Waking up was painful.
Every patch of skin, every molecule of his body ached.
Galen lay on the cot for a few seconds, watching as the outlines of the ceiling panels and beams overhead assembled into a clear, shadowed picture in his vision.
Carefully looking around, he realized he was in an unfamiliar ship's medbay.
From the recent memories he had, there was no doubt whose hands he was in.
The medical droid was deactivated, and the IV line running from a bag of solution to his veins was dry.
His captors had forgotten to replenish the medical supplies, which had allowed his young body to finally emerge from the drug-induced sleep.
The man checked his senses.
The Force was inaccessible to him.
So they were still suppressing him.
Fine.
Their problem.
He wouldn't give the Dominionites a chance to correct their oversight and keep him here any longer.
The prosthetic arm wasn't working right, the calibration was obviously off, but it was enough to tear through the strong straps holding him in place.
A few more seconds to get through the muscle spasms and pain.
Well, get through...
He'd just have to tough it out.
He found his clothes and lightsaber in a simple medical safe, the kind usually used to lock away potent stimulants.
They were in there too, and Galen used a couple.
The pain receded, as did the dizziness.
Perfect.
That would be enough for a while.
Time to get out.
With extreme caution, he left the medical bay, expecting an ambush, but found none.
On the ship—and from the looks of it, it was a military cargo transport of the "Gozanti" class, incorrectly called a cruiser—the crew wasn't large, but it seemed they were either all taking a day off or weren't there at all.
Probably this was a special operations raider, meaning the crew consisted of no more than a small team, if not entirely made up of Assault Commandos.
Likely the same ones he'd encountered aboard the flagship of the "Kavil's Corsairs" commander.
If he had the Force, he could solve this problem easily.
But not now.
He needed to escape.
Without the Force, he couldn't stand against trained opponents, which meant capture loomed on the horizon.
The only question was how to leave a ship traveling through hyperspace.
Given that practically every compartment was locked with alarms—opening one would give him away.
Judging by the fact that he still hadn't found an area where the Force might obey him, those lizards that blocked his abilities were likely locked in those very compartments.
Bad.
If there were no shuttles or starfighters with hyperdrives here, he'd have to engage in combat and capture the "Gozanti."
But under the corridor ceilings, he could see rapid-fire laser turrets he really didn't want to tangle with.
Galen needed an auxiliary console to deal with everything at once.
And he had an idea where he might find one.
At the entrance to the mess hall, he only just managed to duck into the darkness behind a beam to avoid being seen by a pair of troopers coming out on their own business.
They were pulling helmets over their heads, discussing the advantages of the flamethrower one of them was carrying.
The face of one clone, judging by his gear a sapper, looked familiar to Galen.
But he wasn't in a position to stop the troopers and "interrogate" them about what he wanted to know.
However, he figured out how to do it another way.
"...the prisoner is in a medically-induced coma, sir," he heard a voice from the mess hall.
It sounded suspiciously like the sapper's voice.
The medication must not have worn off yet.
"Hold him until you reach Kamino... By the time you arrive, everything will be ready on the planet for the experiments to continue. The clone of Galen Marek is critically important for implementing my plans regarding the projects underway there."
Galen went cold when he heard those words.
Not only did that one sentence bring back nightmares from the Kaminoan homeworld, it also confirmed his fears.
Kamino, home of the Grand Army of the Republic, and also of Galen himself, was under Dominion control!
And they wanted to take him there!
But worst of all was that he recognized the voice that gave the order.
"It can't be," Galen whispered, making a decision and peering around the corner of the doorway.
His gaze fell upon a pair of troopers in "Katarn" armor, just like the two who had passed by.
And both looked alike, like identical twins!
"Clones," Galen gasped mentally.
Everything was falling into place.
Even the hologram of Grand Admiral Thrawn talking to one of the clones who had captured him aboard the "Tatooine."
Now it was all clear.
The Empire had captured Kamino, secretly occupying it after the defeat of the "Zann Consortium."
And all this time they had been building an army!
Using the old GAR clones and Kaminoan knowledge to restart the process!
Millions and billions of clones who would drown the galaxy in blood!
That's why Thrawn had been capturing ships all last year!
He didn't need to waste time creating new crews or recruiting!
He'd gone into the shadows, just like General Bel Iblis had ranted about!
And while the Dominion actively protected its key territories with its forces, Thrawn intended to create a new clone army and put them under arms!
Hundreds of ships he'd stolen would be instantly crewed by professional soldiers!
An armada in an instant.
With one difference... how many more years would he have to wait for the clones to mature? Four or five out of ten?
No!
Galen almost slapped his forehead.
He was important to Thrawn!
Not as Galen, not as a Jedi who fell to the Dark Side!
But as a clone of Galen Marek, grown in a short time from the genotype of the dead original!
Trained using experimental technology!
He was a product of Darth Vader's experiment to create new versions of Starkiller!
And Thrawn intended to take him apart piece by piece and figure out exactly how he'd been cloned in such a short time!
And, worst of all, he could use Galen's memories to understand how to stabilize the clone madness of Force-users!
The very flaw Vader had made before Galen managed to take control of his own memories!
