The bridge of the Crusader was quiet, one might even say serene, as if the bridge crew did not anticipate the approach of the enemy armada, fully aware that they were outnumbered.
The ship's batteries, along with those of the fourteen Victories in Rear Admiral I-Gor's fleet, were charged and prepared to meet the approaching foe.
The launch tubes were loaded with anti-ship missiles and ready to fire at the slightest order from the senior officer.
The waiting time stretched like rubber, as if it had decided to mock them, dragging on longer with every second.
The anticipation of battle is sometimes deadlier and more terrifying than the fight itself.
The mind and nerves cannot withstand the strain, like a boiling cauldron eroding sentients from within.
I-Gor was aware that if he did not have clones at his disposal now, seasoned veterans of battles, all the experience he and the crews of the ships under his command had gained over the past nearly year—they would have no chance of victory or completing the assigned task.
The enemy fleet emerged from hyperspace in full force, demonstrating its arrival precisely in the part of the system where the navigators had calculated the vector of approach.
The center of the defended territory, from where it was easy to reach any point in the Tiragga star system.
They were deeply entrenched in the system, and now the denouement had come; there was no way back.
Judging by the general chatter on the ether, the criminals' star system was not particularly impressed.
Nor were the fifteen Dominion star destroyers holding defense on the far geostationary orbit of Tiragga.
The rear admiral prudently kept the second part of his fleet beyond direct scanning range, rightly believing that until the conflict transitioned to the phase he needed, the Zann Consortium had no need to know about the presence of another five Dragon-class star destroyers.
"Open a general communications channel," I-Gor said in an unwavering voice, turning his gaze from the tactical monitor where the count and classification of the enemy fleet had just completed. "This is Rear Admiral I-Gor, regular Dominion fleet. You are in a restricted zone. Identify yourselves, shut down engines, weapons, and shielding systems, prepare to receive prize crews, or you will be immediately destroyed."
In response, he received an arrogant chuckle.
"And who said we were going to obey you, huh, I-Gor?" the unknown commander inquired with humor. "I am Sykes-Six, commander of the Zann Consortium fleet. Dominionite, do you really think that a dozen and a half of your tubs can keep my fleet from capturing your little base? I have over a hundred star destroyers and frigates under my command, two hundred transport ships! We'll leave nothing but a wet spot! Surrender, idiots, if you want to live!"
About three hundred starships.
That was not the number recorded by the tracking stations and intercept points.
Somewhere, another fifty starships had vanished.
I-Gor looked at the tactical screen.
Everything was correct.
Three hundred and seven enemy ships.
Instead of three hundred and fifty.
Forty-three starships had "disappeared."
But the latest data indicated that all enemy ships without exception had arrived at the Tiragga system.
Consequently, forty-three were in ambush.
Or had emerged from hyperspace prematurely and headed to other targets.
"Request to tracking station four," ordered I-Gor. "I want to know where the missing ships are."
"It will be done, sir!"
But in any case, he would have to act as predetermined by protocol and Grand Admiral Thrawn.
He had no other options.
After a pause that dragged on for several minutes, Sykes-Six added, but without mirth this time:
"No need for a slaughter, Rear Admiral. There's nowhere for you to go—we have interdictor ships. The only entry vector into the system is blocked by us."
I-Gor looked at the watch officer.
He nodded confirmingly.
And on the tactical monitor, cones of artificial gravity zones appeared, as the enemy commander had mentioned.
I-Gor said:
"Someone will pay for this."
"You said it yourself," Sykes-Six snorted.
Enemy fighters poured out from everywhere—from every hold of the cargo ships.
As expected, they were StarViper-class starfighters, but the computer had already determined that the machines belonged to the first generation that had been in service with the Zann Consortium before its collapse in the past.
Dangerous opponents, far superior to the modernized versions the Dominion had dealt with at Hypori, Shola, and Salukemai.
According to spy droid data—all machines were in excellent technical condition, indicating either competent mechanics in the Zann Consortium or recent manufacture of these fighters.
In any case, they would all be destroyed one way or another.
"Sir, isn't it time to release our interceptors?" the watch officer asked him.
"No, that's unnecessary," I-Gor replied. "There's almost one hundred and twenty standard units of distance between us and the enemy. By the time our machines reach them, their tanks will be empty by at least two-thirds. We are defending, as our duties require."
