Grand Admiral

Nine years, eight months, and sixteen days after the Battle of Yavin...

Or forty-four years, eight months, and sixteen days after the Great Resynchronization.

(Four months and one day since the arrival).

— Citizens of the galaxy! — Grand Admiral Thrawn's hologram, as always in such instances, betrayed no hint of agitation or any capacity for emotional expression. — Once again, the New Republic has demonstrated its unwillingness and inability to uphold the fundamental civil liberties it so diligently cultivates in the minds of those who have chosen, one way or another, to entrust their fate to the new masters of Coruscant...

General Solo glanced at Mon Mothma, Admiral Ackbar, and Admiral Drayson seated before him.

They looked as though even an enemy would pity them.

— Some time ago, the government of the Oplovis sector expressed its will and desire to join the Dominion, to be protected not in words but in deeds. The New Republic ignored the wishes of the sector's populace, choosing to retain control over the systems of Stronk and Ketaris. The New Republic refused to accept the will of the sector's people and dispatched warships to reinforce its presence and continue its occupation, — Thrawn paused briefly. — All those ships have been captured by Dominion forces. Their crews have been provided medical assistance and placed in conditions appropriate for prisoners of war. Given that this attack is, by its nature, an act of aggression—yet one doomed to failure and achieving no military success—I am inclined to view it as a veiled attempt by the New Republic to transfer military assets to the Dominion in exchange for its prisoners, — Mon Mothma paled as if on the verge of collapse.

Admiral Ackbar blinked in stunned disbelief...

Drayson's hair stood on end wherever Han could see it. Han wondered: if Fey'lya were here, would he be equally shocked, hissing like a nexu cub? Or would he sit with that smug, expressionless face that just begged for a fist to wipe it off?

— I must confess, official Coruscant has yet to comment on this situation, — Thrawn continued. — But given the circumstances, I cannot interpret the New Republic's initiative in any other way. Either this was a deliberate act of aggression against peoples who expressed their desire to live under the laws inherited from the Galactic Empire, or Coruscant simply decided to hand over its ships to me. For I had a higher opinion of the New Republic's military commanders. However, if this is the case, why was it necessary to crew these starships with such large complements? A standard "ferry" crew, as is customary in such cases, would have sufficed... For my part, I am open to negotiations regarding prisoner exchanges and prepared to clarify to this government and its commanders precisely how military assets should be transferred to me in exchange for your prisoners. Sending me ships with crews to receive an equal number of prisoners in return... I implore you, Provisional Government, consider your actions. If your goal is to rotate the prisoners I hold, who are serving their labor obligations, try less convoluted methods. Of course, I will return the prisoners I hold in strict accordance with the agreed terms... But at the same time, you have provided me with an equal number of new prisoners... Frankly, I am somewhat perplexed... What reasoning guides your actions? I hope Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, who landed on Ciutric IV moments ago, will shed light on this matter... But I assure the New Republic that I am not opposed to such exchanges—send more ships. Preferably of Imperial design. Your shoddy imitations of combat starships are fit only to serve as the passenger liners they once were...

— Please, — Mon Mothma's voice was faint, on the brink of exhaustion. — Turn it off. I cannot bear to watch this again.

Admiral Drayson deactivated the holoprojector.

— Is he mocking us? — Han asked, noting that none of the Provisional Council members seemed eager to speak first. — Who would believe we sent him ships with new prisoners to exchange for old ones? It's absurd...

— The senators of the seven sectors that seceded from the New Republic in the past day don't think so, — Mon Mothma said dully. — The Senate is in an uproar... And I... I don't know what to tell them.

— That we're finally bringing our people home, — Admiral Ackbar said. — Jedi Skywalker reported that with him are returning Councilor Organa-Solo with the twins, — Han felt his heart nearly leap from his chest, — her aide Winter, General Calrissian, your friend, — he looked at the former smuggler, — Chewbacca, — the Corellian felt an immense weight lift from his shoulders. — And General Garm Bel Iblis as well. For these seven, Thrawn 'valued' three Star Destroyers sent as reinforcements and four Mon Calamari star cruisers, along with their escorts. On the remaining three cruisers and Admiral Jid'ida's ships, he simply tallied the combat posts and is releasing approximately thirty thousand prisoners to us.

— That's a good sign, — Drayson noted. — Our people are coming back...

— Yes, except he holds twenty times more of our people captive, — General Solo remarked. His voice sounded inappropriately cheerful. But honestly, he didn't care. All that mattered was that his friends and family were returning home. That was all that held importance for him... Even hearing that the legendary kinsman, former Senator Garm Bel Iblis, was alive didn't bring him as much joy as the prospect of reuniting with his family.

— In fact, Thrawn slightly understated the number of prisoners he now holds, — Drayson said. — He's returning far fewer to us...

— Want to call him and point out the discrepancy? — Han asked warily.

— He took more ships from us but exchanged them for just seven people, — Drayson noted reasonably. — If we're talking about fairness...

— If we're talking about fairness, your outfit allowed military equipment to be stolen from Republic shipyards, — Han pointed out. — And don't you dare tell me you want to bring back Leia and the others and ask for a couple hundred thousand of your soldiers in return...

— Absolutely not, — Mon Mothma declared. — Thrawn has thrown a gauntlet in our face, effectively portraying us across the galaxy as either aggressors who failed in their attack on a sector seeking to secede, or...

