He was cleaning his gear when the intercom call came through.
— TNX-0333, report to the company command post, present yourself to Sergeant TNX-0297, — a voice crackled from the barracks speaker.
No one repeated the order — a stormtrooper hears it the first time.
The stormtrooper set aside the chest plate, its pristine white surface marred by blaster scorches he'd been scrubbing. Stowing the cleaning kit in his locker, along with the armor pieces needing repair, TNX-0333 attached fresh components to his underarmor suit, ensuring compliance with uniform regulations.
With a deft, almost juggling motion, he donned his helmet. The visor's icons and computer system flickered to life as usual.
Per standing orders and regulations, carrying weapons while moving within a stationary base was prohibited unless otherwise directed.
Many clone stormtroopers from the GeNod project felt naked without their blaster rifles. An unsettling feeling. Helpless. Wrong.
TNX-0333, like over three thousand other clones in this enhanced Stormtrooper Corps program, was among the finest stormtroopers at Grand Admiral Thrawn's disposal. This wasn't boasting — it was statistical fact.
More missions completed, minimal losses, highest enemy elimination rates. Simple truths.
TNX-0333 traversed the corridor to the designated room and stepped inside.
Each of Grand Admiral Thrawn's star destroyers housed its own legion of stormtroopers. On Tangrene, fifteen ground bases supported these legions, though only a few currently served as prisoner holds. The rest were assigned to individual legions. They rarely stayed long — only when starships underwent extended repairs, requiring the offloading of excess personnel, military vehicles, and stormtroopers.
The 501st Legion, like other similar units, had only one battalion of GeNod clone stormtroopers. And this battalion almost never suffered losses. Because they were the best. Something to take pride in.
— Sergeant TNX-0297, Private TNX-0333 reporting as ordered, — the stormtrooper announced, recognizing the familiar face of the sergeant from the Fourth Squad. His squad. Then he noticed a shadow detach from a dark corner near the sergeant, taking on human form with an officer's command insignia on its chest. — Sir.
The unit commander stood beside a man in a naval uniform, his command insignia marking him as a major. TNX-0333 knew this major well.
TR-889. Rumors swirled that he had a name and surname. Perhaps he did. Stormtroopers didn't care — they had names. And knowledge from their donor. If a private stormtrooper remembered their name and past after training on Carida, it meant they were poorly prepared. Once you donned plastoid stormtrooper armor, you ceased to be who you were. You became a stormtrooper. Your serial number was your future. Until the end.
But commanders, it seemed, were allowed names. Or maybe the non-clone stormtroopers of the 501st were less forthcoming with the GeNod clones.
Commander of the Rancor Battalion, composed entirely of GeNod clones.
— Is this him? — the major asked the sergeant gruffly.
— Yes, sir, — TNX-0297 replied. Though standing helmetless before the battalion commander, TNX-0333 detected no sign of unease. Not that it meant much — TNX-0297 was practically a perfected copy of Colonel Selid. A true stormtrooper. — The second one died during the ground operation on Lok: a fuel canister explosion.
— TNX-0333, — the major turned to him. — Did you use flamethrowers during operations in the Karthakk system and the Honoghr system?
— Yes, sir! — the stormtrooper replied.
— Have you continued working with flamethrowers?
— No, sir.
— Have you studied additional tactics for flamethrower use? — the major pressed.
— Yes, sir, — the stormtrooper answered truthfully. A Stormtrooper Corps soldier never lies to their commander.
— Elaborate, Private. You're free to speak openly.
— I spoke with two Kaminoan clones, sir, from another battalion, the Sarlacc Battalion, — TNX-0333 explained. — They were former flamethrower specialists. The Fourth Squad saved their lives during an assault on the Hast shipyards.
— The squad that was surrounded, sir, — TNX-0297 clarified when the major glanced at him. — TNX-0333 was among those covering the wounded.
— Understood, — the Rancor Battalion commander's heavy gaze returned to the private. — I need those clones' numbers, Private.
The stormtrooper provided them. A stormtrooper doesn't lie or evade a commander's questions.
— Find those soldiers, Sergeant, — TR-889 ordered. — I'll contact the Sarlacc Battalion commander and Grand Admiral Thrawn. I'm confident he'll support the proposal to revive this Stormtrooper Corps unit. Your initiative, Sergeant, deserves to be heard. TNX-0333, — the private listened silently. — Return to the Fourth Squad's quarters and await further orders.
— Yes, sir, — the clone replied. Catching the sergeant's nod, he followed him out of the command post.
In the corridor, Sergeant TNX-0297 fell into step beside him, donned his helmet, and ordered:
— Upon returning to quarters, turn in your armor kits to the quartermaster, — he instructed.
— Yes, sir, — TNX-0333 responded calmly.
