Nine years, seven months, and twenty days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, seven months, and twenty days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and five days since the arrival)
Felix cast a glance at the men sitting across from him. Under different circumstances, they could have been mistaken for twin brothers. Both were older, both bore ocular implants... Both were military personnel in the sphere of Imperial shipbuilding.
With the sole exception that they hated each other to the point of grinding their teeth.
— So, gentlemen shipbuilders... — Ferrus drawled.
— Not shipbuilders, — Ryan Zion rasped. — I'm a shipbuilder. Reyes, — he nodded toward the man sitting beside him, — is just a chief engineer.
The moff took a deep breath, ready to unleash everything he thought about that, even picking out a few choice expressions...
And then he reconsidered. Because it got interesting.
— And what's the difference? — he asked. No, genuinely interesting. Felix had spent plenty of time in administrative roles, but he'd never delved into the intricacies of the Imperial shipbuilding program. He worked with what he was given.
— In qualifications, — Zion declared importantly. — Mine are higher. I can design and build a ship of any class and purpose, not to mention restoring starships to factory condition, while Reyes can only repair. And upgrade, based on projects developed by shipbuilders like me and a select few other sentient beings.
— I see, — Felix said, casting an intrigued glance at the man. Interesting, then how had Reyes managed all this time on his own? The "unqualified" one. Judging by Zion's smug face, it was clear why he was so disliked among his peers. — For some reason, I thought an engineer's specialization, especially the position of chief engineer, implied that the person was a technical expert in their field. And, moreover, the first deputy to the head of the facility. And since the Tangrene shipyard happens to be the property of, well, Tangrene, the conclusion draws itself.
— Pfft, — Ryan snorted. — Whoever was around got put in charge. You can see the Ubiqtorate's amateurish style all over it.
— Actually, that was my decision, — the moff pointed out. And the fact that he and Nick were acquainted had no real bearing on the appointment. Zion was right in a way—Tangrene had inherited a shipyard and needed someone to run it. And since there were no resources to actually build anything substantial, they needed a technically competent manager who could get ships back into service under those conditions.
— Oh... — was all Zion managed, faltering slightly. In the Pentastar Alignment, he could flaunt his oversized ego in front of moffs left and right, since Grand Moff Kaine paid his salary directly. But here, in the Morshdine sector, things were far more prosaic. Thrawn held the purse strings, Ferrus handled the logistics and political support for his campaign. Nick, technically the grand admiral's deputy for technical matters. But that was before someone with higher qualifications showed up. Someone who wanted a shipyard of his own. And that subtle offer was precisely why Zion had switched sides. Nowhere else—on Yag'Dhul, Ord Trasi, Bilbringji, or any other Imperial shipyard—could he have gotten what he wanted. For one simple reason: those places had their own "moff's friends" who didn't mind pocketing credits for minimal effort. But unlike them, Nick Reyes actually worked at his post. And didn't complain.
Ferrus faced a certain personnel issue to resolve. In essence, the Tangrene shipyard should've gone to Zion as the more qualified candidate. Nick would then serve as his deputy. One designs the projects, the other implements them. A technicality, since Thrawn had other plans.
But then again, it was his prerogative—who should manage what. If he wanted to replace his technical specialist, let him do it himself. It'd be foolish for a moff to meddle in that.
— Well, since the bickering's over, let's move on to business, — he suggested. — We've got ninety Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers. A third of them are already out of the docks, aren't they?
— Full modernization, — Nick confirmed. — Replaced the hyperdrives with Class Two, new main engines, power systems, and weaponry. Converted most of the cargo bay into a hangar for TIE fighters. Two squadrons and a pair of Lambda-class shuttles fit in there now after some tweaks. Minor adjustments based on existing Imperial designs—and that's it, the ships are ready, undergoing trials. We could basically start on the second batch of dreadnoughts and...
— Hold on, hold on, hold on, — Zion grimaced. — Gentlemen, you seem to have forgotten that we currently have other ships needing repairs. A destroyer, a pair of escorts, and two strike frigates that arrived from Honoghr, a destroyer under construction captured in the Milagro system, finishing touches needed on Steel Aurora and Sentinel—that's already eight of the nine docks! Plus, the refit of Errant Venture—that's a massive job! I'm not even mentioning the Acclamators and Venators that Grand Admiral Thrawn also ordered modernized to meet his armament requirements. So, next month, the shipyard is mine! That's not up for discussion!
— Shipbuilder Reyes, — Felix smiled. — As I recall, the last two ships are in a state where repair work can be done at the fitting-out wall. Same goes for bringing the former Red Gauntlet, captured by Thrawn at Honoghr, back into service. The Clone Wars-era ships are handling equipment transport, so they can't even claim repair docks right now.
— But there are the escort frigates, which...
— Are also on escort duty, — Nick reminded him. — They're covering the Star Galleons, if you haven't forgotten.
— Speaking of which—yes, — Moff Ferrus chimed in. — As I recall, Chief Engineer Reyes, you oversaw the modernization projects for the Nebulon-Bs? And the rearmament project for my flagship, a Neutron Star-class cruiser. And the repair of one of those Nebulons—that was your work too. And how could I forget—you designed and assembled cloaking systems for the Golan-type orbital defense station. The repair yard and hundreds of asteroids are cloaked thanks to your skills. I seem to recall you didn't use repair docks for that, did you?
Shipbuilder Zion huffed tensely.
— Are these hints, Moff Ferrus? — he asked, barely concealing his irritation.