And as a result, Thrawn would instantly become the owner of an army of clone soldiers, clone specialists, and clones of Galen Marek.
Even if the latter couldn't reach the original's level, Thrawn would just unleash the mad clones on the enemy army.
A horde of madmen into the very heart of the enemy.
The deranged minds of the clones would make them kill everyone in their path, and their innate abilities, even partial ones, would cause massive problems for the Dominion's enemies.
"Understood, sir," said the clone, apparently the commander. "What about the 'Millennium Falcon'?"
"Is the ship damaged?"
"Minimally, sir. It doesn't affect key functions. Life support is down, and a few secondary systems, nothing more."
"Deliver the ship to the base, along with the clone," Thrawn said after a moment's thought. "That starship is precious to the Solos. It will lead them to me."
Cold sweat dripped down to his boots.
Thrawn planned to deal with the Solos from the shadows, just like he had with him.
Lure them into a trap using the memorable ship.
Then he'd capture them and...
Leia Organa Solo was the daughter of Darth Vader. She was as powerful in the Force as her brother, who was only slightly weaker than Galen himself.
And, since Thrawn was alive, Luke Skywalker might also be in the Grand Admiral's custody!
And the Solo children were also strong in the Force!
Oh, Great Force!
What had he done?
Galen wanted to tear his hair out, but his head was practically bald.
Thrawn undoubtedly had agents in the Alliance!
And they were probably the ones who had arranged for him, Galen, to learn about the "Tatooine" and Captain Irvin.
To make him take the "Millennium Falcon"!
To fly into the trap.
And now he had given Thrawn everything he needed to conquer the galaxy!
He, an idiot who had gone off the rails like a defective clone!
Chasing Juno's memory without even thinking whether she would want him to act this way!
Idiot!
A clinical idiot who had been manipulated!
"Understood, sir," the clone replied. "We'll arrive in a few days, as soon as we've covered our tracks."
"I will be waiting for you," Thrawn answered. "Along with the other clones who will form the core of the Dominion's special operations forces."
"Yes, sir."
The hologram dissolved.
Now everything was even clearer.
Thrawn was preparing to begin creating a clone army.
And everything else was as Galen had thought.
He couldn't allow this.
It had taken losing his hand and being captured for his head to start working again.
Convinced no one was watching, the clone dashed away from the mess hall towards the stern of the ship.
He had to stop this impending nightmare.
By any means necessary.
But first—he had to escape from here.
And make sure it remained a secret.
The alarm went up the moment he cut the hyperdrive and severed the power cables feeding it and its backup with his lightsaber—without replacing them, the starship wasn't going anywhere.
What's more—it would soon explode, but those were details.
The main thing was that Galen had brought the ship out of hyperspace into realspace.
Now he was one step closer to escape.
They caught up with him at the airlock leading to the "Millennium Falcon."
It was near the cargo hold, where he'd noticed a couple of "Katarn"-class boarding ships.
But they didn't have hyperdrives and had fewer capabilities than the famous freighter.
So he'd chosen the latter.
This time, however, he managed to dodge the Geonosian sonic blasters.
But it was the already slamming "Falcon" hatch that saved him from the thermal detonator that ripped the connecting tunnel apart.
The ship slowly separated from the "Gozanti's" underbelly.
There was little air inside; the LSS, as mentioned, wasn't working.
But the guns and engines were.
First, he destroyed all the communication system antennas, but couldn't achieve more.
The "Gozanti's" armor, shields, and own guns prevented him from blowing up the ship.
And the clones hadn't bothered to replenish his missile stocks.
They'd die for that, though.
Before the "Millennium Falcon" jumped to hyperspace, Galen made sure the "Gozanti" had exploded.
If he was lucky, no one would try to contact them before the appointed time (he'd like to know what that was!).
And not knowing when Thrawn would start his experiments, Galen had only one option—to reach Kamino faster than the Grand Admiral realized his secrets were exposed.
No stops.
Full speed ahead.
Plotting the necessary course, he winced and swore when he realized the freighter's long-range communication system was also inoperable.
So he couldn't warn the Alliance.
But there had to be a way out!
Galen desperately searched for one until he saw a cage in the corner of the "Falcon's" cockpit with a very familiar lizard inside.
"No hard feelings, tail-bearer," he said before granting it a swift death.
The Force was with him again.
Now all that remained was for Leia Organa Solo to believe him.
* * *
"Crew ready for evacuation! Stations handed over to droid control," Tyberos read the data on the tactical screen. "Hm... Aut, you'll tell me later how you got the evacuation done in a minute and a half?"
"There's no secret to it," he replied. "I activated the radiation and chemical alarms on the decks. Organics are programmed for survival, so they act fast."
This was also largely because the ship only had a watch crew, no marine detachment, and the rest of the crew consisted of droids.
Distributing a thousand lifeforms among the escape craft was much easier than almost six thousand.
"'Star Tide' is accelerating!"
Irvin didn't waste time on foolishness.
"Raise shields! Full power! Fire at the bastard with everything we've got! Launch the bombers!"
"I don't recommend it," Aut-0 replied. "Admiral Arkh has calculated my intentions."
"And you're so calm about it," Tyberos noted. "What's the catch?"
