Grand Admiral

Nine years, six months, and the twenty-third day after the Battle of Yavin…

Or the forty-fourth year, six months, and the twenty-third day after the Great Resynchronization.

The Imperious emerged from hyperspace right on the outskirts of the Arbra planet's shipyards.

— Raise deflectors, — Captain Erik Shohashi ordered calmly. — Launch fighters, begin test firing the turbolaser turrets at the assault frigate.

Compared to their "professional counterparts," the tiny shipyards in orbit around Arbra were unimpressive. A few slipways, around which two medium freighters hovered, offloading cargo. A pair of Z-95 Headhunter patrol fighters… No defense stations, no serious force to repel an attack.

An Assault Frigate Mark II slowly pivoted its armored hull to face the Imperial Star Destroyer.

It took Erik little effort to gauge the threat posed by the starship setting course to intersect that of the Imperious. It would not hold out long against a Star Destroyer.

— Orders to the carrier wing, — he continued. — Fighters, escort the bomber squadron to the yards. The bombers are to destroy the Mark I assault frigate in the docks and the shipyards themselves; fighters, deal with both medium transports. Interceptors will protect the Imperious and fend off enemy craft at long range. The corvette is to cover our lower hemisphere.

He wouldn't want to let them catch him off guard with a spread of proton torpedoes—his opponents' favored "party trick."

From his pocket, he pulled out an antique chronometer. Flipping open its lid, he ran his thumb over the portrait inside, then shifted his gaze to the dial.

One minute since the operation began.

No matter how hard they tried, the enemy posed no threat to the Imperious. Even if a second frigate crept out of the dock, those two ships—lacking onboard fighter craft and supported only by local defense fighters—could do nothing against Erik's command. They had neither proton torpedoes nor heavy missiles, merely a handful of turbolasers and laser cannons. There were quite a few of those, yes, but in an exchange of artillery fire, that wouldn't be enough.

Meanwhile, the gunners of the Imperious were already testing the enemy's deflector shields. Green energy beams splashed against a previously invisible barrier, slowly but steadily wearing it down. No matter how the enemy starship maneuvered, it was always within range of either the dorsal turbolasers or the broadside batteries whose turbolasers spewed forth torrents of destructive energy, occasionally mixing in the fire of ion cannons.

Scarlet tracers flashing from beneath the Imperious indicated that the CR90 Corellian corvette had joined the fray as well. Staying close to Erik's ship, it hid behind his deflectors and had little to fear in terms of return fire.

Shohashi continued to watch the enemy's attempts to fight back. Their sporadic turbolaser shots splattered across the Imperious's deflectors without causing the ship any tangible damage. At the same time, Erik noticed that the other vessel's commander was trying to maneuver in such a way that his own shields were never overloaded, preventing them from thinning out to the point that Imperious's gunnery crews could rip open the assault frigate's hull with turbolaser fire.

Erik had no doubt about the battle's outcome—Imperial TIE bombers' proton bombs were already tearing the medium freighters apart, blossoming into fiery flares across the shipyards, scattering chunks of hull, cargo containers, and the crews themselves all over the orbit. The yards themselves were battered by the blasts. The skeletal frameworks were buckling and collapsing into pieces, turning the orbit into a junkyard. The assault frigate under refit tried to fend off the strikes with its numerous laser cannons, but Shohashi's pilots knew their business.

As it tried to slip away from the berth that threatened to become its tomb, the vessel slowly gained speed, warping what was left of the slipway in an attempt to leave the bombing zone—yet in doing so, it only contributed to the overall devastation of the shipyard.

The hull of the retrofitted heavy cruiser was already riddled by hundreds of laser bolts from Imperial fighters, scorching viewports and gun stations, shredding antennas and sensor arrays, melting the engine nozzles. A few of the TIE bombers' proton torpedoes had already slammed into its armor, leaving ragged holes after they detonated and swirling air currents venting from its interior. Each new run from the Imperious's craft merely increased the damage in both scale and severity…

Erik glanced at his chronometer again.

Three minutes.

Too long.

One transport had been destroyed, now drifting apart in pieces; the second was under assault by the TIE fighters, which were ripping its frail hull apart like a pack of ravenous predators descending on a large, bloated grazer unable to flee or fight back.

Under cover of a single fighter squadron, the bombers kept hammering the Mark I assault frigate; judging by the number of holes in its hull and the way it was losing speed, it obviously wouldn't be going anywhere.

But that Mark II…

Erik watched closely as the ungainly vessel, more akin to some oversized aquatic creature, choked on its own return fire, trying to dodge the Imperious's clutches. Its shields seemed fairly robust, and the Rebel captain obviously meant to use that advantage to flee… But who would allow him that?

— Ion cannons—target the enemy's aft shields, — Erik ordered. — Knock them out, disable his engines.

Stripping an enemy warship of power and then using a ship's batteries to finish it off has long been the oldest textbook maneuver in space combat. They teach it early on at the Imperial Naval Academy… The Rebels surely knew it as well—Imperial commanders had used it so often in battle.

But today, there was no need for fancy maneuvers.

The mission was almost complete. All that remained was to destroy the last target.

While the enemy ship attempted to "slip past" the Star Destroyer, taking a barrage of turbolaser and ion fire, it had lost most of its external components. The vessel was blind and effectively stayed on course only because its crew still had their eyes.

And that crew realized they weren't going to be spared. The survival instinct—strongest of all in a sentient being—can't be ignored. It's nearly impossible to cast aside one's own physiology.

That was why the Rebels were running as fast as they could. But it wouldn't save them.

The Imperious's artillery, lining itself up behind the fleeing target, finally stripped away the frigate's deflectors. Their shimmering, crimson-tinted energy fields vanished under the relentless pounding from the Star Destroyer's heavy guns.

Its invisible shield gone, the enemy had nothing left but battered armor scorched by interceptors—no match for the merciless might of Imperial weaponry.

