The Galaanus star system in the Korvo sector was located just two hours' flight from the nearest system, Jaresh.
That is, according to the sector's internal logistics navigation chart, of course.
The smuggler's route laid from the sector's borders to the Galaanus system had not always been like this.
Some time ago, it was part of a hyperspace lane known as the Darank Path, running through the sector's center and connecting internal routes for most of the star systems in this part of the galaxy.
Colonists had used it several centuries ago to settle planets in this region of the galaxy.
In total, Galaanus had two planets.
Korva and Galaan.
One might think that the sector's name came from the first world, but that was not the case.
There was a Korva system, which had given the sector its name.
And yes, in the specified star system, there was also a planet named Korva.
The confusion arose due to an oversight by the colonists heading to the planet Korva in the system of the same name, but by fate or their commander's negligence, they discovered the Galaang system.
Believing they had reached their destination, the colonists enthusiastically devoted themselves to settling the new world.
The error was only discovered when it came time to register astronomical objects in space directories.
However, those responsible for the matter did not doubt their right to place two identically named planets in one sector.
After all, these were the galaxy's backwaters, of little interest or need to anyone, and the academic minds in charge of galactic cartography had more important matters than figuring out how to persuade the inhabitants of one planet to rename their world.
The Chimaera emerged from hyperspace on the side of the planet Galaan.
The latter was a massive gas giant, whose hues diluted the dull and gloomy blackness of space with their vibrancy and the colossal pressure of its atmosphere.
Once, over Galaan's northern hemisphere, there had been a New Republic communications station—the primary supplier of "fresh" news from this region of the galaxy.
This structure also provided housing for personnel of the New Republic Intelligence Service.
We learned of its existence from data obtained from the servers of that very intelligence during the attack on Coruscant.
Yes, the station was not new—one could even say it was "worn by life," the gas giant's pressure, and microasteroids.
But a small assault by naval special forces groups, repair work, and supplies of additional equipment allowed us to create an excellent surveillance station and interception point in one package.
Like other similar objects scattered across the metropolises and the Dominion, this station was hidden from prying eyes by stygium-based cloaking fields, allowing the personnel to see everything, observe everything, and not worry about utter blindness and deafness, as occurs when operating under hybridium-based cloaking.
For example, stygium-based cloaking allowed entry into hyperspace, travel through it, and exit into real space without risking detonation of the installation.
When using hybridium, attempting to jump into hyperspace with an active cloaking device of that type would result in immediate detonation at the moment of transitioning to superluminal speed.
Mitt'th'raw'nuruodo had used this property of hybridium during the suppression of Grand Admiral Demetrius Zaarin's rebellion.
For this reason, the presence of stygium on Maramere is a blessing of immeasurable proportions for us.
In this context, the defense of the Kartakk system represents a deeply echeloned "pie," similar to the "Perimeter" system but with greater individual modifications.
It is quite an expensive pleasure—equipment using stygium—but there is no helping it.
Ambitious strategies require considerable expenditures.
Perhaps they will pay off someday, when survey droids sent from this complex find in Galaan's atmospheric depths not just ordinary gases, but tibanna.
By all indicators, it should be there.
But not necessarily.
It was thanks to the personnel and equipment of this station that, before arriving in the Galaanus system, we had complete information regarding the enemy's fleet numbers and composition.
It must be said, this is an extremely interesting grouping in its composition.
The fleet's core—fifty Aggressor-class Star Destroyers.
They are supported by twice as many Vengeance-class and Interceptor frigates.
But the surprise comes from something else.
A huge transport convoy of nearly five hundred Action IV starships.
The very ones so beloved by smugglers and freight haulers, who could shell out nearly a million credits for purchasing such a new starship.
And they are worth appreciating—for their modest size of a hundred meters, the ship could swallow and transport seventy-five thousand metric tons of cargo.
Newer models, of course, had far more capacious holds and cargo decks, but their cost was higher.
For comparison—an Imperial-class Star Destroyer of the "one" or "two" type could take aboard only thirty-six thousand metric tons of useful cargo.
Of course, there were used specimens at prices far below market value, but, as with reselling a used vehicle, such "pigs in a poke" had a considerable number of problems.
In general, starships of this type had a certain demand, and seeing such a large number of ships of this class in one place could evoke only one thought.
"These are occupation transports," said Captain Tschel, examining the tactical screen. "Carrying armored vehicles or infantry."
"Most obviously, both," I said. "We already have similar confirmations, considering the enemy's landing on the surface of Korva. Even the losses of landing craft from minefields did not sober them or force them to turn back. So much the worse for them."
Tschel wisely remained silent, understanding that his remark about the secrecy of this place would no longer be appropriate.
It would be better if I deliberately enlightened him, so as not to arouse suspicions about the correctness of actions.
In the history of Mitt'th'raw'nuruodo, as far as I know, there was a case when the crew of his flagship practically mutinied against him, believing he was deliberately sending subordinates to certain death.