"I am a perfect tactical machine," Aut-0 declared. "I don't base myself on a plan that's easy to figure out."
"Is that so!" Irvin couldn't contain himself, tearing his gaze from the enemy battlecruiser rushing at full speed. "And how was he so brilliant as to understand your great schemes?"
"I allowed him to," the tactical super-droid explained, turning his head towards the leader of the "Kavil's Corsairs." "Admiral Arkh is acting with the firm conviction that I am turning the 'Tatooine' away to avoid a head-on ram."
Which would be logical, because the "Star Tide" had concentrated its forward deflectors to protect against heavy turbolasers and had been deliberately moving slowly all this time.
You didn't need to be Thrawn to figure out that Arkh had made his intentions clear so that Aut-0 would turn away.
Because the Alliance ships were simulating their ship's low speed, and the best option would be to move out of the line of attack, pass the starships broadside-to-broadside, and move to a classic fight.
Best for the "Kavil's Corsairs," of course.
And at the moment the "Tatooine" made its move, the "Star Tide" stopped hiding and kicked its engines into afterburner mode.
Everything was used—the main drive, maneuvering thrusters, and emergency engines mounted on the "Star Tide."
The enemy was turning their ship into a bullet.
With a mass of millions of tons.
For a sublight power plant, that was a one-way trip.
And it turned out that Arkh was steering his starship toward Aut-O's flagship, and in a few minutes the two battle cruisers would collide.
At that, the Star Tide would crash into Tatooine's port side and undoubtedly break it in half.
"We need to act," Irvin said decisively. "You didn't order the emergency start engines preheated for nothing, did you?"
Aut-O agreed briefly. "Yes."
"So you want that when collision threatens, a long burst from maneuvering and start engines lifts Tatooine out of the line of fire by raising it 'higher'?" clarified Tyberos.
"You're thinking of doing a 'candle' on a battle cruiser?" Irvin was taken aback, looking at the tactical superdroid's head.
"I want him to think that," replied Aut-O. "An imitation of the maneuver Captain Schneider used to counter the ramming threat from Home One."
It took Irvin a few seconds to grasp the essence of what the droid had planned.
He was luring the Star Tide into a ramming course, and at the crucial moment used the start and maneuvering engines to make Tatooine rise from the ramming line into the upper echelon.
In this case, there was a probability that Irvin's flagship would suffer damage to its lower and port side compartments.
And the Star Tide at full speed would fly out of control into a minefield.
One must assume that Admiral Arkh is not so stupid as to sacrifice himself in this battle.
Because then the entire special operation to defeat and shame the enemy and also motivate the Tammuz sector to join the Dominion wouldn't be worth the effort.
"Not likely at all!"
"Because it's not us playing the role of Captain Schneider," explained the tactical superdroid.
"Arkh?"
"Exactly," confirmed Aut-O. "That's why he thinks I'm acting desperately, clutching at straws. He'll change course at the last moment to ram us as we transition to the upper echelon. In that case, his plan will succeed."
"Are you saying that's not what will happen?"
"I don't need hope," replied the droid. "I have mathematics. And physics. And astrography..."
But no direct answer was given.
"And a colossal sense of self-importance," snorted Tyberos, looking at Irvin. "Don't worry. Let's see what this piece of metal can do."
"It can destroy commanders it doesn't consider effective!" Irvin reminded.
"Oh!" was all that came from under Tyberos's face mask.
"I advise everyone to leave the ship," said Aut-O. "It will be more interesting to watch from a distance."
No one dared to object to the droid.
The watch members hurried to the bridge escape pods.
* * *
The holoprojector patiently worked in active standby mode waiting for an answer from the other side, while I examined the virtual projection of the star dreadnought Crimson Dawn.
The golden image, brought to life by the expensive projectors with which my quarters were equipped, dispelled the surrounding dimness.
Interesting...
Until I read Timothy Zahn's trilogy about Grand Admiral Thrawn back in the distant '00s — when a friend of mine, a small-time merchant, brought the original from the writer's homeland — I believed the universe's technology level didn't allow creating projections of colors other than white and blue in various shades.
Timothy Zahn apparently decided to shake up this swamp of technological stagnation, and in the scene of Captain Pellaeon's appearance in Thrawn's cabin aboard the Chimaera, he pointed out other colors of holographic technology.
True, it was used exclusively for displaying works of art, but that's a detail.
Much more interesting is something else.
Despite the fact that spaceships have been sailing the expanses of this galaxy for an incalculable number of years, it's rather amusing to see that Star Destroyers are equipped not with modern plasma or liquid-crystal monitors, projectors, or fancy sensor panels used on private starships.
Amusing from an outsider's perspective.
For the military, it's much more prosaic.
Various conflicts never cease in the galaxy.
And it's not even about military operations.
There are always plenty of pirates and other ill-wishers here.
Who wouldn't mind capturing a weaker ship.
And often they use the notorious ion artillery, which in essence is the very technology that allows disabling equipment without major damage.
True, to disable a starship with one or a few shots so it loses control requires high weapon power. Or a significant number of hits from weaker guns.
Depends on the size of the attacked starship.
For example, a shot from a ship's ion cannon would be enough (in case of a direct hit) to disable a fighter, interceptor, most shuttles, and so on.