— Retrieve flamethrower-specialized stormtrooper armor kits, — the sergeant continued. — The equipment and new armor are at the quartermaster's seventh warehouse.
— Yes, sir, — for the first time since leaving the cloning cylinder, TNX-0333 felt something akin to pleasant surprise. "Flamethrower"? That was a rare stormtrooper specialization, centered on flamethrowers as the primary weapon. Blaster rifles, pistols, grenades — all became secondary to the heavy flamethrower unit, spewing flames dozens of meters ahead. Its heat could melt armor, construction materials, cremate sentients, and, if needed, vaporize a small pond.
TNX-0333 analyzed the major's and sergeant's words. TR-889 was satisfied with the flamethrowers' performance during target assaults. He likely planned to increase such units in the Stormtrooper Corps. But he couldn't make that call alone — altering permanent unit staffing required Corps leadership approval. Without it, only the grand admiral could decide without bureaucratic delays.
Judging by TNX-0297's confident tone, he had no doubts about the initiative's success. If so, the revival of flamethrower clones was assured. As was the restoration of other Corps specializations.
It would happen.
TNX-0333 reached the designated warehouse. Turning in old gear, collecting new — routine. The new armor looked much like standard stormtrooper gear, adorned only with red stripes and trim. But that was just the start. Its secrets were unknown to him, but they existed. They had to. He'd study this new equipment — because it would enhance his effectiveness.
Feeling the weight of the upgraded flamethrower stormtrooper armor, Private TNX-0333 adjusted it to his specifications and returned to the Fourth Squad's quarters.
Flamethrower Stormtrooper TNX-0333.
***
— Star Destroyer Relentless to Void Wanderer, — identify your affiliation and purpose in this system, — Captain Dorja's voice carried confidence tinged with laziness.
His ship was on patrol, awaiting its turn to navigate the beacon lane and slip under ORY-II's cloaking field. The destroyer had taken little damage during the Karthakk system sweep, needing only a few armor plates, one turret, two ion cannons, and three sensor clusters replaced. So Thrawn sent it to patrol, checking the positions of invisible asteroids tightly woven across Tangrene's ecliptic plane — the most likely hyperspace exit point for enemy ships. At least, this vector was the most common for those looking to "drop in" on Tangrene. It was also listed in galactic astrogation charts.
The crystal gravfield trap — a scanner capable of detecting and mapping those invisible rocks — had long been moved from the shipyard to an orbiting satellite, updating the asteroid field's layout daily to track their dynamics. No one wanted an unseen rock to drift off orbit and crash onto the planet. At best, it'd cause massive destruction. At worst... better not to imagine.
Dorja gave credit to the trap's creators. He suspected Thrawn's involvement.
Though undetectable by sensors when active, the cloaked asteroids still had mass and gravity, varying by size. Positioned across the system's entry vector, beyond planetary gravity, the stationary field of invisible asteroids created a massive gravitational shadow, disrupting navigation computers and prematurely dropping ships out of hyperspace. Yet no scanner could pinpoint the source or extent of the cloaked asteroids' gravity — except the crystal gravfield trap. Anyone unaware of the asteroid belt would proceed on sublight engines, stumbling into a trap that could spell their doom. Even knowing about the cloaked asteroids didn't help much — navigating an invisible barrier of unknown size was near impossible. Standard tactics for attacking planets with visible asteroid fields involved tedious calculations to jump beyond their gravity or blasting a path through with turbolasers. But with cloaked asteroids, you'd likely assume a gravity well generator was at play, creating an artificial no-hyperspace zone, and press forward. Straight into the trap.
And now, this dull patrol had just become far less simple.
An Imperial Star Destroyer, a Type I, clearly battle-worn. Either unfinished or... oh, stars above!
Dorja whistled as the destroyer banked, revealing its turret artillery — or rather, its absence. Burned to slag. Wherever this ship came from, it had taken a brutal beating.
— Dorja, is that you?! — a familiar voice crackled over the intercom, one he'd recently recalled as a potential recruit for Thrawn's side.
— Abyss? — Dorja gestured for the comm officer to route the message to his personal channel. Only now did it click. The puzzle fell into place. Abyss, commanding a star destroyer under construction at Bilbringi. Void Wanderer, whose identifier didn't match fleet records...
The Relentless's commander couldn't believe his eyes. THIS — scorched from bow to stern, riddled with breached compartments and shattered artillery — was the newest ship in Imperial Space?!
— Glad to hear a friendly voice, — came the reply, tinged with clear exhaustion. — Dorja, you're with Thrawn, right? Tell me you're with Thrawn!
Desperation laced the voice. Not panic, but the kind of desperation born from exhaustion, trauma, and hope that a single word could ease the strain.
