It was rather… unusual to watch people—sentients with no connection to the Empire or its leadership—boarding his ship.
Captain Oland watched as a standard-issue Lambda lowered a very colorful company onto the flight deck.
Sentients in black armor and cloaks, covered from head to toe in blood and guts.
A human.
A Zabrak.
A Twi'lek girl.
And Aurra Sing, the bounty hunter wanted in hundreds of systems.
All of them in identical armor, which hinted at their belonging to a specific group.
A single unit bound by common goals and intentions.
Even more surprising were several dozen storm commandos in their characteristic black armor, similar to Imperial scout trooper armor.
Oland had never before (and judging by the gaping mouths—neither had his crew) seen this many commandos in one place.
They were believed to be quite rare by now—the Imperial Civil War had spared no one.
But the Dominion, it seemed, had found a way to restore the numbers of the Storm Corps' elite troops.
However, the greatest surprise was caused by one of their number, who took off a scout helmet and showed his face.
"Lieutenant Mack?!"
By now it really was time to stop being surprised at what was going on.
"Captain," the formal head of Allied Tion nodded in greeting. "Is there a quiet place where we can talk face to face?"
"O-of course there is," Oland said, flustered, pointing at the ready squadron's briefing room. "This way, please…"
"Not so fast," said the only owner of a lightsaber with whom Oland had ever had the chance to speak at all. "First I want to make sure my comrade is safe."
"As are all those we managed to rescue," Oland's face darkened, and he nodded toward another passage. "The medbay is at your disposal. He's on a drip—we're not as well off for bacta as we'd like…"
"I'm not talking about that comrade," the man said. "I have no reason to doubt your word, Captain. The problem is different. Our people are injured and need treatment, their wounds tended… we'll be needing the medbay for a long time."
Oland glanced absently over the visitors.
If you looked closely, you could see some of them were limping, others had scorched armor…
"I'll see to it," he said. "But… there is one slippery point, sir… We're having supply issues…"
Lieutenant Mack did not even react to the "stone thrown into his garden."
To Hutt with him.
"We have a stock of medical supplies," the man said, gesturing toward the shuttle.
A couple of healthy-looking storm commandos were, a second later, already hauling several bags and the unconscious Weequay's body toward the exit from the flight zone.
"That who I think it is?" Oland tensed.
"Yes," Lieutenant Mack confirmed.
"I wouldn't let you treat that creature even for a whole cistern of bacta," the Marut's commander said.
"No one intends to treat him," the Zabrak with the red-and-black facial pattern joined the conversation.
The dried scraps of humanoid innards gave him a sinister, frankly maniacal look.
"Then… why do you need him in the medbay?" Oland clarified.
"To torture him," the Twi'lek girl said as if it were self-evident. "And he cut me up to boot, so don't worry—he's a dead man either way."
"In that case, I'll give you more than just the medbay," the Marut's commander smiled. "In the reactor's active zone we have a spot with an excellent view of how organic matter falls apart in the corona of an artificial star."
"I like this guy," Aurra Sing purred, winking at Oland. "I think you and I are going to be friends, Captain."
"I'd rather die and go to my meeting with Thrawn than hobnob with a hired killer," the Marut's commander decided inwardly.
***
The DX-9 "Delta"-type assault shuttle was slowly turning above the Guardian's landing deck.
Captain Pellaeon watched as the starship was only just about to lower itself onto its landing struts, while the stormtroopers had already formed a square around the ship, weapons raised.
Assault shuttle DX-9 "Delta"
Pellaeon looked at the gray hull, trying not to think what impression it made on prisoners that this particular vessel was used to deliver them.
The DX-9 was a relatively old Imperial Navy assault shuttle.
The first "nines" had been commissioned in the fleet's early years, when the Galactic Empire was still young.
By now, most of them had long been decommissioned and placed into long-term storage.
On Imperial bases in the Deep Core.
So it was reasonable to assume that the reborn Emperor's fleet had more than enough of these morally outdated craft, replaced in frontline units by higher-quality analogues.
The DX-9's main purpose was to board enemy starships and hostile space stations.
To that end, the shuttle was equipped with a universal docking collar, allowing it to mate with practically any type of ship's airlock.
And if docking was impossible for one reason or another, the shuttle had all the necessary tools to open holes in a ship's or station's hull.
According to the boarding team's report, this latter method was exactly how they had captured the enemy shuttle.
Still, despite that the DX-9's era of active service had passed, Pellaeon believed its time had ended too early.
Built by Telgorn Corporation, the ship had good armor and solid armament: eight laser cannons from Taim & Bak, four ion cannons, and two removable modular missile-torpedo launchers.