This was during the initial period of his "cartographic mission" in the Unknown Regions.
"Captain, have you ever heard the story of the colonization of the planet Korva in the Galaanus system?" I inquired.
"No, sir," the man admitted.
"A rather interesting example of how inattention or negligent attitude toward one's actions on the part of a small group of sentients can cost the lives of an entire colony," Tschel was clearly interested and did not even think to hide it. "We have a few minutes until the end of the hyperjump, so, I think, after you bring the ship to battle stations, we will continue the excursion into the history of this star system."
Appropriate commands followed, and the Chimaera's bridge immersed in subdued bluish glow—one of the few improvements implemented on the destroyer under the "Troika" program.
Unfortunately, full modernization is still far off, and it is unlikely my flagship will undergo it in the near future—considering the loss of Counter-Admiral I-Gor's fleet, the number of combat-ready starships under us has decreased.
This means an increase in service load on the rest.
Yes, we managed to save several hundred people—interceptor pilots and those rare lucky ones whose ships did not perish instantly from the firebrands' detonation and the solar ionization reactor's explosion.
But this is a drop in the ocean compared to the total number of dead—and it exceeds one hundred thousand sentients with significant combat experience from the past year.
"Five minutes until exit into real space, Grand Admiral," Tschel informed me.
"Excellent," I commented. "So, the history of the colonization of the planet Korva is closely linked to the reasons why our forces imposed a blockade on this star system. The colonization was carried out a significant time ago by the Galactic Republic, when it did not yet have the prefix 'Old.' It was a flourishing world, full of life, vegetation, and an atmosphere suitable for living. Agree—even in our vast galaxy, there are not so many planets with such ideal living conditions."
"I wouldn't say there is a shortage, but there could be more," Tschel stated diplomatically.
"Like any colony, for some time they depended on supplies from beyond their planet," I continued. "Considering the peaceful and highly moral policy of supporting the needy for which the planet Naboo is famous, it is not surprising that grain cargoes for the colonists were sent from there. This led to the destruction of the planet's biosphere and most of its population. Those who managed to evacuate did so without looking back. Do you notice the irony of our galaxy, Captain? A peaceful planet became the cause of another world's death and nearly all its population. Eighty-seven percent of the colonists perished. At least, that is what the data we obtained mid-last year on Obroa-skai claim."
"Poisoned grain?" Tschel suggested the most obvious variant of the colony's destruction.
"Along with the grain, Nabooian clodhoppers were delivered to the planet," I explained.
Judging by the lack of reaction from the Chimaera's commander, the name meant nothing to him.
"For Naboo's fauna, despite its soothing landscapes, the statement given by one Jedi is fair: 'There is always someone bigger,'" I recalled the late Qui-Gon Jinn with kind words. "The presence of natural predators hunting a specific species reduces uncontrolled offspring and strengthens it, since the weak and old die first in packs. On Naboo, clodhoppers had natural enemies. In essence, they are omnivorous non-flying birds that rarely grow taller than one meter. Despite their bodies being covered in tough, durable skin, a single clodhopper poses no great threat. The problem in hunting this species is that they live, hunt, and feed in large packs, turning them into a real menace to everything around them…"
Captain Tschel's face paled.
He seemed to realize what packs of these omnivorous animals could do on a single planet.
"Open data on this species indicate that just one pair of clodhoppers can produce two hundred offspring in two standard days, which mature quickly by consuming large amounts of food—which can be vegetation or living organisms, even larger than adult clodhoppers. Rapid reproduction, lack of higher nervous activity, omnivory, powerful forelegs and muscular hind legs used for foraging and leaping movement make them a true natural disaster for a world without strong predators like narglatch, rather bloodthirsty animals from Naboo itself."
Tamed narglatch.
"Curiously, the meat of this species, clodhoppers, despite their diet, is quite tender and tasty," I continued. "The Gungans, Naboo's native inhabitants, hunt clodhoppers for their meat, used for food, and thick skin, from which they make musical instruments. Several centuries before the Battle of Naboo, non-flying birds were exported to other planets, leading to the complete devastation of entire colonies. Since then, their export has been strictly prohibited under the maximum penalty allowed by law. The colony on the planet Korva, to which we are heading, is among those exterminated by clodhoppers. An interesting fact, but the ban on exporting clodhoppers as an agricultural import item from Naboo, strict restrictions, and requirements for cargo inspections were one of the reasons several worlds across the galaxy supported the Trade Federation blockade more than forty years ago. This was done to save on funding inspections controlling clodhopper exports, but in reality, it was just another pretext for unleashing the Separatist Crisis, which led, in its sad outcome, to the Clone Wars and the subsequent fall of the Old Republic, replaced by the Galactic Empire. In the context of our situation, however, one can confidently say that more than a billion clodhopper specimens currently inhabit the planet Korva, which, due to food scarcity on the planet, have been devouring each other for several centuries."