— Not at all, my friend, — the upstart needed to be put in his place immediately. — Grand Admiral Thrawn set a clear work schedule for the ships at this yard. And the priority is the heavy cruisers. Steel Aurora and Sentinel can be completed in open space. They only need armor plating installed and structural reinforcement restored, right, Chief Engineer Reyes? — The emphasis on Nick was deliberate, appealing directly to the position Zion had highlighted, that ship repairs weren't his job. The priority ones, of course.
— That's right, — Nick confirmed. His demeanor showed that Zion grated on him intensely, but he didn't want to escalate into a confrontation—first, because it wouldn't achieve anything, and second, it wouldn't solve the problem. The shipbuilder wanted to work in the comfortable, fully equipped conditions he was used to. But unfortunately, that wasn't possible under the current circumstances.
— Are you ordering me to dismantle an Imperial-II-class Star Destroyer in the middle of open space? — Zion squinted his real eye. No, he and Reyes were definitely cut from the same cloth. And opposites attract, don't they? Two like-charged particles repel each other, right? Strange patterns of human life—people tied to technology for most of their lives start operating not by societal laws, but by the laws of physics.
— Both Death Stars were built in open space, — Nick pointed out.
— They had specialized equipment, — Zion brushed him off.
— We're not exactly lacking in that department either, — Moff Ferrus reminded him.
— Oh, yes, — the shipbuilder smirked. — Unless you've got a couple of ore processors lying around somewhere that can refine asteroids in orbit, extract the metals, and fabricate everything I need?
— The orbital production complexes can handle that just fine, — now Reyes was starting to get annoyed too.
— They're busy making your orders, — Zion shot back snidely. — Where are they going to find time for some Star Destroyers?
— Enough, — Ferrus couldn't let this spiral out of control. Otherwise, they'd think they could get away with it. — You're in the office of the sector moff! This isn't a market on Bimmisaari. If anyone's unhappy with the working conditions in our tight quarters, no one's keeping you here.
Zion swept the room with a regal gaze.
— You didn't hire me, and you're not the one to try getting rid of me.
— No one's trying, shipbuilder, — the moff said gently, hinting at the obvious facts. — I'm just saying that right now, Grand Admiral Thrawn has enough Star Destroyers. His wish is to increase the number of heavy cruisers.
— Sure, sure, — Zion smirked. — That's why we've patched them up so many times. No, my projects are more important. I'm on the verge of creating a brand-new Imperial-class Star Destroyer!
— "One hundred seventy thousand design flaws," version three, — Nick couldn't resist a jab at his professional pride.
— Is that the same project you're reworking the former Errant Venture for? — Felix addressed the shipbuilder but gave his friend a warning look. No need to escalate here.
— The very one, — Zion's artificial eye gleamed. — I've combined all your makeshift fixes, Thrawn's requests, Mon Calamari tinkering, and everything we've got on automation systems from Mon Cal, Imperial projects, and more. It'll be an Imperial Star Destroyer with heavy turbolasers in the lower hemisphere, anti-aircraft coverage in both upper and lower hemispheres, hangars, anti-fighter and anti-missile launchers protecting the bridge directly, extra pump generators for an expanded weapons array, additional deflector shield generators, and the main ones moved under armor...
Judging by how the shipbuilder rolled his one real eye, he was genuinely thrilled about what he was creating...
— Tell me more about that last part, — Felix requested.
— Exactly, — Nick said, intrigued. — As far as I recall, there was no talk of altering the bridge configuration or...
— New orders from the grand admiral, — Zion waved him off. — I don't know what prompted that decision, but I fully support it. This ship will be the perfect destroyer! It'll take all the power of the "two," bring back more anti-aircraft guns, plus the medium turbolasers from the "one," and added protection... Do you realize this destroyer will outclass all the others by a head? Two hundred deflector shield points—it's not a fantasy, it's a grounded reality! For every ship of this type, — the shipbuilder paused his verbal outpouring briefly. — It'll be a stunning upgrade...
— Except even rough estimates show energy demands that'll require increasing the hull size, — Nick said with unconcealed skepticism. — You'll need internal re-planning...
— That barbarian who owned the ship before already did a lot of that, — Zion chuckled. — Of course, we'll still need to cut down on living quarters...
Ferrus wasn't well-versed in technical details, but he was excellent at calculations—including internal space and the increased number of gunners needed to operate this upgraded arsenal.
Which he didn't hesitate to point out:
— And how much will the crew size increase? — he asked. A hundred new guns meant a hundred new people to train, equip, house... A Star Destroyer had plenty of spare internal space to reallocate, but...
Felix stopped short, noticing the sardonic smile on the shipbuilder's face.
— As I said, it'll be the perfect destroyer, — Zion said, not smugly, but with pride and a sense of superiority over others.
— The Hast shipyard modification? — Reyes jumped in.
— Pfft, a pitiful knockoff, — Ryan sneered. — No, gentlemen. I closely studied everything the Mon Calamari had to offer. And the dreadnought automation tech used on the Katana fleet's dreadnoughts. And the Imperial modifications of those ships. I've done better. We won't need thirty-seven thousand crew anymore. Even the twenty-something thousand the Mon Cal proposed is laughable.
— So, what crew reduction for Star Destroyers have you achieved, Shipbuilder Reyes? — Moff Ferrus asked tensely.
— Now our "Imperials," in my modification, can be operated by just fifteen thousand people, — Zion said with undisguised pride. — Automation of systems, which the Empire so neglected, is done. Three times the standard minimum crew—and an Imperial-III-class Star Destroyer will be fully combat-ready. With all the additional weaponry and equipment on board.
— That's just empty talk so far, — the chief engineer said heatedly. — Nothing more!