— Abyss, — the Relentless's commander glanced at the tactical display. Jedi take you! They were kilometers apart, separated by invisible asteroids the battered destroyer was heading straight toward. — Reduce speed to minimal! Bank forty degrees starboard!
— Dorja! — a near-feral growl came through the comm. — Are you with Thrawn?!
— Captain Abyss, good to see you, — a new voice cut in. The Relentless's commander glanced at the tactical display: Chimaera, emerging from ORY-II's cloaking field, was moving toward them, toward the cloaked asteroids. Trailing it, escaping Tangrene's gravity, was a JV-7 shuttle used by the Supreme Commander. — This is Grand Admiral Thrawn. Cease your current course immediately and follow Captain Dorja's instructions!
— Yes, sir! — Relief flooded Abyss's voice. Void Wanderer began altering its trajectory, narrowly avoiding an invisible killer by mere dozens of meters — a microscopic distance by fleet standards. Dorja had just guided his friend onto the beacon lane that, with Tangrene's OCC support, would lead to the safe orbital zone of the fleet base.
But what had happened to the ship?
Unfortunately, Abyss couldn't explain — Thrawn had switched him to a private channel inaccessible to Dorja. That was... slightly unsettling.
As if sensing his thoughts, the comm crackled again, this time with the grand admiral's voice.
— Captain Dorja, — Thrawn spoke unusually quickly. — Adjust your disposition immediately. Facilitate Void Wanderer's swift passage through the lane, then ensure its protection and delivery to the orbital defense station's range.
— Sir, may I ask what's going on? — Dorja tensed.
Haste? In their own system? What nonsense was this?
Hundreds of cloaked asteroids, many large, and countless smaller ones the size of fighters... each packed with devastating payloads to compensate for their size.
— Execute the order, Captain Dorja, — Thrawn's tone brooked no argument. — Also, immediately deploy shuttles carrying Morrt Project buzz droids and position them along Void Wanderer's entry vector.
The Relentless's commander wasn't among the senior officers who interacted closely with the Supreme Commander. But he knew better than to argue with someone who clearly had reason for such orders. Thrawn was planning something. Likely an attack on whoever pursued Abyss and Void Wanderer. That meant they needed to hurry.
— Yes, sir, — he said briskly. — Crew, attention! Battle stations! Yellow alert. Move to coordinates two-nine-nine. Comm section, establish contact with Void Wanderer and relay telemetry for each lane segment! Load buzz droids onto shuttles seven, nine, and fourteen, and deploy to the designated coordinates! Execute!
Void Wanderer had to survive. Not just because Dorja's friend was on its bridge. But because Dorja wanted to see what kind of blow Thrawn planned to deal the Ubiqtorate.
Knowing the grand admiral's mindset and scale of thinking, Captain Dorja had no doubt something spectacularly destructive was coming.
***
Honestly, Sergius had dozed off, waiting for another day of watching the warehouse. Ungrateful enemies.
You sit, waiting for them to sneak in, and they just don't show...
Well, they did.
The coordinator, perched on a wide ceiling beam supporting the warehouse roof — spacious enough to lie on — heard the telltale chirp of his early-warning sensors through his earpiece. He'd set them up some time ago, just before donning a suit that shielded him from scans, including thermal. If you're setting an ambush, do it right — ensure you're not detected.
So, the guests had arrived.
Good. Time to see how turbolaser theft really worked. The Republic counterintelligence agent could think whatever he wanted and act as he pleased. But facts were facts — the New Republic, despite using Galactic Empire techniques in certain areas, lacked the experience to match.
That's why the counterintelligence officer who "recruited" Sergius never bothered to check the stash himself, to see if the thefts were happening right here. Somehow, sealed containers were being swapped out.
It didn't take Sergius much effort to piece together a likely picture of the turbolaser thefts. But assumptions were one thing — facts were another, and facts were stubborn.
Activating his night-vision goggles, the coordinator spotted a group of sentients moving from the emergency exit. Yup, the one the warehouse chief claimed hadn't been used in years, with a supposedly jammed lock.
Looks like that exit was an entrance for certain folks. Unobtrusive.
Sergius tracked their movements. Twenty, mostly humans. They navigated the warehouse's labeling and cargo layout with ease, moving confidently without bumping into containers or shelves. So, they knew the warehouse's plan and equipment placement well.
Not many could brief others on a secure military facility's layout. But, say, the warehouse chief and a customs officer could.
He spotted the pair almost immediately — a portly Twi'lek, his direct boss, and a pretty customs officer. But they weren't in their usual uniforms. Like their escorts, they wore work overalls. Identical to the ones Sergius wore undercover.
The coordinator nearly snorted with laughter.
The shop where he'd bought his work overalls? The customs officer had pointed it out. And they had plenty of that stock.