"Sir," Tschel loudly swallowed the lump in his throat. "What secret installations, productions, or storage facilities of ours are located on Korva, where these monsters run rampant?"
"None, Captain," I calmly replied. "Like the second moon of Tiraggi, the planet Korva and the structures on it are a trap for enemy forces, into which they have successfully fallen. The cloned moffs of Brinkan and Nivers, admitted to the Dominion's 'secrets,' reported our forces in these systems and the strictest control over secrecy there. The placement of trophy ships in Korva's orbit and the signals emitted by their 'beacons' only confirmed the enemy's opinion that there really is something there requiring maximum efforts to capture these worlds. And so it happened—having lost a huge number of their infantrymen while overcoming mine barriers around Korva, the enemy landed on the planet and opened large nesting sites of clodhoppers sealed by our droids in the rocks. These omnivorous birds love to arrange them and spend the night in darkness and coolness. We substantially helped them by locking them up for several months and forcing them to starve or hunt each other."
"And the Zann Consortium fighters opened the doors and invaded their nesting sites," Tschel said slowly.
"There is nothing more terrifying on the planet Korva right now than a bird that is hungry and hunts with all ferocity those who invaded its nesting territory," I said, allowing myself a small smile while looking into the eyes of the deathly pale Tschel.
My story had already painted in his head what was happening on the planet's surface.
"Sir," Tschel said hoarsely. "To feed several hundred thousand enemy fighters to clodhoppers…"
"Six hundred thousand," I clarified. "The enemy delivered a million fighters on their ships. But about a third already lost overcoming the mine barrier, set specifically so sentients do not reach the planet and become prey for this species."
"Six hundred thousand sentients," Tschel swallowed noisily again. "That's several armies destroyed without our participation."
"Exactly, Captain," I agreed. "The invasion of the Dominion and attempts to pit us against the eastern grouping—Zann's enemies—will not go unnoticed. The Corporate Sector will become part of the Dominion. And in this operation, I have no need for Zann Consortium militants as opponents in ground battles. The fewer of them, the less blood will be spilled in the upcoming campaign. In fact, we have not yet begun, Captain. So far—this, as well as other actions—are merely preparation for a counteroffensive."
Tschel nodded slowly.
"I assume the second moon of Tiraggi also has more than just junk-filled caves and structures?" he asked barely audibly.
"Of course not, Captain," I said, looking through the main viewport, beyond which the light tunnel dissolved into points of distant stars. "Something worse. Much worse."
Tschel shuddered.
He looked at the tactical screen, where among the Dominion's allied starships, only the lone Chimaera was displayed.
Against one hundred fifty combat starships of the Zann Consortium, supported by five hundred transport ships.
A few seconds later, at the system's far border, the Eternal Wrath appeared, blocking the exit from here.
And also jamming long-range communications systems.
The trap snapped shut.
And everyone present in the system understood it.
Looking at my datapad embedded in the armrest, I noted confirmation received from several sources.
Everything suited me except one thing.
A subscriber who, by logic, should not be here.
It seems the enemy commander had gathered truly all his transport forces for a mad attack.
"We begin, Captain," I reminded, snapping Tschel out of his stupor. "It will be simple. But first, let us offer our opponents surrender. For humanitarian reasons. Considerable blood has already been spilled in the last day, and this will at least save us time."
"Yes, sir," the young captain said quieter than a mouse. "I am seeing with my own eyes how one of our Star Destroyers, one corvette under our belly, and their support of similar size frightened them."
"The galaxy is full of surprises, Captain," I reminded. "Sometimes we lack sound tact, attentiveness, and ingenuity to notice them. One more thing, Captain Tschel. Open channel twenty-five communications, using the 'Gamma' encryption protocol. Transmit data incoming on it directly to our gunners and pilots."
Captain Tschel did not respond.
He merely looked at me as if I intended to pull a Death Star from my pocket.
And then gave the order to the communications section.
***
"How many did we manage to save?!" Admiral Sykes demanded an answer.
"Just over forty thousand, sir," the duty officer replied. "Mostly wounded or dying."
"Who abandoned their entrusted equipment," noted Maris Brood standing nearby, braiding her thin braids at the back of her head.
The hair tension reached such strength that small horns adorning the woman's head and forehead began to show through them.
But usually, she let her hair hide them to appear as a human woman.
Maris Brood.
Sykes knew well what such "primping" meant.
"Is there a Force-sensitive here?" he asked.
"Yes," the woman licked her lips in anticipation. "I sensed him when the last transport starships arrived."
Sykes thought quickly.
The transports went in a separate caravan to the Galaanus system, combat ships—separately.
It was a real stream merging into a full-flowing river.
So somewhere along the way, a Force-sensitive boarded the transports.
Considering that the Zann Consortium did not have many of them—before his disappearance, Urai Fen had trained only a few, including Maris Brood—it is unlikely Tyber risked secretly sending one of his best mercenaries as a spy or infantryman.
"Why didn't you report?"