— ...idiots who delivered an entire fleet to him for exchange but forgot to tell the crews they'd be taken prisoner, — Han finished.

Admiral Drayson pointedly rolled his eyes. Ackbar frowned... Mon Mothma's face turned ashen.

Yes, that comparison pleased few...

— The foam cast ashore by the tide cannot be returned to the ocean, — the Mon Calamari remarked. — What's done cannot be undone...

— Are you suggesting we silently endure while he continues to gut our fleet? — Mon Mothma asked. Judging by her tone, the woman was on the verge of breaking. It was hard to blame her, really...

The New Republic was coming apart at the seams.

Every attempt to harm Thrawn only played into his hands. He turned everything—literally everything—to his advantage, as if all the New Republic's actions were calculated in advance.

— No, — Admiral Ackbar's voice carried a note of offense. Understandably so—he was forced to devise strategies based on what he'd inherited. — First and foremost, we must understand what's happening. It's as clear as the taste of salt on the lips by the ocean's shore that Thrawn is receiving information about everything we do and plan against him. We must eliminate his source of intelligence...

— If he's working with Iceheart, that's practically impossible, — Admiral Drayson shook his head. — We're only beginning to grasp the extent of the Imperial Intelligence network and...

— I ask you, — Mon Mothma said quietly, — to never again say we're incapable of addressing the issue of enemy espionage in our ranks. It must be done, no matter what—otherwise, the Senate will tear the state apart. I'm barely holding them back from seceding from the New Republic. Public sentiment is outright panicked... If Thrawn wages war on us...

— He's already doing so, — Han Solo pointed out. — Raider operations, no matter what the Grand Admiral says in his speeches, continue. We're losing military supplies at an alarming rate...

— And what do you propose? — Admiral Drayson asked.

— If I understand correctly, all he wants is for the Dominion to be left alone, — Han recalled.

— And for us to return the Imperial ships in our fleet, — Admiral Ackbar added. — That's a significant portion of our fleet! It's unacceptable! We already have limited forces to defend such a vast territory! We need to build a new fleet!

— We've discussed handing over the old destroyers, whose maintenance is becoming increasingly burdensome, — Han countered. — How many combat ships do we have? Around ten thousand? And how many does Thrawn have? Three hundred? Four? Five? Listen, we have hundreds of new starships on the way. And soon, nearly a million prisoners. I'm sure we can spare three dozen outdated, disarmed Star Destroyers, which...

— No, — Mon Mothma said firmly. — We considered transferring those ships to Thrawn only as a last resort. And only after we can deal him a significant defeat, — Han frowned. Had he misheard, or was the previous conversation about something entirely different? — We will not go to him with an outstretched hand. If he can pull this off with his limited forces, what happens if other Imperial Remnants follow suit?

"What options do we have?" Han nearly blurted out.

— Moreover, — Admiral Ackbar rasped, — we must understand that Thrawn isn't demanding those ships for mere rhetoric.

— It'll take him time and a lot of credits to outfit them with the necessary equipment, — Han noted. — That would allow us to shed burdensome expenses and redirect funds to our own shipbuilding program...

— And what will we do when he has a hundred Star Destroyers? — Admiral Drayson asked. — It's already known that he's rapidly acquiring production lines from various sellers to equip his forces with new, not refurbished, technology. For instance, a large purchase of equipment from Cygnus...

— I heard that convoy was supposedly intercepted by our raiders, — Han muttered.

— We didn't even know about it, — Mon Mothma declared. — Nor did we know that our raiders were allegedly seizing transport ships from Santhe Corporation. Lady Santhe is furious. She's raised her prices so high we can no longer afford her services...

— Then why not start phasing out the Imperial tech we can't afford? — Han wondered. — Give it to Thrawn and get our people back in return. Hutt, we could even trade old Imperial hulks for our Mon Calamari star cruisers and...

— No, — Mon Mothma said firmly. — We will not play his game.

The Corellian wanted to argue, but then it hit him.

There was no one to convince.

The Provisional Government was firmly set on a course of avoiding any official relations with the Grand Admiral and refusing to bend to his will. His actions had wounded their pride. And right now, Mon Mothma had "taken the bit between her teeth." Until they could deal Thrawn a noteworthy defeat, nothing would change. He would continue to slap them with his white-gloved hands, and they would grit their teeth and endure.

But... who needed this?!

— One way or another, Thrawn isn't sitting idly by, — Admiral Ackbar said confidently. — He has the means to repair ships, the facilities to do so, and now a vast pool of potential recruits. The more starships fall into his hands, the stronger he becomes.

— I can't shake the feeling that once Thrawn amasses forces comparable to the Imperial Space or the Pentastar Alignment, he'll begin absorbing and conquering his rivals, — Admiral Drayson said. — It's a typical Imperial stance. Unlike other warlords, Thrawn started with far fewer resources than, say, Zsinj.

"And he's causing exponentially more trouble," Han thought.

He also began wondering why he'd been summoned to this meeting in the first place.

— Excuse me, councilors, — he said. — But what am I doing here? I completed the task assigned to me regarding the investigation into stolen military assets—we established that Imperial equipment was being pilfered from our shipyards. Now what?

Admiral Ackbar exchanged glances with Mon Mothma and Drayson.

— Thrawn continues to hunt our convoys, — the Mon Calamari stated, no great revelation. — We've determined he only attacks convoys with weak or no escorts.

— He simply ignores well-protected convoys, — Admiral Drayson added.