So, the first part of the scheme they'd pulled him into: plant a dimwitted offworlder at the right warehouse. Give him the same uniform the thieves used. Any fabric analysis from the scene would confirm the fibers matched Sergius's overalls.
A clean, well-planned frame job.
Now it was getting interesting.
The thieves, even without night-vision, using only flashlights, split up flawlessly across the warehouse, targeting three areas.
Massive containers with electrical and comm system repair kits.
Turbolaser components.
Deflector shield projectors.
All highly specialized military cargo. Available on the civilian market, sure, but stealing it — no cost involved — was far more profitable, right?
Despite the New Republic's lack of laws regulating military cargo trade — anyone could buy it — Sergius was certain every manufacturer and dealer was under Coruscant's intelligence watch. Surely the Republic's internal security wasn't that incompetent?
It made sense why criminals stole directly from military warehouses — cheap and low-profile. Any operation could be shut down, with all blame shifted to the hapless warehouse worker. Circumstantial evidence was clear.
Watching the thieves work was almost enjoyable.
What was the clever plan?
Simple.
They cracked open containers for electrical system spares. Emptied them, then stuffed in turbolaser and deflector parts. The electrical components were repacked into military gear containers, which the warehouse chief and customs officer then resealed "as before."
Sergius was almost smiling.
How did the warehouse chief have a copy of his worker's seal? Supposedly a unique coded tool. But clearly, the criminal world had no issue forging them — basic tech, just needed the original. For those long stealing from shipyard warehouses, finding such loopholes was no trouble.
The customs officer's seal was trickier — a strictly tracked electronic device. Forging one without notice was tough. So she was in on it.
The coordinator admired the scheme's simplicity and efficiency.
Swap container contents. Turbolaser and military gear crates go to transport ships, likely funneled through Bothan kickback schemes for unknown purposes. Meanwhile, "electrical" shipments pass customs and oversight with little scrutiny.
One question: how did the Republic counterintelligence agent who "recruited" Sergius know turbolasers weren't reaching the Bothans? Did they find electrical gear in weapons containers? Or did transport ships on "gray" routes to Bothans vanish halfway?
Logically — per records, turbolasers hit the warehouse, and official requests for electrical and weapons shipments came through. "Electrical" went one way, "weapons" another. Somewhere, raider ships intercepted, took the cargo, and destroyed the crew and vessels.
But that didn't quite align with the counterintelligence agent's claim that turbolasers weren't reaching Bothans and warehouse staff were involved.
Something was off. Likely deliberate misinformation.
The counterintelligence agent couldn't miss the gap between his story and reality.
If cargo vanished after loading and dispatch, why was counterintelligence eyeing the warehouses? There'd be no solid evidence of wrongdoing there.
Another option: turbolaser containers, loaded with electrical kits, reached the Bothans, who noticed the mismatch. So why hadn't law enforcement or counterintelligence stormed the warehouse to investigate?
Because Bothans were illegally taking turbolasers themselves? Possible. But that news was already public, quietly buried.
Sergius pondered as the criminals covered their tracks. A fascinating hypothesis about the operation's scale emerged.
— Shipment to the ships tomorrow at ten local time, — the customs officer told the warehouse chief. Her voice was low, but the warehouse's acoustics carried it. — Documents will hit the customs post thirty minutes prior.
— The idiot starts at eight, — the chief grunted. — Once you send the manifests, I'll have him load the right containers to the dispatch zone.
— Counterintelligence arrives in a few days at noon to plant trackers, — the customs officer said. — By then, all target containers must be gone. No traces.
— Stop talking to me like I'm a moron, — the chief snapped. — I'm not your Tanaab kid. You'd better handle the rumors about Bothan schemes and equipment leaks. We wouldn't have to pause and improvise otherwise.
— You're just scared, — the customs officer scoffed. Sergius already took it as fact that she wasn't as simple as she seemed. A skilled actor, manipulator, clearly the operation's leader... It smelled of professional tradecraft. He was starting to guess who she was.
— Scared? — the chief sneered. — When Han Solo shows up, we'd better ensure your Tanaab boy's confessed and shipped off to Kessel. Better yet, shot while escaping.
— Stop whining like a cheapskate, — she snapped. — We ditch this fool, and all loose ends are cut. Command ordered us to shift operations to other shipyards. We've taken enough here — enough for a couple dozen Keldabes. We'll work with other groups on Sallast, Fondor, Foerost, Kuat, Dac — anywhere, plenty of shipyards. They're not arming their ships yet — at least not until year's end.
— I don't like Coruscant sending a former smuggler, — the chief grumbled. — Han Solo... He's a sharp one. The scheme's so simple, without cover from above, we'd already be locked up.
— Crybaby, — the customs officer sneered. — I've done everything for you! Found the doll, set it up, pointed them at him. Should I deal with Han Solo too?!