Notably, the entire missile-and-gun loadout could be fired simultaneously at multiple targets by the five-person crew.
When a group of these shuttles was breaking toward its prey to land its boarding party, enemy fighters would be wise not to meet them head-on—the shuttle cannons would sweep them aside like a stream of micro-asteroids shredding an unarmored comm satellite.
Though the DX-9 could threaten not only fighters.
The combined firepower of a flight of shuttles was quite sufficient to inflict serious damage on a large ship—or even to disable it completely, if they targeted critical systems and components.
Incidentally, other Imperial boarding shuttles such as the Gamma and ATR-6 had the same devastating forward firepower.
This trait was characteristic of assault shuttles because, until a docking procedure was complete, the particle shields of the target vessel—if any—had to be brought down; otherwise there could be no docking.
Yet, oddly enough, this very advantage of the assault-shuttle concept hastened their decline in the Imperial Starfleet.
The presence of only forward-firing weapons and the absence of light guns aft, along with shield coverage concentrated on the forward hemisphere, could lead to unfortunate consequences.
Lacking good maneuverability, a DX-9 could become an easy target for any fighter that managed to slip onto its tail.
In that situation, the shuttle's crew could neither evade nor drive off the enemy with return fire.
Only shields, quadanium-titanium armor, and support from other DX-9s—assuming a competent attack formation—could save the shuttle from instant destruction for a time.
But no matter how tightly the DX-9s formed up as they punched through to their target, they still needed escort by fighter squadrons or other combat shuttles with turrets that provided 360-degree fields of fire.
On operations far from carrier ships and ground bases, DX-9 groups were escorted by Xg‑1 "Alpha" heavy fighters or light gunboats.
The ship's modest troop compartment could carry up to thirty stormtroopers or a dozen space marines in heavy armor.
However, unlike more modern shuttles such as the Gamma, the deployment of space marines onto the target's hull was done the old-fashioned way—jumping into open space through open hatches.
The presence of hatches on all sides of the shuttle, incidentally, broadened the DX-9's tactical options when docking with a target.
And during boarding actions against ships and stations via hangars—or when landing troops on a planet's surface—multiple exit points improved the troops' survivability under enemy fire.
By the time of the Battle of Hoth, the DX-9 was already considered morally outdated and was slowly giving way in Imperial hangars to more modern ships of its class.
And though there were fewer DX-9s with each passing year, Imperial admirals were in no hurry to fully retire the entire shuttle fleet, because in their class these craft still remained among the best in the galaxy.
In Imperial sector fleets, especially in backwater sectors, large numbers of DX-9s and comparable aged shuttles continued operating even after Endor.
In raiding and strike squadrons, as well as battle groups deployed in key galactic sectors, DX-9s also made up a significant percentage of the total number of assault-and-boarding craft right up to Endor.
During that period, besides their main role as assault shuttles, DX-9s were also drawn into secondary duties.
For example, they were used as transports for ferrying officers between fleet vessels, serving as an alternative to Lambdas.
Some number of DX-9s were converted into tankers and repair craft.
On long-range fighter raids, a DX-9 converted into a tanker was extremely useful.
The tanker shuttle could replenish fuel, oxygen, and missiles between combat phases and, if necessary, retrieve an ejected pilot—sometimes even evacuate his crippled fighter.
Thousands of DX-9s, shortly before the Battle of Hoth, were pulled from fleet service and placed on the open market.
Decommissioned and partially disarmed, the shuttles were sold as light transports to all comers.
That was a serious mistake on the Empire's part.
The opportunity to legally acquire a DX-9 was seized not only by honest haulers but also by certain criminal organizations and illegal armed groups—among them the Rebel Alliance.
After Endor, DX-9s could sometimes be found in pirate bands, private military companies, freight concerns, and even in the New Republic fleet.
For example, the major pirate gang led by Lumini owned several DX-9 shuttles.
In fact, the ship that had landed in the Guardian's hangar was part of the enemy's remnant fleet.
All that reference and analytical information swept through the Guardian's commander's mind as he looked at the starship.
And he knew for certain those data were not his own—he had received them from his genetic "father."
That father had gathered them over an entire career, stacking fact upon fact, observation upon observation.
The shuttle's hatches opened with a hiss and a reek of coolant gas, their edges clinking softly as they touched the surface of the super star destroyer's hangar deck.
Captain Pellaeon grimaced, trying to do it as inconspicuously as possible, and straightened his uniform.
The habitual motion did nothing to calm him.
The aversion to coolant smell, along with the nervous habit of tugging his tunic, were part of his "inheritance" as well.
He would very much like to know what Thrawn had in mind this time.
Whatever it was, Captain Pellaeon had already resigned himself to the thought that he personally would hardly enjoy the new scheme his superior had devised.