But with one shot, even from a Star Destroyer's heavy ion cannon, you can't send a light cruiser into oblivion by hitting its bow or side.
Unless you manage to fry a key system.
Or, unless you're firing from the main battery of a Venator-class Star Destroyer that's been upgraded in the Dominion.
The presence of a solar ionization reactor, as well as a powerful planetary cannon on a stable and reasonably protected platform, allows us to resolve the functioning of enemy large ships with one or a few shots.
It's clear that firing the main battery of the Dragons at fighters is like using a cannon to shoot sparrows.
Not very pleasant.
And given the vacuum, you don't even hear the beautiful sounds of the shot, only the flashes of ammunition.
Returning to the topic of equipment installed on warships, one can say that the latest electronics are not installed there precisely because of the harmfulness of ion cannons.
Those monitors that externally resemble CRT televisions of past decades are certainly not that.
It's also electronics, but quite specific.
Not analog, not semiconductor... It's hybrid.
A curious trick.
But the engineers of this galaxy, understanding that an ion cannon, wherever it hits, will depending on charge power fry the piece of electronics it touches one way or another, invented such a wild "high-tech" that my acquaintance the electronics specialist from headquarters would surely have gone gray.
From shame for colleagues or admiration, I don't know for sure, but the result would be unequivocal.
Moreover, the design is such that the basis of military electronics is still a kind of analog technology that works in symbiosis with semiconductor components.
The modularity of hybrid electronics allows, in case of failure, not to replace the entire unit.
Only the damaged elements are removed.
As you can guess, semiconductor peripheral technologies in the equipment also serve as a kind of fuse — when hit by an ion charge, they burn out, while the "core," where the device's heart resides, is preserved.
In most cases.
If you hit a military glider or speeder with a heavy ion cannon, everything there will burn.
Perhaps literally.
Moreover, the equipment is designed so that, thanks to the peripherality of the semiconductor components, it can be integrated into more modern ships packed with only semiconductor technology "in the spirit of the times."
That's why various entities across the galaxy often chase after such equipment.
Because it's much more profitable to replace even if not cheap but still available semiconductor elements than the entire apparatus.
However, all this is the view of a non-specialist in this field, who gained knowledge while studying technical literature and equipment specifications.
In spare time from making plans and conducting military operations, of course.
Self-education cannot be stopped.
Mitth'raw'nuruodo knew that, and therefore he had large stocks of technical literature on a wide variety of subjects.
Another difference of the Grand Admiral from other military leaders.
It's unlikely that any of them were interested in the design of turbolasers of various campaigns, the differences between the hyperdrive for an X-Wing and its class counterpart installed on, say, Mandalorian small aircraft.
No wonder he understood the nuances of the consequences of certain enemy maneuvers and knew what their technology was capable of.
I, however, had to study this area from the very beginning, due to the lack of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's memories.
And I won't say that this "tedious" pastime tired me.
On the contrary.
The more I read about various aspects of this universe, the more I understood it.
For example, white-blue holoprojectors and monochrome monitors on warships are exactly hybrid military technology.
Color holoprojectors and monitors are more expensive, but not always better equipment.
Quality is prioritized over "modern trends."
However, it would be wrong to omit the point that Imperial equipment installed on their ships is not always "less modern" precisely for this reason.
Where officials could save money and install ordinary equipment of a previous generation that was cheaper than its modern counterpart, they did so.
Incidentally, nothing new — in my past life, they acted the same way in certain cases.
Military infrastructure is always a balance between "needs to be as cheap as possible" and "needs samples unmatched in the galaxy."
And often it's a fall from one extreme to another.
Generously seasoned with human qualities from the arsenal that violates Christian commandments.
As far as I've familiarized myself with the specifications of the technologies that the natives of the planet Fo-F'ea are ready to supply us (and already do), they are moving along the path of improving electronic protection by creating special fuses that are supposed to preserve equipment.
A qualitatively different approach to engineering compared to other shipbuilders and industrialists.
Moreover, their equipment has a slightly lower cost compared to analogues from galactic industrial giants.
Which, in turn, is another reason why the technologies of engineers and industrialists from Fo-F'ea were diligently portrayed by competitors as low-quality.
And again, an allusion to what happened in Earth's history.
No need to look far.
The feud of Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison is clear proof that society, even with constructive evidence of the advantage of a new approach, will still trust the "masters" proven by time and product quality.
Actually, internal combustion engines instead of hydrogen or other analogues are also possible proof of the superiority in ordinary people's minds of familiar technologies over those whose adoption requires a colossal change in infrastructure.
It is natural for sentients to fear everything new, unfamiliar, different from traditional views.
However, I still needed to clarify something.
During my compulsory service, we once heard the unofficial motto of the unit where, in fact, our youth passed in foot wraps and cotton uniforms.
"Our motto is four words: if you're a fool, ask someone else."
Translating from military slang to common language, this wisdom means that when you lack sufficient information to understand and complete a task, you should turn to a senior soldier or officer for "explanatory ding..."
And since there aren't many willing to receive those, the results are corresponding.
In my case, the interest is purely practical and backed by data from both open and secret sources.