— Defilers are getting soft lately, — the Twi'lek chuckled. — Hysterics... Back in the day...
— ...I'd gut you like a ku-pa, — the "customs officer" finished coldly. — Be glad you're still useful.
— We're useful together, — the chief reminded her. — Without me, command gets no gear. Without you, they can't do it quietly. We need each other...
— Go to a Hutt, — she cut him off. — Hey, you brainless grunts, — she barked at the workers finishing up, — hurry it up!
Sergius lay on his back along the wide metal beam supporting the roof. He lay there and smiled.
Because now, finally, the mystery of the missing military cargo made sense.
He lay there, smiling, waiting for the thieves to leave. After a while, he confirmed it was safe — his scattered sensors detected no further electronics. Sergius inspected the containers they'd tampered with. A one-in-ten chance it'd work, but why not?
He pulled out several Imperial-made trackers designed for hyperspace monitoring. Using a plasma torch, he carved slots in the containers' external stiffening ribs — the ones now holding turbolasers — hid the activated trackers inside, and sealed the marks with a paste that would blend with the metal in ten minutes. He returned the container to its place and kept working, marking each tampered crate.
It took hours, and he was exhausted — hauling containers weighing hundreds of kilos wasn't easy. He could've rested, but there was more to do.
The illegal supply chain had to be traced to its end.
Slipping out through a disabled ventilation shaft, Coordinator Bravo-2 left the ambush site and headed to a safehouse. Time to change and prepare to meet another player in this "fascinating scheme."
***
— Welcome to the bridge of the Chimaera, Commander Iblis, — greeted a blue-skinned non-human seated in a command chair, dressed in a pristine white uniform. His glowing red eyes studied the cosmic void ahead, as if something intriguing might appear.
But beyond the starry blackness, the only thing visible in the flagship star destroyer's path was two other destroyers. One seemed intact, the other looked like it had been through a meat grinder.
Black scorch marks marred its hull, with visible breaches, uprooted gun emplacements, and obliterated turret artillery. Smoke trailed behind it.
— Looks like one of your star destroyers took a beating, — Garm Bel Iblis remarked calmly. After his capture aboard the Peregrine's Nest, this was his first time seeing the enemy commander. He already sensed Thrawn hadn't summoned him without purpose. This non-human always pursued cryptic goals.
— Void Wanderer isn't part of my fleet, — the grand admiral stated. — It was promised to me by Imperial Space, but the Ubiqtorate and Imperial Ruling Council reconsidered our agreement. The ship's captain and part of its crew, however, decided otherwise.
— Sounds like things aren't so smooth within the Imperial Remnants, — Bel Iblis noted.
— Politics, internal and external, is a fickle thing, — Thrawn observed. — As is martial fortune. Void Wanderer escaped the Bilbringi system, where it was being built, but was intercepted by a Ubiqtorate fleet using an interdictor cruiser. They fought three enemy star destroyers, lost combat capability and part of their crew, but managed to flee. It took time to root out Imperial spies aboard who were guiding the Ubiqtorate to them. But I suspect the Ubiqtorate will continue hunting this ship.
— So you've got big problems with the Ubiqtorate? — Bel Iblis raised an eyebrow. — I thought they were still trying to hold the Imperial Remnants together and prevent further Imperial Civil War.
— I have no problems with the Ubiqtorate, — the grand admiral said. — But the reverse isn't true.
Meaning, "The Ubiqtorate has problems with me." An intriguing phrase, but... it clarified nothing. Why would the Ubiqtorate turn on the Empire's Supreme Commander?
Racial prejudice?
Thrawn betrayed the Empire?
The Ubiqtorate betrayed the Empire?
What was going on?
— What drives you, Commander Bel Iblis? — Thrawn asked suddenly.
— Pardon? — The Corellian's brows shot up.
— I want to know, Senator, what makes you wake each morning and hate the Empire? — the grand admiral clarified.
— Why do you care? — Bel Iblis tensed.
— I want to understand your motives, — Thrawn replied simply. — Every action prompts a reaction. Every deed has motivation. What motivates your fight against the Empire?
— You want to dissect me, — Bel Iblis stated.
— I merely want to understand what drives you, — the grand admiral countered. His voice was calm, measured, almost lulling, as if trying to lower the Corellian's guard.
— The Empire killed my family and forced me into hiding, — the former senator said.
— Is that so? — Despite the questioning tone, Thrawn's words lacked surprise. He knew the reason. But wanted Bel Iblis to voice it. Why? Some cunning game? — And why?
— I can't imagine the Empire's Supreme Commander is unaware of what drives honest citizens underground, — Bel Iblis said skeptically.