Thrawn could lecture on the predictability of that Corellian brood until the rebirth of Darth Vader, but the Guardian's commander knew perfectly well that no case of forced cooperation between Corellians and Imperial representatives had ever ended as planned.
Nor had any of those deals begun with a Jedi—an ex-CorSec man, a Republican, a Rogue Squadron pilot—undertaking an outrageously brazen recon mission on behalf of a crime syndicate.
Stormtroopers in 501st Legion uniforms briskly and with no unnecessary harshness marched three sentients out onto the deck.
A woman, a burly man, a skinny man.
Mirax Terrik Horn.
Booster Terrik.
Corran Horn.
The whole trio together.
Judging by their looks, they expected nothing good from the Dominion.
And were certainly not inclined to cooperate.
"Prisoners delivered, sir," the boarding squad commander reported.
"What about the ship?" Pellaeon asked.
"Our techs are searching it for traps and tracking devices," the stormtrooper explained. "As soon as it's secured, it will be brought to the designated place at the designated time."
"Good," Pellaeon said, looking over the captured trio.
Oh yes.
They were not happy about what had happened.
"Terriks to the brig," the Guardian's commander ordered. "Thorough search and scan. Put them in prison fatigues."
"Well, at least some things in your little gang haven't changed," Booster Terrik rumbled. "Though, then again, that blue freak of yours kicked it. Must've decided he couldn't go on living surrounded by nothing but brainless, puffed-up idiots…"
"Silence." Without warning, the stormtrooper escorting the smuggler cuffed him on the back of the head.
Terrik shot him a nasty look.
"Don't think you can hide from me under that black-and-white tin," he promised. "I'll find you and shove that hand of yours somewhere you know where."
"And gag him," Pellaeon ordered. "Keep hands and feet bound until further notice."
"Yes, sir," the stormtrooper squad leader reported. "May I remind you the restraints are cutting off circulation and there could be—"
"I know the escort regulations," Pellaeon said, glancing at the prisoners. "Keep their hands and feet constantly shackled."
"Yes, sir."
Father and daughter were led out of the hangar.
Horn alone remained.
"Let's get this circus over with," the Corellian suggested, throwing a glance at the stormtrooper with the ysalamiri cage on his back. "Do whatever you've planned and—"
"Shut his mouth," Captain Pellaeon ordered, accepting the Corellian's lightsaber from the stormtrooper commander. "And place him in solitary. Assign droids to guard him."
He might not have been an expert on Captain Horn's abilities, but the "ancestor's" memories hinted that it was better not to leave a Jedi—even one cut off from the Force—guarded by sentients.
Too many times the real Gilad Pellaeon had seen how easily Jedi could slip into human minds.
***
When the interrogation ended and the self-satisfied Zabrak wiped his hands on a once-white towel now stained red, Captain Oland could barely hold his breakfast down.
What he saw—what now lay on the restraints-equipped medical bed for violent patients—looked nothing like a sentient.
More like a humanoid-style cutlet.
"This is… butchery," the man said with revulsion, turning away from the observation screen.
"On the bright side, you didn't have to contaminate your reactor to dispose of this bio-trash," Lieutenant Mack said calmly, watching the med droid, having pronounced the subject dead (if several hours of beating could be called interrogation), begin bagging him in an opaque body sack.
"Even then there wouldn't have been this kind of mess," the star destroyer's commander replied.
"Of course," the man agreed. "He'd simply have burned away from radiation and the artificial star's temperature."
"That would at least have been humane," Oland said.
Lieutenant Mack gave him a questioning look.
"After what happened in the throne room, you're talking about mercy?" he asked in surprise.
"We're not animals…"
The attempted justification sounded weak and uncertain.
"A fine excuse—for those who were tortured, ripped apart, and eaten by the Zanibar," the Zabrak threw in, stepping into the observation room.
He started washing the blood from his hands under the decontamination spout, turning the clear fluid into a scarlet trickle.
Captain Oland flinched, remembering what had happened in the governor's throne room.
"Mi-Ha the Hutt will answer for that."
The Marut's commander's voice was as firm as the durasteel bulkheads of his star destroyer.
"That is why we struck his lieutenant and his gang," Lieutenant Mack explained calmly.
"You've decided to hand the sector over to the Dominion?" Oland asked.
A snort from the Zabrak made him nervous.
"Would it be better if it remained 'part of the Empire'?" the late Moff's adjutant asked. "Or became yet another territory under the Hutts? To my eye—no."
There was a certain logic to that.
Except for one fact.
"The Empire won't just let this slide," Oland said. "Allied Tion is part of its territory."