— I've devised several operations that you and General Antilles will oversee once he completes his mission, — Ackbar said. — Upon returning to base, he'll receive instructions and deploy to escort his convoys. I've also formed task forces, including one under my command, to do the same. One will be under your command. The goal is to send decoy convoys to attract Thrawn's raiders, while your and Antilles' battle groups remain nearby. When the raiders attack, you strike and secure us at least a small victory.

"Sounds like something we've already tried," Han thought. "It went spectacularly poorly... so much so that our own hunter groups were defeated and captured by the Imperials."

— Very well, Admiral, — the Corellian said. — I'm ready. But first—I meet my wife and children. No operations before then.

The Mon Calamari looked at him with his large eyes.

— As it happens, General Solo, that's why you're here. The *Mon Remonda* under your command, along with several escort ships, will participate in guarding our prisoners and delivering them to filtration camps...

— To where?! — Han's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.

— Filtration camps, — Admiral Drayson said. — Thrawn's collaboration with Iceheart elevates the return of prisoners to an entirely different level. Each one could be a sleeper agent, even...

— Don't you dare say it, — Han growled threateningly, clenching his fists and rising from his seat.

— I regret, General, — Admiral Drayson leaned back from the table, averting his gaze. — This procedure is mandatory for all—no exceptions! We cannot rule out the possibility that during their time in Thrawn's and Ysanne Isard's custody, they could have been conditioned...

— General Solo! — Mon Mothma squealed, seeing the very specific Corellian lunge with fists toward the head of Republic Intelligence.

— Cease immediately! — Admiral Ackbar roared, rising so abruptly he knocked over his chair.

Admiral Drayson...

Admiral Drayson said nothing—General Solo broke his jaw with just a couple of heavy punches.

***

My quarters were, as usual, shrouded in dim light.

The darkness was broken only by the flickering lights of operational equipment and the golden-white hologram of a distinctively triangular ship of Imperial design.

Only a trained eye could discern the hologram's key differences from its predecessors.

— Your assessment, Captain Dorja, — I said, addressing one of the two Star Destroyer commanders present in the compartment. The other, of course, was Captain Pellaeon.

— The *Dressed in Amber* performed its assigned task impeccably, — the commander of the *Relentless* said with barely concealed satisfaction. — The SEAL system aboard the MC80 we engaged couldn't withstand the firepower of our turbolasers alone—overwhelming fire superiority allowed us not only to disable the enemy's shields but also to inflict sufficient damage to prevent shield regeneration. During the engagement, I ordered the interceptors to stand down unless absolutely necessary. However, I can confidently say that the ship's anti-aircraft defenses create a virtually impenetrable shield around it. That said, — Dorja's expression darkened slightly, — sir, based on my observations, while rapid-fire cannons are effective, after reviewing the technical specifications of the *Crusader-II* corvette, I recommend reducing the number of rapid-fire cannons and replacing them with beam-type laser cannons for anti-missile defense. This would allow us to destroy proton torpedoes or concussion missiles quickly and effectively, rather than firing into the void like a bottomless credit chip.

— Is your recommendation included in your report? — I inquired, gesturing to the datachip on my desk. It had taken Dorja a full day to compile it. Admittedly, seeing over three hundred pages made me hesitant to read it. It's necessary, of course, but... the thought of what motivated the usually composed Dorja to such "graphomania" was unsettling. Did Ryan Zion truly deliver on his promise, and have we indeed received "the finest destroyer of the war"?

— Yes, sir, — Dorja confirmed my suspicion. — I detailed all the ship's strengths and weaknesses.

Weaknesses? It would be naive to think there wouldn't be any, but I was curious to hear them.

— Let's proceed systematically, — I suggested. — Start with the strengths.

— First, automation, — Dorja said. — The staggering number of redundant systems has been reduced to one or two stations, distributed across the main bridge, auxiliary bridge, and engineering compartment. As shipbuilder Zion promised, the crew size is just fifteen thousand. Actually, fifteen thousand three hundred, but a minor adjustment, in my view. Shift sizes have been reduced—now six shifts, each with just over two thousand five hundred personnel.

Pellaeon met my gaze.

Yes, exactly. Now, with one batch of clones, we can crew one ISD-III and a couple of dreadnoughts. Not to mention, we currently have eight *Imperial*-class Star Destroyers of both initial variants that can be upgraded to the "III" without impacting active operations, creating a formidable formation. And there are plans to upgrade *Victory*-class, *Acclamator*-class, and *Venator*-class ships to increase their armament...

— By reducing the crew size, shipbuilder Zion repurposed part of the destroyer's internal space, increasing reserve power capacity with reactors from Republic self-propelled artillery, — Dorja continued. — This not only maintained the number of turbolasers at the *Imperial-II* level but increased them. In addition to the existing turret and broadside turbolasers, Zion added eight octuple turrets to the lower hemisphere, mirroring those in the upper hemisphere, and installed similar ones near the main hangar.

— So, the number of guns has nearly doubled? — Pellaeon let out a low whistle.

— That's the beauty of it, — Dorja said, smiling. — Firepower has returned to *Imperial-I* levels, but now it's concentrated in the upper and lower hemispheres and broadside batteries. Rapid-fire laser cannons are mounted across the hull in both hemispheres, as on the *Imperial-I*. The ship now carries forty ion cannons, three triple medium turbolasers, two twin heavy ion cannons, two quad medium broadside turbolasers, and about eighty quad laser anti-aircraft guns across the hull. Even more notably, the rear hemisphere is now protected not by two broadside turrets but four—aft octuple turrets in both hemispheres can serve as rearguard, and the superstructure and stern are well-protected by anti-aircraft guns.