— Then you'll be disappointed, — Thrawn replied calmly. — We know many reasons for such behavior, but until recently, we had no specifics on you. I'm not mistaken in saying you were presumed dead in an accident.
Garm glanced at the two Imperial Guards flanking him.
— You could correct that "misunderstanding," — he snorted. He didn't like this non-human. Especially how he seemed to crawl under his skin.
— Killing you serves no purpose, — Thrawn said unexpectedly. — You'll play your role in the future.
— I won't serve you, — Bel Iblis declared firmly.
— You're mistaken, Commander, — Thrawn replied with a faint smile. — You and your subordinates — human and non-human — will serve me exactly as I intend. Except, of course, those foolish enough to resist boarding. But back to motivation. I see your family's loss is deeply traumatic. Let's discuss who needed it.
— Palpatine, — the Corellian said firmly.
— Why?
— Bail Organa and I were among the few senators unafraid to openly criticize the Emperor, — Bel Iblis said. — So he meant to destroy us. And he did.
— There's an inconsistency, don't you think? — Thrawn probed.
— In what? — Bel Iblis asked.
— That Palpatine intended to destroy you, Mon Mothma, Bail Organa as his enemies, yet didn't act when you were in his grasp on the unfinished Death Star, — Thrawn said. — Illogical for someone who'd create the Rebel Alliance to gather his foes and eliminate them without trial.
— Palpatine was a deranged maniac who loved watching his victims suffer, — the Corellian said irritably.
— A conclusion we can't dismiss, — Thrawn agreed with a slight nod. — Was Palpatine also behind your family's destruction?
— Yes, — Bel Iblis ground his teeth.
— Then we face a contradiction, — the grand admiral concluded. — The Emperor's actions drove you to oppose the law you once championed. Yet, even after his death, you strike at the Empire — a state you served as a senator for nearly twenty years. So I ask: what have ordinary Imperial soldiers done to you? Why does your anger at one man's crimes fall on an entire nation's citizens? What double standards measure your personal pain against the chaos you bring to galactic life, leading a small but well-armed army?
— The Empire is Palpatine's will continued, — Bel Iblis declared. — It hasn't changed since his death. It's worse. Non-human oppression, selective under Palpatine, is now total. Palpatine's dead, but his regime thrives!
— Is that truly so? — Thrawn asked. — Commander, you know the Empire is no longer unified. In the Pentastar Alignment, for instance, Grand Moff Ardus Kaine employs non-humans in all fields. Similar policies exist in many Imperial-controlled systems. The New Order is fading. Look at me — you see it now. The Galactic Empire, and Palpatine himself, always sought cooperation with non-human races, sparing little time for those posing no threat. I, as you've noted, am not human — perhaps my distant ancestors were. Yet Palpatine named me a grand admiral. These are facts, details you and other anti-Imperial fighters ignore because they don't fit your narrative of us as enemies, born of your separatist views. Now, instead of peace and coexistence, uncompromising warriors like you, driven by personal vengeance, prolong the fighting.
— I didn't attack the Dufilvian sector, Sluissi sector planets, destroy shipyards and Republic bases, seize convoys and logistics hubs, — Bel Iblis pointed out.
— No, of course not, — Thrawn agreed. — I did. You attacked Imperial assets I swore to protect; I struck Republican ones in response to your aggression. You destroyed the Ubiqtorate base on Tangrene — I repaid you tenfold.
— No, — Bel Iblis countered. — My group isn't tied to the New Republic.
— Really? — Thrawn asked. The Corellian nodded. — Then you should've left messages clarifying that, despite the unspoken truce, it's not New Republic forces but a terrorist band under your command fighting the Empire. We'd have been more selective in our targets, and the Dufilvian sector wouldn't have suffered. But you're not fully honest with me, Commander.
— Oh? — Bel Iblis smirked. — Where'd you get that idea?
— You received intelligence on Imperial targets from Councilor Fey'lya's aides, — Garm felt his breath catch. — Councilor Brey'lia's assistant was quite talkative.
— You're wasting your time trying to mislead me, Grand Admiral, — Bel Iblis shook his head, grasping at straws. — Brey'lia wouldn't talk, even under torture. No matter how cruelly the Empire tried.
— Likely, — Thrawn agreed too easily. — But no Bothans were tortured.
— Then where'd you get this? — the Corellian pressed.
— From the Bothans themselves, — Thrawn replied. — They're quite chatty when flamethrower stormtroopers test their weapons nearby.
Garm Bel Iblis recalled seeing those Stormtrooper Corps units torch entire settlements in minutes, cremating Alliance-supporting locals with their flames.
— By the way, Commander, — Thrawn continued. — Don't you find it odd that, during the Empire's galactic dominance, Bothans held a privileged position?
— What do you mean? — Bel Iblis frowned.