"Formally," Lieutenant Mack reminded him. "In fact, they don't care about our sector. They don't care about any of the Tion Cluster's sectors. They aren't even trying to rein in the growing militarism of the Tion Hegemony, where things are far from simple."
"There's a pro-Imperial government there, just as in other cluster sectors," Oland tried to protest.
He understood perfectly well that his words were, essentially, empty noise.
"You no doubt know the Hegemony's government is pushing an initiative to subordinate all cluster sectors to itself," Mack said. "And they will soon be ready to settle the matter by force if diplomacy fails. All they need is to pick the right moment."
"The HoloNet blackout is a good moment," Oland agreed. "But they're not in Allied Tion."
If enemy ships had appeared in the sector's systems, as with the Hutt Interceptors, garrisons would have reported it via the sector relay.
Within the sectors themselves, communications were still available.
"That doesn't mean they aren't taking action in other sectors," Mack noted.
"We don't know that," Oland countered. "Allied Tion is currently the most vulnerable part of the cluster…"
"From the Starfleet's perspective—yes," Mack said without flinching. "But we have the strongest army of all our neighbors. Well-trained stormtroopers who won't flinch…"
"Bantha poodoo," the Zabrak cursed, finishing his routine and looking at the arguing men. "Why bother with him? He doesn't understand a thing about what's happening! Just tell him everything as it is! If he understands and accepts it—we need him. If not—no sense wasting time."
"Thank you for the advice," the lieutenant replied coldly. "But I'll do things as I see fit. Sector strategy is my job. Not yours, Guardsman. Kindly keep that in mind…"
"Don't waste my time," there was a threat in the Zabrak's voice. "I have better things to do than play your 'we're the good Imperials' games. Open your eyes already! Your Empire is rot and a nest of snakes, each one biting the others until only the strongest remains. And before that happens, the snake hunters will tear apart most of the nest. Best case, one—maybe a couple—of burrows out of the whole lot will survive. Worst case—you'll be running off into the woods to save your skin."
Oland turned to the lieutenant.
"What is he talking about?" the captain asked.
"Stop your mind games, agent," the Zabrak snorted, looking at the lieutenant. "Just tell him straight what's happening. If he's not a fool, he'll get it. And he'll join us. If he can't, then we don't need him. Let him go wherever he likes. Only thing worse than traitors are indecisive allies. We don't need those. We'll manage on our own."
With that, the Zabrak left the compartment, leaving behind even more questions than there had been at the start.
"Sir," Oland followed the Guardsman with his eyes, then met Lieutenant Mack's gaze. "He said something quite sensible. Just tell me what is really going on. Start from the moment he called you an 'agent'."
"The horned trouble-carrier always causes more of them than he solves," the lieutenant grimaced.
He was silent for a few seconds, then asked:
"Do you believe the Empire can still be reborn, Captain?"
The question caught the Marut's commander off guard.
A few days ago, he would have answered unequivocally, but now…
"I'm not sure," he said. "We've been in dire straits too long for Orinda to have the opportunity to send us reinforcements and besiege the Hutts…"
"Then why haven't they?" the man asked.
"I don't know," Oland admitted. "Maybe they're busy fighting the New Republic and the Alliance…"
"And can't find at least a dozen heavy cruisers to send here?" Mack clarified. "Or is it that draining resources, goods, and the most competent personnel from outlying Shards to serve Orinda's interests is preferable to sending forces across half the galaxy? They'd rather fight Republicans than maintain order and strengthen their own sectors. Does that not seem hypocritical to you? The same hypocrisy shown by the Arkanian Dragon's and the Violator's commanders, who professed loyalty to the Empire and then defected to the Hutts?"
"I know of Imperials who defected to the Dominion as well," Oland understood that Mack was right—but he still smarted at the man's dismissive tone about the Empire. "You, it seems, are no exception. I should arrest you for treason."
"But you haven't," the lieutenant reminded him. "And you won't. Not ever."
"You're very sure of yourself," the captain snorted. "My destroyer is still in diagnostics. When that's done, I will fulfill my duty to the Empire."
"You'll arrest me and the Dominion personnel, at great cost among your own men. And then what? Go arrest the Arkanian Dragon's and Violator's crews too? They're traitors as well."
"You're pressing on a sore spot," Oland winced. "You know perfectly well the Marut can't hold its own against them."
"Not even against one," Mack corrected. "But we're speaking theoretically. You are loyal to your oath. Fine. Duty demands you do your utmost to eliminate threats to the Empire, external and internal. Are you ready to carry out your duty to the end?"
"Yes," Oland said through clenched teeth. "I am loyal to my state."
"How hypocritical," he thought, recalling that only recently he himself had spoken of the Empire's decay.