— But the troop capacity has been reduced, — Pellaeon noted. — Now it can house only half a legion...

— We have enough *Acclamators* to transport ground assault forces and their equipment, — Dorja grimaced. — Two regiments of space infantry supported by droidekas for boarding and counter-boarding operations are sufficient—I tested this against an MC80 and a *Golan* in the Stronk system. Deploy droidekas first to absorb the brunt of the attack, then stormtroopers conduct the cleanup. Yes, some equipment can remain aboard for the regiments' standard complement. It's practical, as situations like raider operations or pirate attacks don't always allow time to wait for assault units to arrive.

— A sound argument, — I agreed. — But as I recall our agreement with the shipbuilder, the reduction in troop capacity was to accommodate an expanded starfighter wing.

— Two additional squadrons, — Dorja confirmed. — Eight in total. With reconnaissance TIEs, which we lack, the starfighter complement could reach a hundred small craft. In the Stronk system, I deployed two squadrons of Xg-1 assault gunboats. They're excellent for delivering missile and bomb strikes on stations, ships, or planetary surfaces. We could transition destroyer starfighter groups to this type...

*Imperial-III*-class Star Destroyer, also known as the "III."

(Yes, the art was found online and shamelessly borrowed).

— Xg-1s can't fully replace bombers, — I stated. — Especially since we have *Scimitar* project craft, which are indispensable for delivering rapid strikes that assault gunboats can't match.

— Just a suggestion, sir, — Dorja said. — But without laser anti-missile installations, Xg-1s are ideal as missile carriers for various tasks.

— That's what they were designed for, — I noted. — Anything else to add, Captain?

Dorja chewed his lower lip, searching his memory. Then, shaking his head decisively, he said:

— I believe that while the *III*'s anti-aircraft defenses are highly effective, we shouldn't abandon the initiative with escort corvettes. The Imperial Navy had a CR90 variant called the *Assassin*. It has greater maneuverability due to enhanced engines, heavier armament, and can carry up to half a squadron internally—an excellent light raider or scout that can locate targets, assess situations, and guide the *III* in raiding operations. Its reinforced hull allows it to engage independently, even with a damaged reactor, the most common failure in standard CR90s when deflector shields fail.

— A good proposal, — I agreed. — But unfeasible in our current reality.

— Because that upgrade was exclusively produced at Corellian Engineering Corporation shipyards? — Dorja's expression fell.

— Precisely, — I confirmed. — Unfortunately, we lack the financial resources to pay the Corellians for such work. Given their nationalist policies, investing credits that would fuel Corellia's militarization is unwise.

— On the other hand, — Pellaeon said, stroking his chin, — *Assassins* are indeed effective. We could use them as raiders in wolfpack formations or similar roles. We could try acquiring their production lines or capturing them in a raid...

I let out a short, quiet laugh.

— Gentlemen, when such an opportunity arises, we will undoubtedly address fleet and armed forces upgrades.

— Yes, sir, — the two captains said, their spirits dampened.

— Now, — I concluded, — I need a detailed breakdown of your engagement, Captain Dorja. Let's return to the specifics. You find the SEAL system generator on the MC80, which we installed on *Dressed in Amber*, more than suitable for the *III*?

— Correct, sir, — Dorja smiled. — The technology isn't overly demanding, and with sufficient power supply, it allows the *III* to maintain shields long enough to gut a second *Golan*...

***

— Come in, — the words were spoken as the door closed behind Rederick. — Sit.

— Thanks, I've had enough sitting and lying around, — the naval intelligence officer replied, keeping his gaze fixed on Captain Makeno.

The man, with a crooked smirk, poured himself a drink into a metal cup and downed it in one gulp.

— Potent stuff, — he said. Looking at his counterpart, he clarified:

— Sure you don't want any? Clears the head better than a turbolaser salvo over your ear.

— Not used to changing my perspective, — Rederick said, trying to gauge Makeno's reactions to his words. So far, he wasn't succeeding.

— Don't bother, kid, — Makeno advised. — You won't 'read' me. Better sit and let's talk.

— Alright, — a conversation was always a chance to gather useful information. — Any interest in letting us go?

— We're already in neutral territory, kid, — Makeno admitted. — Find some backwater station, and you're free.

Hard to believe. Naval special forces don't leave witnesses. It's more likely they'd blow their brains out the moment they turned their backs on the "specialists."

— Believe what you want, — Makeno seemed to dabble in mind-reading. More likely, he knew exactly what people thought in such situations. — I've got nothing against you or your slicer. You're just grunts like us. I'm not planning a massacre.

Again, hard to believe.

— Who do you work for? — Rederick asked. He wanted to ask something else entirely, but an intelligence officer prioritizes useful information. Personal matters stay personal.

— Whoever pays the most, — not a surprising answer, but...

— Then what's with the 'Imperial Navy'? — Rederick asked, recalling their first encounter.

— Old habits—we work mostly for Imperials, — Orsan smirked. — They're the easiest to read. When they want to pay, when they want to shoot to avoid paying... You get the idea...

More like he suspected. But without hard facts, such conclusions were tricky. Assumptions weren't how professionals operated.

