Ten years and the twenty-sixth day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year and the twenty-sixth day after the Great Re-synchronization.
(Seven months and the eleventh day since the arrival).
Captain Dobramu lay on the bunk with complete indifference and a deep sense of disappointment, his hands clasped behind his head.
He stared at the ceiling of the prison cell, utterly indifferent to what was happening.
Inside, nothing remained but the understanding that he had been deceived once again.
This time by the one for whom he had deceived and betrayed Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Member of the Dark Side Elite, Kam Solusar, had promised him honor and glory in exchange for sabotaging the Dominion's metropolitan defense systems.
And the young officer, along with his entire crew, had spent all their time and influence convincing other young revanchists serving on the Dominion's last cruisers to abandon Thrawn.
They had fled to Vjun, as Solusar had said.
Akrey believed that from here would begin their victorious march across the galaxy as part of Emperor Palpatine's fleet.
But instead, the crews of the starships had been relocated to the planet…
To the dungeons.
Where they surely remained to this day.
Akrey himself had been locked in the brig of a Star Destroyer, after which he had been taken somewhere.
Day after day dragged on.
Dozens of the most varied, but equally indifferent to his fate, interrogators and investigators had visited him.
They had beaten him, broken him, tortured him, tried to trap him with words, provoked him.
Solusar himself had several times turned him inside out with the infamous Force to uncover the true motives that had driven the young officer to act as he had.
And always they left with the same thing.
Akrey stood firm—he was loyal to the Emperor and his cause.
He considered Thrawn the heir and continuer of the Empire's work, but when he realized that was not the case, he had gone into cooperation with Solusar.
But it seemed they did not listen to him.
Time and again, in the smallest details, he recounted what he had done in Thrawn's service, how he had gathered data on the size of his fleet, the defensive lines of the peripheral planets, the camouflaged asteroids on the hyperspace routes of the metropolis…
Instead of the promised reward, he had fallen into the grinder of counterintelligence.
And now he was indifferent to his own fate.
His faith in the Emperor had not wavered for a moment.
Only in the fact that he himself had expected too much from a simple betrayal.
Though, could one betray someone who had betrayed the Emperor first?
A debatable question.
And utterly unnecessary to a Hutt at this moment in time.
Did he regret subjecting himself to such brutal treatment because he had done everything as he was told?
No, he didn't care about that at all.
Akrey believed in the New Order, and also that sooner or later the truth would prevail.
He had done everything to destroy the traitorous Fragment—the Dominion.
And inevitably, when everything was sorted out, when they were convinced of his loyalty to the Emperor, he would be released.
So Akrey stared indifferently at the ceiling.
He was simply waiting.
The interrogations, like the regular visits, had ended several weeks ago, and since then he had been alone in the cell.
They brought food—he ate.
And also slept and performed all necessary actions to keep himself in shape.
Training exercises—for the body.
Reciting aloud theses from tactical manuals—for keeping the mind in order.
Otherwise, he would simply go mad in solitary.
Several times the jailers had granted his request—they brought him a datipad without a comm module and chips with manuals from the Imperial Academy.
The captain himself could not even imagine who had to approve this delivery, but clearly not the head of the prison block.
While he was of no use to anyone, Akrey continued his self-education.
Imperial manuals, which he had scorned in the academy, proved (for lack of alternatives) to be quite interesting reading.
With analyses of battles and campaigns, technical descriptions of various types of ships in the Imperial Starfleet.
Thus, little by little, Captain Dobramu killed time, indifferent to everything and caressed by the indifference of those around him.
But today everything changed.
While he mentally visualized the deployment of the Death Squadron ships in the Battle of Hoth, the metal door of the cell opened of its own accord.
Dobramu, casting only a single glance at the one who entered, instantly leaped from the bunk, snapping to attention.
"Lord Solusar," he greeted the Dark Side Elite member calmly.
Kam Solusar.
"Captain Dobramu," a faint smile creased the face of the man clad in simple clothing more akin to civilian garb. "The jailers say you have not lost your spirits and did not succumb to despondency while your background check was conducted."