Of how it had come to care about nothing.
"Excellent," Lieutenant Mack said calmly. "Then perhaps you should start with the Imperial Ruling Council?"
"What do they have to do with it?" Oland was surprised.
"It's not easy to put it in a few words…" the officer smirked. "Let me list some points. The Empire has splintered into feudal fiefdoms controlled by warlords. The Empire now exists only in the heads of patriots and fools. In reality, we've already become a confederation whose parts pretend to form a single whole when that suits them. Above all, we owe this dubious 'achievement' to Orinda. Largely. Instead of strengthening the Empire, Orinda and other Shards tug the blanket over themselves, chasing profit. Personal profit. I take it it's no secret to you that Moff Gronn was in bed with the Hutts?"
"Not to anyone."
"Good. Now what if I tell you that in the Imperial Ruling Council, as in sector governments, there are sentients acting to the Empire's detriment? Pursuing their own interests—and not always even their own. Sometimes those of their masters."
"I don't quite follow…"
"Mi-Ha the Hutt didn't blow up the Moff's residence and my house for nothing," the adjutant's voice hardened. "Allied Tion is part of the Hutt's masters' plan. And of Moff Gronn's masters—before he was killed. As well as the masters of a significant portion of Imperials and Republicans who work as agents of influence, doing everything necessary to weaken both states to the limit…"
"That sounds too far-fetched to be true…"
Instead of answering, Lieutenant Mack pulled a datachip from his pocket and handed it to the captain.
"Read it when you have time," he advised. "You'll learn a lot of new things."
"And what's this?" Oland turned the chip over, intrigued.
"The Dominion's investigation into the Zann Consortium," Lieutenant Mack explained.
"Tyber Zann and his henchmen have long been rotting in their graves…"
Captain Oland broke off when he saw the lieutenant shake his head.
"Yes, that organization was destroyed. But even before his defeat, Tyber Zann began kidnapping and cloning influential sentients in positions of power. And he kept it up for years. As a result, the Imperial Shards were, for a long time, led by Tyber Zann's puppets, with him pulling the strings from underground. His goal was to seize the galaxy again. But do it so that his enemies—the Republicans and Imperials—would wear each other down to the utmost. The Empire did not fall apart on its own, Captain. That was done deliberately."
"That's too…"
"Too far-fetched?" Mack clarified. "That's the first impression, yes. But read the documents I gave you. Everything is described and explained in sufficient detail, with examples."
"Curious why the Dominion shared this information with you," Oland said pensively. "Could it be because…"
He fell silent, connecting the Zabrak's words with what the adjutant himself had told him.
"You're a Dominion agent," he said harshly.
"Yes," the man did not deny it.
"You were planted with Moff Gronn to hand Allied Tion over to the Dominion. Don't try to cloud my mind. You want to destroy our chain of command so Pellaeon can just take everything ready-made…"
"By the time I began calling myself 'Lieutenant Mack,' Moff Gronn was already dead," the agent replied calmly, meeting his eyes. "And in his place sat a clone acting in the Zann Consortium's interests. Mi-Ha the Hutt is its representative. With the clone's consent and support, Allied Tion was to become part of the new Zann Consortium. As were the other Tion Cluster sectors…"
"Nonsense," Oland snapped. "Why would a clone, a servant of criminals, purchase fifty-one stormtrooper legions from Carida to defend worlds? Why should Mi-Ha the Hutt blow up the clone, then send his people to be slaughtered against our stormtroopers, who are holding the garrisons and planets?!"
"Who told you the storm legions were purchased by Moff Gronn?" the "adjutant" asked.
"But…"
Oland realized his logic had just taken a couple of blaster shots to the knees and was limping badly.
"I did that," "Lieutenant Mack" said quietly. "On the Dominion's orders."
"And why would Pellaeon want that?!" Oland was shocked.
"Because perhaps he still cares about the future of those who believe in the Empire?" Mack suggested. "Or because, had the Dominion not done what it did, Allied Tion would already have submitted to the Zann Consortium? Or would, on a puppet's orders, have gone to war against the Empire or the Alliance, grinding its armed forces to dust in a useless slaughter?"
"Or maybe none of that would have happened and we'd simply have remained in the same position as before?" Oland countered.
"Good observation: 'remained'," "Lieutenant Mack" said. "Sooner or later, the Imperial armed forces in Allied Tion would either have been destroyed, or—as the Arkanian Dragon's and Violator's commanders did—would have joined the Zann Consortium."
"It doesn't add up," Oland objected. "If Gronn was the Consortium's puppet, why did he change patrol routes? Why start a trade war against Mi-Ha the Hutt? You say he was their proxy!"