— So why tell me this now? — Rederick asked.

— Can't guess? — Makeno smirked. Then, as if catching himself, added:

— Oh, right, intelligence doesn't guess—it works on facts and conclusions...

— If you called me here to mock me, you've got the wrong guy, — Rederick assured him.

— Nah, kid, it's something else, — Makeno chuckled. — Alright, — his face lost all mirth. — To business. My employer is Warlord Ennix Devian. Heard of him?

— Let's say I have, — working for Palpatine's hired assassin? Ugh, how little self-respect does that take?!

— So, — Makeno continued. — Me and two other squads were tasked with stealing *Raider*-class corvettes for him. We found the ships, extracted them. The first two teams already delivered theirs. We're next. Or were.

— Still not hearing anything interesting, — Rederick admitted.

— It's simple, — the specialist confessed. — My people are well-trained. They wouldn't just forget to report that the deal with the seller went smoothly.

Oh, now that's actually interesting.

— You think they were killed? — the naval intelligence officer asked.

— I'd bet my life on it, — the specialist assured him. — Devian is building his own armada in the Ghost Nebula. And anyone with ships to spare and willing to cross a few sectors is supplying him.

— I doubt someone as experienced in assassination as Devian would miscalculate the number of ships, — Rederick said, not accusing but hinting at skepticism.

— Fair point, — the specialist's face showed no trace of a smile now. — Your misunderstanding comes from not knowing how we operate. I never personally close deals with employers—my lieutenants handle that. One posed as me to keep our true numbers and such under wraps. This *Raider* was meant to be our base—if Devian paid a hefty sum for the first two, we'd hand over the third. But he decided to kill my people and seize the ships, which I take as a call to action.

— So what's the problem? — Rederick asked, surprised. — A *Raider* can slip past almost any perimeter's sensors. Eliminating a target... isn't that child's play for specialists?

— That bastard has a fair number of allies, — Makeno countered. — And a fleet, albeit cobbled together from Republic-era relics, still exists. Plus, a ton of New Order fanatics... No point diving into a slaughter we can't win... unless we have a competent ally with their own fleet.

"Ah... that's the angle!"

— You're suggesting I put in a good word for you with Grand Admiral Thrawn? — Rederick squinted.

— I'm proposing a trade, — Makeno said calmly. — We dug into the files you and 'Bluehair,' — likely referring to "Penta," — swiped from Kuat Drive Yards' internal network. You're after data on the space mines Kuat used to secure Rothana. Since Rothana's been abandoned for years, it's highly unlikely your commander decided to blindly trawl minefields with his ships' hulls.

"Sharp specialist... probably," — what Thrawn needed that mine data for, he hadn't told his operatives, of course.

— So what's the trade? — Rederick asked.

— I return you and your data to Ciutric, and in exchange, you arrange a meeting with Thrawn, — Makeno's voice held no hint of compromise. He knew both captives were in a dependent position and objecting to such an "offer" would be tough.

— You realize that deal's got no real benefit for me? — Rederick asked. — I'm not Thrawn's right hand to have those kinds of talks or advise him. And you've got nothing but our own files...

— Wrong, kid, — Makeno smirked. — See, I watch the HoloNet news. Your Grand Admiral's got a thing for Neimoidian habits—grabbing anything that's not nailed down. Especially ships that their former owners don't need much. Like, according to his latest HoloNet speech, which somehow spreads galaxy-wide, he nabbed an entire New Republic squadron a few days ago. But he says he'd rather have Imperial starships...

— Not exactly a secret, — Rederick shrugged. In reality, when you lack a full-cycle shipyard and only have repair facilities, why build starships? It's costly and impractical. Take them from your enemies!

— Then, — Makeno's smile widened, — I think your Grand Admiral would be very interested in Warlord Devian's fleet. Hundreds, if not thousands, of ships. Sure, they're Clone Wars-era relics from the Grand Army of the Republic, but as HoloNet rumors go, Thrawn's found creative uses for even lightly armed *Acclamators* and *Venators*. I reckon he'd find a use for a 120-kilometer habitable sphere, converted by Devian's engineers into a mobile repair and construction shipyard for his fleet. Especially, — his smile turned almost inappropriate, — considering galaxy-wide rumors about new Death Stars... And a habitable sphere looks an awful lot like one...

The naval intelligence officer caught Makeno's drift immediately. But he'd raised the stakes to an impressive height.

— I respect commanders who avenge their subordinates' deaths, — Rederick admitted. But he couldn't shake the thought that this could all be a simple trap for the Grand Admiral, orchestrated by Warlord Devian, with Makeno as the loyal hound carrying out his task to eliminate a rival.

But that was easy enough to verify.

— I need a comm and access to contact command, — he said. — We'll request coordinates for a meeting with a liaison...

— No liaisons, — Makeno cut him off sharply. — I don't trust anyone—not even you. Only a face-to-face with Thrawn. No other way.

Sure, sure, and shall I iron your jumpsuit too?

— Fine, — Rederick said. — I'll try to arrange it...

— Good lad, — Makeno praised, taking another swig of his brew. — You know, when I recruited you for intelligence, I thought you'd pick special forces...

— I clearly remember the operative who... — Rederick stopped mid-sentence, noticing Makeno pick at something on his chin with a fingernail, pulling... synthetic skin...