Ferrus could only agree. Fifteen thousand crew... For a Star Destroyer... It sounded too good to be true. But if it were, if half the shifts from one destroyer could be reassigned to others...
— You're mistaken, — Zion said with a sardonic smile. — Yes, I couldn't expand the hangar for more fighters as Thrawn asked, but I did something far better. I guarantee that once I'm done with the former Errant Venture, it'll be the best Star Destroyer in the Imperial line. That's why I'm asking you to cut back on your bantha fodder with the thirty heavy cruisers at the yard. By the end of this month, I'll deliver a fully repaired and repurposed ship.
One ship or three? That was the question. What did Thrawn really need more—one Star Destroyer or three heavy cruisers?
Felix gave his friend a scrutinizing look. Nick shook his head disapprovingly.
— Don't you dare push me to the back! — Zion growled. — We've got several destroyers floating in orbit that can't even move because they lack crew! If you kick my project out of the ORS-II grid, I'll go straight to Thrawn! And he'll definitely be interested in this!
— No one's stopping you from doing what you were hired for, Shipbuilder Zion, — Ferrus assured him. — Your claim just threw us off. Since the orders about which ships should join the fleet come directly from Thrawn, only he can change them...
— Then contact him! — the shipbuilder insisted. — Fine, I can handle repairs on his latest trophies, except the destroyers, without docking them... But the former Errant Venture stays put! And I'll need three or four more docks for other ships!
— Aren't you taking on a bit much, Mr. Shipbuilder? — Nick asked, politely, almost sickeningly so. — You're fixated on these destroyer upgrades as if they're the only thing that matters. We've got a ton of ships that need repairs or modernization.
— A Star Destroyer is the backbone of the fleet! — the shipbuilder snapped, getting worked up. — You can tinker with your relics all you want, but destroyers...
— I don't give a damn about your destroyers! — Nick exploded.
— Sit down, Zion! — Ferrus barked. He shot a glare at the smirking Reyes, so eloquent that his old friend opted to shut up.
The Morshdine sector moff rarely lost his temper. But when he did, he punished mercilessly. So it wouldn't happen again.
— You're both like little children, — he roared. — I don't care what you think of each other. Not one bit. Who's better or worse? I couldn't care less. And your opinions on ship priorities? None of my business. We're all working for the same sentient. And he gave an order—repair and modernize the ships. I'll provide you with everything you need. Thrawn and I don't give a damn how you do it, but within two months, everything— — he looked at the now-silent Nick, then shifted his gaze to Ryan. — I'll repeat for those whose engineering degrees let them act smug but shut off their brains and self-preservation: ALL SHIPS MUST BE REPAIRED! The ones drifting now, the ones yet to arrive, and the ones we don't even know about. How you split this Hutt-forsaken yard is up to you—I don't care. I'm not here to babysit two excellent specialists and keep you apart! Can't work together? Then I'll report to Thrawn that one of you is useless. Who that is—he can decide. Or whoever he delegates it to: his guardsman, bodyguard, or the lowliest ensign on the Chimaera. Clear?
The specialists, their red eye implants glinting, exchanged looks dripping with mutual disdain:
— I think, — Reyes said slowly, reluctantly, — it won't be a big issue if I give you six of the nine docks for the larger ships. You've got Avengers coming in for upgrades soon, so you'll need the best-equipped spots more... We don't have that much heavy work and...
— Let's make it simpler, — Zion grumbled, eyeing the still-fuming moff warily. — I suggest we hold an internal meeting, just the two of us, to figure out if it's really necessary for ships to stay in the docks constantly. If it's just about completion speed, as was rightly pointed out, that can be done outside. Say...
— Handle the external work in the docks with the specialized equipment, then move the ships to orbit for internal finishing and tuning? — Reyes suggested. — That way, the crews and techs won't have to work in suits and...
Ferrus felt himself starting to lose it.
— Stand up! — he barked. The military specialists instinctively obeyed. — About-face! March out and discuss whatever you want out there. And from now on, — both men paused by the door, — you'll submit all your reports to me on chips. Clearly, you don't have time for face-to-face meetings. That's all, gentlemen!
After both specialists left his office, the moff spent a few more minutes staring irritably at the closed door.
Military specialists... Completely out of line! Their egos are crushing their brains. No, he needed to talk to Thrawn urgently—if his reprimand didn't stick. It was a shame two more repair yards were lost; otherwise, he could've easily given Nick two docks from the Katana fleet for ship restoration and left Zion with ORS-II. They could've done what they needed without crossing paths...
The moff sank into his chair, mulling over a wild idea that had struck him.
Were the orbital stations and repair yards really lost?
Obviously, the grand admiral either didn't show emotion or barely did. But losing so much... He hadn't even reacted. On the contrary—he'd spirited away ninety heavy cruisers somewhere. And hauled off all the equipment and components needed for their repair and upgrades on captured GR-75 transports. The official reason? So a potential enemy couldn't detect them or gauge the fleet's full size. Supposedly, they'd be secretly modernized there... But even that wasn't from Thrawn himself—just vague explanations from the Chimaera's captain, Pellaeon. And Pellaeon was the grand admiral's favorite... Could the commander be playing a double game?
Sure, why not? He'd stashed ninety heavy ships and all the gear to fix them, and that was that—repairing them with fleet specialists. He had the modernization blueprints, after all...
Though, considering Tangrene's first line of defense—hundreds of cloaked asteroids orbiting the planet at a distance of one hundred to one hundred ten units from high orbit—it was, to put it mildly, an odd choice. He could've just as easily tucked the ships under ORS-II's cloaking field or kept them at a distant system point with minimal power usage—in stealth mode. Without active sensors, spotting ships in that state would be pure chance...