Turbolasers scorched and melted hull plating, bringing localized disaster each time the frigate's plating failed to withstand the Imperials' assault. Engine nozzles crumpled under the Star Destroyer's cannon fire, then were swallowed by internal blasts that tore apart the New Republic vessel's stern. One internal explosion after another followed, until not a single fire-spewing exhaust port was left. In their place lay only smoking, molten remnants of metal, with flames occasionally flickering through, fed by the air still escaping from the holed compartments within.

The Imperious slowly turned, matching speed with the drifting enemy hulk left coasting on inertia alone. The destroyer's turret batteries roared once more, raking the assault frigate with precise, concentrated fire that turned it inside out. Debris and crystallizing droplets of fluid from the New Republic's ruptured hydraulic lines surrounded the vessel, which hardly resembled anything like a warship now. The guns were silenced, its hull looked like a sieve. The shape of that enemy ship had been so deformed under "artistic sculpting" from the destroyer's battery deck that it no longer looked like what it once was… The assault frigate was dying, and the Imperious accelerated the process. Meanwhile, a Corellian corvette under its belly played its part, using its rapid-fire weaponry to snipe through the holes, bringing further destruction to the doomed vessel from within.

— Sir, — a watch officer came up to Erik. — The fighter and bomber squadron leaders report the mission is a success. Enemy fighters, the yard, the transports, and the Mark I assault frigate are all destroyed. They request further instructions.

— Return to the Imperious, — Erik commanded, glancing at the chronometer. Seven minutes. Overall mission time was acceptable—though certain details… He'd deal with them later. — Any signals from the system?

— Yes, sir, — the watch officer responded immediately. — They notified the enemy fleet base on Naboo. The reply said they're deploying a strike group.

— Do we know who's in command? — Captain Shohashi asked.

— Yes, sir. It's commanded by some Admiral…

— That's enough, officer, — the Imperious's commander cut in. — Note that in the log. Dispatch an encrypted message to the Chimaera.

— What's the text, sir? — the officer inquired.

— "Mission complete. General Solo did not respond to the distress signal," — Erik dictated.

— Yes, sir, — the watch officer said, entering the exact wording in his datapad, then added:

— There's a distress call coming in from the frigate being shelled. They're asking us to cease fire. They're surrendering.

— Gunnery, — Erik called to the chief artillery officer. — Why is that Rebel tub still obstructing the view from our bridge?!

— My fault, sir, — responded the head gunner on the destroyer. — We'll handle it right away.

— You have three minutes until the bombers get here, — Erik warned. — After that, they'll finish off that wreck, and your entire gunnery unit will face disciplinary measures. Understood?

— Yes, sir! — the chief gunner barked, relaying the order to his subordinates. No one in the Imperious's bridge so much as mentioned the enemy's attempt to surrender. Everyone knew capturing New Republic personnel wasn't part of this mission.

Two minutes and eleven seconds later, the Mark II assault frigate was blasted to pieces by concentrated artillery fire. Another minute passed, and the Imperial Star Destroyer Imperious left the Arbra system behind, leaving nothing but wreckage and death.

***

Captain Pellaeon was clearly ill at ease. That much was obvious from his uneasy expression, his stance, and the way he kept trying to examine the small golden holograms of various art pieces projected on the ceiling of my quarters.

Though I'm nowhere near as adept as the real Thrawn at "reading the souls" of different species through their cultural artifacts, this holographic museum put me at ease. And, to be frank, there truly is a captivating beauty to these items. Sometimes it's good to step away from endless analysis and planning to simply admire them… Indeed, Palpatine and his associates were wrong. Nonhuman races can create such exquisite objects that one could spend hours marveling at them. And if I recall the Mon Calamari ballet I watched while considering the operation at Hast, trying to guess how the New Republic's allies would respond after the attack… The music was heavy, but it had its share of colorful transitions that bewitched the soul, and the visuals only strengthened that beauty.

I would compare it to a performance on an organ—just as majestic, sometimes foreboding, yet so very beautiful…

When I was younger, I often worked while playing background music. Over time, that habit had faded somewhat, but here in this galaxy, "Squid Lake" revived the memories of my youth. Now and then, I sift through the musical works left me by the Grand Admiral to please my ears. Remarkably, there's so much instrumental and "classical" (as Earth would define it) music in this galaxy, and many of these pieces come from nonhuman cultures. It's amusing. Palpatine adored artwork and knew how to appreciate it, separating the wheat from the chaff, yet he never considered other races to be on par with humans. However, in their cultural expression, some species can be far richer and more colorful than humanity.

— Speak, Captain, — I said, scanning the latest intel on my computer's screen.

— Sir… — Pellaeon exhaled heavily. — Honestly, I had hoped you'd reach an agreement with Valles Santhe. Just thinking about how many credits we'll have to spend buying craft from Krennel…

— Not only from him, Captain, — I remarked, glancing his way. — We should also pay a visit to the company that produces Lambda-class shuttles and Sentinel-class landing craft.

— Are we short on those ships? — Pellaeon asked, surprised. — I just looked over the Fleet data the other day… Of course, it wouldn't hurt to purchase some for heavy cruisers, but they aren't scheduled to enter service anytime soon. Is it prudent to spend money on that now?

— It is, — I stated. — We have funds, no need to hoard them. But ensuring every ship in our fleet has its assigned complement is essential. That includes shuttles and landing craft.

— Are you planning to buy the Xg-1?? — the captain asked, brightening slightly. Though it didn't come off as boyish enthusiasm, more like restrained hope.

— Among others, — I replied evasively. Frankly, aside from the shuttles and the Xg-1 starfighter—stubbornly referred to by the Imperial Navy as an "assault gunboat"—I had little idea what else Cygnus Spaceworks might offer. Their facilities lie in an isolated cluster of planets near Hutt Space in the southern quadrant. They worked closely with the Imperial Armed Forces for a long time. Still, after the Empire's downfall, the "longstanding client" cut back on orders, so what was once exclusively Imperial tech ended up on the open market. You see it everywhere now—local warlords, wealthy individuals who can afford to buy and maintain them.