— Exactly what history records, — the grand admiral said. Bel noted the two Imperial destroyers aligning with Chimaera before moving ahead. Where to, he didn't know. The entire trip to this place — wherever it was — he'd been confined to a cabin with disabled equipment. Even the star patterns offered no clues. But the tactical display suggested they were thirty units from the planet's geostationary orbit, left astern. The destroyer was slowing... — During Imperial rule, Bothawui wasn't occupied. No garrison, just a small diplomatic mission of a few hundred. Doesn't quite fit the image of Bothans as fierce anti-Imperial crusaders, does it?
— Are you saying Bothans had special privileges under Palpatine? — The grand admiral was clearly steering him toward specific thoughts. A logical trap to sow doubt about Bothan loyalty?
— I'm merely suggesting you consider the situation, — Thrawn said. — A non-human race, not openly supporting the Imperial Center, yet not fully controlled. Then they provide data on the second Death Star's location, defenses, shield generators, and bunker... The Rebel Alliance fleet heads to Endor, walks into an Imperial ambush... and wins by a miracle. Afterward, Bothans rise to power in the New Republic. Quite the coincidence, no?
So that's your angle... Hinting Bothawui colluded with the Emperor, granting them leniency. Interesting idea. But dangerous — it could fracture the New Republic. Bothans aren't exactly beloved galaxy-wide...
— Nice try, Grand Admiral, — Bel Iblis chuckled. — But waiting twenty-five years to use such an asset? No, Palpatine would've acted sooner.
— Agreed, — Thrawn nodded. — Say, deploying Bothan saboteurs to destroy enemies' planets.
— Alderaan was destroyed by Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin and Darth Vader, — Bel Iblis snapped. — Don't rewrite history, Thrawn!
— Oh, believe me, if I wanted that, I'd choose a different approach than talking to you, Commander, — Thrawn assured him. — And I wasn't referring to Alderaan. But you're not ready to process this information properly. Besides, I didn't call you to my flagship's bridge for that.
— Then why? — the Corellian senator asked, intrigued.
— As I said, Void Wanderer escaped the Ubiqtorate's ships, — Thrawn reminded him. — But don't underestimate Imperial Intelligence field agents. They know the ship's commander intends to join me. Despite escaping their last battle, they'll follow. And they'll come here.
— Where exactly? — Bel Iblis pressed. This Imperial was talkative. Time to learn more about Grand Admiral Thrawn and his thinking.
— Into an ambush, — Thrawn replied curtly.
— You've set an ambush for multiple star destroyers with two battered ships and Chimaera? — The Corellian was stunned. He saw no other starships within the flagship's active sensor range.
— Think it's not enough? — Thrawn asked. — It sufficed against your army.
— I heard the Ubiqtorate has at least a dozen star destroyers, — Bel Iblis noted. Thrawn might be Imperial, but he was smarter than most. He had a plan. But what? Curiosity gnawed at the Corellian.
— My intel aligns, — Thrawn agreed. — But I don't intend to fight them.
— Offer surrender? — Bel Iblis smirked. He couldn't be that naive, could he?
— I have something to offer in exchange for Void Wanderer and its crew, — Thrawn said, locking eyes with him.
Now Bel Iblis understood what the grand admiral meant by saying he and his allies would play the role Thrawn assigned.
An exchange. A star destroyer and crew loyal to Thrawn for Corellians who'd personally insulted the Ubiqtorate by attacking Tangrene.
Whatever was happening among Imperials, Thrawn was at odds with the Ubiqtorate — or they with him — since Void Wanderer had to fight its way to him. Now he was ready to trade: who would the Ubiqtorate want more? Possible traitors who defied orders but still served the Empire, or Corellians who'd dealt them a humiliating blow, forcing Imperial Intelligence's command to flee Tangrene with everything they could carry?
— You're a bloodthirsty monster, Grand Admiral Thrawn, — Bel Iblis said, disgust rising for the non-human in the chair. He'd grudgingly accepted capture after his forces' defeat, but being a bargaining chip in Ubiqtorate dealings was humiliating and vile.
— We're at war, Commander, — the non-human said indifferently. — You're among those who kept it going. With threats looming over the galaxy and its sentients, including those massing in the Deep Core, I do what I deem necessary for my people's survival. I hate repeating myself, but you must learn this lesson I'll teach you and the Ubiqtorate here and now — when you fight me and my people, be prepared for death to find you in its most unexpected form.
— Sounds ominous, — Bel Iblis gritted his teeth.
— And looks even more merciless, — Thrawn assured him.
The Corellian's attention snapped to several blips on the tactical display — an Interdictor-class star destroyer appearing from nowhere in planetary orbit astern of Chimaera, and three ISD-Is emerging in a standard wedge eighty units from Thrawn's flagship.