"I was engaged in business," Akrey replied. "You said the Emperor needs talented commanders. I did everything I could," he indicated the datipad with chips lying nearby, "to live up to what you told me in the Emperor's name."
Thereby he voiced his justified doubts—whether Solusar himself, in speaking to him in the past, had been advancing the Emperor's opinion and designs, or his own.
The Dark Side Elite member merely shrugged.
"Come," he ordered, heading out of the cell. "You'll understand everything yourself soon."
There was no need to repeat it twice.
Akrey, grabbing his uniform jacket and quickly straightening himself out already in the corridor, unquestioningly followed Solusar through the corridors of the Star Destroyer that had lately been his prison.
The people they encountered—soldiers and officers, technicians and stormtroopers—paid him absolutely no attention.
As if the man were a non-entity to them.
In fact, that might well be the case.
He did not know these people and had no relation to them whatsoever.
Nor they to him.
Reaching the main hangar, Solusar and Dobramu boarded a shuttle, which, as the captain understood from the vibration of the deck, immediately departed the Destroyer.
Where exactly the ship was heading was hard to tell—the viewports were blocked, and in the end Akrey was assigned to a tiny cabin more resembling a holding cell for important prisoners.
A cramped cubicle with a small bunk.
Half an hour after boarding, he was released again.
And found himself once more in a hangar…
But this time—a truly enormous one.
Yes, it was designed as an enlarged version of the standard flight deck of an Imperial-class, but several times larger and more massive.
Which suggested that he had been brought to a starship of the newest design.
Or perhaps one of the "super" class combat vessels, which were considered practically completely destroyed by the Rebel Alliance.
Here already Akrey noted that he was now accompanied not only by Solusar, but also by a squad of stormtroopers.
Followed long traverses through even longer corridors.
Akrey remained silent for a full hour before he could not hold back and inquired:
"What kind of starship is this?"
"Standard," Solusar replied indifferently. "Super class, firepower and characteristics almost like the Executor. But more elegant than the legacy of Vader's flagship."
Running through the variants in his head, Akrey found the right one…
If his guess was correct, he was surely already in the Deep Core, where Emperor Palpatine's forces were concentrated.
And since this giant was here too, it was clear why only one ship of this type had been discovered and destroyed by the Rebels.
The rest had been withdrawn to the Deep Core and had served the Emperor all this time!
He dared not ask more questions, rightly reasoning that if they had not killed him immediately, perhaps his lucky star had decided to give him the reward he deserved?
Their long journey brought both men and their escort (and for Akrey, also his convoy) to the entrance to the ship's bridge.
Through the open armored doors, the sounds of characteristic crackling and flashes of light reached Captain Dobramu, which could only be caused by charges of electricity.
It seemed that repair work was being conducted on the ship's bridge without disconnecting the high-voltage power cables…
And then he heard a scream.
Animalistic, guttural, testifying to unrestrained suffering and pain tormenting a living person.
The man, slightly slowing his step, cast a glance at Solusar walking beside him.
But the latter's face showed absolutely nothing—the Dark Side Elite representative continued striding toward the bridge entrance as if nothing were happening.
Finally, they were inside.
Dobramu saw before him the vast bridge of a starship, its crew members sitting with haunted and terror-filled eyes at their battle stations.
Their gazes were fixed on the central platform, where a gray-haired man's body in Imperial uniform convulsed amid discharges of electricity.
And before him, in black robes, with an inordinately high standing collar, with neatly combed-back golden-red hair, stood the one whose sight awakened within Akrey a reverent awe of admiration from a man who had devoted his life to serving the ideals symbolized precisely by this individual.
The Emperor Palpatine, reborn in a clone's body.
He was significantly younger than the version Akrey remembered from holovids.
Slightly pale skin, shadows under deeply set eyes…
In which reflected the gleam of white-blue lightning erupting from the Emperor's fingertips.
A contemptuous yet triumphant smile of complete control over the situation played on his lips.