"The first clone—yes," Mack replied. "The one I served with, though, was already a Dominion special operation. As you see, the Dominion did everything it could to prevent the sector from becoming part of forces hostile to the Empire itself. Orinda didn't care—they promptly and easily elevated traitors."
"That sounds insane," Oland exclaimed. "You're scrambling my brains! For what? I get that the Dominion has its eye on Allied Tion. But why recruit me? I still won't believe the Imperial government, if it knew this, wouldn't act to eliminate the threat."
A bitter smile touched "Lieutenant Mack's" lips.
"The Dominion has no need to seize Imperial sectors," he said. "That would only cause major problems with Orinda."
"Then why?"
"If you had a choice—to quietly watch the remains of the Empire be chewed up by some criminals, sucking out all its strength, or to intervene, even with unpopular methods—what would you do in the Dominion's place?" the agent asked.
"I am not in their place!"
"We're speaking hypothetically…"
"I'd notify the Empire! If the Dominion under Thrawn declared itself the 'better embodiment of the Empire than the Empire itself,' why sit in isolation while the Empire fights the New Republic?! Why not help restore lawful authority in the sectors?!"
"And what for?" "Lieutenant Mack" asked. "The Empire spent thirty years doing everything possible to turn the galaxy against itself. Why impose the old regime by force, drowning worlds in blood? The Dominion is doing just fine winning minds and hearts, destroying pirates, freeing slaves, fighting crime…"
"They fought the New Republic too!"
"Because at that time Grand Admiral Thrawn was the Empire's 'honorary' Supreme Commander," "Lieutenant Mack" reminded him. "The New Republic was attacking Imperial worlds. The Grand Admiral answered in full measure and did so until the New Republic halted its aggression. Have you noticed that for a long time now there's been no news of Republican raiders attacking Dominion logistics?"
"But they're fighting the Empire!"
"Yes. But the Empire and the Dominion are two sides of the same Hutt. We are defending ourselves and our population. We strike where our enemy intends to prepare the ground for attacks on us. As they did in the Both and D'Astan sectors and along the entire northern stretch of the Hydian Way. We remove threats and restore justice. Instead of filling our pockets from the Empire's remains."
"That only happened because traitors like you killed the Emperor!" Captain Oland burst out. "Nothing like this bantha poodoo happened under him!"
"Lieutenant Mack" looked at him almost pityingly.
It was even awkward.
Everything happening was a consequence, not the cause, of the Empire's problems.
"And who, in your view, created a system where Imperial officials and officers spend all their time carving out their own spheres of influence and competing for the Emperor's attention and favor—instead of enforcing the law and improving what was entrusted to them?" "Lieutenant Mack" asked. "Sea creatures rot from the head."
"I've had enough idioms and metaphors for one day," the star destroyer's commander snapped. "That you can find the right words and interpret events in a way that benefits you is no news. But what you told me can be played the other way too."
"Such as?" the Dominion agent asked.
"Such as?" the star destroyer's commander repeated. "You said that after last year's campaign by Grand Admiral Thrawn, the New Republic stopped attacking Imperial convoys. Because Thrawn supposedly discouraged them. And thinned out their fleet."
"That's common knowledge."
"And if we assume the rumors wandering the galaxy are true, then it was Thrawn himself who terrorized Imperial worlds," Oland said angrily. "And when he died, the raids stopped. Coincidence?"
"Coincidence," the Dominion agent said indifferently. "But an interesting idea."
"More than interesting," Oland grew more heated. "With the right information, you can always flip any claim on its head and interpret it to your advantage."
"I'll grant that," the Dominion agent nodded. "But I'll also remind you of your own words to the Marut's crew before you left the destroyer. The best option for them was to hand the ship to the Dominion because…"
"I remember what I said to my XO," the ship's commander cut him off. "Until recently, I believed the Dominion truly was the Empire's beacon. The last bastion of Imperial order and proper treatment of citizens."
"What's changed?" "Lieutenant Mack" asked.
"Everything!"
"You don't like hearing that one part of the Empire can act in its own and the common interest behind another's back?" the adjutant asked.
"It's disgusting," Oland agreed. "We've lost too much since the Emperor's death at Endor. We must seek compromises and meet each other halfway, not trip one another and piss in our neighbor's cup."
"Even if you know your neighbor's a traitor who'll gladly stick a knife in your back just because you have it a little better?" the Dominion agent clarified.
"You can't allow it to get to the point where Imperials fight one another or knife each other in the back!" Oland protested hotly. "When some Imperials use others, set them up, and kill them for their own interests—it's wrong! It's betrayal! And that's punishable by death!"
"Golden words, Captain Oland," "Lieutenant Mack" said with a sad smile. "Glad I wasn't wrong about you."