There is no official answer.
Consequently, it's time to turn to specialized experts for a comprehensive consultation.
And for this purpose, I was now making a call through an encrypted military communication channel of the HoloNet-Dominion system, which had already spread to the Gordian Reach...
"Glad to see you, Grand Admiral," the sound reached me before the projection appeared.
Which indicates not the highest quality work of the local hypercomm relay.
Let's note that thought.
The voice of shipbuilder Zion was at odds with his sour facial expression in diametrically opposite directions.
Well, the shipbuilder's character traits were known even back when Mara was recruiting him.
"I hope I haven't distracted you from something important, Shipbuilder?" I clarified, continuing to analyze the man's physiognomy.
His self-conceit is such that he is ALWAYS busy with something important, and in most cases thinks that those around him are unable to understand the depth and fundamentality of his work.
This approach doesn't personally offend me, but it doesn't impress me much.
At the same time, I have no other shipbuilders for the Dominion.
Of course, there is a promising talent named Alexander Oni, but he is still young and inexperienced.
It will take a considerable time before this sentient either can compete with Zion, or...
I wish he could.
Two shipbuilders are better than one.
Much better.
"I won't go against reality, Grand Admiral," said the shipbuilder, "but it really is so."
"Excellent."
The more likely I am to get a comprehensive answer in the shortest possible time.
The shipbuilder's only biological eye blinked several times uncontrollably.
Nervous tic?
"In that case, let's get straight to the point, Mr. Zion. What do you know about the third auxiliary medical equipment storage found on every major Imperial starship?" I inquired. "Starting from heavy cruisers and ending with star superdestroyers."
"It's an anachronism," said Zion with an intonation as if he wanted to spit poison in the face of the creator of the Imperial-class. "I don't know the logic that Blisstex followed in naming the gynecological ward of the infirmary on destroyers that way, but first this idiocy appeared on the Imperial-class. Then the Kuati began installing them on every battle cruiser."
"Why?"
"Ask the staff officers in the Imperial Starfleet Military Command," snapped Zion. "At the insistence of these dementia-suffering schizophrenics, half the Imperial ships are stuffed with 'secrets' that only a few know about."
Meeting my gaze, he faltered.
"My apologies, Grand Admiral," he muttered. "I really don't know the reliable reason for such a ship layout. In the drawings of starships, the 'classified' compartments are labeled quite 'innocently' in case of inspection by one of the Senate commissions. 'Third auxiliary medical equipment storage,' 'seventh reserve electrical circuit storeroom,' 'eleventh additional adjustment node,' and so on. Most of the crew don't even suspect them. Only those whose work directly relates to them. For example, ISB, or medical droids..."
It's becoming a bit clearer.
From the formation of the Empire, Palpatine needed nineteen years, up to the year of the Battle of Yavin IV, to get rid of the constraints of the Imperial Senate that bound his ambitions.
The atavism of the Old Republic, despite everything, put spokes in the wheels of the Empire, Palpatine's subordinates, cut budgets, and engaged in other legally permitted sabotage against militarism in a militaristic state.
The reasons why Palpatine did not eliminate the Senate at the very beginning of his reign are simple.
Despite the Clone Wars freeing Palpatine's hands in many ways, even allowing him to appoint his representatives — Moffs and governors — to planets and sectors, the inertia of sentient thinking played a cruel joke on the Emperor.
He could not have avoided a full-scale open civil war in the Empire from the very first days of its creation if he had killed the senators and absolutized his power.
That's exactly what Bail Prestor Organa said at the end of Revenge of the Sith — that's why Palpatine gritted his teeth but kept going.
And where the appendages of democracy remained, the senators' powers remained too.
Including interference in military affairs.
Thus, the need to create the first superdreadnought, the Eye of Palpatine to destroy the Jedi base, forced Palpatine to keep the project secret, since the production of the Death Star had already officially started.
The enormous costs of producing heterogeneous superweapons would certainly have led to scandals in the Senate.
But after the destruction of the first Death Star, Palpatine easily passed through the court of public opinion the information about the vital importance of creating Executor-class star superdestroyers for the defense of the Empire.
No wonder it was accepted.
When overnight some band of rebels exquisitely blows up a military installation with more than a million elite soldiers and officers on board, you can't help but think that the Empire is in danger.
Consequently, it becomes logical to keep a number of secure facilities secret on large ships that serve as flagships of Imperial Starfleet formations.
It seems to me that if any senator from a specific working commission saw that the Imperial-class's plan included torture chambers, slave holding cells, or arsenals for storing weapons of mass destruction, then they would have questions about the necessity of such rooms and the fundamental difference between the proclaimed official tenets of the Galactic Empire and the purpose of these rooms.
Not to mention that after the collapse of the Old Republic, a large number of Clone Wars veterans held command positions; if they learned about the existence of torture chambers on ships, they could seriously cause trouble for both the ship commander and the New Order.
But the ISB... Like Imperial Intelligence, such fellows had no need to reconcile with conscience.
There is an order to torture — they will torture.
And the ship's central computer will suggest where to do it so you don't have to wash the blood off the deck.
Although, what danger could a gynecological office on a warship carry?