And the Supreme Protectors standing behind him—the best of the best of the Emperor's Royal Guard—impassively watched as the officer's body, smoking from evaporated moisture, jerked one last time under the blows of the man-made electrical fury.
It jerked and went still.
Silence fell in the bridge.
The crew watched unblinkingly as the lifeless, burned, and mutilated body lay right before them, ravaged by discharges of unstoppable energy.
Akrey, however, stared unblinkingly at Palpatine's face.
At the triumph in his eyes, at the undisguised smile of complete satisfaction from one glance at the corpse…
Then the Emperor's raised hands made a barely perceptible gesture, and with a characteristic squelch, splattering everything except the Emperor himself with a stream of bloody sprays, the mutilated body burst into pieces that flew in all directions across the bridge.
"You have disappointed me for the last time, Captain," Emperor Palpatine's voice sounded just as firmly, unyieldingly, as Akrey remembered it from holorecordings.
Solusar unceremoniously moved forward, paying absolutely no attention to the fact that he had to wade through the blood-soaked and viscera-littered deck plating.
Captain Dobramu had no choice but to follow the Dark Side Elite representative.
"Master," finding himself a couple of steps from the Emperor, Solusar unceremoniously and without the slightest sign of disgust at the bloody scraps, dropped to one knee, bowing his head under the Emperor's gaze. "Your will is fulfilled. Captain Dobramu has been delivered."
The Emperor's will?!
Palpatine himself had ordered him brought to him?!
A superstitious and reverent awe enveloped Akrey as Palpatine's attentive and merciless eyes turned their attention to him.
Then the durasteel there was replaced by almost paternal affection and care.
A kindly smile appeared on the Emperor's face, so sharply contrasting with what had just occurred before the captain's eyes that his own knees buckled, without any deliberate intent.
Akrey did not even notice the pain in his knee joints as he landed from standing position onto the infamous deck plating on those knees.
He felt how wet and unaccustomed it was to stand in blood and human scraps, how this substance soaked through his uniform and stained the skin of his legs.
But he continued to stand and look straight ahead, directly into the Emperor's eyes, unable to tear his gaze away and understanding that this was precisely how he should not act.
It was wrong in relation to the lord before whom one should kneel and bow one's head.
But Akrey found no inner will within himself to do so.
All his conscious action could muster was to look into the Emperor's face and thank all that had saved this great man's life.
"Captain Dobramu," the Emperor addressed him affectionately, paternally. "I have heard of you…"
Heard of him?!
The Emperor?
Of Akrey?!
Oh, great forces of the hyperdrive, could Solusar truly not have lied when speaking of the Emperor himself giving orders to the officer?!
What an honor—to carry out the Emperor's commissions, to be the one on whom his attention is focused.
If only for a moment, if only for a fraction of an instant—but the Emperor, a man of vast power, a man with many thoughts and cares, had pondered him.
It meant he had deemed him, a mere commander of a mere light cruiser, so outstanding as to turn his attention to him…
"I thank you, Emperor," Akrey whispered barely audibly. "Allow me to express my joy that you are alive, and that I am granted the immense honor of beholding you in person."
The smile did not leave Palpatine's face.
"You have labored nobly, Captain," he said. "You gathered data on the Dominion's defenses and the planets supporting it…"
In fact, Akrey had not acted alone.
He had enlisted the support of medium cruiser commanders who escorted transport convoys, so that they could "sketch" the deployment of defensive formations.
And only later had he compiled it all into one.
"You brought me an entire squadron of medium cruisers, crewed by those loyal to me," Palpatine continued. "And all the time it took my sluggish interrogators to verify your sincerity and loyalty. You have impressed me—in contrast to the other cruiser commanders who arrived with you, you do not waste time. You do not whine, begging for mercy, you do not set conditions, you do not hysterics…"
Akrey felt disgust toward those medium cruiser commanders who had done so.
"Your diligent activity for the good of the Empire must be rewarded," Palpatine declared.
As if nothing had happened, he looked around, clearly admiring the addition of red tones to the interior.
"To serve you is the greatest reward I could hope for," Akrey said.