I recall glimpsing a lengthy catalog on the company's HoloNet site, and their price list…was similarly impressive. We'll have to watch our appetites.

— Even so, losing the orbital assembly yard is a major setback, — Pellaeon observed. — Sure, the Xg-1 is a good craft, but retraining TIE pilots to fly gunboats won't be easy. Or quick. Not to mention we can't produce these fighters on our own…

— You shouldn't consider that meeting with Lady Santhe an outright failure, — I said, glancing at my Star Destroyer's commander.

— But we didn't secure an orbital assembly yard! — Gilead reminded me.

— I had little confidence in those talks to begin with, — I calmly state this minor lie. Truthfully, I did have hopes. That's why I had the Jensaarai dress as an Imperial Shadow Guard, hoping to replicate the "shock factor" that worked on Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel. But apparently, the experiment failed. Fearing exposure of my "fake Imperial Guard," I'd picked a somewhat obscure unit from Palpatine's retinue so no one recognized him. Thus no one asked: "If an alien like him can command guardsmen of that caliber, perhaps we should deal with him?" It took effort not to lose my composure—our improvised demonstration of ordering Fodeum Sabre De'Luz via datapad to pass it with the Force for dramatic effect hardly impressed her. I must admit, she's a shrewd and perceptive woman who clearly noticed a discrepancy between my cool demeanor and the parting remarks I gave. No doubt she's already checking my claims—especially the mention of restoring the Lusankya, which practically made her jaw drop. And like any rational being in this galaxy, she'd be worried about facing a nineteen-kilometer behemoth capable of singlehandedly blasting any defense into cinders, or leveling an entire planet. She'll doubtless learn that New Republic specialists are expediting the Lusankya's overhaul. Then she'll feel some relief when she realizes it's aimed at the Empire, not her. I didn't say that to see her break a cold sweat, only to then laugh off a foolish alien who tried to threaten her and failed. Lady Santhe is quite willful and cynical, protective of the diminishing credits from a rapidly shrinking Imperial market. The Pentastar Alignment, after all, possesses its own manufacturing, likely using old licenses from when Raith Sienar ran the corporation. The rest prefer to get limited-run craft from the Prince-Admiral. Lady Santhe could have made billions by selling to the Imperials, but she let that opportunity slip away. Almost all the Imperial Remnants enjoy decent relations with the Ciutric Hegemony, from which they get whatever hardware they need.

— Yes, except they categorically block Krennel's attempts to acquire capital ships, — Pellaeon noted wryly.

— For good reason, Captain, — I said. — Krennel can fend off small threats on his own, but a major invasion would require help from his neighbors. Which is precisely why he's so keen on purchasing Mon Calamari Star Cruisers from us. I'm sure he plans to keep them off standard shipping lanes, secretly arming them.

— Stashing them away as an ambush force? — Pellaeon clarified. — Makes sense. That's what we did at Rugosa.

— Luring the enemy into a trap is a textbook tactic, — I reminded him. — Nothing fancy, and how it plays out depends on the commander's skill.

— You mentioned telling Valles Santhe you'd take everything she owns the moment she appeals to you for help saving Lianna, — Gilead said, recalling the summary of my account of that meeting.

— Quite so, — I confirmed.

— And you plan to deal with the Ciutric Hegemony as well, — Pellaeon noted.

— That's part of the current operational plan, — I agreed.

— Meanwhile there's still the planned assault on Sluis Van, — Pellaeon went on.

— As originally intended, but we'll wait for a more opportune moment, — I replied. Judging by Pellaeon's expression, he was experiencing some cognitive dissonance.

— Sir, — he said after a few seconds' hesitation. — Sorry, but I don't see how we can pull it off with our available forces.

Brainstorming is a group exercise. And indeed, it's helpful to hear others' viewpoints to spot weaknesses in your own plans.

— All in good time, Captain, — I answered his unspoken query. — First, we must complete a number of ongoing but unfinished endeavors.

— Like handing over several Star Cruisers to Krennel, for instance, — Pellaeon grumbled.

— Precisely, — I acknowledged. — At this moment, after the battle for the Hast Yards, we have ten of them. Seven are in excellent shape, minus their weapons and some systems like deflector shields. Three are damaged and in need of repairs.

— And significant repairs at that, — Gilead specified. — Engines, plating… Quite a specialized commodity, to be sure.

— However strongly the Mon Calamari may claim to oppose crime and smugglers, illegal dealings have existed, do exist, and will continue, — I pointed out. — Unfortunately, it's an inescapable fact of life for most sentient species, implying technology can be leaked from Mon Calamari Shipyards onto the black market. We just have to look for it. Moff Ferrus has been working on that ever since we left Hast.

— You really want to spend tens of millions, maybe a hundred, to buy the gear needed to hand these ships over to Krennel? — Pellaeon said in disbelief.

— If there's no other option, yes, — I affirmed. — Bear in mind, despite our opinion of him, the Prince-Admiral gave us three hundred fifty million up front for this "job." We must honor the terms of our deal.

— I'm beginning to feel more like a mercenary than an Imperial officer, — Pellaeon lamented. — Sir, why return the ships at all? We could conquer the Ciutric Hegemony ourselves with the fleet at our disposal, ignoring the Prince-Admiral's protests. In fact, it seems that's your eventual goal.

— That's correct, — I agreed. — But there are certain formalities we need to observe. First, while Krennel never specified what shape the ships should be in, I did mention to him that they'd be combat-capable. So anything we can fix must be fixed.

— But…why? — Pellaeon still didn't understand. — He's the enemy…

— There's a simple truth, Captain, — I sighed, explaining. — People envy those in positions of greater success. Right now Krennel can't expand the Ciutric Hegemony because he lacks capital ships. Despite his wealth, even the Corporate Sector won't sell him warships.

— We're not certain of that, — Gilead countered.