"Yes, sir," the watch officer replied. "So... what do we do? Just sit in place and wait for them to come to us?"
"Of course not," the rear admiral rejected the idea. "We engage as planned. But first, confirm that all our starships are in the designated positions."
A minute later, confirmation came—every starship in his fleet was in the section of space predetermined by higher command.
"Excellent," I-Gor nodded in response to the report. "We begin. Fleet order—deactivate transponders."
Like a brushfire, the order swept through the Dominion starships in the system.
And within a second, every star destroyer ceased broadcasting signals of its affiliation with the regular fleet into the surrounding space.
***
The blinking yellow siren light in the launch bay changed to a steady green.
Creb removed his hands from the controls, stretched his stiff neck.
The battle had passed without their participation.
Evidently, the wing had been raised to yellow alert as a precaution, to be ready to attack if the situation demanded it.
But the tactical monitor, duplicating information from the control room, showed that the Dominion's defensive structures had coped without outside intervention.
However, what had happened did not yet mean it was time to relax.
They were transitioning to standby mode—the light of distant stars appearing beyond the starship's atmospheric shield and a slight vibration indicated that the vessel had crossed the light barrier.
Change of deployment.
The prolonged wait had exhausted but not relaxed them.
Since they had not engaged here and now, they were rushing full throttle to another battlefield.
"Wing commanders—attention," the dispatcher's voice appeared in the headphones. "Change of plans. Changing deployment. Upon completion of the jump, we will participate in the battle. Flight time—one and a half hours. Pilots do not leave cockpits. Rest as able."
Awaiting his turn, Creb confirmed receipt of the information and immediately duplicated it to his pilots.
Receiving their regulation responses, the young man set his wrist chronometer to one hour and twenty minutes, then relaxed as much as the pilot's seat allowed.
Closing his eyes, he sat in darkness for several minutes before falling into a deep but alert sleep.
During his service, he had learned to sleep anywhere, anytime, in any position.
And he knew exactly that this habit would allow him to wake fully refreshed at the first sound of the siren or timer.
After which he would begin to act.
***
The Chimaera emerged from under the camouflage field of the border station, then, after a brief stay in real space, raced along the course plotted by the navigators toward its not-so-distant objective.
"Grand Admiral, sir, confirmation has arrived from the sector commandant," Captain Tschel appeared to the right of my chair. "Tracking stations have detected an enemy group that passed through our position toward the Galaanus system in the Korvo sector. Artificial gravity generators have been reactivated on that hyperspace route. Otherwise, the Perimeter system across the Dominion is operating as established."
"I heard you, Captain," my voice sounded calm, measured, confident, and infallible.
When plans change—especially suddenly and directly contradicting what was previously determined—the key is to maintain composure.
Haste in command staff execution looks quite ridiculous in peacetime.
But in wartime, it provokes panic among subordinates.
For a commander must never, under any acceptable circumstances, succumb to emotions or otherwise let subordinates know that something is not going according to plan.
If subordinates are accustomed to trusting the latter with hindsight, understanding that if the commander switches between plans, there is no issue—the situation was anticipated, and the most optimal decision was made, fully aligning with the task.
A flustered commander sows nothing but panic around himself.
And where there is panic—there is fear, disorganization, errors, lack of caution.
The result—failure.
We had already witnessed this with our own eyes in the example of the destroyed enemy flotilla.
"An encrypted message from the Crusader has arrived," Captain Tschel continued. "Rear Admiral I-Gor reports that the enemy group will reach the boundaries of the system he is defending within several hours. Defense lines are prepared. He particularly notes that he will act in accordance with the protocols you previously conveyed to him."
"Good," I said. "That will suffice. Did you send the encrypted message to Vice Admiral Pellaeon?"
"Yes, sir. His flagship confirmed receipt of the information packet with the data."
"One must assume the messages to other addressees were also delivered?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir," a certain bewilderment appeared on Tschel's face. "Moreover, we received confirmations literally minutes after sending the cryptograms."
"That is how it should be, Captain," I assured him.
The young officer's face retained the same somewhat frightened expression.
He clearly could not understand why, sending dispatches to addressees stationed in the Morshdine sector, he received responses so quickly.
In his understanding, this fact meant either the message was decrypted in transit or some nonsense occurred, but my calm contradicted that.
Thus, a certain catharsis arose in Tschel's mind.
The ysalamiri on my lap squinted contentedly as her scaly back was stroked.