"Not only," Palpatine chuckled. "You have done much to expose the perfidy of that filthy nonhuman Thrawn, who wormed his way into my trust and dared to seize for himself sectors that belong to me. In this endeavor, you have accomplished far more than my own agents. I am confident that your service henceforth will bring me only satisfaction in studying its results. Rise, Admiral!"
Akrey, thinking he had misheard, nonetheless obeyed the Emperor's order.
What did it matter if the master had erred?
It was forgivable to him…
"The previous commander of this Star Dreadnought disappointed me, failing to unite the ship crews and turn them into a true combat unit," Palpatine explained, extending a hand toward the nearest Protector. "I hope your competence and drive to execute orders will not trouble me. And what you have witnessed should serve as a reminder of how imprudent it is to disappoint me."
With these words, the Emperor drew back his right hand, into which one of his guards placed a rectangular plaque adorned with multicolored cubes.
Akrey watched with awe and reverence as the metal plaque, decorated with five blue cubes in the upper row and an equal number, but red ones, in the lower, was attached with a tiny yet broad pin that easily pierced the dense fabric of the tunic…
With the next gesture, the Emperor handed Akrey a single code cylinder.
Which he too received from the nearest Supreme Protector.
"By this, I bestow upon you the rank of admiral, former Captain Dobramu," Emperor Palpatine proclaimed sonorously, encouragingly looking at the young officer kneeling before him.
"I thank you, Emperor," was all Akrey could utter.
"I entrust you with command of Task Force Javelin," Palpatine continued. "Its previous commander…"
The red-haired man glanced with a faint smirk at the chunks of human flesh scattered across the bridge.
"Did not measure up," he selected the right words. "Now his flagship is yours, and the squadron's ships as well. You will have some time to get up to speed and turn this rabble," Palpatine looked with contempt at the barely trembling watch crew from fear, "into a combat-ready unit. After which you will prove your loyalty by executing a responsible and important task for my entire new Empire."
"I will do all that you command, my lord," Akrey assured, still stunned by such a rapid career advancement.
"Splendid," Palpatine beamed in a satisfied smile, stepping forward and placing his mighty palm— in whose durasteel grip he holds the entire galaxy—on the shoulder. "Kam Solusar will help you settle into your new role and lead your ground forces. Lately, there have been so many incompetent fools around me from whom I must rid myself before my new Empire is reborn."
After that, the Emperor departed unhurriedly, not even paying attention to his heavy cloak sliding over the bloody scraps, leaving crimson trails behind.
That was all that remained of those who disappointed the Emperor—mere blood and bits of innards crushed under his boot.
Akrey dared not move until the Emperor and his guard had left the bridge.
"It's over, Admiral," he heard Solusar's voice, laced with light mockery. "Great deeds await us."
"Y-yes," Dobramu stammered, clutching the code cylinder and command plaque in his hand. "Only… what have I been given command of?"
"Twenty Destroyers and a Vengeance-class Star Super Destroyer," Solusar said matter-of-factly. "That is Task Force Javelin, named after the formation's flagship."
"So this is… Javelin?" Dobramu surveyed the blood-soaked bridge, where no one even attempted to stir, fearing to anger their new commander.
"Precisely, Admiral," Solusar confirmed. "If you need time to adjust, then…"
"No," Akrey rasped. "I'm fine."
Which was not entirely true.
He was still shocked and disconcerted.
He had already suspected, based on Solusar's words, that he had ended up aboard a Vengeance-class Star Super Destroyer after exiting the shuttle.
But the meeting with the Emperor, to which he, despite all his zeal, had proven unprepared and had been caught off guard by what occurred,
The first ship of this series had been commanded by the infamous Imperial Inquisitor Jerec, and that starship had been lost several years ago due to Rebel actions.
As Solusar had said, the Vengeance type was a redesign of the standard Executor-class Star Super Destroyer.
The Vengeance-class Star Dreadnought.
Its length was likewise nineteen kilometers from bow to stern, and the ship's "height" reached the length of some corvette—one hundred fifty meters from upper deck to hold.