— Itches like hell, — the specialist commented, peeling off a neck prosthetic hiding a prominent Adam's apple, along with other facial prosthetics... — But it's necessary. We don't have a computer specialist—got shot during a previous heist—so we hide from holocams the old-fashioned way, per intelligence basics...

Five minutes, a kilogram of synthetic skin, and a wig later, a completely different man sat before Rederick.

High cheekbones, a youthful face, a straight nose...

— Back then, you held a different rank, — Rederick recognized his recruiter. Well, that answered how he'd been identified.

— Hah, — Makeno chuckled. — Since then, I've climbed to colonel and been demoted to lieutenant. Two plastic surgeries, artificial nerves...

— Life's been rough on you, — Rederick noted.

— Face a Jedi on an orbital TIE fighter assembly plant, survive, and you'll have worse, — Makeno replied. — I didn't make it. He slaughtered my team and blew the factory. The response to failure was swift. I got lucky—senior officers responsible for the site were torn to pieces. I got off with a couple of years of recovery and prosthetics. You could say I look younger than my years.

"Some luck," Rederick thought.

— Let's get to business, — he proposed.

— I'm game, — Makeno shrugged. — You know where the comm room is. A couple of my guys will be on duty there, you know, to make sure you don't spill too much and that a fast dreadnought isn't waiting for us at the rendezvous. Word is, your Grand Admiral's got one of those too...

Rederick didn't comment. He was thinking about how to signal an alert in his message without tipping off his watchers.

It seemed someone was planning to lure Grand Admiral Thrawn into an ambush and eliminate him.

*Naval Special Forces Captain Orsan Makeno.*

***

After the holoprojector shut off and the hologram of Grand Admiral Thrawn's latest speech concluded, Ysanne Isard looked at Colonel Celchu seated before her.

The Alderaanian stared silently at a point straight ahead.

— The plan will need adjustments, — the Iceheart said.

— Not surprised, — the Rogue Squadron commander remarked. — Cooking up another nasty scheme?

— No, — Isard lied. — But I no longer believe sending you directly to Thrawn is the right move. In fact, it would be a clear mistake.

— Is that so, — the Republic pilot snorted. — And what's your plan this time?

— We use his own plans against him, — Isard suggested. — I have a strong suspicion who his next target will be. So, infiltration will happen with the opposing 'team.' During the battle, you'll 'make the right choice' and defect to his side. The sooner you infiltrate, the more useful information you can feed Thrawn later, earning his trust faster. I need you aboard his flagship as an elite squadron. After passing all necessary checks, you'll be positioned closest to Thrawn. At the critical moment, strike the bridge and eliminate the threat to your precious New Republic. Then, you slip away. And I stop being a target.

The Alderaanian didn't respond immediately.

— You know, — he said. — The longer I listen to you, the more you try to seem like an ally, the less I trust you. I'll say it straight, Isard: whatever you're scheming, whatever you're planning behind our backs—I'll find out. And then, I'll come for you. This time, no clone will protect you.

Without a farewell, Colonel Celchu rose from the couch, gave a curt nod to his "colleague" Wessiri beside him, and left Isard's office.

— He'll be trouble, — he said.

— They're always trouble, — the Iceheart laughed. — That's why they're here—let them be someone else's headache.

— Should I continue training my people on the 'Beta' program? — the colonel clarified.

— Yes, — Isard confirmed. — Only the deployment has changed; the operation's details aren't your concern. Have the Rogues keep drilling on the 'Alpha' program—it won't be needed anyway.

— Yes, ma'am, — Colonel Wessiri said, also leaving his commander's office.

The Iceheart's audience quota for the day was exhausted.

It was time to unwind.

— Duty officer, — she activated her comlink. — Is Molo Himron still alive?

— Yes, ma'am, — came the reply.

Stubborn little human. Still clinging to his mind, refusing to break... mentally, at least.

But what would he do when she broke him physically?

— Prepare a sparring area, — Isard ordered. — Ensure the prisoner is in the condition I require. Triple his 'warm-up' with the overseers—let them break a few bones.

***

This time, there wasn't even strength to comment.

Furniture costs credits, too.

Grand Moff Kaine simply sighed in resignation, looking at Agent Blackhole's hologram.

— Seriously? — Ardus asked. — They tried to lure Thrawn into a trap and ended up caught in his?

— Never happened before, and yet, here we are again, — Blackhole seemed to relish the moment. — He's got new ships, once more.

— As I understand it, Oplovis was handed to him on a platter, — Kaine frowned. — Or...

— The Oplovis sector doesn't interest the Emperor, — Blackhole assured him. — Frankly, from what I gather of the Emperor's rhetoric, Thrawn could take all the New Territories, as long as he keeps weakening the New Republic.

"Well, of course," Kaine thought. "First, you use him to thin the New Republic's ranks, then summon him to a meeting and eliminate him. Maybe not just him."

Ardus Kaine was no less concerned for his own fate.

The Emperor was terse.

He looked young—strikingly young. But his face, as before, expressed only mockery toward those he dealt with.

They were nothing to him, mere dust beneath his feet, tolerated out of necessity.

The Emperor had shared his plan—or the part concerning Kaine directly.

The Grand Moff was to exert every effort to build as many ships as possible for the occupation of future conquered territories. He was also to relay small messages from the Emperor to Grand Admiral Thrawn, delivered by Agent Blackhole, and provide full support to the latter in gathering intelligence against the New Republic. Essentially, the same tasks as before, except now it was no longer his enterprise but another fiefdom for the master to milk until he tired of it...