"Thought it was just my imagination, because the contact was brief," the Zabrak justified herself. "But now I understand I sensed him again. But already on our starship. Another short flash, but much brighter."
"Find him and deal with it," Sykes ordered. "I don't need gizka on my flagship's board."
"As always," Brood declared. "I'm not much of a commander, but as a fighter…"
"Fewer words—more action," Sykes cut off.
He was about to add something, but his intentions were interrupted by the scanner operator's voice.
"Sir, starships have appeared in the system!"
"Identify!"
"Two ships, sir! The Star Destroyer Chimaera and a Raider-class corvette. Approaching on vector nine, from Galaanus."
"They plotted a course past the gas giant so grav-acoustics wouldn't detect them earlier," the admiral understood.
"More ships, sir!" the same operator reported. "An Interdictor-class Star Destroyer and a Crusader-class corvette. Emerged at the system's entry point and stopped…"
"Registering gravity well projector operation," the grav-acoustics reported. "Four of them. Directed at us."
"Can we jump out of the system?"
A more rhetorical question.
It was already clear—especially after the attack by mad omnivorous beasts on the ground contingent—that there was nothing on Korva.
This was a trap, aimed at luring Zann Consortium forces here for their subsequent destruction.
And the Interdictor's appearance was part of the snare.
"No," the navigator assured. "The wells are blocking us."
"Call Zann's Palace, report our situation!" the combat wing commander ordered.
"Sir, all frequencies are jammed!"
"That figures," Jerid smirked.
He was silent for several seconds.
"Aggressors and Vengeances of the second wave—into cloaking mode," Sykes ordered. "And immediately begin dispersing across the system. Groups one and two—to the Interdictor. The rest—hold positions. Destroyers six and seven from the first wave approach the enemy and target the approaching Chimaera. Fire from main caliber on my command. Interceptor IVs—transport protection. Maximum vigilance—the enemy is clearly not alone here. All fighters—begin patrolling and be ready for the enemy to appear at any inconvenient moment for us."
"Do you think more Dominion starships will arrive?" Maris was surprised. "All their forces are in Kartakk."
"I am sure what we are seeing is merely a prelude," Jerid declared. "Pellaeon, or whoever is behind the trap here, used our cloned moffs to misinform Tyber. They clearly intend to either capture or destroy our fleet. I cannot and will not allow that. Our failure deepens with every new minute."
"Probably that Force-sensitive I sensed is a Dominion agent," Maris gritted her teeth.
"Possibly," Jerid shook his head. "Most likely—that is the case. So we should expect even more serious and insidious troubles."
He fell silent again.
"I think Sykes-Six's grouping and Moff Harsh's landing forces from the Chiloon Rift are also destroyed," he said. "Either already or in the process of turning into scrap metal."
"And the comms blockade prevents us from knowing about it," Maris nodded understandingly.
"Among other things," Sykes agreed. "Cutting off the enemy from retreat paths, jamming long-range frequencies—this is Grand Admiral Thrawn's standard tactic, which he has pulled on his opponents more than once. I wouldn't be surprised if…"
His gaze fixed on the Zabrak's face, but he seemed to look through her into distances visible only to him.
"Watch officer—request masked ships of the first and second waves for full hull inspections," he quickly ordered.
"Yes, boss!"
"What does that mean?" Brood asked.
"Standard tactic," Jerid explained. "Thrawn loved placing buzz droids in places where his ships either set up or intended to set up an enemy ambush. After destroying the enemy's fleet, he dispersed them, after which the droids attached to the hulls of starships arriving to investigate the loss. And thus tracked their movement. Similarly, he did with ships he allowed to retreat from the battlefield. We used this tactic against them to track their privateers who attacked our ore convoys for Hoersch-Kessel. The fleet sent to destroy the privateer base never returned. From which I conclude that the Dominion forces will undoubtedly try to get revenge on us."
"You think there are buzz droids in the system?" Maris asked.
"I think you should already find and destroy our illegal Force-sensitive passenger," Sykes cut off.
Before Maris could respond, they were interrupted by the senior communications console operator.
"Boss, we're being hailed from the Chimaera."
"On the projector," Sykes reacted, pointing to the device in the side of the combat bridge. "You're still here, Maris?"
The former Jedi Padawan smirked (evidently, the educational violence from Tyber himself had already exhausted its magical power) and left the bridge of the fleet's main starship.
Despite his flagship—the Aggressor-class Star Destroyer Merciless—being the only one of the entire fleet of similar ships not currently hidden by stygium cloaking fields, which the Zann Consortium used to give its ships a significant advantage over enemy forces, Sykes felt he could unravel any trap any Dominion commander might set for him.
Practically none of them had tactical flair.
None of the Dominion officers could clearly think their plans not one, but two or three moves ahead.
He understood this as soon as, awaiting the comm session, he received confirmations from masked ship commanders that no unaccounted signal sources were found on hulls.