Unlike the Executor, the Vengeance-class hulls had a sleek construction, narrower than standard Star Super Destroyers; almost sword-like compared to the usual dagger-shaped form of Vader's flagship descendants.
The ship's bridge was expansive but likewise covered much of the command tower, unlike most other classes of Kuat Drive Yards combat vessels.
Moreover, the starship and its "sister ships" were unique in lacking the standard wedge-shaped command bridge tower in the style used by the Kuati.
Instead, the command bridge was located on a small square ridge near the ship's stern.
As far as Dobramu knew, a similar bridge placement existed on the second modification Praetor-class Star Destroyers.
Also of Kuati authorship.
This type of starship, Vengeance, naturally, not Praetor, had an engine group consisting of three main engines, two secondary engines on the ship's sides, and six auxiliary engines grouped around the mains.
Its armament was analogous to the Executor's, but due to more advantageous placement of fire points and sloped hull armor, the Vengeance presented a far more dangerous opponent.
And undoubtedly would destroy any Executor in a one-on-one battle.
Akrey approached the central viewport of the bridge, looking at what was happening beyond this spacious chamber.
Dozens of super-class starships—several Executors, at least two Vengeances, enormous under-construction giants incomparable in their massiveness, hundreds of Imperial Star Destroyers and similar-class vessels.
And he was seeing only a small part of the orbital space around the planet, which, judging by the beauties of the surrounding cosmos speckled with nebulae and accretion disks, was located somewhere in the Deep Core.
So it was all true, and this was no illusion.
"Watch, attention!" Dobramu barked, spinning on his heels. "Clean the bridge to proper condition. Senior specialists, prepare reports on your sectors. First officer—contact the commanders of the attached Star Destroyers and summon them for a briefing in three hours. By that time, I want to know the status of my task force," though in essence he was commanding an entire fleet.
Dead silence reigned on the bridge.
The watch technicians eyed him warily, as if they had soiled themselves and feared moving lest they reveal their shame before the others.
"Move!" Dobramu roared, losing his temper. "Or you'll follow your former incompetent commander!"
The cowering little humans bustled into action.
Watching them, Akrey realized that alongside the position of formation commander, he would not miss the opportunity to personally command the Javelin itself.
He very much wanted to see the faces of Thrawn's sycophants and the rebellious rabble when he burned their ships and planets with the fire of his magnificent Star Super Dreadnought.
Yes, he had been completely right in his guesses.
All the interrogations and deprivations had been worth it to finally receive the deserved reward.
***
One had to acknowledge the obvious.
The sight of former Imperial servicemen, now prisoners in Kessel's spice mines, was depressing.
Compared to the stormtroopers of the 501st Legion, an impenetrable wall guarding the spacious parade ground in the center of the penal facility, and the army troops crawling out of their armored vehicles' hatches—what one might call "earth and sky."
Even the dregs—the surviving mercenary units and rescued Kessel fleet pilots—looked far more presentable.
Clad in pitiful rags, torn or rotted, incredibly emaciated, exhausted by hard labor, the Imperials tried somehow to perk up, seeing that at least in uniform they were surrounded by brothers-in-arms.
But as soon as one of them noticed the golden "cogs" on the stormtroopers' pauldrons—relieved sighs turned to grimness.
"Your people did good work, General Cain," I informed the ground forces commander.
He merely nodded silently in thanks for the praise.
The thing was, the penal center's territory had been practically destroyed and littered.
To accommodate the people and other sentients being brought out of the tunnels anywhere, they had cleared space in the center from debris, dirt, tech fragments, and remains.
And thus learned that there had once even been a parade ground here.
"Well, I think it's time to begin," I said, heading down the shuttle's ramp to the street.
Unlike the other sentients present here without sealed armor, I wore no respirator—I stepped straight under the atmospheric shield dome erected by technicians specially for this moment.
I waited several seconds to let the bewildered crowd take me in fully.
Judging by the crush among the prisoners, Thrawn's appearance was familiar to most of them.