Eternal Wrath, Bel Iblis read the interdictor's name. The ship that attacked Peregrine's Nest, equipped with long-range comm jammers.
— Eternal Wrath has activated its system, sir, — an older, gray-haired man reported to the grand admiral, his commander's insignia marking him as Chimaera's captain. — We're being hailed by Eradicator.
— Connect, Captain Pellaeon, — Thrawn requested.
Bel Iblis read the three destroyers' names.
Eradicator, Black Star, and Adjudicator. The first a Type II, the others Type Is. A similar setup to Thrawn's side, except Void Wanderer was too battered to fight. Eternal Wrath, approaching Chimaera, could partially compensate.
— Grand Admiral Thrawn! — A miniature hologram of an Imperial officer, clearly Eradicator's commander and the Ubiqtorate flotilla's flagship, appeared on Thrawn's armrest. — In the Empire's name, surrender Captain Abyss, Void Wanderer, and its crew!
— By what right? — Thrawn asked, his calm tone clearly meant to provoke.
— For high treason! — the officer roared. — Captain Abyss stole a star destroyer from Bilbringi's shipyards, deserting the Imperial fleet!
— Captain Abyss and Void Wanderer were assigned to me by the Imperial Ruling Council, — Thrawn stated. — They arrived to serve under my command. Where's the desertion?
— You intend to defy the Ubiqtorate's lawful order? — the Eradicator's commander shouted. Clearly a hysteric.
— I suggest you decide what matters more, — Thrawn said. — I hold former Corellian Senator Garm Bel Iblis and his illegal armed group, responsible for attacking Tangrene, destroying the Ubiqtorate base, and wrecking Imperial facilities. I'm willing to trade them for Captain Abyss, his crew, and Void Wanderer.
— We'll take them all! — the Imperial bellowed. Bel Iblis knew the man could see him — the hologram reflected a feverish, almost drugged glint in his eyes, like a spice addict getting a hit...
— No, — Thrawn said softly but firmly. — Captain Abyss, his crew, and Void Wanderer stay under my command. You're in my military base's territory. You'll do as I say! You may take...
— How dare you, filthy alien! — the Eradicator's commander interrupted, shouting over his superior and proving to the Corellian that the Empire was rotten to its core, even its chain of command. — Obey, or we'll destroy you and your followers! We're the Ubiqtorate's elite!
— Very well, I see no point in bloodshed that could harm my people and ships, — Thrawn said unexpectedly. — Come and take what you deem necessary.
— That's better, Grand Admiral, — the Eradicator's commander sneered. His hologram vanished, and the trio of destroyers accelerated toward Chimaera.
— Arrogance and folly will bring the Empire, or any state bloated with self-importance, to ruin, — Thrawn declared suddenly.
— Oh, yes, — Bel Iblis found it oddly amusing. — You're a master philosopher, Grand Admiral. But even you lack the guts to face the Ubiqtorate's executioners.
— I see no need for pointless slaughter, — Thrawn said calmly.
The three destroyers were now seventy units from Chimaera, a hundred from the planet's geostationary orbit astern.
— But, — Thrawn locked eyes with the Corellian, — you recall what I said about my words?
— "Sounds threatening," — Bel Iblis nodded. — Though you've folded to the Ubiqtorate.
— Retreat is a tactical maneuver, Commander, — Thrawn said. — Sometimes it's merciless to pursuers.
The Corellian frowned. Then he saw the three destroyers collide with something invisible. For a moment, it seemed they were surrounded by asteroids, but...
A series of catastrophic explosions tore into the Ubiqtorate destroyers' hulls. Shockwaves buckled armor, shredding plating, twisting frames. Two destroyers' superstructures vanished in new fireballs.
In an instant, the three gleaming destroyers were reduced to mangled, flaming wrecks, smoking from dozens of breaches. The tactical display showed surviving crew halting their ships, drifting to hold position in what they thought was safe.
The fight for survival began...
— Captain Pellaeon, — Thrawn calmly shifted his gaze from the Corellian. — Inform Captain Dorja to handle the attacking ships' crews and tow the vessels to orbit. Void Wanderer's crew may join if they wish.
— Yes, sir! — the gray-haired man reported briskly.
Thrawn swiveled his chair slightly to face Bel Iblis. No, his gaze was slightly off — at an Imperial Guard.
— Return Commander Iblis to his quarters, — he ordered. His eyes shifted, meeting the Corellian's. — Thank you for playing your role, Commander. I hope you'll long remember this lesson in ruthlessness.
Lips pressed tight, Bel Iblis stayed silent.
He refused to give the Imperial the satisfaction of admitting Thrawn had outplayed him again.
Because the Corellian wasn't entirely sure the role Thrawn assigned him was fully played, or if the curtain had truly fallen.