Whatever this trap was conceived for, at minimum, the Dominion had already lost the opportunity to track and destroy the Zann Consortium's masked ships.
Destroying the Chimaera and Interdictor along with their escorts was no trouble.
Even if the Dominion forces were buying time to pull from their stockpiles the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer they had in the battle against the New Republic at Soullex, or that contraption from the Iron Fist assembled by the H1 faction, or even the infamous Lusankya, then one hundred first-wave Aggressor-class Star Destroyers that entered the system under stygium cloaking fields undetectable by the enemy, plus another hundred Aggressors and Vengeances of the second wave that cloaked when the Chimaera entered the system, would tear any of those starships apart.
Yes, there would be losses—after firing ion-plasma cannons, Aggressors lost cloaking for some time—but if at least a dozen such shots hit an Executor, it would already depreciate its firepower by at least a third.
Sykes was ready to sacrifice half his fleet but inflict significant damage on the Dominion.
Which would at least somewhat soften Zann's wrath and…
Before him appeared the hologram of the person who wished to speak with him from aboard the Chimaera.
Jerid looked at the white-and-blue volumetric projection, straight into his interlocutor's eyes, as he always did in conversation.
He knew the standard Imperial holoprojector installed on their ships could not reproduce other colors.
But he could swear his interlocutor's eyes burned with hellish flame, promising terrible torments.
"Glad to welcome you to my trap, Admiral Sykes," Grand Admiral Thrawn's voice, rich in overtones, filled the bridge.
Jerid's heart skipped a beat, and his lungs forgot they needed to breathe.
"We're done," the Zann Consortium combat wing commander understood. "We were outplayed long before all this began."
***
"I want to know where their operational base is," Thrawn had said.
And that was her new assignment.
Perfect.
She had killed a bunch of time, blown up her ship to distract the "boys in brown," and infiltrated an enemy transport, blending with the crowd, posing as one of the enemy's soldiers.
Only to learn mid-journey that the transport was changing course and heading to rendezvous with the fleet.
No one explained the reason, but soldiers whispered among themselves that Admiral Sykes decided to strike the enemy with all forces.
Whether Thrawn knew about this or not, Mara hoped the Chiss had planned and accounted for everything.
And would meet the enemy at the Dominion's border.
However, this did not stop her or calm her on that thought.
Her surprise was great when, instead of the border of any Dominion sectors, she saw through the viewport the Galaanus system—practically the front doorstep deep into the sector.
And one of Thrawn's secret bases.
So secret that she knew only of their existence.
Unforgivable, of course, that shock temporarily wasted her concentration on the Force, with which she hid her essence.
This nearly became the operation's downfall—she caught the presence of a rather strong Dark Side adept on the flagship.
And he noticed her too.
Of course, few, knowing the might of the Dominion's defensive lines, could assume any enemy fleet could overcome them.
Faith in the invincibility of Thrawn's designs led to this—she became visible in the Force for a moment.
Her Jensaraai mentors in this art would be very displeased.
Nothing to do—she had to improvise.
She would turn her mistake into part of the plan.
For example—capturing this very Force-sensitive.
For centuries, well-trained Force-sensitives became advisors and confidants to warlords, their trusted agents or special operatives.
And this sentient was clearly well-trained and quite powerful in the Force.
It took her unforgivably long to obtain a suitable comlink, recall the "slicing" lessons Ghent had given her, reprogram the device to work on her personal frequency.
Signal range was awful, of course, but better than nothing.
Possibly (and most likely) there was a spy droid in the system that would intercept her signal about being here and send it to the Chimaera.
A pity about her own comlink, but Mara had gotten rid of everything that could identify her as an enemy spy.
And if a disassembled lightsaber aroused no suspicion when part of a blaster or datapad, a comlink could be detected easily—any scanner suffices to find even a powered-off device.
It cost her little effort to infiltrate a landing ship—she positioned herself as a landing ship pilot among the "boys in brown" (and the one who "gifted" her documents and clothing would never fly anything again anyway).
Time after time, she delivered landing groups to the planet, avoiding collisions with passive mine barriers.
Amid the panic from local animals attacking the landing forces, she reached the flagship and blended among the personnel.
Understandably, finding the enemy's operational base became nearly impossible.
Especially when her modified comlink notified her that the encrypted transmission for Grand Admiral Thrawn, unable to reach the addressee for several hours, was suddenly delivered.
Moreover, judging by the signal ping check—the subscriber was in this very star system.
She confirmed the Chimaera's arrival in Galaanus simply by glancing at one of the service consoles.
So Thrawn either anticipated the enemy's appearance in the system or planned everything happening.
Or arrived here to respond to the invasion.
Any variant suited her.
Except the one where she stands before the Grand Admiral with a guilty head and says she "could not."
As in the past, her inquisitive mind worked at full capacity, sifting ideas for if not completing the original assignment, then obtaining sufficiently valuable analogous information.
And such an action variant, strangely, was found.