Hmm...
Felix pondered.
What if Thrawn, in his usual style, had simply taken the captured orbital repair yards and defense stations? Moved them to another system, setting up a repair base there. Protected by those "lost" orbital stations. And the Steel Aurora's crew had been reassigned somewhere...
Bits and pieces of information that, when pieced together, formed a complete picture.
Thrawn had set up a reserve base. Why? Hutt knows.
The commander didn't have to report his actions to a moff. It was enough that he'd handed over a fleet large enough to conquer an entire sector if desired.
Did it make sense to tell the grand admiral that he, Felix, had figured out his little trick? No, no need.
He'd never heard of Thrawn betraying allies. So if he was doing something, he clearly saw it as a noble endeavor that too many sentients shouldn't know about. And those who figured it out had better keep quiet.
Not for Thrawn's sake—for their alliance.
But the idea of talking to the grand admiral about transferring Reyes and all the dreadnoughts to the repair yards wouldn't let Felix go. Why not? No random starships ever showed up in the Tangrene system. So there was no point keeping the Katana fleet dreadnoughts here. The forces already present were enough to defend Tangrene and the sector.
Neutron Star, a pair of Carracks, four Strikes (yes, some damaged from Honoghr, but minor), an Immobilizer-418, thirteen Tartans, seven Nebulons, two strike frigates, three dozen Star Galleons, fourteen Venators and Acclamators (combined, of course). Plus the ships here under repair or awaiting crew assignment—SIX Star Destroyers with minimal staffing... Oh, in years past, he'd have sold his soul to the Ubiqtorate for six destroyers under his command. But now... Why did he need such a massive fleet?! Let the destroyers follow Thrawn's orders; the ships directly under the moff's command were enough for sector defense and patrol.
Not to mention over fifty armed freighters—"wolf packs"—though those were tied to Makem Te... And soon five Avengers would arrive, adding even more ships...
Why keep those one hundred four dreadnoughts here? Thirty were already modernized and being outfitted...
No, too many ships in one system. He'd already used them to haul a ton of outdated equipment to the planet. And that could become an issue—he was running out of storage space.
Since Thrawn had decided his caution meant dealing with Pellaeon instead of him directly, it was time to call the Chimaera's commander and suggest he remove the "excess" ships from Tangrene. Say, because they were clogging up traffic for transporting outdated gear.
Hmm... And he could "offload" Nick away from Zion. The latter wanted a shipyard, didn't he? Let him command ORS-II then. Thrawn had piled tasks on the shipbuilder "to the brim," so let him handle them fully. That way, both specialists would stay busy. And stop acting like a sarlacc and a rancor fighting over a bantha herd. Felix hadn't noticed Reyes reacting so bitterly to others' success before. Clearly, his friend had gotten a bit too comfortable under the direct command of the Morshdine sector governor... So let him go where Thrawn was keeping the dreadnoughts. And work. The Empire had lost too much to infighting among its servants and military. They didn't need that continuing under Thrawn.
Especially if Zion was right and his Imperial-III project was truly worthwhile... Hutt, even if he'd just managed to cut the crew needed for a fully operational destroyer by more than half—that was a stroke of luck! Thrawn could free up a huge number of crew members, put every Star Destroyer and most dreadnoughts into service...
***
The steady hum of machinery and crew working on the Chimaera's bridge was interrupted by Captain Pellaeon's footsteps as he approached my chair with yet another report.
— Abyssal Fury arrived right on schedule, and Captain Stormaer is requesting a position in the formation, — the flagship Star Destroyer's commander said. — The ship's in full combat readiness, no damage or losses to crew or equipment.
— Excellent, — I smiled. — So, almost everyone's here. Assign Abyssal Fury a spot as Inexorable's wingman.
— Want to give Captain Mor a second chance to prove his leadership skills? — Gilad caught my intent on the fly.
— Precisely, Captain, — I nodded, glancing at the tactical display. Chimaera drifted beyond the inhabited space of the Karthakk sector alongside Inexorable, Abyssal Fury, Relentless, and Stormhawk. A bit farther off were two of our Interdictor-class Star Destroyers, plus Immobilizer-418-class cruiser interdictors: Black Asp and Constrainer, recalled from the Chasin system. The formation's inner perimeter was secured by two dozen CR90-type Corellian corvettes and Crusader-2s. A fine squadron.
Bristling with on-duty squadrons and deploying probe droids, the five Star Destroyers awaited their final "comrade" before setting off. To eliminate an annoying obstacle in their path. Was it overkill—six Star Destroyers alone sent against a handful of pirate dens? The operation against pirates in the Karthakk system would involve thirty-two warships total. Was that too much?
No, not much, considering we were storming a pirate haven that had never been taken before. Even if the intel was accurate and the pirates opposing us only had ramshackle fleets, their forces were enough to lock down the system and prevent any enemy ship from escaping.
— Moff Ferrus contacted me a few minutes ago, sir, — Pellaeon said, hesitating.
— Surely it was something important, — I concluded.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon confirmed. — Shipbuilder Zion claims he's developed a concept for a new Star Destroyer.
— With all due respect to him, — I said, — we don't have enough spare resources or supply chains to build our own starships. Otherwise, I wouldn't have ordered us to squeeze every bit of potential from existing configurations or hunt down Imperial Star Destroyers captured by the New Republic.
— I said exactly that, sir, — Gilad replied. — But according to the moff, Zion found a way to significantly upgrade the Imperials we already have. Down to cutting the required crew from thirty-seven thousand to fifteen thousand.
