will destroy me over Brintooin. But no, that won't happen. I will save 'Lusankya' for him — one of the Super Star Destroyers he treasures. Isard's clone may not survive in the process — I just need to figure out how to eliminate that vile creature without evidence. And then I'll have a strong position — as a commander who crushed the rebels, destroyed the traitor Gethlos, and saved 'Lusankya' from being captured by traitors again. And Brintooin will no longer threaten me. Just one of many disputed victories in the Emperor's executioner's glorious career."
Judging by the expression on Lor's face, she was no fool either and suspected that not everything was as it seemed.
Well, of course.
If she were useless, she wouldn't have been brought into the renewed Ubiqtorate, which had become the concentration of all intelligence services in the Empire.
He would have to watch his back with her too.
"If we're going after Gethlos's head, who will maintain the siege of Carida?" she asked. "The planet has no defensive or offensive capabilities. The enemy knows this very well — after your squadron destroyed the blockade forces, nothing will stop the New Republic from storming it. And they could achieve results!"
""Who even cares about Carida anymore?"" Akrey thought. ""There are so many stormtroopers on the planet that any attempt to attack it with ground forces will just drown in blood, like my division did. Well, and even if the unthinkable happens and Furgan finally loses his mind and decides to ally with the rebels... Wait. Why would he do that? He clearly wouldn't be able to play his games of being a loyal Imperial subject then. And if that's the case, he's guaranteed to face a purge. No, he'll certainly try to buy time, destroy evidence, and so on... But on the other hand... Carida's planetary shield is quite strong, since it's withstanding bombardment from one Star Super Destroyer. But if there were two...""
"I'll leave several Star Destroyers here to maintain the blockade," Dobramu declared. "The remaining forces will be thrown into pursuing Gethlos and recovering Lusankya."
"And also for freeing the Director!" Elizabeth Lor insisted.
"Well, yes," Akrey couldn't suppress a crooked grin. "That too, among other things. My fleet will be ready to move out in a few hours."
"Immediately," ordered the Sovereign Protector in a tone that chilled Akrey to the bone.
And no desire to object arose.
The Emperor's Sovereign Protectors wielded enormous power, because no one was closer to Palpatine than them.
Their tasks were vast, their authority boundless — contradicting them was lethally pointless.
Even their agents were the best of the best — the Ubiqtorate could only dream of anything similar.
It was no wonder the Sovereign Protectors had replaced their predecessors from the Imperial Guard.
Such men were not argued with.
Their will was obeyed without question, if one valued their life and had no desire to part with it in a painfully agonizing manner.
"Of course," Akrey replied.
"Why the rush?" Agent Lor asked warily. "Gethlos is practically surrounded by Imperial or Galactic Alliance territory. No one supports him except a branch of the Loronar Corporation and a small contingent. He can't even get out of the Antimeridian sector..."
"And yet it is so," declared the Sovereign Protector. "Moff Gethlos, his fleet, his allies, and Lusankya are heading to where they can bring the Super Star Destroyer into relative order fairly quickly. Because they have all the necessary resources for that. We cannot allow them to gain control of a fully combat-ready Lusankya."
"The shipyard in his sector is a disgrace," Akrey grimaced. "What can he repair there...?"
"According to my agents' data, Moff Gethlos and all those I have mentioned are heading to a planet known as Rothana..."
Akrey frowned, seeing Lor blanch.
"That world is controlled by Kuat Drive Yards," he said. "You can't just get in there — there are minefields parsecs long and light-years wide. Without the recognition codes..."
"They have them," said the Sovereign Protector, whom the medical droid had stopped patching up. "And I have them too, thanks to my agents' work. You will follow their trail."
"I'm afraid Gethlos has allied not only with the Galactic Alliance," Lor said. "The Director believed that Rothana and Kamino were under the control of the remnants of the Zann Consortium and were producing ships and clones for themselves to conquer the galaxy..."
""This is getting serious,"" Admiral Dobramu's cheerfulness was instantly drained away.