And the remnants of the administrative building, on whose roof my shuttle now stood, allowed viewing me from all sides.
"I think you all know me, or at least have heard of me," I said. "For the rest, I'll introduce myself. I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. Supreme Commander and ruler of the Dominion. Perhaps some of you have heard that in the past six months, with a modest fleet, I have managed to capture or irretrievably destroy a quarter of the New Republic's space defense forces…"
"And we also heard that you're dead!" came a shout from one of the prisoners somewhere in the crowd's center. "This isn't Thrawn, it's a doll…!"
In the next instant, he fell with a headshot.
"Interrupting is rude," I warned the crowd, which reacted to their comrade's death with considerable indifference. Well, on Kessel, they were short a few every day—the local energy spiders loved feasting on live sentients. "And sometimes, as in the case of disobeying an order—fatally dangerous. This is the first rule you must hear. There are others, and many of them. A bit later, you'll be told all of them, as well as what you need to know."
Making a brief pause, I continued:
"The Dominion has freed you not just like that. We don't play at nobility—Kessel is ours now, and it's up to you whether you'll continue working in the mines or choose another path."
The situation practically suggested that the corresponding question would sound now.
But, strangely, dead silence reigned in the assembly area.
"So, the options," I said. "First. You stay here on Kessel. And your fate henceforth depends on the Dominion's decision. None of you will return to positions in the garrison, guard, or penal facility administration. One riot has already proven your complete inability to protect the entrusted facility. If you can't even manage something so minor, then don't take someone else's place. No mercy or leniency. No chance of escape—including that. Nor counting on your friends or employers arriving for you. Kessel gathers the galaxy's biggest scum—and that applies to all of you, regardless of what uniform you wore before."
The former Imperials clearly hadn't hoped the first offered option would be so harsh.
And now awaited the continuation warily.
"Second," I did not keep them waiting. "Those who wish may enlist in the Dominion's service. We do not uphold the New Order, which means human, Duros, Verpine, Twi'lek, Rodian, and other races are equal in rights. If you want to labor for the Dominion's good—you have that right. The laws, overall, remain Imperial, but aimed at citizens' welfare. At present—you are no one. The right to become a Dominion citizen must be earned—military service for the state will help. You won't enter the regular forces—the right to that must be earned. You'll go to special units for those like you—ones given a second chance to escape their situation. I need soldiers to operate where the Dominion's aurodium cog is unwelcome. I offer you to become those soldiers. It won't be easy—you'll enter hell. And there you'll fight, atoning past crimes and earning a chance at a new life. You'll receive pay—higher than under the Empire, but lower than in the Dominion. What I need most is soldiers, of which you are the majority. I know there are pilots too— I have fighters for you as well. War awaits you, and at its end—a chance at Dominion citizenship and starting life anew. Without dying in the mines extracting glitterstim. Six months in the auxiliary forces—and you'll get citizenship. If you want—you can return to a peaceful life as a law-abiding citizen. If you want—you'll become contract soldiers in your units, fighting for Dominion interests where our troops aren't. The choice will be yours—but only after six months of merciless and danger-filled frontline life, where your life depends solely on your military skills and ability to kill the enemy."
The crowd began whispering quietly.
What there—even among the army troops, the same "ferment" started.
Because such an offer had never been discussed and never become the subject of gossip.
Forming military units from prisoners—something new for this galaxy.
Well, being in the innovator's skin was nothing new to me.
I needed additional forces I could send to conflict zones without attracting attention.
Ruthless prisoners with nothing to lose—an extra way to preserve my own troops.
If it works on Kessel, I could deliver the same speech to the Dominion's other prisoners.
The metropolis has plenty of low-tech races that in the past were used as "cannon fodder" on the battlefield.
They are devoted to the Dominion without reservation and will serve as the restraining force for the prisoners if they intend to flee or betray.
And that such "individuals" will appear, even if they agree now, is beyond doubt.