"Sir, may I ask a question?"
"Certainly, Captain."
"How did the enemy learn about our secret facility in the Mieru'kar sector?" Tschel asked.
"The methods of obtaining information vary from case to case, Captain," I calmly said. "Intelligence, data analysis, informants on the ground."
"I doubt the Zann Consortium could predict exactly what is in the star system defended by Rear Admiral I-Gor—our secret facility."
"Certainly they could not, Captain," I agreed. "We sealed the borders, control metropolitan repeaters, monitor hostile and unregistered information activity on our territories. The enemy could not independently learn that on the second moon of the planet Tiragga in the eponymous system is our secret base. At the very least because its existence is known to far from everyone."
"It seems to me that in those words of yours there is a hidden hint," the Chimaera's commander stated.
"You are mistaken, Captain," I stunned him. "There are no hints in my words. You asked a question—and received an answer. Direct and exhaustive."
Thoughtful work appeared on Tschel's face.
"The enemy could not learn independently..." he repeated. "The information is classified. The Dominion systematically eliminates enemy agents. Consequently..."
A meaningful pause.
"Sir, did the Dominion itself reveal the location of its secret facilities?" he asked in a voice several tones lower.
"We allowed them to learn what they wanted," I explained. "Tyber Zann wants to seize the Dominion. With all its production and resource planets, economy, and armed forces. This is a necessary step toward further conquests and expansion of controlled territory. We act identically toward them. The Zann Consortium poses a threat to us—and we will destroy it."
"This is a matter of security," Tschel nodded in agreement. "But... I don't understand. How could they believe this data was genuine if they had no way to verify its authenticity?"
"You are mistaken, Captain," I assured my subordinate. "The enemy received such an opportunity. Relatively recently, I might add. When they pretended that our strikes on their facilities, our appropriation of their cloning laboratory on Smarck, our intervention in the affairs of the D'Astan sector, which they had initially eyed for themselves, as well as the events of last year's campaign, did not concern them much. All their actions were aimed at redirecting our efforts to the eastern part of the galaxy and destroying us there, or bleeding us with others' hands. While we, going to war for others' interests, were supposed to leave the Dominion without proper protection."
"Along with our trophies from last year's campaign," the Chimaera's commander understood.
"In tactical terms, our idle star destroyers, cruisers, and other military ships, as well as equipment, are a necessary tool for Zann to rapidly build up his forces," I explained. "And he did this not only with us."
"Yes, I am aware of intelligence reports regarding his desire to subjugate the Imperial Remnants."
"That is only part of a larger plan, a strategy," I explained. "Now we are talking about tactics. Tactics of using others' efforts for one's own purposes. Have you not wondered why Tyber Zann occupied the Corporate Sector?"
"He needed capital to start over," Tschel replied without hesitation.
"Correct," I agreed again. "However, there is a nuance. When Tyber Zann and his organization attacked Kuat, they gained temporary access to the central computer of the Eclipse-class star superdreadnought. And unrestricted access to the Emperor's secret accounts, treasuries, and so on. They had enormous resources that would suffice to lure a considerable number of Imperials who had declared themselves independent warlords under his wing."
"But they decided to replace them with clones."
"Some, perhaps even most. But why play covertly if you can obtain far more with the force you possess? In a situation where the Empire is decapitated and power redistribution begins, armed forces are fragmented with no unified command, the large forces Zann had could have been decisive in absorbing smaller territories."
"Criminals are not known for subtle planning and galactic-scale intrigue," Tschel suggested. "Perhaps the Consortium suffered the same failure as the Empire? Strong and authoritative officers decided to carve out pieces for themselves?"
"Bravo, Captain," I sincerely admired. "Yes, you are absolutely right. A schism occurred within the organization when the Zann Consortium suffered defeat at the hands of the Empire and New Republic. The perfect moment to settle scores. I suppose that Zann, who had just lost a large number of troops and ships, was literally deprived of everything he had left in his remaining assets."
"So he went underground?"