— How intriguing, — I fixed Pellaeon with a stare. Fifteen thousand! That meant one current destroyer crew could staff two such ships, plus equip three dreadnoughts and still have enough for a few Corellian corvettes. A goldmine! — After we wrap up the operation in the Karthakk system and deal with Captain Nym's pirates, we'll revisit this. For now, Zion has Booster Terrik's former destroyer for his experiments. That's enough to test his ideas' viability.
I might've been overly optimistic about Zion's claims. It's hard to judge his qualifications yet—we'll see. He wants to build a Star Destroyer with every feature I need—no problem, we've got a red "test stand" for that. That ship wasn't just nearly disarmed by the New Republic—it took a beating at Rugosa too. And when upgrades came up... Why mess with fully crewed, high-performing ships when we've got one already "roughed up by life"?
— I'm sure that's not all the moff wanted to tell you, — I said, knowing Ferrus's nature: either report something urgent and critical or dump a pile of routine updates.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon confirmed my observation. — He has some suggestions. Or rather, requests.
— And what might those be? — I asked.
— Withdraw the repaired and minimally crewed Star Destroyers, along with all other ships assigned to the active fleet—meaning under your command—since they're interfering with transports moving cargo from the military depot. He also suggests transferring Chief Engineer Reyes from Tangrene to oversee the dreadnoughts' completion.
— What a veiled way of signaling he's onto our backup base, — a smile played on my lips.
— Sorry, I didn't quite catch that...
— Moff Ferrus has proven he's no fool but a sharp-minded man, — I explained. — He's finally pieced together the clues I left and concluded that the equipment from the Hast yards isn't lost—it's been relocated.
— Oh, that, — Pellaeon nodded in understanding. — And... what should I tell him?
— Nothing, Captain, — I sighed. — What's the point of moving ships from Tangrene to Susevfi right now when we're one step away from securing an excellent base in the Lok system? Once we deal with this obstacle, we'll use that system to set up our repair base.
— Like Linuri, it'll practically be in the New Republic's backyard, — Pellaeon realized. — Or rather, close to its southern and eastern borders.
— Exactly, Captain, — I confirmed. — According to Captain Tiberos's reports, the system has plenty of abandoned space stations, derelict objects, and planets with notable histories. Right now, the Karthakk sector is outside the New Republic's jurisdiction. It's a haven for pirates and bandits. When the time comes to strike, no one in the New Republic will react fast enough.
— Taking this pirate nest could take a while, — Pellaeon noted.
— Depends on how we approach it, — I countered. — We have enough data to neutralize every pirate gang in the system and seize their assets.
— I understand, sir, — the Chimaera's commander said, — but a prolonged delay in the Karthakk system could disrupt Operation Crimson Dawn.
— That's exactly why we're currently using all available wolf pack reserves and hired privateers to prevent the Fourth Fleet from reinforcing, — I pointed out. — We've secured the time buffer we need.
— But Skywalker's about to arrive at Garm Bel Iblis's base, — Pellaeon reminded me.
— And we'll know the moment he does, thanks to the tracker hidden in his young Jedi's droid, — I explained. — The ship that picked Skywalker up from New Cov is still moving, making what seem like random jumps.
— "Seem like"?
— At each hyperspace exit, they linger for no more than thirty minutes, — I elaborated. — Enough time to check if anyone's following their vector and calculate the next jump using the dreadnought's onboard computers.
— Their stop over two days ago lasted five hours, — Gilad reminded me. — Near the Naboo system.
— Correct, — I confirmed.
— Then it doesn't fit your theory, Grand Admiral.
— Indeed, — I agreed again.
— So... maybe they did stop at their base and then kept covering their tracks? — the Chimaera's commander speculated.
— Captain, how long does it take to release one ship from a hold? — I asked.
— Ahem... — Gilad hesitated. — Five to ten minutes, tops.
— But not five hours, right?
— Of course not.
— So, thirty standard minutes to check for a tail, ten more to unload the Bothan starship from the dreadnought's hold. I'm sure their commander has preemptive thinking skills, so they'd shake any potential pursuers well before any chase could start. Plus, they guard their base's location effectively enough that there's no need for decoy jumps. No, our Corellian troublemakers exited hyperspace outside the Naboo system and its New Republic base's detection range, sent a ship to the planet, picked someone up in Theed, and are now heading to their base together. They'll make one or two control route changes along the way.
Pellaeon fell silent, mulling over his response.
— Why are you sure they're picking someone up from Theed on Naboo?
— Because Captain Hoffner's been there since we recruited him, running a small antique shop, trying to contact Senator Garm Bel Iblis's group, — I explained. — For now, it's just a strong hunch based on facts that are too coincidental to be random.
— Considering Bel Iblis's ships haven't been spotted in this galactic region before, yeah, it could be, — Pellaeon agreed. — But shouldn't we send a team to check? Maybe this is a case for playing it safe. Or contact Captain Hoffner...
— In the latter case, if Hoffner's captured, his comm devices are surely in Bel Iblis's hands, — I debunked the idea. — But you're absolutely right, Captain. Checking Hoffner's shop is necessary either way.
— Should I send scouts there? — Pellaeon asked eagerly.
— No need, — I said. — It was done thirty-six hours ago. As I suspected right after their stop was detected—Hoffner's gone, and the shop's closed. Though it was never that popular anyway.
— Because you ordered us not to sell artifacts from Mount Tantiss through it, — Pellaeon reminded me of my orders before Operation Crimson Dawn began. — Despite wanting the opposite.