— But we can reason it out, — I refuted. — Krennel essentially forked over a fortune to acquire these ships. For five vessels in the promised condition, he's prepared to pay another three hundred fifty million Imperial credits. A Victory-class Star Destroyer in good shape costs between fifty and seventy million. The Prince-Admiral could have easily bought a fleet of those, yet he chose to pay me for something stronger. That indicates that after Sate Pestage's assassination, Krennel is distrusted by other pro-Imperial territories. None of them wants to see him build up power. At the same time, the man's a formidable tactician. You recall the thoroughness of Ciutric IV's planetary defenses when we visited?

— Impressive, — Gilead admitted.

— I'm sure every strategic planet under Krennel's command is fortified just as well, — I went on. — An outright assault would be costly, which is not to our benefit—though we have plenty of warships, we're low on crews, so we're not about to attack him ourselves. He currently has two damaged Mon Cal Star Cruisers. He advanced us funds to get five more, in good condition, for which he'll pay another three hundred fifty million.

— We already have two billion plus—two and a half, to be precise—not to mention the Emperor's hoard from the depths of Mount Tantiss that we still plan to liquidate. So those millions… — Pellaeon shrugged.

— …are still a substantial sum, — I clarified. — And primarily, handing these ships to Krennel is part of the plan to destroy him. If all goes as hoped, we'll give him three damaged MC80s and two in good shape. He'll probably deduct the repair cost from the outstanding amount, but still pay us.

— Or not, — Pellaeon suggested. — You mentioned he wanted you to leave signs pointing to him as the attacker.

— That's why we used fake transponders, — I reminded him. — Formally, we fulfilled his requirement, for which he paid extra: a New Republic installation destroyed, trophies taken. He needn't learn that Hast was long deserted and worthless. We already have the ships. Again, if we can come to terms, we'll part with some "prize ships" so that he takes the damaged ones. Then he'll have to buy spares on the black market. And however inexperienced the New Republic's intelligence might be as a whole, they'll eventually trace that lead to Ciutric IV. Undoubtedly, they'll muster a superior force to attack Krennel—especially if they learn he's holding hostages from past raids. By then, if everything lines up, Princess Leia Organa Solo and her friends will also be moved to Ciutric IV as "Krennel's trophies." Our intelligence will leak that data in the best tradition of the craft.

— So the New Republic marches into the Ciutric Hegemony, — Pellaeon said. I just nodded. — Sorry, sir, but how does that help us? The Republicans would gain a host of industrial worlds and the repair facilities of Ciutric IV, thereby strengthening themselves.

— If we do nothing, yes, — I confirmed. — But if we show up at just the right time and save the Hegemony's people from subjugation by the New Republic, we can claim it—or much of it—for ourselves, along with its industrial complexes, whatever remains of Krennel's fleet, and, most importantly, his academies for the army and navy, plus new recruits to make up for our shortage of personnel.

— Sir, forgive me, but I'm not sure the majority of the Hegemony's population would support you, — Pellaeon ventured softly. — Most of them are humans, advocates of the more extreme aspects of the New Order. No offense, but Krennel's kept them in line through cruelty and his military. They won't flock to an alien…

— Mass psychology, Captain, — I offered succinctly.

— Beg your pardon? — Gilead blinked.

— Imagine you've lived in your own secluded corner of the galaxy for a long time. Once, you were ruled by the Grand Vizier who reported directly to Emperor Palpatine. Then Krennel arrives, toppling the old regime and holding the Hegemony by force of arms. He keeps his troops loyal through fear and lavish pay—thanks to the resources he earns selling his goods, presumably. You saw for yourself that the citizens of the Ciutric Hegemony are none too fond of "aliens," — Pellaeon reddened slightly, recalling how he himself had used that same disparaging word, which could be taken as an insult by a nonhuman commander like me. Indeed, the term "alien" in this galaxy can be as freighted as a certain Earth slur. — and they embrace Imperial ideals. Consequently, without an order from "on high," they'll tend to resent the New Republic, at least while they're not part of it. We've seen that even the Imperial worlds that do join the New Republic adapt, eventually adopting or at least tolerating a more xenophilic stance. But back to this hypothetical scenario in the Hegemony, — I proposed. — Pestage, Krennel…then in comes the New Republic, so they'll fight them as long as they can. Also recall, however many ships Krennel has, the New Republic can send an even larger fleet.

— Why so certain? — asked the Chimaera's CO.

— Because we'll see to it, Captain, — I reassured him. — And that the New Republic can't escape the trap we've set for them either.

Pellaeon paused, then asked:

— What about Lianna and Valles Santhe?

— As I told that woman, it's naïve to think the New Republic is so democratic it wouldn't try seizing her business, — I said. The broad strokes of that plan are in place; we just need details. A little nudge here, some forged evidence there.

— Forgive me, sir, but what would make the New Republic attack Lianna, given the lucrative trade they do together? — Pellaeon inquired.

— A direct and unambiguous threat, — I explained. — The new rulers on Coruscant are fully aware that Santhe sells to Imperial Remnants and certain warlords. Under the current galactic situation, if they're properly goaded, the Republicans will eliminate anyone they see as a threat—particularly those behind the recent raids.

— But that's us, — Pellaeon said darkly. — Not Santhe or Krennel…

— According to Delta Source's reports, the New Republic only knows the attacks are the work of "some Grand Admiral," — I said. — Lt. Colonel Astarion is working with our high-ranking "guests" to plant the seeds of doubt and the ideas we want—namely, implicating the Prince-Admiral.

— You promised to meet with Princess Organa, — Pellaeon recalled. — She's no fool; she'll figure it out…or are you planning to meet her once she's in Krennel's custody?

— Exactly, Captain, — I replied. — Besides, she's pregnant. Along with her husband and brother, she has two children already, and it's barely six weeks until she'll give birth. She'd do anything to protect her children, and she'll be ready to listen.

Pellaeon froze as a wild guess sprang to mind.