"Exactly," I agreed. "It would have cost neither the Empire nor the Rebel Alliance anything to finish off the wounded organization deprived of its leader. I think Zann had several contingency plans that remained secret from his opponents, so he easily left the crumbling enterprise to the mercy of the Empire and Alliance. He himself remained with the secrets he could preserve and a small number of loyal sentients. I don't think he immediately chose the Corporate Sector and the Emperor's unfinished palace as his location—after all, at that time, warlord Zsinj ruled this part of the galaxy and did not tolerate competition at all. I think it was a base on Smarck, and there he decided how to proceed. Warlord Zsinj's maneuvers had some success, so he used them, deepened and improved them. He created cover for official operations—revived Black Sun, forcing its remaining parts to work for him. The Emperor's wealth benefited him, and he continued operations—including cloning significant sentients."
"And what about his opponents?"
"They seized the juiciest pieces from the former Zann Consortium holdings. And, looking at the chaos in the galaxy, decided they could easily conquer it. But for that, they needed a huge army and fleet. Since the eastern group lacks tactical genius, they simply followed Zann's template, suddenly understanding or unraveling his games. Clash of interests was inevitable, and each side prepared for a long war. Zann hid in plain sight, his opponents undoubtedly tried to destroy him but failed. So both sides shifted to building forces. As I said, the eastern group proved less far-sighted. They decided they could use him to strengthen themselves, while he, having calculated them and noting my return, decided to simplify his task."
"He decided to set you against them."
"Yes. Zann realized that nothing tied me to the Empire anymore and correctly understood that I would create my own rear base. Our attacks on Hypori, Shola, Salukemai gave us insight into the very existence of Black Sun and Tyber Zann's figure behind it. By then, he had already started playing with us—demonstrated his danger and survival, then cautiously shifted attention from himself to the eastern group, portraying it as part of his organization—and quite powerful. According to his plan, as I said, we were to deal with the traitors, bleed ourselves, and thereby facilitate Zann and his new organization capturing the Dominion with minimal forces."
"Which didn't work because we have reliable protection, the Perimeter," Tschel said proudly.
"It is a very expensive structure to produce and maintain," I explained. "In conditions of financial shortage in the Dominion, no one could even assume we possessed something like it. Fortunately, we had resources."
"So he pretended our attacks on Hypori, Shola, Salukemai, Smarck, convoys, and other operations did not bother him," Tschel said. "But what did he achieve by that?"
"Demonstrated apparent weakness," I explained. "Lack of forces and ships. Not to mention that the first three planets were under eastern group control at the time of our attacks."
"Ah..." the star destroyer's commander opened his mouth in a silent question, quite boyishly.
"How did I figure it out?" I had to assist him.
"Yes, sir," he said embarrassedly. "I'd like... to understand. I just don't see the logical chain."
"Because you exclude some data from the equation, Captain," I explained. "You know that in the battle at Hypori, besides the droideka factory, we also obtained a trophy—a Keldabe II-class battleship, which was transferred to the Mandalorians?"
"Yes, sir, the Rottaran, and it was destroyed."
"Its fate is not so important," I explained. "In the battle at Smarck, besides Zann's cloning laboratory and his clone-makers, we also captured several trophies—similar battleships. Rear Admiral Shohashi captured two more enemy ship samples in recent days."
"The Vengeance and the Aggressor."
"Exactly. Note that these two types of starships, with minimal modifications from original designs, are what the Zann Consortium is using against us now."
"But not using the latest Keldabe and Crusader types," Tschel realized.
Then his enthusiastic gaze dimmed.
"No, they are," he stated. "Smarck."
"You are both right and wrong, Captain," I said. "The enemy does not produce ships of this class—Crusader II and Keldabe II were created by the eastern group. The Zann Consortium continues producing fast ships, while its opponents rely on firepower. This is a critical divergence—planning versus brute force."
"But who owned the ships we captured at Smarck?" Tschel wondered.
"It is naive to assume that before both groups decided to build forces, they did not oppose each other," I said. "Obviously, Zann captured trophies and used them to create a more plausible picture of his involvement in Hypori, Shola, Salukemai for us."
"And how did you figure that out?" the man asked.
"Beacons," I explained. "Tracking devices, whose use is prescribed in Imperial Military Academy methodology, where Zann had the opportunity to study. But his opponents did not. The Zann Consortium installs beacons on its ships—because Tyber Zann does not trust subordinates. He controls them, having already lost what he had built with difficulty. There were no beacons on the Rottaran—the ship captured at Hypori. But on the trophies at Smarck and those obtained by Rear Admiral Shohashi—there are. And this argument supports our understanding of their different approaches to ship crewing and crew relations from their commanders."
"Are you saying the eastern group leaders trust their mercenaries and bandits?" Tschel grimaced.