— War changes plans, Captain, — I noted. — When I ordered the sale of artifacts and art, we had financial issues. Now we don't. Selling items Palpatine acquired—rare, culturally significant to peoples they were taken from or gifted to him during his reign—isn't wise.
— Want to study them first? — Pellaeon clarified.
— Among other things, — I agreed. — They could also serve as more than funding—a pretext for meetings with those peoples' governments.
— And selling them could be risky right now, — Pellaeon blurted out. — Palpatine surely knows what was in his "stash" on Wayland. If his agents spot them on the open market or at auctions, they could trace our dealers...
— That's not to be ruled out either, — I agreed. — But, Captain, do you really think an Emperor who planned his return—otherwise his allies wouldn't have been recalled to Byss after his death—didn't take steps to retrieve what he needed from Wayland? No, Captain. What's left there is "trash" to him. A bone tossed to whoever finds that vault and can use it against the Empire.
— Maybe the agents he sent to the planet were ordered to evacuate the cultural treasures, — Gilad persisted. — But C'baoth stopped them.
— Good point, — I acknowledged. — How many agents do you think had to die at the hands of that mad clone before it dawned on Palpatine, or whoever sent them in his name, that a small team couldn't handle it? From Captain Schneider's encounter with the Emperor's ships in the Vjun system, we know he can deploy ships from the Deep Core. The conclusion's clear—Palpatine abandoned Wayland as a handout. Whatever he has on Byss, the Wayland treasury doesn't interest him anymore. At least not enough to bother with now. You said thirty dreadnoughts on Tangrene have finished their upgrades?
— That's what Moff Ferrus reported, — Pellaeon had initially struggled when I switched topics mid-conversation, but he'd adapted. — Should I order them moved to us?
— No need, Captain, — I said. — We have enough forces here to take on even a New Republic sector fleet and win. No point stirring up the Karthakk sector with frequent Imperial comm traffic. I'm certain the pirates have specialists in every system who can track even encrypted messages. They can't decode them—our ciphers are new and unused—but there's no need to risk it. Still, those ships need their effectiveness tested. Their current combat assignment?
— Moff Ferrus said he's using them to guard transport convoys moving military cargo from the depot on planetoid RZ7-6113-23.
— Along with the nine Acclamator-class cruisers and four Venator-class Star Destroyers he has, — I added.
— Exactly, sir, — Pellaeon confirmed. — ORS-II is currently tied up repairing damaged ships and upgrading our Victories. Work on the five Avengers we got from Grand Moff Kaine will start soon too. So, using the Acclamators' cargo capacity and the Venators' spacious hangars alongside the Star Galleons is the best use of his resources. I'm sure if he had more crew for four of the six Star Destroyers at Tangrene, he'd deploy them too. Nearly empty Star Destroyers are a ton of wasted space.
— In that case, — I looked at Captain Pellaeon, — why isn't he using them?
Gilad blinked.
— But you didn't assign those ships to his command...
— Under the circumstances, using any available means to quickly extract everything from the RZ7-6113-23 base is logical, — I noted. — The moff should show more initiative in his duties. Or consult you.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon said, flustered. — Send a courier to him?
A suggestion mindful of my earlier comment about maintaining secrecy.
— Please do, — I requested. — Standard method—modified civilian ship from our hangars and a trusted operative. Tell the moff we'll contact him ourselves. Further comms only in emergencies.
— Will be done, sir, — Pellaeon reported. After a pause, he added:
— What'll we do with all that weaponry? There's a ton of Actis, Nimbus, Torrent fighters... And that's just the ones in top shape.
— Soon, the Colicoid Swarm and Black Pearl will run out of Vulture-class droid fighters, — I said. — We don't have factories to make more. But we've got plenty of outdated gear. I'm sure Shipbuilder Zion, once he stops wasting effort proving his superiority over Chief Engineer Reyes, can figure out how to maximize those machines' design features for upgrades. Plus, we need forces to patrol and secure our controlled planets. We can't spare Imperial tech for every base or outpost—not until we control its production lines. The TIE-series gear in our reserves is needed for active and soon-to-be-active warships. But the outdated ships can easily be leased or otherwise handed to privateers and wolf packs operating under our banner. Eventually, I plan to use those forces as official fleet auxiliaries.
— Pirates don't like being boxed into rules and put on official duty, — Pellaeon remarked. — Some'll probably leave.
— We shouldn't care what they like, — I said. — Those who join the auxiliaries get to keep operating. The rest will be wiped out. Captain Nym's pirates will be great practice for that. Then, when the time comes, we'll expand the anti-pirate campaign across the Karthakk sector. Since most pirate and bandit gear isn't exactly modern, our upgraded outdated ships will serve peripheral garrisons and outposts. When we get the chance, we'll rearm those forces with newer models.
— Speaking of Nym, he's got production lines for Scurrg H-6 bombers, — Pellaeon reminded me. — And you've tasked the Predatory Birds with recon.
— Hyenas run out too, — I noted. — We'll compare Nym's tech and SoroSuub's designs with our TIE bombers and developing Scimitars. I'm sure Predatory Birds won't be necessary if we have TIE-series production. But their lines could help the Scimitar project. We'll need to soberly assess our projects and production capacity to pick the best ships for the fleet and auxiliaries. The rest... we'll find a use for. Just like the worlds in the Karthakk system.
— On that note, sir, — Pellaeon perked up. — The second planet from the local star is Maramere. A water-covered world with rocky outcrops poking through. Per the report from the first wave of recon droids, it's home to sentients.
— The Mere race, — I nodded. — Amphibious sentients who build surface cities among the rocks. They're fairly peaceful, preferring to submit and cooperate with pirates.