"No one and never will give you such a chance," I continued. "Few leave Kessel upon serving their sentence. Remains aren't transported to relatives either— the spiders dispose of everything. Mass escapes from Kessel haven't happened in the past, and after we gain control over it—won't happen at all. You have a chance to remember that. For which you donned uniform and took up arms. Not for the Empire or New Order—for protecting the population. This is the path I offer you to continue. Five minutes for deliberations and discussion. If there are questions—ask them now."
This offer fundamentally differed from those made to other Imperials freed from captivity across the galaxy.
But there was a big difference between those here and those held as prisoners of war.
Here were those who couldn't even keep the prison and allowed the capture of both the penal facility and the Garrison Moon. And on the latter was only an Imperial garrison and heaps of military hardware.
On Kessel—only occasional arriving freighters and unarmed ships.
The guards' small arms quantity—too little to take the Garrison Moon by storm.
The Imperials on Kessel's moon simply surrendered when the coup occurred.
Without any prolonged resistance or the like.
A decision made for unknown reasons.
"And what if we agree first, then realize this war isn't for us?" came a voice from the crowd.
"A shot to the head and a mark in the personnel file: 'deserter,'" I said. "The same will happen to you in case of any order disobedience or attempt to surrender. This is the second rule—no one runs. Third—no looting or abusing the local population. Fourth—targets are military only. But if a civilian wants to kill you—kill him first. No nobility—only efficiency in combat."
"And is there a fifth rule?" another new voice from the crowd.
"There is," I agreed. "If you become our servicemen, you won't be forgotten in case of wounding or death. If you don't run from a spice spider, no one will even look at your personnel card."
"And what places are provided for moffs?" came yet another, but utterly grating voice.
I looked toward the sound's source, seeing a small group of sentients whose very appearance expressed complete contempt from the other prisoners.
Even the former soldiers of the Imperial garrison on Kessel's natural moon.
And these guys were despised by nearly everyone.
Who could be worse than those who voluntarily surrendered to a numerically inferior, weakly armed foe?
"Name yourselves," I ordered.
"Moff Muzzer," the first announced his name.
A squat fat man with shifty eyes.
"Moff Thistleborn," the second reported.
Middle height, no longer young, but lively, with a gaze full of hopes and egoistic plans.
"Moff Dunhausen," the third introduced himself with a hint of superiority and self-assurance.
The complete opposite of the first: tall, thin as a rail, with a gaunt, wrinkled face.
From the first glance, it was clear the last was the group's unofficial leader.
Cunning and ruthless.
One might ask—what are three moffs doing on Kessel?
"Sir," Colonel Tierce appeared to my right, handing over a datipad with text on the screen. "These three—formerly prominent members of the Central Committee of Grand Moffs."
Well, now.
Now everything was clear.
Now no questions remained.
I knew of this Imperial governing body's existence after Palpatine's death.
Once, the now-known and deceased Wilhuff Disra had been part of it, whose death brought me fruitful and mutually beneficial relations with Ardus Kaine.
As for this self-appointed governing body's activities, I learned from studying Imperial Intelligence data obtained after capturing the real Isard and Sate Pestage.
The Central Committee of Grand Moffs represented a splinter faction from the Galactic Empire, formed in the fifth year after the Battle of Yavin by most grand moffs in an attempt to undermine Ysanne Isard's claims to power in the remnants.
Breaking away from the weakened Imperial Ruling Council, the committee used the tale of a direct descendant of Palpatine—a three-eyed mutant—to consolidate power.
They found a suitable mutant matching the description—Trioculus—who had direct ties to Kessel.
And using vague omens from various charlatans, rumors, and other unconfirmed facts, made Trioculus the nominal figure in their alliance.
Ruling him from the shadows.
The committee organized the assassination of Grand Admiral Rufaan Tigellinus.
They used Kessel as a base to advance Trioculus's claims to the Imperial throne.
But they failed—the Central Committee of Grand Moffs' leadership was destroyed.
These three ended up in the mines, Trioculus, also responsible for Grand Admiral Miltin Takel's death, is dead, Disra fled to Kaine…
So many strange and interesting stories are born and die on Kessel.
Take, for instance, the prisoners found in the mines.