"What is natural is not ugly," a fellow soldier of mine once said at a court of officer's honor, when the command staff was reviewing complaints from women of the military town against him.
The political officer then proved without unnecessary words that having an affair with one lady is normal, with two is almost normal, but with sixteen is too much — we will punish, but also envy.
"There was a rumor going around that during the wave of youth conscription in the last months of the Old Republic and the first years of the Empire, a large number of female officers and specialists appeared in some fleets," Zion suddenly said. "Somewhere they didn't keep track, or something like that, as was said later. In fact, the Imperial Fleet was initially open to everyone. High salaries, the opportunity to see the galaxy, kill villains. All that sounds good, but the needs of the human body turned out to be higher. Again, according to rumors, mass maternity leaves appeared. Overnight, tens of thousands, if not more, specialists were lost to the Empire... The ISB investigated, and it turned out that a rancor's share of women in the armed forces come there solely to go on maternity leave with higher salaries than 'civilian', or simply to find husbands among the military, and..."
There was no point in listening further.
A problem characteristic of all organizations and collectives of state or quasi-state apparatuses.
You can't abolish physiology.
Nor the desire to live in better conditions.
The "situation" described by Zion was generally characteristic of women "in uniform" in my old world.
Consciously or not, young women would join the service, get a rank, a good salary, and then for natural reasons go on maternity leave.
Then another one after that.
For those with enough nerve and health, a third followed the second.
After the end of their demographic activity, the "rabbits in skirts," as they were called, returned to service as if nothing happened, and their seniority was recalculated for the time of pregnancy.
And all you could do was curse.
Because in a conditional nine years, a clever lady, "without ever smelling a horse from below," would get major's epaulets without a hitch, because during maternity leave the seniority flowed, and there were no penalties or service activity.
Meanwhile, the majority of male colleagues who started service with her would, at best, trade four small stars for one gap.
Because anything can happen in service, and in our unit, imposing penalties on any formal pretext was considered "normal disciplinary practice."
And not only in our unit.
But that's all lyricism.
Here's another reason why women were prohibited from mass service in the Imperial armed forces.
Yes, despite the official position, they were there.
But, having studied the life path of, say, Juno Eclipse or Natasi Daala, you understand that for them and their kind, service is more important than the demographic duty of genders.
Honestly, I thought that "maternity seniority" didn't exist in the Empire, but apparently I hadn't studied all the personnel regulations.
In the Dominion, we closed such a "loophole" and seniority does not accrue for officers and specialists not on duty.
Salary and benefits do.
Seniority... Well, my dears. Life for sentients in this galaxy does not end after having children.
People live calmly up to a hundred, sometimes more years, without losing any activity.
Also, the desire to have offspring and simultaneously earn promotion through a "bureaucratic error" should not go hand in hand.
Hmm... Hand...
I'll have to find a replacement for a long time.
And ahead are the most active combat operations of the second phase of the counteroffensive.
Hm...
Strangely enough, I understood the reason for the "secrecy" of the gynecological office and its presence on starships.
It rests on several postulates.
Women are not mass conscripted.
This is not spoken openly because a woman in service over time became an exception for the Empire, not the rule.
But, at the same time, there are exceptions who get into service through connections, influence, patronage, or their own outstanding abilities.
And if so, then for the most part women in service are potentially necessary personnel of importance to the Empire.
Women's health and anatomy differ from men's.
Accordingly, the Empire went ahead with creating a non-publicized specialized compartment so that information about the health of Daala, for example, wouldn't end up in the general registry in case of "emergency situations."
Sly, but dumb.
After all, all of this could be done at medical stations…
Oh no, it couldn't.
That would let an observer realize that the rule "Women don't serve" is being violated not on an exceptional basis, but permanently.
And then the whispers would start, and so on.
Another matter entirely — to equip a single nook on a ship with the necessary multi-purpose medical equipment and offload the relevant information to command during stops.
If everything is fine, then all is well.
If there are questions, the female officer simply requests a meeting with command, and another officer is sent to replace her.
And no rumors about pregnancies and so on.
"Transferred with promotion" or some similarly meaningless phrasing.
Given that in the Empire, even ship commanders barely knew each other by sight (despite serving in the same unit), it's no wonder that "soldier radio" was only slightly better than nothing.
Fewer rumors — the enemy hears less.
Grand Moff Tarkin made sure, without much effort, that Natasi Daala's group vanished from the face of the galaxy.
And that's just one particular case.
"I hope there are no such… 'deviations' from the standard blueprints on our ships?" I clarified.
"Of course not!" Zion's indignant tone indicated he took the remark as a personal insult. "Why would we need to hide anything? We don't have such idiotic restrictions…"
Yes, we drew conclusions from the Empire's and the Old Republic's experience, focusing on the individual's desire to serve rather than seeking excessive gain from the "perks" service provides.
But the particulars shouldn't be forgotten either.
"Out of two hundred and seven 'secret' compartments, I repurposed more than half for primary or secondary tasks of the decks they were located on," the shipbuilder's tone sounded as if he were doing a favor by explaining his genius to someone who had barely learned to read blueprints. "The rest I simply removed, thereby expanding the space of adjacent compartments where needed. That's regarding the main destroyer." He looked at me, apparently remembering who he was talking to, swallowed hard, and then his tone changed. "On the super-destroyers, there are more such spaces, but the approach was the same as on the other ships."