"No, of course not," I calmed his disbelief. "They simply keep them in fear of their forces. But we'll discuss that later. I think you have clarifying questions, Captain?"
"Yes, sir," Tschel stated. "After all, the captured ships were delivered to the Dominion, right?"
"Absolutely correct," I agreed.
"And they still have functioning beacons?" Tschel doubted, as it was written plainly on his face.
"Of course," I did not deny the truth. "Moreover—one of these ships followed the route to the parking area that we were guarding. The second—another. Also attacked, by the way. With a result similar to ours. But there, defense was held by Vice Admiral Pellaeon."
"So the enemy knows their location?" Tschel tensed.
"Moreover, we showed him the way ourselves," I confirmed. "The ships are in the scrapyard in the Galaanus system."
"And that's the second strategic object," Tschel gasped. "That's the one the group you ordered to let through our outpost is heading to!"
"Exactly, Captain," and again the young star destroyer commander was unforgivably correct.
"Sir, but... We could have dealt with them the same way as the previous squadron!"
"We could," I agreed. "At the cost of gaps in the Perimeter. Unfortunately, in current realities, we cannot afford significant damage to our defense system. Modes tested, we obtained valuable information. Now they need replenishment, strengthening, and optimization based on enemy action data. It so happened that the presence of Palpatine's spies in the Zann Consortium became known. And the Emperor's desire to pit criminal organizations against each other to reduce problems with restoring power over the galaxy."
The Perimeter proved too expensive, as it turned out.
Each layer individually is quite large but manageable for the budget.
All together—they are extremely costly and expensive.
Even accounting for the untouchable aurodium reserve and other treasures from the Sa Nalaor's holds.
But that's not the worst.
Money is not an end but a means.
The time required to restore even one breached Perimeter layer is an unaffordable luxury in current realities.
We cannot abandon it—it's insurance for the darkest times.
But mindlessly expanding it is not in my plans either.
"And if our defense is breached on a route enemy spies might know, Palpatine could send his forces here," Captain Tschel understood the unspoken hanging in the air.
Well, in calm conditions, he clearly does not panic and is quite judicious for his age and experience.
That's a good sign.
Extremely good.
I had already seen him in action.
True, in conditions where he knew we had advantages.
Now it remains to monitor his behavior in the opposite situation.
"It would be more correct to say not 'might direct' but 'will direct,'" priorities must be set correctly. "Do not deceive yourself with apparent prosperity, Captain. This is merely the eye of the hurricane. And at any moment, the wind risks changing."
Though I looked straight ahead, on the reflective surface of the transparisteel, I managed to notice the Chimaera's commander shudder.
"And then what, sir?" the young officer asked almost in a whisper, clenching his fingers into fists.
"Then we will need all possible weapons to repel Palpatine's armada attack," I replied just as quietly. "All the weapons we have. And just as much more."
"And will that help, sir?" Tschel asked.
"We will exert maximum effort for it," I promised. "In any case—mercy is not to be expected from anyone or anywhere. But today we will clarify something for our opponents."
"What exactly, sir?"
"We do not favor those who invade our home without the owners' desire," I said. "And as soon as we finish off the uninvited guests completely, we will pay a return 'courtesy visit.'"
"I understand, sir, but... How did you manage to feed the enemy information without arousing suspicion?"
"It's simple," I replied. "We allowed his agents to become our officials."
***
The few residents of planet Malicar III in the Mieru'kar sector would remember this day for a long time.
And it was not because a large shipment of construction equipment and blocks finally arrived for building the sector's recently created and rapidly developing capital.
No, primarily they would remember this day for another reason.
Because not every day on a remote developing planet, for unknown reasons, the quartered garrison of Imperial stormtroopers leaves the base territory and, in a forced march across rough terrain under cover of night, bursts into the settlement.
No one was killed or subjected to violence.
The battalion's units on the planet moved quickly along wide streets, using wheeled vehicles, setting up patrols and checkpoints at city entrances, every intersection, and square.
To the rare gawkers out not in warm beds at that hour, nothing was explained.
Neither the reason for such stormtrooper actions nor the presence of counterintelligence operatives in their ranks.
Nor even the presence of a pair clad in black—the Shadow Guards.
The organization, almost legendary in its existence, turned out to be real.
But they were seen by only a few sentients—visitors to a restaurant near Moff Brinkan's residence.