It was one thing to attack an enemy squadron using one's own Star Super Destroyer and firepower advantage.
Quite another to face an unknown number of ships and clones that the enemy surely had.
After all, Tyber Zann had captured Kamino almost ten years ago...
And that was exactly how long the Kaminoans needed to create the Grand Army of Clones...
"We'll need more forces," he said barely audibly.
"I will go to the Emperor and personally inform him of what's happening," Agent Lor declared.
""And sing nasty things about me to him?"" Akrey Dobramu mentally bared his teeth. ""Not happening!""
"As head of intelligence for my squadron, you will remain aboard the Javelin," he ordered, looking at the Protector, who was already putting his helmet back on. "May I ask you to address the Emperor on my behalf and request assistance in destroying this nest of enemies and capturing the Kaminoan cloning incubators so necessary to the Empire, as well as the Rothana shipyards, which I intend to preserve for him?"
"That is precisely what I intend to do as soon as you make the jump to Rothana," declared Sovereign Protector Carnor Jax. "The Emperor will receive the most detailed report from me on what is happening."
* * *
"We've lost the AT-RT squad that was leading the vanguard of the central corridor invasion," General Cain reported. "Third company has engaged and is taking casualties — two squads destroyed, the enemy isn't leaving any wounded. In the side passage, second company has stalled in its attack; Lady Meilis is leading flamethrowers and grenadiers in an assault. Darth Deimos, Darth Maul, Ahsoka Tano, and Jaden Korr are engaging unidentified hostiles in the central tunnel. We're receiving fragmented information about two types of enemies. The first is humanoid, using melee and paralyzing weapons; the second is battle droids..."
"Have you obtained at least an image of any of them?" I asked, feeling the situation was starting to seriously displease me.
What kind of shit had we stepped in, without even noticing the huge pit of the same substance beneath it?
The only way to understand anything was to see the enemy.
At least a glimpse.
My memory couldn't fail me — if this was something so terrible, I should remember at least something about such weapons.
But why couldn't I recall anything similar associated with Vader, the commando prison, and the stealth ships?
"Jaden Korr evacuated Lieutenant Roach from the Rancor Battalion," General Jurgen reported. "Darth Maul tore the recorder's memory block from his 'little one.' We're receiving the last images..."
"Ready, data received and loaded onto the projector!" reported the ensign standing beside the device.
"Display it," I ordered.
"It's time to end this."
If I couldn't figure out what this was, I would give the order to bomb this place to hell.
The last thing I needed was to attract unknown enemies on top of the known ones.
Neither the marvelous beskar alloy nor anything else was worth the sacrifices we had already made and would make to get to the truth.
We'd already lost a battalion since the ground operation began.
And if there was no ready-made solution known to me against this enemy, then...
"The Emperor's black bones!" Pellaeon exclaimed as two figures appeared above the projector. "In the name of the Dominion, what kind of demented inventions are these?!"
"Droids?" Cain wondered aloud.
"Cyborgs?" Jurgen echoed.
"Oh no..." I thought, regretting that I couldn't display the full spectrum of my emotions.
I should have understood this immediately!
I should have!
At least guessed where this was coming from!
Now it seemed completely obvious — just one image of the enemy was enough, but...
But, goddammit!
"Don't speculate. You're both right, generals," I said quietly, drawing their attention. "But that's not all the variants of this type of weapon we'll encounter here."
"There are supposed to be commando clones here," Pellaeon looked at me in confusion. "Isn't this security a bit too heavy for an ordinary prison?"
"This isn't a prison, Captain," I declared, opening the relevant section of information on my datapad. "This is a laboratory. A testing ground. A workshop. A repository. A graveyard for Darth Vader's broken toys that failed to live up to expectations. I dare say we won't find any commando clones here..."
And there were the files I needed.
"General," I addressed Cain. "Bring up to the surface all ion and EMP weaponry we have in our arsenal. You can't defeat them with blasters. Only the Force-sensitive have a chance, and even then — only certain ones."