Which makes sense.
If there's already an interrogation cell in the prison block, why multiply another good dozen "secret" ones?
So you could "accidentally" kill someone in there and leave no trace?
Thanks, but we work differently.
Jade managed to use the "third auxiliary medical equipment storage" only because the Crimson Dawn hadn't undergone a full refit yet.
The flagship of the Red Star is directly engaged in combat missions, and we don't have time to send it for the long-planned changes.
"Thank you for the clarification, Shipbuilder," I said. "How is the work progressing on the anti-fighter missile with a MIRV warhead?"
Zion, like most of my subordinates, had long been accustomed to my habit of switching conversation topics.
"We have a batch of prototypes that have passed factory testing," he said. "Final checks are underway before training firings and military acceptance…"
Which, translated from engineer-speak into actual language, means: "We have a product, it's been tested by us inside and out, but since we're afraid we might get unlucky, we're using the time gap to double-check and triple-check everything. After all, we know that once we lobbied for funding, materials, and specialists to create this type of weapon, we'll be in trouble if the trials prepared by the military inspectors prove too much for the new anti-missile."
And put even more simply — the weapons group decided to play it safe and then some.
On one hand, that's good, but on the other…
"What's the size of the prototype batch?" I asked.
"A hundred units, sir," Zion said warily.
"How quickly can you increase the number of prototypes to six hundred?" I asked.
"Five days, Grand Admiral. Don't get me wrong, but there's no need to increase the batch size. The viability of the object or the need for refinements will be evident after firing thirty to fifty missiles with MIRV warheads…"
Zion was panicking.
Quietly, within the bounds of his psychotype, but he clearly realized he'd have to carry out the order.
He just didn't suspect why.
I, on the other hand, knew everything about this anti-missile.
Designed to the mass and dimensional values of a standard anti-ship missile or shipboard proton torpedo, the new product carried a warhead reduced and lightened five times in terms of explosive mass.
The fuel supply was halved.
The reason for this was that the main body of the new product was filled with shaped-charge submunitions, hidden under false panels, using rhydonium as explosive.
Actually, the warhead loadouts varied — the Dominion is capable of extracting and using a dozen chemical elements as explosives, from rhydonium and baradium to maranium, mined in the D'Astan sector.
Thanks to the Chiloon Rift and the large number of mining enterprises in the Bosph sector as well, our production is supplied with the full galactic periodic table.
Not to mention the hundreds of other enterprises throughout the Dominion, including territories outside the metropolis that are still in the deployment stage.
"Your weapon will be tested in combat conditions," I explained. "We need to form batches, each using a warhead with an explosive different from that of the other batches."
"Yes, sir, of course," Zion said distractedly. "You want to conduct a large-scale application to identify the most powerful projectile under the given crew safety parameters…"
Exactly.
Because there are informants and counterintelligence officers at the factories, through whom I know exactly the technical condition of the experimental samples.
I'm satisfied with how the factory tests went.
And I know for certain that the sooner we have a fully functional product capable of neutralizing the enemy's advantage in small craft, the easier it will be for us to defend.
And to attack, of course.
Not to mention that the anti-missiles can be used to engage not just small craft.
Standard explosives have long since been tested; the others are of less interest for various reasons.
The Dominion can seriously surprise its enemies, for example, by sending a standard anti-ship missile with a warhead not of baradium, but of rhydonium, say.
Or the same maranium that the baroness's troops used to fill hand grenades and ground-based missiles.
Only combat trials will allow us to identify the optimal approach for proper resource utilization.
For instance, the same volume of a missile warhead can be loaded with different amounts of solid, liquid, and gaseous explosives, and the consequences will be different as well.
Both in an atmosphere and in a vacuum.
That's exactly what we intend to test in combat conditions, and at this moment, we have excellent circumstances for not spending budget funds on creating military acceptance conditions.
"That's correct, Shipbuilder," I confirmed. "Can the fleet count on you?"
Zion looked off to the side, undoubtedly calculating the capabilities of his factories and the specified criteria.
We both understood that experimental production isn't as straightforward as assembly-line production.
And the stated timeframes could be "shifted to the right."
"We'll do it, sir," he said confidently. "Within the exact timeframe."
"Excellent," I summed up. "Get to work. Units will soon arrive to be equipped with experimental products. Ensure that engineering groups are present on the flagships to assist the fleet."
"As you wish, Grand Admiral."
* * *
When the escape pod was spat out, a relieved sigh sounded inside from the commander of the Star Tide.
Sitting in the pilot's seat, he fiddled with the controls to get the tiny pod as far away from the presumed site of the tragedy as possible.
Harch watched the unfolding scene through the rear viewport.
He had done everything he could and even a bit more to keep the enemy from understanding his plan.
And judging by how the Tatooine began to move, the enemy fleet commander had indeed failed to calculate the situation a few steps ahead.
There was just under a minute left before impact.
The enemy had already fired up maneuvering and emergency launch thrusters to get out of the line of attack.