The Shadow Guards, according to eyewitnesses, appeared simultaneously with stormtroopers on the outskirts.
This pair, ignoring the residence guard—thugs hired by the moff for his security—blasted the gates to the fenced territory and, in battle, flashing crimson lightsabers, carved a path through mercenary corpses straight to the residence.
Later, it would be said that their assault on the moff's home and workplace was supported by counterintelligence fighters.
And popular rumor would discuss the news that the moff, a Dominion state servant, was guarded by thugs wanted in several galactic sectors and linked to Black Sun.
In reality, those who saw it with their own eyes said the Shadow Guard spared no one who tried to halt their advance to the upper floor, the moff's office.
Some mercenaries were whirled in place by local hurricanes appearing from nowhere.
Others were smeared against sturdy walls when one guard thrust a hand forward.
A third died when their necks were squeezed by invisible vices to eyes and scanners.
But most perished from lightsabers.
Double crimson and violet—their reflections seen in residence windows on every floor.
They crushed battle droids of models not supposed to be on the planet or in the residence with equal ease.
They destroyed the unexpectedly numerous guard, littering corridors with body parts and enemy heads.
No one could resist them.
One eyewitness claimed the first and last phrase heard from the Shadow Guards that evening, after which the slaughter with shooting began, came through one black-clad fighter's vocoder when the moff's guard commander blocked the path to the residence.
"We are Grand Admiral Thrawn's Shadow Guard. And we came here by his order and in his name to punish a Dominion spy and traitor. Moff Brinkan betrayed the Dominion, so he will be seized by us. Anyone who dares interfere will be destroyed."
Observers attribute these words to the one with the violet lightsaber.
It is said he directed the weather itself against the traitor's mercenaries.
The second Guard mostly slashed and maimed.
Whether true or not is hard to say for certain.
But the fact remains.
Less than ten minutes were needed for the two to clear the building of all mercenaries and hand the handcuffed Brinkan to a Dominion counterintelligence officer, under whose command the stormtrooper battalion seized the entire city.
Selective searches were conducted until morning among the moff's close officials, most of whom were also taken into custody and placed in a prison ship's depths.
Where they went, locals were not told.
Even the clone of Grand Moff Ferruss, arriving the next morning to replace the traitor, did not comment.
He simply ordered the residence destroyed, now a haven for mercenaries and Dominion traitors recruited by the traitor-moff.
Settling in a modular structure right on the square before the burning residence, the grand moff's clone casually began work to improve life in the Mieru'kar sector.
And within days, it turned out that what Moff Brinkan called impossible was quite feasible.
Malicar III's population would never forget this day.
And never learn they were part of Grand Admiral Thrawn's subtle psychological game against his enemies.
***
The positions, like the protocol for actions in the system, were chosen far from randomly.
And the enemy surely realized this immediately after its hordes of starfighters, star destroyers, frigates, and transport starships came under attack.
Barrier mines, ceasing to receive data on friendly forces in the system, reacted strictly per their programming.
Sensors detected the nearest target, engines corrected direction with short impulses, and magnetic clamps fixed the deadly weapons to any Zann Consortium starship hull.
Fiery hell enveloped Sykes-Six's fleet.
His armada faced massive attack from all sides.
And suffered losses.
Massive losses.
Dozens of transport ships turned to scrap in the first minutes of battle.
Combat starships fired in all directions, trying to clear space around themselves.
Aggressors repeatedly fired main-caliber ion cannons to clear paths in space that suddenly ceased being friendly.
Despite continuous strikes, the enemy continued advancing, leaving behind wrecks of destroyed and holed criminal ships.
"Distance to enemy ninety units," the watch officer reported. "Minefield depleted by twenty-five percent."
A quarter of the minefield inactive, while destroyed enemy ships did not match proportionally.
"Number of destroyed Zann Consortium starships?" I-Gor inquired.
"Twenty-seven starships, sir. A significant portion of mines react to enemy starfighters."
Now clear.
The security protocol assumed enemy starfighters and carrier ships but not in such quantity.
Errors understandable.
"Sir, they are now in Dragon firing range," the watch officer reminded. "Wouldn't it be better to deploy them for strike?"
"No," I-Gor replied. "Before us is the densest part of the minefield. If we open fire with ion cannons—we'll thin the barrier for the enemy. The Venators remain in position until the corresponding order."