She had a good opportunity to obtain not only coordinates of the landing rear base Thrawn counted on, but overall the maximum possible information about the Zann Consortium.
If she infiltrated the flagship's central computer, which should store extremely interesting data.
The plan had drawbacks, but in the situation, she had little choice.
But there was a theory she intended to test in practice, and so she moved through the corridors of the Merciless toward the ship's central computer compartment.
The longer she was aboard the enemy Star Destroyer, the clearer she understood that despite the time passed since this ship was designed by Imperial shipbuilders and presented to the Emperor to the present, the enemy had made only minimal changes to it.
The Empire considered this starship, as well as the Vengeance-class frigate and many other ships over its existence, unfinished projects.
But that did not mean Imperials abandoned their blueprints.
The Emperor had a habit of collecting even what he considered unnecessary—like these ships.
No wonder Tyber Zann found blueprints for these ships—the Aggressor and Vengeance—in the wreckage of the first Death Star.
And doubly understandable why Imperial designs are filled with Imperial devices and mechanisms.
Those developing military equipment for the Empire always followed unification procedures.
It was far simpler and cheaper for the Empire to order three billion computers and workstations for several different ship types but with identical deck terminals than ordering a billion of one type, a billion of another, and so on.
There was a very high probability that the central computer on the enemy flagship was also produced at Imperial factories.
Or stolen from there.
Or had any other but still Imperial origin.
And programming.
Thus, there was a sufficiently high probability that this flagship's central computer carried the same programmatic "backdoor" that the Emperor had given her (and his other agents) to infiltrate Imperial Star Destroyers' central computers (and not only theirs, in fact).
The Dominion had already fixed this flaw, but Mara was sure that one like Thrawn would necessarily leave his own backdoors in the new software.
She simply had not yet earned enough trust for access to such data.
"Pilot, are you lost?" one of the two guards standing by the door behind which the ship's central computer compartment was located inquired of her.
"I was ordered to compartment 24D," Mara answered carefree, assessing her opponents.
Each in heavy armor, armed with disintegrators.
Clearly not yesterday's Tatooine farmers, but experienced thugs.
Yes, others would hardly be posted here.
"Really?" the same fighter smirked from under his helmet. "Then you're clearly going the wrong way. This is not the twenty-fourth, but the seventeenth deck."
"Yeah, I already figured that out," Mara portrayed sincere annoyance on her face. "Looking for a turbolift or something similar, at least a service ladder, but can't figure out which way to go. Any pointers?"
"No," before she heard the first guard's words, the second joined the conversation.
While aiming a disintegrator at her.
"Your identification," he demanded. "Unit name, commander's name."
"All at once?" Mara batted her eyes, reaching behind her pilot's jumpsuit.
Her fingers reached the back of her belt, where she had secured her lightsaber.
Trying to shoot these two opponents with her blaster was incredibly stupid.
Power insufficient to penetrate their heavy armor.
But their disintegrators had power in excess to turn her to atoms.
And unfortunately, the enemy had suitable distance to finish her.
They were separated by just a couple meters, so missing was hard—two disintegrator muzzles stared at her.
She could not escape both.
"You'll joke on the other side," the second soldier declared.
Thanks to the Force, Mara saw the moment his index finger began pressing the trigger.
A disintegrator charge cannot be deflected by a lightsaber—the energy blade would simply annihilate.
Likely even with the hilt and her palm.
So she simply leaped aside, simultaneously Force-yanking the weapon from the second guard, who seemed more dangerous, breaking several of his fingers in the process.
His disintegrator flew one and a half meters and smashed against the bulkhead with a characteristic crack.
The first guard's shot bored a meter-diameter hole in the deck plating where she had just stood.
The violet blade, hissing and crackling as it burst from the hilt, described a short but merciless arc that in one motion deprived the opponent of his helmeted fool head.
A crimson charge buzzed overhead, which she deflected back at the opponent.
But the energy bolt merely melted part of his helmet armor, missing vital organs.
Though, when there are no brains, one need not fear losing them.
The second guard was ready to use his weapon against her again when Mara Force-Pushed the first opponent's corpse onto him.
He did manage to fire, but she easily avoided injury with her lightsaber.
The Zann Consortium soldier was knocked down and pinned by his comrade's body, but Mara did not stop there.
She was beside him and with a flourish of her blade divided yet another empty-headed body against all laws of nature.
Ensuring no immediate threat, the girl comfortably regripped the weapon, took the guards' blaster—which, though heavier, was more powerful than her own—and plunged her lightsaber blade into the wall section where the locking armature and bulkhead opening mechanism should be.
No point trying to open it via the console to the right of the entrance—clearly a biometric lock supplemented by a code panel.
And, say, she could borrow a hand from one opponent, but interrogating a corpse was beyond her abilities.
Though she doubted she would achieve anything even if she left one alive.
As she understood from talks with the "boys in brown," who served in the Zann Consortium (without fully realizing it) as light infantry (read: "cannon fodder"), each had a rather foul and uncooperative character.