Because if he didn't, the Star Tide wouldn't just ram the Tatooine; the inertia would throw the cruisers' hulks straight onto the space minefield.
A small safeguard in case the Dominionites, already famous for their Toydarian "grabbing" reflex, couldn't salvage either starship.
"I see a rescue ship," the commander of the dying flagship warned.
"Tsk-tsk, good."
Arkh watched only to ensure the plan succeeded completely.
Yes.
The enemy realized things were bad because escape pods started ejecting, bombers and fighters shot out, a large number of transport ships…
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," his chelicerae quivered as Arkh understood what was bothering him.
Transports.
First — there were more of them than standard complement allowed.
Second — they could never be launched this quickly, right after the fighters and bombers.
Even if the Dominion had managed to refit the landing deck, cargo starships are always located directly beneath the main deck.
They need time to be lifted and reactivated!
If the enemy was launching them already, then that meant…
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Arkh clenched his fists.
The enemy had figured him out.
They had prepared for the Star Tide to change course!
He had been out-calculated!
Now he watched as the program-driven droids guided the Star Tide under the belly of the Tatooine, which had shifted to the upper echelon.
But that wasn't all.
The Tatooine's left emergency and launch thrusters fired with increased power, rolling the ship over the top deck to the starboard side.
For surface ships, this maneuver would be akin to capsizing and then sinking.
But in a vacuum…
The enemy was simply pulling the belly of his ship away from the ramming and glancing blow, leaving only the starboard side for the Star Tide.
That was exactly what the second battle group's flagship's bow crashed into now.
Even if the Star Tide destroyed half of the Tatooine's starboard side, the latter would be easy to repair.
And the second battle group's flagship would drift onto the minefield and be destroyed by the barrier.
This contradicted Arkh's plans to deny the enemy trophies for Dominion service.
"Tsk-tsk," Harch irritably pulled himself out of his seat and walked to the escape pod's control panel. "Good enemy. Smart. But, tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk, we're not from a defective nest either."
"We've been picked up by a tractor beam," the captain of the dying flagship explained.
"Tsk-tsk," Harch turned to the comm system panel, tuning it to a specific frequency and entering a sequence of symbols. "Wasted effort. I have a plan for every failed plan."
When he finished, the rear viewport was flooded with a flash of powerful light that could momentarily blind anyone.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Arkh said in a triumphant voice. "I always get what I intend."
* * *
The fragments that struck the transparisteel left huge cracks on the observation screen of the escape pod carrying Irvin, Aut-O, and Tyberos.
"What a damn mess!" Irvin looked at the spreading secondary cracks and with one yank tore the emergency mask from the nearest mount.
He barely got it secured on his head when another piece of debris breached the pod's seal.
Shards flew across the cabin, and then a powerful rush of outgoing air sucked them out through the breach into space.
The decompression blast nearly threw Irvin out of his seat.
If he hadn't been strapped in with safety belts, the former Separatist would now be dragged across the deck toward the expanding hole.
Though, meeting space was still on the agenda, as other fragments drummed against the pod's hull, and one of them flew inside, nearly smashing Aut-O's head.
Though few would have been upset by that outcome.
The emergency siren blared piercingly, drowning out the shrill screech of escaping air.
But as soon as the last of it vanished, an atmospheric field appeared in place of the transparisteel nose section of the pod.
Oh, right, as if anyone here still needed to preserve atmosphere.
"How long will your mask last?" Irvin asked, tuning the comlink in his own helmet.
Tyberos chuckled.
"We'll freeze to death before my oxygen runs out. That arachnoid is good."
"What for?" Irvin was systematically gutting the emergency kit, looking for something to preserve warmth.
First take care of yourself, then send a distress signal.
But a second later, their pod shuddered and began to drag sideways.
A voice in the earpiece announced that a rescue craft from the nearest light cruiser would deliver them to safety in ninety seconds.
But Irvin kept wrapping his arms and legs with a thermal blanket, using one side to trap body heat inside an improvised cocoon.
Trust in the rescue crew, but don't slack off yourself.
Aut-O also promised them everything would be fine.
"That hairy many-armed one blew up his ship," Tyberos explained. "And ours too."
"I got that already! What in the Hutt's name for?"
"For the same reason he used the ram," Aut-O explained over the internal comm. "He was depriving us of battlecruisers. There's only one reason for that. He intends to attack the Tammuz sector again."
"Brilliant!" Irvin said sarcastically, looking at Tyberos. "Contact Thrawn, have him send a destroyer squadron here. And let them fight here until Darth Vader's second coming. I've had enough! I'm a privateer, not a parody of a regular fleet captain."
"Oh, come on," Tyberos grinned. "We still have the Black Pearl and lots and lots of anti-ship missiles. We'll greet the Alliance folks properly — with a hot welcome."
"I suggest using a thermonuclear 'Hello, you're not welcome here,'" Aut-O interjected. "This individual is dangerous to the Dominion because of his tactical methods. He must be found and destroyed."
"You're just mad that the Harch turned out smarter than you," Irvin said.
"I don't know how to get mad," Aut-O snapped. "But I have a Hate Code. I hate Admiral Arkh very much. So much that I'll need a thesaurus to describe the full depth of my negative emotions. He wounded me right in the processor."
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