They, like the Victory-class destroyers, faced no threat from Dominion-deployed mine barriers.
Every scanner has its range.
For mines used in the barrier—thirty units.
Each mine networked with others, so if one could not reach a ship lacking the needed identification signal, it received targeting from neighbors.
I-Gor's ships positioned thirty-five units from the nearest mine.
The safety hemisphere around starships pressed stern to the stationary minefield blocking Tiragga's second moon had a much larger diameter, calculated for safe radius from the outermost ship plus maneuvering margin.
Thus, I-Gor's ships had completely open space for combat without risking damage from their own mine barrier.
Mines tore the enemy fleet apart.
Fighters taking the brunt were rapidly depleting, and now Zann Consortium capital ships fared poorly.
Their engines burned, exploded, hulls gutted, torn like flimsi.
Attempts to use cloaking fields also failed.
Massive damage from the battle's first phase, plus numerous buzz droids scattered through the minefield, simply nullified cloaking systems.
Any cloaking attempt ended with an attached buzz droid transmitting location data, and mines rushing to the starship.
Covered on all sides, enemy ships advanced—some on residual main engines, some by inertia.
Repeatedly taking mine strikes, losing hull integrity and shielding more.
Comms systems, priority targets, destroyed—no coordination possible.
Scattered attempts to organized breakthrough or escape failed.
The two interdictor cruisers Sykes-Six brought were already destroyed—irrevocably.
The route out and into the system open, but no one intended—from Dominion side—or could—from the Zann Consortium flotilla—leave Tiragga.
"Enter in the ship's log," I-Gor said. "Combat use of barrier mines in the Tiragga system demonstrated their increased expenditure against enemy aviation. In such conditions, programming for enemy ship destruction seems excessive. It would be more expedient to change targeting from ship destruction to disabling propulsion, maneuvering, weapons, and shielding—deflector projectors. This would reduce mine expenditure per disabled enemy starship. Supplementing mines with communicators reporting damaged enemy vessels to the nearest patrol could increase trophy starships and prisoners. Spending mines directly on ship destruction is wasteful. More expedient to disable, capture crews conventionally. Finishing captured ships as turbolaser targets."
Such a solution would reduce mine production costs.
One Tiragga mine barrier, where enemies now detonated, consisted of nearly one hundred thousand mines.
Each costly—and considerably.
Even simply sending captured hulls for remelting yields good compensation.
Weapons created to destroy the enemy.
But if made to partially offset creation costs, expenditures noticeably decrease.
However, such decisions should be made by competent authorities.
The rear admiral's task—merely share observations.
"Distance to enemy—seventy-eight units," the watch officer reported. "Minefield expended eighty percent. All Aggressor-class star destroyers destroyed. Enemy has forty Vengeance-class frigates and twenty-two transport ships."
As noted—excessive mine overexpenditure.
"Battle stations," I-Gor declared. "Assign targets. Dragons advance to firing range. First disable ships with ion cannons, then missile and turbolaser barrage. Do not respond to surrender claims—traps."
Sensors indicated enemy remnant veering left relative to their formation.
Ships made minor position correction.
Fifteen star destroyers, seven each in upper and lower echelons relative to the frozen Crusader between ranks, opened fire at maximum range as Venators appeared on flagship sides with open main hangars.
Ion bolts reached far beyond current distance between opponents.
But minefield nearly breached—no sense holding ships back.
Enemy had little to reach clear zone, then battle on entirely different ranges.
Central computer pleased with missile launcher engagement zone figures.
Order followed immediately.
Following Dragons' ion shots, anti-ship missiles flew to immobilized targets.
Deprived of power and course correction, Zann Consortium starships became easy prey for missiles, turbolasers, and mine remnants.
The Crusader targeted the nearest enemy transport.
The Action IV, prototype of Interceptor IVs, had impressive hold volumes.
No wonder the enemy used them as carrier substitutes.
The starship blasted apart from several missile hits.
Something exploded ahead and left; apparently other star destroyers no less accurate.
Can this battle be called fair?
No, not at all.
It was butchering an unarmed opponent who invaded their territory and now must be destroyed.
I-Gor's conscience not tormented by hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of sentient lives lost—each chose their fate.
Accustomed to fighting only those unable to respond adequately, the Zann Consortium came to their territory to bring pain and ruin.
Such sentients deserve no pity.
Only extermination.