That was all... No gratitude for service or preserving part of the Imperial legacy, no promise of reward... As if he hadn't vanished for six years but merely stepped out for a moment and returned.

The Emperor cared nothing for how his subjects had lived during that time...

The Emperor cared for nothing but the destruction of the New Republic and his personal enemies. This meant that once he returned, the same cycle would repeat—while Palpatine pursued his secret schemes, his sycophantic courtiers would continue dismantling the Empire...

What hadn't perished in those six years would plunge into another round of internecine strife...

— The Emperor has a new task for you, — Blackhole's hologram rumbled. The holoprojector flickered, receiving a data packet. — To accelerate the construction of a heavy cruiser fleet, the Emperor commands you to utilize the cruiser prototype project that Moff Delurin used to create his own Empire...

Ardus felt himself on the brink of quiet shock.

— The *Galactic Dragon*? — he clarified. — But... it's little more than a scarecrow for primitives who've barely ventured into space...

— Exactly, — a chuckle came from Agent Blackhole. — Once Emperor Palpatine completes his work eradicating rebels and their sympathizing scum, only a handful of planets loyal to the Emperor will be capable of interstellar travel. For the rest... scarecrows like the *Galactic Dragon* will suffice.

"Mother of all Hutts," Ardus thought, struggling to conceal the horror gripping him. "Will anyone even be left alive in the galaxy after Palpatine's campaign of retribution?"

— I understand the task, — Kaine said, coughing into his fist. — Consider the order to build those 'dragons' already issued. Now... I need to meet Grand Admiral Thrawn and exchange Octavian Grant for heavy cruisers...

— Don't forget to hand the traitor over to my agents afterward, — Blackhole said. — The Emperor wishes to execute him personally as a lesson to others.

As the hologram faded, the Grand Moff felt his organs, clenched in fear, finally settle back into place.

He was glad the Emperor was returning to the galaxy, promising his loyal followers that the domains they'd built and defended through six long years of Imperial civil war would remain under their control.

But he was far from thrilled at the prospect of something—or someone—as powerful as it was insane sweeping through the planets with a fiery sword of retribution...

Grand Admiral Thrawn had proven that many sectors and star systems could be brought under Imperial control with minimal force. Ardus himself had done the same with the Pentastar Alignment...

If the populations of countless planets supporting the New Republic's ideology were exterminated, one question remained.

Who would there be to rule if all dissenters were eradicated?

Unfortunately, another uncertainty followed.

What truly awaited those who had torn the Empire apart while Palpatine "rested" in the Deep Core?

He believed Palpatine's promises... but that was before the Emperor plummeted into the reactor shaft of the second Death Star. The Palpatine who returned, though younger in appearance, was a hundred times madder and more dangerous.

It seemed there were no other options to preserve his life.

— Bridge, — he activated his comlink, contacting the commander of the *Reaper*. — Begin preparations for the journey to Dantooine. I want to arrive at the precise time set by Grand Admiral Thrawn.

***

The Imperial Ruling Council was a cesspool that, when gathered in one place, reeked so badly that...

Baroness Feena D'Asta mentally thanked Sarcev Quest for not involving more councilors in this meeting, limiting it to his inner circle.

There were few, so the exchange of opinions on recent events was brief.

— I don't believe Thrawn just handed such valuable prisoners back to the New Republic, — Carnor Jax declared.

As always, this man, a secret aspirant to the throne of Imperial Space, was clad in the garb of an Imperial Guard, which he was at his core.

Feena, though privy to Quest's schemes to pit Grand Moff Kaine against Grand Admiral Thrawn in a political struggle for the Emperor's seat, was skeptical of Jax.

He was undoubtedly a talented soldier with ambitious character. Even during his training to become a guard, he strove to excel in everything.

Quest himself had shared this with the councilors. Jax's respect among his peers ensured the Imperial Guard continued its duty under the Imperial Ruling Council. Though many councilors suspected the guards answered solely to Jax, who merely pretended to follow his allies' will.

This man held an exceptionally high opinion of himself but didn't neglect the need for powerful allies, including those in the Imperial Ruling Council and his mentor, Sarcev Quest, seated to his right.

In essence, Jax was the de facto leader of their small conspiracy, with Quest playing the nominal role of rebellion figurehead. A rebellion meant to eliminate the two greatest threats to Imperial Space and unite the largest Imperial Remnants into a single Empire.

But everything changed after Quest's trip to the Deep Core, bringing dire news for the conspirators. Even grimmer than Feena's simultaneous journey, though in a different direction—to Grand Admiral Thrawn's flagship.

Emperor Palpatine was alive and preparing to return to the galactic stage.

This meant the time to strike their enemies had not yet come.

According to Quest, Palpatine designated Thrawn as the force to clear the New Republic's borders, preparing it for the main assault. Feena, and any other councilor, couldn't discern whether Thrawn knew of Palpatine, but Quest said Palpatine explicitly forbade interfering with the Grand Admiral or distracting him from waging war.

The problem was that Palpatine saw only part of the issue—Thrawn wasn't just attacking the New Republic but gathering more sectors around himself, potentially birthing his own Empire led by a strategic genius... No, that was a serious problem. Yet the reborn Emperor chose to ignore it.

Unlike Carnor Jax and Sarcev Quest.