The metal yielded stubbornly, but she managed.
As soon as smoke poured and sparks flew from the cut in the bulkhead, Thrawn's Hand looked with satisfaction at the coveted bulkhead beckoning her into the adjacent compartment.
Mara slipped inside, ready for possible resistance.
"And that confirms it," she smiled, seeing before her the sought central computer installation.
Exactly the model installed on Imperials.
Destroying a couple droids on guard duty cost her little effort.
Suppressing the last resistance, Mara, fearing nothing (since Thrawn was here, soon the enemy would have no time for missing crew contact), connected to the terminal and entered the coveted command.
The device hummed with cooling fans, opening to her its secrets hidden from most sentients aboard this starship—great and small.
The girl connected her information chip and launched several service subprograms.
Her eyes scanned the files the computer issued.
"Pure sabacc," she almost purred.
"I'd say Idiot's Array," a voice came from the entrance bulkhead.
Mara shifted aside to see the voice's source.
A Zabrak gripping something like combat batons in both hands, and a pair of Defilers behind her back.
And a very familiar Dark Side aura.
"Madam, gentlemen, I could bet my caf you're not supposed to be here," Jade declared, emptying her blaster magazine into them and forcing them to scatter across the compartment.
But only the red-and-black armored fighters did so, taking cover behind nearest terminals.
The Zabrak activated her ungainly "sticks," which showed Mara a pair of crimson lightsaber blades.
Each reaching standard half-meter or approximate length.
"You don't even know how you'll regret ending up aboard this ship," the Zabrak declared with gloating anticipation, crossing her weapons before her face.
"You can consider I said the same to you," Mara smiled, Force-hurling a heavy auxiliary console at the head of the aiming Defiler.
***
"Didn't know I was that famous," Jerid said, licking his lips.
The shock he and the bridge watch felt seeing before them the hologram of undoubtedly alive and well the last Grand Admiral of the Galactic Empire, now the Dominion, who still knew no defeats, gradually receded, crushed by cold calculation.
No one ever negotiates before battle if confident in their forces.
So this exchange of pleasantries was an attempt to buy time.
Well, two can play that game.
The Zann Consortium did not install "beacons" on its combat starships with active stygium cloaking for nothing.
They allowed tracking starships when invisible to scanners and visually.
And now two first-wave Aggressor-class Star Destroyers were approaching the Chimaera from opposite sides.
Aiming their ion-plasma cannons directly at the unsuspecting Dominion Star Destroyer's hull, they prepared to open fire on command.
A double salvo would instantly deprive the Chimaera of its deflectors, disable electronics, and subsequent plasma charges would tear and melt the destroyer's hull so much that its solar ionization reactor would run away and finish what was started.
Two minutes of battle—and in place of the Dominion flagship, in place of Thrawn who cheated death—would be only a white-orange flash and expanding shock wave destroying interceptors holding in the medium perimeter zone.
"Your dossier is quite curious, Admiral Sykes," Thrawn declared. "One of the best graduates of the Judicial Forces Corps, rose to patrol ship commander during the Separatist Crisis. With the start of the Clone Wars, took command first of a strike cruiser, then a Venator-class Star Destroyer… Impressive service record, Admiral. As is the fact that Ubiqtorate had to reconstruct this dossier when they finally understood who heads the Zann Consortium's military forces. Few can clean their dossier, turning from a Grand Army of the Republic admiral into an ordinary unremarkable starship commander with no combat merits, spending the entire war in the rear guarding transports in the Core Worlds and discharged for health reasons."
Jerid felt his jaws clench.
What Thrawn said was pure truth.
He had built a splendid career during the Clone Wars.
He truly led task forces into attack.
And when he realized where it was heading, did everything possible to edit his real dossier as if he had achieved nothing since commanding a simple Judicial Corps patrol boat.
Only thus did he have a chance to leave the active fleet and know no zealous Empire recruiter would come for him to return to a bridge of one of the constantly expanding Imperial starfleet's vessels.
Not that he did not want to become a combat officer again.
He did.
But not in service to a state that merely changed its name.
He found his calling in the Zann Consortium, preserving its troops and training fighters until managing to pull Tyber himself from Kessel.
And to this day, only the crime organization's head knew who he really was.
Even his close friend—Urai Fen—suspected nothing.
"You knew no defeats commanding fleets during the Clone Wars, you won leading Zann Consortium starships against the Empire and Alliance to Restore the Republic," the Grand Admiral continued. "This… deserves respect, Admiral."
"That's all?" Sykes clarified, keeping his voice icy. "Or will you dazzle with knowledge, telling what exactly I commanded the Relentless and the Zann Consortium fleet at the battle for Carida, when you received the holocron from traitor Bossk and left the system. While your entire wonderful Imperial fleet was disassembled by me into rivets and scrap."
Not a muscle twitched on Thrawn's face.