Pellaeon eyed me suspiciously.
— You've got samples of their art?
— I've got data from our info raid on Obroa-skai, — I clarified. — Unfortunately, there's a snag—we only got info on the northern and eastern galactic regions. The rest is still unknown. For now.
— Another strike on Obroa-skai? — Pellaeon asked.
— Not right now, — I said. — You were about to say something about the Mere, Captain.
— There's a legend among them about a kinsman they call the "ghost," — the Chimaera's commander explained. — I cross-checked the data and found this sentient's name. Unknown if he's alive now. But based on the description, he had a cloaking device for a starship.
My chair swiveled toward the captain.
— Explain, — I demanded. No illusions here—the galaxy's vast, and cloaking tech isn't rare; the Empire had about a dozen versions. But they were imperfect. Still, this is the second time I'm hearing about cloaking tech on pirate ships in the Karthakk system. First was Captain Tiberos's detailed account of a starfighter in Nym's gang—destroyed by Black Pearl's fire in the Monastery system. Now another.
— Just rumors, — Pellaeon faltered. — Allegedly, this Mere pirate, Sol Sixxa, had a ship with a cloaking device a couple of years before the First Battle of Geonosis, thirty-one years ago. It either made his ship fully invisible—to sensors and visually—or masked engine signatures to reduce detectability. The info's conflicting...
— Upon arrival in the Karthakk system, locate this pirate, Sol Sixxa, — I ordered. — Capture and interrogate him. I want to know what that cloaking device was, its capabilities, and where it is now.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon nodded, noting it on his datapad.
— Grand Admiral Thrawn, Captain Pellaeon! — a watch officer's voice cut in as he approached. Tschel again. But this time, his voice didn't waver or stammer. He's growing feathers. — Permission to report urgent information?
— Report, — I said.
— Another ship just exited hyperspace, — he said crisply. — Identified as a Star Destroyer, Imperial-I-class, — he held out his tablet screen toward me, angled so Gilad could skim it too.
— Thank you, Lieutenant, — I returned the device. — The final participant's here. Thirty-minute readiness. Summon the commanders of all major ships, including the interdictor cruisers, to the Chimaera. They'll get separate orders. Tell our guest to take position at point three-seven-two. Dismissed, Lieutenant.
— Yes, sir, — Tschel vanished so fast that only his quick steps on the central platform lingered.
— What's that one doing here? — Pellaeon grimaced, not hiding his opinion of a certain peer as he watched the ship, a few hundred kilometers ahead of Chimaera's bow, gracefully maneuver into its assigned spot with sublight engines. The tactical screen's identifier marked another triangular silhouette. A label flashed: "Imperial-I-class Star Destroyer, Imperious."
— When you're dealing with pests, — I said calmly, — you call an exterminator. Captain Erik Shohashi is the best of them.
Gilad didn't argue.
The "Butcher of Atoan"'s reputation spoke for itself.
***
— Void Wanderer, — the Bilbringji shipyard dispatcher's voice crackled over the bridge. — Military command calling.
Captain Abyss felt sweat bead on his forehead. Licking his lips, he glanced at his crew, frozen at their stations in uncertainty.
The part of it still on board.
— Everyone, back to your tasks, — he ordered. The watch crew hesitated for a split second before bending over their consoles.
— Captain Abyss here, — he switched to the frequency of the calling Imperials. — How can I assist?
— Activate the holoprojector, Captain, — instead of General Drost's voice, which he'd hoped for, the Star Destroyer commander heard a more commanding, no-nonsense tone. — Immediately!
Abyss approached the terminal and switched the channel from audio to holo.
A white-and-blue 3D projection of a man with a command bar stared at him... His insides knotted tight.
Imperial Security Bureau. Once a standalone state entity, a power structure, now part of Imperial Intelligence, tasked with rooting out internal enemies and enemy spies. This was bad.
Though, it'd been bad from the start.
— How can I assist? — he repeated innocently.
— Cease your current test operations at once, — the unnamed ISB officer demanded. — Return to the pier and prepare for inspection.
"Hope the hologram doesn't show my forehead drenched in sweat," Abyss thought.
— I'm conducting a test program coordinated with General Drost, — he stated, fully aware the ISB knew this. But playing dumb could buy time for the Star Destroyer to reach the outer perimeter and slip past the firing arcs of the Golan-II orbital defense stations. And from there...
Getting past the perimeter was key. To speed up turbolaser installation and internal work, they'd sacrificed connecting and tuning the deflector shield generators. They were there... but just two useless metal "spheres." Right now, Void Wanderer's armored hull was its only defense against the turbolaser barrage and proton torpedoes the perimeter stations could unleash.
— I gave you a direct order, Captain! — the ISB "face" growled.
— What's going on? — a hologram of the shipyard's military commandant appeared beside him. Abyss froze. What the Hutt?! He was supposed to be on a shuttle heading here, comms offline so no one could track him! What was he doing at the yards?! — Why's the ISB meddling in the Star Destroyer's test program?
— Don't interfere with my work, General, — the ISB officer hissed venomously. — There are people aboard Void Wanderer who don't belong there! While over twenty thousand crew didn't even know trials were scheduled and are sitting in barracks!
— I'm aware Void Wanderer launched for trials without a full crew, — Drost feigned irritation. — That's standard for a first run and...
— What kind of show are you putting on here? — the ISB agent exploded. — There are two hundred Bilbringji shipyard workers on that ship! Is that "standard practice" too, General?! What do you say, Captain!?