"About what exactly?"
"That you are the kind of man who still believes in the Empire's ideals," his interlocutor explained. "At least in most of them. My advice: don't abandon them. Stay who you are. Even if it costs you your career—or, very likely, your life."
"You dare threaten me on my own ship?!" Oland exploded, fists clenching.
"No," the man said wearily. "It's just… I'd advise you to keep to yourself what you've learned from me. And simply watch how events in the galaxy unfold. Very soon, when he has savored the number of Imperials he considers traitors being slain, Emperor Palpatine will emerge from the Deep Core with his armada onto the stage of galactic conflict…"
"Nonsense!" Oland shot back. "The Emperor is dead! No one can survive an explosion!"
"Everyone thinks that," the Dominion agent shrugged. "But our information suggests that Palpatine is not an ordinary man."
"A cyborg?!"
"No. A Sith. Just as his apprentice, Darth Vader, was."
"Heretical garbage!"
"Bitter truth," "Lieutenant Mack" corrected. "He ruled us from the shadows, making us do his dirty work. Masking the pursuit of personal goals—like exterminating the Jedi or genocide of the Caamasi—behind noble-sounding motives. Perhaps at one time he did aim to build an ideal state, but later his plans changed. And very soon he will return. Cheating death. Mad. Hungry for his enemies' destruction—by any means. We are, to him, merely a resource he can always replenish."
"Again: what you're saying is heresy! If the Emperor were alive, he would never have abandoned the Empire, seeing it in this condition!"
"He has not abandoned it," the Dominion agent said. "He called to his Deep Core bases those warlords who were willing to grovel before him. He took most of the Imperial Starfleet under his wing. You've read our combat reference reports?"
"Of course!"
"Then where is half of our fleet?" "Lieutenant Mack" asked. "Why do we hear nothing of our super star destroyers—Vengeance, Eclipse, Sovereign? Why did all our newest ships vanish at once? Where did innumerable squadrons led by famous warlords—like the Teradoc brothers, Delvardus, Harrsk, and others—disappear to?"
"Perhaps they were destroyed in the war in remote sectors," Oland suggested.
"How many well-known ships have simply vanished in the galaxy, yet the Republicans—who trumpet every fart as a total victory—say nothing about destroying them?" the "adjutant" asked ironically. "A bit too big an omission in the work of their vaunted propaganda, wouldn't you say?"
"Maybe," Captain Oland said uncertainly. "But in any case, I go by facts. Can you present me with data that the Emperor survived? That he really is manipulating the Shards to his own ends? Can you prove this isn't just your empty chatter?"
"The facts the Dominion has are on the chip I gave you," the "adjutant" said.
"But according to you, that chip details Zann Consortium activity."
"Of course," "Lieutenant Mack" agreed. "Don't you see the connection? Manipulation from the shadows to achieve one's goals?"
"Absurd," Oland said firmly. "Why would the Emperor manipulate both the Empire and a criminal syndicate?"
"Control," his interlocutor explained. "Total control. The Empire has already suffered once from the Zann Consortium. The Emperor, mad or not, can still learn from his mistakes. And he has plenty of servants hiding in the shadows, advancing his plan."
"It still sounds like nonsense," the star destroyer's commander said. "Your arguments don't answer the question. Using the Imperial Shards, he could easily have annihilated all crime in the galaxy. Once and for all."
"Then why didn't he do it earlier?" "Lieutenant Mack" asked. "Perhaps because his interests demand redundancy—duplicate plans. What do you do when you return from nothing after several years dead, with a vast fleet, and claim the Empire? What do you answer the billions who ask why you didn't reveal yourself sooner?"
"That he was amassing strength and preparing to save us all," Oland said firmly.
"Isn't it simpler to create problems for every Shard, push them to the brink of destruction, then appear as the savior, the inspirer, the icon of deliverance, and finish off all foes at once? Who will question the one who comes to the Empire's aid at the worst moment in its existence?"
He had no answer.
It sounded so logical that Oland practically didn't doubt such a scheme.
But he did not want to believe it could be true.
He refused.
It was…
Too much.
Beyond any pragmatism.
"As is handing your subordinates over to cannibals," a thought stirred in his mind, based on the horror he'd recently witnessed.
"I can't believe you," he forced out. "Your reasoning is logical, and I have no doubt you prepared for this conversation and planned it thoroughly. As intelligence always does. But without facts, your words are just words. You're asking me to trade my oath and my uniform's honor for unsupported claims that everything happening in the galaxy is part of some grand plan by a crowd of sentients—the Emperor, his entourage, the Zann Consortium? I've lived long enough to know that if even a fraction of this were true, there would be all kinds of rumors. And yet until you said it, no one so much as hinted that the Zann Consortium was reconstituting itself. As for the rest, there's not the slightest confirmation…"
"You want facts," "Lieutenant Mack" acknowledged. "A logical and understandable desire. Unfortunately, I cannot provide them to you…"
"Then this conversation is over."