— No, Captain, — I answered. — We won't threaten her children.

From what I know—though incomplete—of this galaxy's reality, a direct threat to the Skywalker-Solo children would invite enormous trouble. So, we'll proceed indirectly.

Pellaeon, lacking that kind of meta-knowledge, stands on principle. He's a man of honor. In his eyes, using children to shape an operation is unacceptable. Which is why he has no idea about certain agreements with the clan rulers of Munto Codru.

— So you intend to maneuver things so that the New Republic sees Lianna as the enemy? — Pellaeon clarified. I nodded silently. — That won't be easy. Lianna alone is powerful, and it wields influence over the neighboring sectors…

— Response time is critical in repelling an attack, — I said. — If help arrives within ten minutes, Valles Santhe can withstand it. If it arrives after a day, she's done for.

— Again, it depends on the forces the New Republic dispatches, — Pellaeon noted. — Santhe's homeworld defenses are top-notch. Over thirty Golan stations alone. That's just the ones we spotted by visual means, so as not to arouse suspicion.

— And again, — I responded, — that depends on how big a threat the New Republic believes Lianna poses. What's your professional opinion, Captain—how big a threat must she appear to be for Coruscant to deploy a Super Star Destroyer?

— Hmm… — he mused. — Lusankya's undeniably powerful. It could dismantle Lianna's defenses in about an hour or so, maybe less. Though the same might be achieved by twenty or thirty capital ships…

— Don't be shy, Captain, — I prompted. — Stretch your creativity beyond the usual boundaries.

— If Santhe had something akin to the Executor, the New Republic would definitely send the Lusankya against her, — Pellaeon went on sorting possibilities.

— But there aren't many of those left in the galaxy, — I pointed out.

— True, — Pellaeon shifted his cap, running a hand through his graying hair. — Honestly, sir, I believe Admiral Ackbar could deal with a Super Star Destroyer even without fielding an Executor-class ship. One of their fleets has a Bellator-class dreadnought as the flagship. He could spearhead the force… Furthermore, in the Battle of Thyferra, the Rebels demonstrated their knack for crippling that sort of ship with much smaller forces…

— To begin with, Captain, your aside is correct, — I said. — Admiral Gial Ackbar truly is a capable fleet commander, and facing him in battle would be fascinating—albeit likely ending with my defeat, though I don't say that part out loud. — At Endor, his tactical leadership effectively cost us the Imperial Fleet's elite. Darth Vader's flagship, staffed by an impeccably trained crew, the second Death Star, which lost hundreds of thousands of skilled personnel and officers in a single instant, not to mention all the ranking staff captured along with numerous other vessels… For the Rebel Alliance, attacking a Death Star is a sort of rite of passage at key turning points. The small group of random pilots at Yavin inflicted a massive blow by destroying the first battle station, proving they were a force to be reckoned with. Their victory at Endor advanced them into contenders for galaxy-wide power. Had Imperial command spent more time stamping out the Rebels than squabbling over power, the Rebellion would have been finished. So if Coruscant learns of a third Death Star, they'll hurl everything at it, just to prove they can quash any threat.

— We don't actually have another Death Star, — Pellaeon grumbled. — Nor the trillions of credits to build or run it. And even if we did, we don't have the years required to construct it, let alone nonstop use of Spaarti cylinders to clone enough personnel…

— Don't we? — I chuckled. — Tell me, Captain, does the name Ennix Devian ring a bell?

Judging by the way the Chimaera's commander shuddered, he knew it. Likely from rumor, as did many Imperials. And presumably he's glad it's only rumor—those who encountered that close confidant of Palpatine seldom lived long.

— Only rumors, sir, — Pellaeon replied evenly. — A high-ranking officer, they say he was the Emperor's personal assassin.

— Indeed, — I concluded. — Not impossible. After Endor, I presume we heard little about him?

— Correct, sir, — Gilead admitted. — I never really looked into it…

— That's all right, — I said. One can't blame a man for not knowing everything in the galaxy. — You were born on Corellia, Captain, but raised on Coruscant?

— Precisely, sir.

— I'm guessing you visited Coruscant several times before Endor, — I continued. — You must have noticed the two spheres in orbit.

— You mean the "world-ships"? — Pellaeon clarified. — Yes, I saw them. Two unfinished habitable spheres. But they vanished after we lost at Endor, and no one knows their fate…

— Here's where you're wrong, Captain, — I smiled. — While en route to Vjun, I've reviewed part of the Imperial Archives. They're incomplete, and we'll need to see about fixing that. Anyway, back to Ennix Devian. According to Imperial Intelligence, after the second Death Star was destroyed, the Rebels encountered one of the "world-ships" in the Moddell Sector. They blew it up, presumably mistaking it for another battle station. Devian exploited that diversion to raid a Rebel shipyard, seizing a number of their ships. After that, our illustrious Intelligence lost track of him. So, Captain, what does that imply?

— That at least one "world-ship" survived, — Gilead deduced.

— Indeed, Captain, — I agreed. — Had the New Republic captured or destroyed it, we'd have heard.

— If they wanted to publicize it, — Pellaeon noted.

— Major victories build reputations, — I retorted. — The New Republic would never pass up that chance. They boasted loudly enough about destroying that one "world-ship" in the Moddell Sector right after the second Death Star. So our task is to find the surviving sphere and use it to lure the New Republic to Lianna.

— That search won't be swift, — Pellaeon said.

— We'll soon have a formidable corps of clone scouts for that, — I said. Not mentioning that some will be busy searching for two other ships that interest me. — Plus, there are other ways to draw Devian out of hiding. Soon, we'll rearm the five Mon Cal cruisers we have left after giving the rest to Krennel, to disrupt Valles Santhe's logistics. The New Republic will never advertise their starships lost, so we can use the Black Asp and our captured vessels to raid Santhe's convoys. Thanks to Captain Tiberos and Agent Inek, we've practically finished assembling a squadron of captured X-wings. Not to mention the Wookiee volunteers grateful to us for freeing them from captivity. We'll recruit some more from among the New Republic POWs, those willing to cooperate, and send them along so Santhe's people see more than just random ambushes—ships crewed by nonhumans searching them. Authenticity is essential. That's plenty to convince them the New Republic has begun seizing Lianna's ships.