I know for sure that among them are at least a couple of Jedi—one trained, the other merely learning the craft: Kyp Durron.
A headache and sea of problems for the future New Jedi Order, now aboard the Chimaera in company with ysalamiri.
Not to mention that this kid, with only the basics of Force control, managed to plot a safe course through the Maw Cluster to a base guarded by Admiral Natasi Daala.
The second Jedi—a woman who trained him.
Vima-Da-Boda.
A member of the old Jedi Order.
Also a not-unknown "character."
Who left Kessel.
Yes, just like that—she's gone.
How and where the old Jedi lady could have gone—unclear.
But even after so much time since emptying the mines of workers and setting up motion detectors, surveillance droids—not a single sign that she could have hidden deep in the shafts.
"So that's how it is," I said slowly, averting my gaze from the datipad and looking back at the moffs.
According to Imperial Intelligence data gathered by Isard, this trio had no substantial military force behind them.
All their activity boiled down to wanting to use the Central Committee's forces to subjugate various planets for themselves.
Dunhausen—Tatooine, where he proposed erecting a new Imperial city for personal control over the desert planet's shadow economy illegal revenues.
Thistleborn—proposed something similar for Bespin, intending to subjugate Cloud City and its tibanna gas extraction industry.
Muzzer, meanwhile… facilitated Miltin Takel's death.
"So what cushy job do you have for us, Grand Admiral?" the last spoke up. "We are moffs, behind us power, knowledge, experience…"
"…And a list of heinous crimes against Imperial servicemen," I cut him off.
The trio exchanged bewildered glances.
"Behind the squabbles and incompetence of these sentients lie hundreds of human lives thirsting for vengeance," I said. "You have no forgiveness, no right to a second chance."
With a wave of my hand, I watched as three precise sniper rifle shots punched new holes in the sentients' heads.
"Using official position, attached forces and weapons to achieve personal goals—is punishable by death," I explained to the stunned prisoners and their former guards. "This is the sixth mandatory rule you must hear from me today. You had time to decide. Five minutes are up. All who intend to join the Dominion and fight for it, to clear their names, for a chance at a new life—move to the right. The rest—to the left."
For a long ten minutes, I watched as crowds of prisoners—Imperials and their former jailers, criminals and Zann Consortium mercenaries—mingled, determining their fate.
When the ferment ended and decisions were made, I could see four-fifths of the total number who had stood before me now in the right formation.
Among those remaining on the left, as expected, were Zann Consortium fighters, some former prisoners, Morut Dul's underlings…
A little over a thousand sentients decided to stay on Kessel.
The choicest scum, ruthless thugs, murderers, rapists, saboteurs, terrorists, spice dealers…
"Well, the choice is made," I said. "As already stated—no leniency or mercy. Legion!"
The snow-white barrier of stormtroopers sprang into motion.
With crisp synchronization, the 501st's fighters brought weapons to ready position, aiming at the left-side crowd.
Several sentients, realizing what my words truly meant, bolted toward the right formation.
The very one where the sentients watched in stunned horror at what was about to happen.
Colonel Tierce gave the command, and the 501st Legion's blasters opened fire in unison.
Crimson plasma bolts stung the panicking prisoners who had thought themselves above the unique offer.
Perhaps they still believed they could impose their own order here or stage another uprising.
No, it would not be so.
Those who crossed to the right column needed to remember as well that their lives depended on their decisions.
The mass execution took a mere minute and a half.
After which, cleanup teams, marching straight over the bodies, began "checks," finishing off any of the "left" who had somehow escaped the fatal shot.
"Throw the bodies into the shafts," I ordered, returning to my shuttle's ramp.
Kessel is ours.
And the Dominion will not leave here.
For some time, the market will still haggle over spice and glitterstim stocks in the dealers' warehouses.
But then—done.
The Dominion does not recognize sentients' right to self-destruction.
While spice is in our hands—it is solely a medical substance.
And the bodies of the "dissenters" will make fine feed for the energy spiders, so this substance does not run out until a less dangerous extraction method for this invaluable material is developed.