"Not right now, I can't," his interlocutor clarified. "But I am offering you a deal."
"And if I'm not interested?"
"Then I was mistaken about you after all," "Lieutenant Mack" shrugged. "You're not the man the Dominion needs."
"And why do you need me? Don't start about my uniqueness or your admiration for my idealism."
"Not quite that," the "adjutant" replied. "The Dominion needs combat officers who understand duty and oaths. That is the only reason I am spending my time, as the Shadow Guardsman put it, on this conversation here and now."
"You're trying to poach me."
"I'm offering an alternative. Exactly the one you mentioned to your subordinates. To fight for the ideals you believe in instead of being a bargaining chip in the warlords' and bureaucrats' games."
"First, I need facts," Oland cut him off. "I've heard too many conclusions. Prove at least some of them with something more weighty than hot air. At least your claim that part of the Imperial elite was replaced by clones to destroy the state. Or that the Zann Consortium, in principle, exists."
"Oh," the Dominion agent smiled. "That's the easy part. That's precisely my mission in Allied Tion. To organize a foothold and keep Tyber Zann's and the Emperor's puppets from executing their plan."
"And what is their plan for my home sector?" the star destroyer commander asked.
"You already know," the Dominion man replied. "They're building a foothold in the Tion Cluster to use as a base for strikes against the Alliance and the New Republic in this part of the galaxy."
"That's Lord Bonteri of the Tion Hegemony's dream," the Imperial said. "And the Tionese pathological obsession…"
"Which others skillfully use against them," the "adjutant" said. "Lord Bonteri is yet another Zann Consortium puppet. The Consortium, in turn, hatches its schemes without grasping that it serves as a puppet for the Emperor's underlings. At least, strategic analysis of the situation points exactly there."
"And you have no proof of this either?" Oland smirked, shaking his head.
"That's precisely why we've opened the hunt for Mi-Ha the Hutt," "Lieutenant Mack" explained. "He is the Zann Consortium's ambassador in Allied Tion. We capture him—we learn more."
"And then? What will you do with the Hutt and his organization?"
"There will be no 'then' for them," the "adjutant" said. "The Dominion doesn't stand on ceremony with criminals. Whoever they work for, they're destroyed. Except those willing to atone and join the units that hunt those same criminals."
"In that case, I'm prepared to help you crush Mi-Ha the Hutt and his organization," Oland declared. "But I want to be present at the interrogations."
"Of course," the Dominion agent agreed. "You will be given that opportunity. But what then? You understand you've been told classified information. I cannot allow it to fall into Dominion enemies' hands."
"In other words, either I'm with you—or dead?" the Marut's commander chuckled bleakly.
Very much aware the prospects did not please him.
"In other words, you're either with the Dominion or at least not with our enemies," "Lieutenant Mack" clarified. "Anywhere in the galaxy. You live but do not get involved with Imperials or Republicans. In that latter case—keep your mouth shut. For your own safety."
"What if I don't?" Oland almost blurted out.
"In that case," the Dominion man continued, "someone like a Shadow Guard will come for the 'chatterboxes.' You've already seen their handiwork with your own eyes."
Oland glanced toward the medbay doors, recalling the Zabrak's maniacal stare.
"I hope you find proof for the things you've said," he said. "Because I very much don't want to be disappointed in those I considered decent representatives of the Empire."
***
The return of Lieutenant Colonel Tiers and his men was probably the most pleasant of all the news.
Especially considering what was ahead.
"The Alliance and Syndicate fleets are approaching," my adjutant reported the latest information. "They will arrive in-system soon."
"Excellent, Lieutenant Colonel," I said, weighing the report. "As we see, our enemies are eager to conquer Kessel. Very well—we are ready to fight. Mister Pent has received everything he needs?"
"Yes, he's studying the enemy vessel," the adjutant confirmed the order to examine Horn's shuttle.
But it was not the cloaking system that interested me.
It was where, and on what celestial bodies, the vessel had been.
And how exactly it had crossed minefields on approach to Kamino and Rothana.
A backup invasion plan must always be kept ready.
One of them is bound to work.
"Any special orders regarding the Corellians captured on board?" he asked.
"For now, I am quite satisfied that they're locked in cells with an excellent view of the destruction of two fleets belonging to two enemies at once," I said. "As for later… Well, any adversary can be made an offer they cannot refuse."