— That will arouse Santhe's suspicions, — Pellaeon deduced. — The New Republic will deny it all.

— Indeed, because they're not involved, — I concurred. — But remember, the New Republic's entire Armed Forces are commanded by Bothans. Despite their talk of neighborly relations, it's easily undermined. Merely mention on the HoloNet how, under the Galactic Empire, Bothawui was never truly occupied, just kept a small Imperial "diplomatic mission," add a few hints about how Bothans have "Imperial tendencies," and people will make their own inferences. We just feed them the occasional half-truth.

— Won't that risk fracturing the New Republic? — Pellaeon wondered uneasily.

— If any worlds do secede, it'll only be a handful, — I said. — Without solid proof, most planetary leaders won't budge, except those harboring grudges against the Bothans. That works in our favor. While they're in-fighting over blame, our Bothan adviser—who lacks the strategic brilliance of Grand Admiral Octavian Grant—will continue launching flashy but ineffective operations.

— Because Bothans only care about political power, seeing the military as a tool to that end? — Pellaeon asked.

— Like all politicians, Captain, — I agreed. — It's just more pronounced with Bothans.

— Yet if Ackbar is exonerated, Fey'lya will be stripped of command, — Pellaeon observed, quite accurately.

— Precisely. Hence we need Ackbar sidelined as long as possible, — I said, glancing at the empty spot once occupied by the Killik Twilight painting. — I've set certain things in motion to that effect. We needn't rush—fabricating evidence can be time-consuming if we want results. Meanwhile, we plan to combine our efforts on Coruscant for maximum gain. Preparations are under way. Once Mara Jade completes her mission on Vjun, we'll move into the final stage of dealing with Admiral Ackbar. And to extracting certain data from the Emperor's Palace sub-levels on Coruscant.

— We haven't yet solved the problems posed by Skywalker or Garm Bel Iblis, the Corellian senator, — Pellaeon reminded.

— This is one of those situations where it's better not to hurry, — I answered. — Jedi Skywalker is currently right where he needs to be. Occupied with a present problem, kept under watch so he can't interfere. Once Agent Inek readies everything for the Jedi to discover Bel Iblis's messenger, that contact will bring about their meeting. Then we can find out where Bel Iblis's base is. If I'm not mistaken, Agent Inek arrived at New Cov?

— Yes, sir, back already, — Pellaeon confirmed. — He reports that Skywalker exposed himself in a local bar when he failed to solve a financial dispute between a Barabel and a local, causing the Jedi to lose face. Since then, he's kept a low profile, searching abandoned areas. He appears unaware the Bothan delegation won't return until after the next New Republic Senate session. Our people have noted watchers tailing him—likely Bel Iblis's men searching for the captive Irenez. Unfortunately, he's not taking his astromech with him, leaving the droid near his ship, so we can't attach homing beacons.

— There's nowhere for Skywalker to get information, — I remarked. — The Bothans plan to push legislation through the Senate integrating several worlds we left behind, including New Cov. Councillor Fey'lya is testing his mettle to oppose Mon Mothma on his own. If he succeeds, he won't need Bel Iblis, so the delegation will stay on Coruscant. Otherwise, if Mon Mothma remains stable in the Senate (which she should, despite the fiasco at Hast and the bombardment of New Alderaan), Fey'lya will definitely send for him as a respected commander. I suspect he'll blame the fiasco at Hast on the Mon Calamari, damaging them. Not severely, but it'll bruise their pride.

— So that means Skywalker, via the Bothans, might connect with Bel Iblis—unless the Irenez trap works, — Pellaeon said.

— We'll keep both threads open, — I mused. — Captain Hoffner is failing to lure in the Corellian. We'll continue the attempt regardless. Meanwhile, Captain, please remind Hoffner that he's paid not just to "be on the job," but to show results. If he can't flush out his former client, then he must earn his keep through dealing in artifacts from Palpatine's treasury. Start with less valuable, inconspicuous items so no one can trace them back to the source.

— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon replied. — Still, it's possible Skywalker will abandon his quest on New Cov.

— I see your point, Captain, — I concluded. — Han Solo could disrupt our game.

— The general's disappearance is worrisome, — the Chimaera's commander said. — He could be anywhere, maybe gathering a fleet to hunt us down.

— Solo undoubtedly deserted, — I asserted. — Captain Shohashi's report is concise but very telling. The Imperious is well-known to the New Republic, so had Solo been around, he'd have responded—either by direct assault or an ambush. He did neither. Palace intel indicates that the force once under Solo's command is now led by someone else.

— He's deserted the military before, — Pellaeon grimaced, recalling how that famous smuggler was once an Imperial Academy cadet.

— Everyone chooses their own path, — I said. — Delta Source informs me that before he went silent, Mon Mothma told him his wife and best friends were missing. Deprived of his ship, he'll look to smuggler friends for help, but likely won't get it. Anyone who could lead him to us is either locked up by Lt. Colonel Astorias or works for us and has no reason to squeal. They may be pirates and brigands, but they're clever enough not to paint a target on their own backs. Oh, — I remembered one oversight. — Contact the Colonel and confirm whether Niles Ferrier has given up his contacts at the Corellian Engineering Corporation's yards. We may need them as insurance against Baron D'Asta. The man may hint at his loyalty, but so far he's shown no solid proof, and words alone merit caution. Aristocrats are a kind of being who rarely keep their verbal commitments.