Beyond his cold, calculating side, Jax had a harsh temperament toward subordinates and tolerated no failures. Even now, he sought someone to blame.

And it seemed he'd found her.

— Baroness D'Asta! — he barked, glaring at Feena. — Repeat how exactly you failed the task...

— I've already said everything, — the aristocrat replied irritably. — His offer was unfeasible.

— Then you should've changed the offer! — Jax snapped. — Is it so hard to remember he's a simple soldier without even a mistress? Use your feminine charms and...

The stem of the wine glass in Feena's hand snapped in two.

— Choose your words, 'Your Majesty,' — she advised. — You're speaking to a baroness whose coffers fund most of your operations. If you see me as someone's paramour or a soldier's bedmate, I suggest you polish your helmet's visor!

— How dare you...! — Jax leapt from his seat, charging toward her...

But Sarcev Quest's grip stopped the man from a reckless act.

As Baron D'Asta's daughter, Feena controlled numerous profitable enterprises and far broader material resources—though most were best left unmentioned, lest one face execution for ties to the Hutts.

— Please, Your Majesty, calm yourself, — the former Emperor's Hand said in an almost purring tone. — No need for tempers to flare—for any of us. What's done cannot be undone—whether Thrawn is deceiving us with his motives or it was truly a deal with the New Republic, the fact remains. Leia Organa-Solo and her children have slipped through our fingers.

— We need to set an ambush and capture them! — Jax declared.

— That's just foolish, — Quest said. — Our Grand Admiral excels at anticipating situations. If not him, then the Iceheart, who, rumor has it, now plays on his field.

— So what? — the guard persisted. — Let him calculate it was us three times over, what's the difference?

— A huge one, — Feena said. — The Emperor ordered us not to interfere with Thrawn. Who's willing to stake their head that this prisoner transfer isn't part of Thrawn's operation?

— No one, — Quest replied. — We have no agents close to him. Not even in the Dominion...

— We would, — Jax's matte-black visor fixed on Feena, — if someone hadn't clung to her inner aristocratic prude and seduced...

"I'd slit your throat," Feena thought, eyeing the shattered glass at her feet. The "Emperor" was starting to irritate her. Deeply.

— We have a bigger problem than the Grand Admiral, — Quest said diplomatically.

— Emperor Palpatine, — Jax spat the words. — You, Lord Quest, said he's mad?

— It's not yet overt, — Quest said evasively. — But I've spoken with him. His thoughts are sometimes clear, but they veer off, and he can ramble for hours about watching rebel planets burn while Luke Skywalker kneels before his throne, begging to be taught the Dark Side's secrets.

— Are you saying the Emperor is mad? — a minor councilor spoke up, so insignificant Feena hadn't bothered learning his name.

— More than that, — Quest confirmed.

Feena nearly snorted.

The very idea that Palpatine might be unhinged was merely Quest's conjecture. He'd been caught more than once twisting events to his advantage.

After Palpatine's death at Endor, the power vacuum led the Imperial Ruling Council to attempt control of the Empire.

But Quest, as now clear, sabotaged their efforts, helping Grand Vizier Sate Pestage consolidate power. Then he betrayed Pestage, withdrawing support. Ysanne Isard dealt with Pestage—and most of the Imperial Ruling Council.

Quest then orchestrated political intrigues, placing some Imperial Remnant military forces under the last Grand Admiral's command. This was to keep Thrawn occupied until Quest secured the Imperial Ruling Council's backing for his protégé—Carnor Jax.

While uninvolved councilors speculated about Thrawn or Kaine as Emperor, those truly in power already knew the outcome.

— We cannot allow this madman to derail my ascension, — Jax declared. — He must be eliminated!

— Who exactly? — Feena asked with a smile. — Kaine, Thrawn...?

— Palpatine, — Jax said irritably. — He commands immense power—thousands of warships...

— And that's just what I've seen, — Quest noted. — I'm sure he has far more resources. Conquering the galaxy requires a vast armada.

— Then what do you intend to do? — Feena asked.

— First, understand how he survived, — Quest said. Jax nodded in agreement. — No point planning to kill someone whose return we can't prevent. Figure out how to prevent it again, and we'll know how to destroy him.

— That'll take work, — Feena remarked.

— Indeed, — Quest agreed. — And we must take steps to weaken Palpatine's allies here, in the known galaxy—both known and potential. We've decided Palpatine shouldn't live, so those who could aid him must also die. Nothing and no one must hinder us from seizing control of what remains after Palpatine's death.

— The Emperor said not to touch Thrawn, — the baroness reminded.

— We're not going to destroy him, — Quest shrugged. — At least, not with our own hands.

Feena frowned.

— What riddles, Lord Quest? — she demanded. — Or am I no longer in your confidence?

— No riddles, — the former Emperor's Hand smirked. — This galaxy has too many warlords in our way. We just need to ensure Thrawn deals with them—either he dies trying, or he eliminates them but gains so many problems he'll have to pause his advance on the New Republic.

— And Palpatine, in turn, — laughter came from beneath Carnor Jax's mask, — won't forgive him for it. After all, the Grand Admiral's primary condition is to fight the rebels.

— And how do you plan to make him focus on warlords instead of the New Republic? — the baroness asked.

— No need to do anything, — Quest's face bore a promising smile. — It's already done. The mechanism is in motion—we just watch and wait for the results.

"How easily we betray those we ally with," Feena thought with disappointment.

Had she chosen the wrong side?