Abyss cursed inwardly. How'd they find out?! On paper, those workers were assigned to a remote dock with some Clone Wars relics gathering dust. Delivered in total secrecy...
— Since when is the ISB an expert in ship acceptance for the treasury? — Drost snapped, playing outraged. — Void Wanderer is the first Star Destroyer built in ages, staffed with young specialists. I ordered an emergency shipyard team on board to handle malfunctions and equipment failures. That's why there's no full crew...
— And that's why the ship's carrying extra components and one-and-a-half times the standard spare parts? — the ISB officer bared his teeth.
— I don't know what you're babbling about, — Abyss realized this was the end for Drost. No one—except maybe grand admirals or the Empire's top brass—could speak so dismissively to ISB operatives. They were touchy, paranoid types who knew how to take down moffs, administrators, generals, and admirals like it was routine. — Captain Abyss, are there excess parts on your ship?
— No, sir, — he feigned surprise as convincingly as possible. — Just the minimum kit for field repairs of core systems...
— So that's how it is, — the ISB hologram gritted his teeth. — You too, then... Captain! I order you to stop the ship!
— With all due respect...
— What are you doing?! I'll take this to the Ubiqtorate—you're disrupting my yards' delivery trials!
— So, both of you, — the ISB officer said cryptically. Drost's hologram vanished without explanation. — Last chance, Captain Abyss. Return the destroyer.
— I won't follow ISB orders until General Drost's trial orders are rescinded, — Abyss said, bracing for the worst. His friend's hologram disappearing might mean nothing, but... With the ISB, hope took a backseat. If something bad could happen, it would.
— General Drost has been relieved of command, — the ISB officer said. — His shuttle's being stormed by my troops right now.
— By whose authority? — Abyss asked, going cold. Yes, the worst had happened.
He glanced subtly at the tactical monitor. Two minutes until Void Wanderer aligned with the two nearest orbital defense stations. Five more to clear the planet's gravity shadow. Then they could jump.
— Mine! — the ISB agent barked. — Why are two hundred shipyard workers on your ship?
— To fix issues that might crop up during trials, — he recited the prepared answer. Good thing this idiot was feeding him cues. — May I know why General Drost was detained?
— Treason, — the ISB officer spat. — And you're suspected of complicity.
— Interesting, how so? — Abyss asked. He felt awful for the general. Terribly so. But he'd known the risks of covering their desertion. Still, maybe he'd get off...? Who was he kidding? Drost had signed orders letting crew families—over fifteen thousand people—board a liner running a parallel course, including those Abyss deemed loyal. Good thing most of the crew was young; random sentients didn't live on Bilbringji often, so it wasn't surprising some family members' disappearances caught the ISB's eye. They should've anticipated this, but... They'd done the impossible in such a short time—vetting the crew for disloyalty. Checking families too would've delayed them past the ship's handover. And if the ISB had sniffed out (which it surely had) that he and his men had voiced support for joining Thrawn, they'd have been arrested or removed from the ship outright. No chance of reaching Thrawn later—Imperial Space's recruitment posts had vanished overnight. What happened to those tight-lipped recruiters was anyone's guess.
— Last warning, Captain, — the ISB officer said. — I know you're smuggling out your families. Their ship's in our sights. So's yours. We know your crew's sentiments—all of them! You can still back off—take a formal reprimand and rot on some backwater commanding an ancient tub. But you and your kin will live!
Abyss checked the monitor. One minute until they cleared planetary gravity. From the right pit, the targeting systems operator gestured wildly—dozens of turbolasers and torpedo launchers were locked on them. Same with the liner. Except it was held in a tractor beam by the Star Destroyer Red Dragon.
The Ubiqtorate fleet's flagship. A "two" that could obliterate the liner in one salvo...
— If you do this, — Abyss said, voice not his own, — you'll only prove we're right. We're not traitors or deserters. We want to serve a just cause, fight the enemy...
— You must obey orders! — the ISB agent screeched. — Return the destroyer now!
Abyss looked into the stunned watch crew's eyes. How many had families on that liner—wives, kids, parents—they were set to rendezvous with in a couple of jumps? The very people now in danger—the danger he and his crew had wanted to shield them from.
Did they realize there was no going back aboard Void Wanderer? The ISB would promise anything to reclaim the destroyer.
— I need to discuss this with the crew, — he said. No choice—this wasn't a war where they had to die for their beliefs. Their loved ones shouldn't suffer for their whims.
— Surrender the ship, you filthy...
Abyss muted the speaker and microphone on the hologram. Then activated the shipwide intercom.
— An Imperial Intelligence ship has locked onto and targeted the liner with our families, — he said. — If we leave, they'll kill them. They're lying that surrendering the destroyer will spare us reprisals and...
Suddenly, the watch crew's faces went pale. Then flared with rage and fury.
The last thing he saw on the tactical screen before a turbolaser volley fried the external comms and defenses, blackening Void Wanderer's superstructure—was the liner's marker vanishing.
A young ensign beat him to it, rushing to the viewport.
Then Void Wanderer shuddered under a second salvo. The emergency siren wailed.
— They blew it up! — the ensign sobbed. — The liner's gone!
Abyss felt his body go numb.
He looked at the hologram. Restored the audio and mic.
— You made a big mistake, — he said, staring at the ISB officer, memorizing every feature.
— Surrender the ship and...
— Too late, — Abyss rasped. — By killing our loved ones, you made a huge mistake. And you'll pay for it!
Smashing the projection plate with his fist, the Star Destroyer commander staggered but stayed upright, roaring:
— We're leaving! Set course for Tangrene!
A second later, Void Wanderer vanished into hyperspace.