For a moment, Jerid thought Thrawn did not care at all that before him stood the man who inflicted a defeat on the Grand Admiral—one of the few in his record.
"You stand behind many of the Zann Consortium's military victories, Admiral," Thrawn continued. "If not all. But today you will not win. I assume your heart has not fully hardened in criminals' service, and you still know what care for subordinates is. Despite you standing behind all operations to draw the Dominion into war in the galaxy's east, despite planning and attacking the Dominion, I offer you…"
"Surrender?" Sykes clarified.
"So you can at least save your ships' crews' lives," Thrawn continued. "As I understand, you are already aware nothing remains of your landing on Korva's surface?"
Jerid bared his teeth.
"And I kept wondering who could be so ruthless and cynical," he said. "Certainly not quiet Pellaeon, deflated over years from brave warlord to court listener. Precisely for them, Thrawn, for all those you fed to those kriffing creatures from Naboo, I will end your career and life. Here and now."
"Bold statement," a semblance of a half-smile appeared on Thrawn's lips. "I look forward to testing your words in practice."
"Every one of your prisoners I'll feed to clodhoppers," Sykes promised. Now he knew victory in this battle would cost him compensation for everything. Including Tyber's favor, in whose pantheon instead of Thrawn was who knows what, as it turns out. "Yes, yes, I figured out who you set on us. Do me a favor—surrender, Thrawn. And then I'll let your people go. But you will still travel to Korva."
The smile on Thrawn's face widened slightly.
"I'll take this reply as refusal of a prudent decision," he uttered, turning his head aside as if to study something.
But judging by his moving lips without audible voice, he was giving some instructions.
Whose meaning he did not want the enemy to know.
Naive alien.
Squinting, Jerid managed to read Thrawn's last words by lips: "…on my command."
"Well," the microphone on the other side activated again. "That was an enlightening conversation, Admiral Sykes."
"And what did you hope to achieve with this, Thrawn?" Jerid could not hold back. "Did the heat bake your head and you think you can win? There are no buzz droids of yours in the system. And I have several dozen cloaked ships that will easily tear your destroyers and anything you pull here. We cannot be frightened or bought. I know no defeats, Thrawn. I have faced commanders smarter, craftier, stronger, more talented than you—and always emerged victor from those battles. So it will be today. You won't find my ships! We will destroy you all! And none of us will surrender to Imperial holdouts! We are loyal to the Zann Consortium!"
It seemed his tirade affected his interlocutor's behavior not at all—he did not even blink at the threatening rant.
"I want you to know what failure is. Absolute defeat. And you will all perish with the single thought," the Grand Admiral Thrawn's hologram leaned forward, continuing to drill Jerid with his gaze, who instinctively stepped back. "I brought this upon you. And very soon—I and my destroyers will come for the head of every one connected to the Zann Consortium."
And this sounded truly frightening.
Not played.
Confidently.
With fact constatation.
As if they were all already lined before a stormtrooper firing squad.
As if the battle at Korva was lost.
Jerid felt his right eye twitch.
A smile appeared on the Grand Admiral's lips—one could call it triumphant.
Grim.
Sinister.
Promising.
But it pierced Sykes, who never feared anything, to a heavy shiver.
He felt cold, clammy sweat trickle down his back.
A distinct smell of animal fear appeared on the Merciless's bridge.
Jerid looked at his subordinates.
Some, who had clashed with the Empire's most prepared and renowned warlords, the Rebel Alliance, and local governments, trembled so that the sound of their clashing jaws resembled a funeral march rhythm.
Jerid looked at the tactical monitor.
The sixth and seventh first-wave Aggressors, as he ordered, had taken positions twenty units to the right and left of the Chimaera.
Pistol range, from which missing is impossible.
And the time for ion-plasma projectiles to reach the target would be insufficient for the Chimaera to escape the mortal strike in any way.
"To understand your hopelessness," Thrawn continued in a velvety voice that seemed to pour into ears like sweet molasses and turn into a sea of needles piercing the skull, "I will show how deep the rabbit hole goes. Captain Tschel, your word."
The Chimaera's onboard turbolasers and ion cannons spat white-green fire in opposite directions.
Jerid opened his mouth when he saw hits landed exactly on the bow sections of the sixth and seventh Aggressors, depriving them of cloaking, surprise attack possibility, and main caliber guns.
A second later, octuple turrets joined, mercilessly dagger-firing turning each of the two Zann Consortium Star Destroyers' bow sections into shapeless metal chunks exploded from ion-plasma gun detonations.
But the Chimaera's turbolasers did not finish.
They continued firing, unerringly shattering the angular Aggressor hulls, tearing them apart.
And the pitiful return fire could not even damage the regular Dominion fleet flagship's deflectors.
Half a minute—and instead of two ships twenty units from the Chimaera were only two clouds of scrap.
"And now," Thrawn said slowly in a voice whose overtones tightened internals into a knot. "Let us begin."
And the slaughter began.