— Grand Admiral, sir… You want to wage war against the D'Astan Sector? — Pellaeon asked in disbelief. Indeed, from what I've observed, typical "two-step combos" are common enough in this galaxy: "I pretend to want X so that my foes assume…," then do something else. But a "Matryoshka" layering plan with numerous nested subplots seems beyond many here. Sentients are used to seeing only the obvious logic behind an adversary's move or something close to it. They rarely perceive the "subtleties." I suppose I can thank my stormy Earthly past, with all its political intrigues, for training me to think at least three steps ahead.

— You weren't paying attention, Captain, — I admonished him. — "Insurance" is not the same as war. The Baron has undoubtedly heard we completed the operation at the Hast Yards. He promised me some reward in our conversation. Let's see if he keeps his word. If he's no threat, we won't touch him.

— Where does Ferrier—"Sly"—come in? — asked Pellaeon.

— Think it through, Captain, — I proposed. — Compare the hijacker's M.O., the hardware he steals, and the core of Baron D'Asta's fleet.

— Corellian corvettes, — the Chimaera CO realized. — That's a stretch, though. Not sure if the Corellians would attack him, they mostly stay in their own sector…

— No one wants to see a Corellian fleet at the Morshdine border, — I clarified. — So if the Corellians blame the Baron for abductions…

— He'll naturally deny it, — Pellaeon noted.

— As anyone would, — I nodded. — But we still have ships Ferrier stole on our behalf, and we have men from the Baron's territory. True, they're mostly pilots, but that doesn't stop us from re-tasking their clones via the Ge Nod program. We can then dispatch them to raid Corellian freighters near that sector. The Corellian patrols will respond aggressively. Now, Captain, how accurate is that saying about your compatriots shooting first, then asking questions?

— One hundred percent, sir.

— So if they find the bodies of men wearing the Baron's private fleet uniforms on that ship, all questions will lead back to him, no?

— Absolutely, — Pellaeon agreed. — You plan to kill the clones aboard those ships?

— Not kill them, — I corrected. — Just program them to fight to the bitter end and forbid surrender. Unfortunately, a small sacrifice for a greater gain.

— And how do we benefit if the Corellians catch Baron D'Asta buying stolen ships from them? — asked the Chimaera's commander.

— First, Ferrier's little scheme nets us more ships, — I said. — Then, once they file accusations, we send in those stolen corvettes packed with explosives to assault his yard.

— The yard's sensors and local navy can detect the cargo as we approach, — Pellaeon pointed out. — Unless…

He looked at me curiously.

— Cloaking fields inside the hull? — he asked.

— Indeed, — I confirmed. — But that's purely a backup plan if the Baron double-crosses us.

— I wouldn't want to be him in that case, — Pellaeon said. — After an attack on their yard, the Corellians would definitely deploy a fleet. They won't stop until they've bombed every planet in D'Asta's sector. The Baron will be in a tight spot.

— Precisely, Captain, — I concurred. — At that moment, we simply show up and "protect" the worlds bordering our sector.

— Corellian dreadnoughts are no pushover, — Pellaeon grumbled. — Their shielding might be lackluster, but they're heavily armored…

— There's always a bigger fish, — I quoted a certain Jedi from the first "episode" of the saga.

— Corellia might hit back at us, — Pellaeon warned. — Even five Golans may not defend our yards. If we lose a major battle, we'll have nowhere to repair our ships.

— That's why those two captured yards from Hast, plus several defense stations, will not be arriving at Tangrene, — I said. — Their location is changed.

— You intend to make it look as though they were destroyed, — Pellaeon realized. — You're hiding our own resources!

— That's right, — I agreed. — Rumors of us fielding the Katana fleet make plenty of people nervous, so we'll be introducing ships gradually—only at Tangrene Yards. But should those yards reach that secret site intact, we can refit twice as many heavy cruisers as our foes suspect. Since we won't flaunt them all over, the tension will simmer down, and the Imperials out there will likely conclude that "reports of the Katana fleet" were mere fiction. The Imperial Ruling Council and the other Remnants thus won't see us as a rival, figuring those "dreadnought sightings" are just disinformation.

— So that's why you won't attack the Ciutric Hegemony, — Pellaeon exclaimed. — You're afraid the rest of the Imperial Remnants would unite against you?

— While we can, we'll maintain that I'm not interested in meddling with the Empire's current political turbulence, — I explained. — Political negotiations only draw needless attention, which can complicate things.

— Such as an early appearance by the Reborn Emperor? — Pellaeon suggested.

— Among other issues, — I replied. — Let's not forget the Ubiqtorate, which doesn't tolerate slights. We took a well-equipped base from them.

— Indeed. That "silence" of theirs feels suspicious, — the Chimaera's commander muttered.

— I'm more than certain the Ubiqtorate is headed by someone close to the Reborn Palpatine, — I shared my reasoning. — The Imperial Intelligence and the ISB—both under their thumb—are prime instruments of infiltration and control. Also remember they relocated not to Orinda, seat of the Imperial Ruling Council, arguably the most legitimate authority after Palpatine, but to the Pentastar Alignment, under Grand Moff Ardus Kaine. He's authoritarian, despotic, and a potential Emperor. Yet after seizing the Alignment, he shows no interest in conquering the second-strongest Imperial Remnant, based on Orinda. Possibly the rumors of our Katana fleet spooked him. He's unwilling to risk weakening himself in open conflict, only to get devoured by the New Republic or another Remnant. So if he learns "the Katana" is a sham, he may attempt to bring Orinda and other Imperial territories under his control. That would prove I was wrong about him being tied to the Reborn Emperor. If he knows about Palpatine's resurrection, he'd never go against his master but instead would keep building up might.

— If he does chase power, does that confirm he personally knows what's happening in the Deep Core? — Pellaeon asked.

— You suspect that Kaine might just be a puppet of those who know the bigger truth? — I clarified.

— It's possible, — the Chimaera's skipper admitted. — The Ubiqtorate's leadership might be pulling everyone's strings.

A plausible theory indeed. Worth pondering—particularly since I have a strategy for "extending an olive branch."

I filed that idea away.