Without pity, regret, or concern for widows, orphans, parents weeping nights away somewhere.
Those who come to your land to rob, kill, enslave must themselves be killed.
No other options.
"Minefield fully expended, Rear Admiral," the watch officer reported.
"Not many ships left," I-Gor noted. "Only four, all immobilized by ion weapons. Response from tracking station on my query?"
"Just now, sir," the watch officer handed the datapad with the report to the rear admiral. "They claim all detected starships entered our system territory."
"Or emerged from hyperspace beyond its limits, not reaching the intended point," the Dominion flotilla commander offered another version.
Through the transparisteel, mangled hulls of the last enemy starships visible, finished by destroyer fire.
"Release interceptors and all buzz droids, spy droids, and so on," I-Gor ordered, returning the datapad. "I want to know where the forty-three enemy starships are hiding."
"It will be done, sir," the watch officer stated.
Orders sounded, broadcast over the intercom.
Numerous interceptors and droids of all kinds fluttered from hangars, scattering across the system.
Having repelled the attack, star destroyers dispersed into detachments for better area search.
Something troubled I-Gor.
Perhaps not knowing the composition of the enemy's "lost" forces.
Or that, except the barrier minefield, the system had no more defense lines—besides the minefield around Tiragga's second moon.
Twenty destroyers under his command, of course, an impressive military force.
Especially since each Victory under command was a "triple," modernized to the latest Dominion military engineering standards.
But still, the sense of something wrong surprised and alarmed him.
As if he had overlooked something.
"Sir, detecting arrival of large number of ships in the system," the gravacoustic reported.
I-Gor had no time to react or request identification.
He saw it.
One after another, without explanation, new enemy ship marks appeared on the tactical screen.
Twenty.
And all grouped around...
No one reacted—the enemy starships, after precise microjump beside the Dragons, exploded.
These were not combat starships—transports like those recently destroyed by the Dominion flotilla.
In huge flashes, five Venators vaporized, as if never existing.
The shockwave caught several nearby Victories, but no critical damage.
Where the enemy fleet was just destroyed, a ship materialized.
"Star destroyer dead ahead!" the watch officer yelled, rushing to the left pit.
"Identify!" I-Gor ordered.
"They are hailing us," from the comms section.
"The Cauldron, sir! It's the enemy!"
"Prepare for battle! Put him on screen!"
The appearing hologram instantly revived the identity of this sentient in I-Gor's mind.
"Moff Harsh," he addressed the opponent. "Surrender, or be destroyed!"
"Missiles targeted!"
"Fire!"
"All ships—open fire!"
Moff Harsh.
Turbolasers already firing at the ship, but from Harsh's facial expression, he clearly did not care.
Given he held at the edge of turbolaser and anti-ship missile range—no wonder possessing calm.
His ship's shields held, though dropping.
"Not bad," he snorted. "Carved up Sykes-Six on the minefield. Though he was the dumbest of all Jerid's clones."
"Message to the Chimaera," I-Gor ordered.
Harsh deploying one destroyer against them meant nothing yet.
Surely another plan.
"Well, you've had your fun, now it's my turn," the former Imperial moff said with gloating. "I'll burn you all for my people at Bosfe."
"New ships!" the gravacoustic barely managed.
I-Gor saw these ships.
Huge supertransports, clearly modernized: improved shields, hulls, deflectors.
Each materialized from hyperspace beside I-Gor's star destroyers.
A fraction of a second later, they exploded.
***
Moff Harsh watched with a satisfied smile as fifteen white-orange artificial stars grew where the starships that destroyed the invasion fleet had been.
"You did excellently," he said, glancing at the man and woman behind him. "Navigators plotted ships exactly where they had no chance of survival."
"The power of the Force is great," the man said coldly.
"And it tells us this moon is too dangerous for ground operation."
"I didn't sacrifice Sykes-Six to leave empty-handed," the former Imperial moff snapped. "What they hide here will be mine! The Rift gives me as many resources as I desire! And only I know the way to it! Deploy landing!"
"It will be done, Moff," a soldier in snow-white stormtrooper armor nearby stated.
Saluting, he began muttering into his helmet comlink.
"It will be some time before the Dominion arrives," Harsh said dreamily, rubbing hands. "Time to loot properly for my future Empire..."
The man and woman behind him exchanged expressive glances but said nothing.
His Empire?
What a naive and amusing little human.