— It makes sense, — I told Pellaeon. — We must continue building our hidden fleet while also growing our official forces. By the end of this month, we'll have the first thirty heavy cruisers upgraded. The seventh generation of clones—maturing tomorrow—and the eighth—ready early next month—will fill out two more Star Destroyers. Combined with volunteers we already have, who cleared counterintelligence checks, and after the Sentinel's crew shifts to an Imperial-class destroyer, in about three weeks we'll field not just thirty Dreadnoughts but at least three additional Star Destroyers.

Provided all goes as planned, anyway—which it usually doesn't.

— Yet we'll still be short on manpower, — Pellaeon reminded me. — And we have five more Mon Cal cruisers we're outfitting…

— We'll use droids, — I said. — They'll somewhat offset our shortage of crew. It's a temporary measure, but we have no other choice. We'll also mount weapons on them at the spare shipyards, redirecting all official purchase logs to hint that Prince-Admiral Krennel is ordering the gear. Give the orders before those ships arrive at Tangrene, — I commanded, handing him a code cylinder with coordinates for the hidden rearmament site. — Our fleet's expanding too fast. The newly arrived corvettes and escort frigates alone will take a small army to staff.

— Then maybe we should speed up the plan to raid the factories on Hypori? — Pellaeon proposed. Noting my interested look, he explained. — So we can seize the assembly lines and start churning out more droids. They performed well enough in our last operation, so presumably we can at least supplement our shortage of stormtroopers that way.

— It's a valid idea, — I conceded. — But we still know nothing about the forces the enemy could marshal there. If the Zann Consortium has a couple hundred ships stashed, that could cost us dearly.

— That's the other thing, sir, — Pellaeon said uncomfortably. — We received an encrypted message from Tangrene. They say Captain Shteben delivered one of their ships to Moff Ferrus. Gentlemen Zion and Reyes report that the "Crusader"-type corvette underwent extensive upgrades at a bona fide shipyard, not just a back-alley garage. Possibly it's a new type of ship different from what Zann's Consortium fielded before.

— Interesting—unfortunately, also grim. — So criminals have their own yard…

I wonder if that's Rotana. No point guessing—Tyber Zann is definitely in play. We have to deal with him somehow.

— And meanwhile, Major Himron's silence on Mandalore seems more ominous, — Pellaeon mused.

I haven't had time to parse the official Intel files, but presumably Pellaeon has reason for concern.

— We'll have to send a follow-up team, — I said, quickly considering who to dispatch. — Captain Rederick proved his worth at Hast. I'm sure he can manage the Mandalorians.

— I'll notify him, sir, — Pellaeon replied. — We also got a status update from Bravo-2 at Sluis Van.

— Details, — I demanded.

— This past week, he smuggled out over ten turreted eight-gun turbolaser sets with no official paperwork, — said Pellaeon. — In addition, only half the war cargo was loaded onto the ships, with the other half taken by security officers at customs.

— Another Bothan trail, — I narrowed my eyes. — Their involvement further confirms the Lusankya's rearmament. Let's leak that to the HoloNet: Bothans, Imperial-grade armaments, rules circumvented… That'll undermine Fey'lya's standing and feed Valles Santhe's paranoia. Relay that to Bravo-2—arrange the HoloNet leak so it can't be traced back to us.

— Understood, sir, — Pellaeon said. — He also reports that most capital ships have now been fully rearmed. Barely two-fifths remain as stripped transports, while there's a spike in corvettes, frigates, cruisers…including Imperial ones. If we're slow to move, there won't be any heavy ships left.

— Send me his full report, — I said. As if I don't already know? I've been stalling to seize more light vessels, as we simply lack crews for bigger ones. — Anything else?

— Some unwelcome news, sir.

— Oh? — I raised an eyebrow. Why save that for last? Perhaps it's not as dire as I might think. — Let's hear it, Captain.

— The recon team we sent to planetoid RZ7-6113-23 was wiped out, — he said.

— By whom? — I stiffened internally.

— A planetary defense cannon, "planet-to-space" type, — the Chimaera's commander replied. — The supply depot is evidently manned. The recon freighter was spotted and destroyed by that anti-orbital gun.

Well, that's quite a development. I wonder who's dug in there—and whether the supplies remain.

— And who brought us that intel? — if the whole team was wiped out, the data had to come from "someone else."

— A recon droid sent out the transmission, — the flagship's CO said. — A short while later, it too was destroyed. Based on the images, it was an obsolete Nimbus fighter. Scrapped not long after TIEs were introduced. The droid also picked up at least ten mothballed Venator- and Acclamator-class ships in orbit. They appear inactive, presumably in storage.

— Likely the Empire once garrisoned or guarded that base, — I concluded. Seeing Pellaeon's confusion, I elaborated:

— Otherwise, there'd be no point keeping patrols or ships there. They'd have moved them or reactivated them. Forward that entire report to me—I want to review it myself.

— Yes, sir, — the captain said, handing me another datachip. — I have a suggestion, Grand Admiral, — he added unexpectedly.

— Go on, Captain.

— Perhaps we could use some of those captured corvettes and clone crews to raid Republic convoys, — Pellaeon proposed. — Similar to your plan for the Corellians, only we'd arrange for the trail to lead to the Ciutric Hegemony.

I didn't deliberate for long.

— A sound idea, Captain, — I praised. "How did that slip my mind?" Possibly because I'd planned the same with Star Destroyers? Indeed. — It would work if Krennel had such corvettes. But he doesn't, so we'll approach it differently once we see which ships we can "foist on" Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel.

— Sir, — Pellaeon said more quietly. — If these plans come to fruition… I doubt you can turn down the throngs wanting to fight under your banner.

— That's the beauty of it, Captain, — I said calmly. — Our enemies must remain unaware of my involvement until it's far too late. By the time they learn who's behind their troubles, they'll be so swamped with crises they can't respond rationally. Of course, we'll help make sure of that ourselves. And they'll keep puzzling over it for a very, very long time.