Nine years, eight months, and thirty-five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, eight months, and thirty-five days since the Great Resynchronization.
(Four months and twenty days since the arrival.)
Moff Joshua Victus struggled valiantly against encroaching drowsiness.
Typically, at negotiations of this caliber, one is expected to be well-rested, alert, and thoroughly versed in the agenda. However, this was not such an occasion.
Moff Victus cared little for the arguments presented by the sentients seated across from him. Even less did he intend to feign interest in their assertions.
His presence was solely out of respect for the woman who had made it clear she wished to see him at this meeting, though he could barely suppress the urge to yawn from sheer boredom.
Moff Joshua Victus.
There exists a philosophical question: "Is it difficult to be an Emperor?" For the past thirty years, scholars have vociferously debated, either lauding or condemning Palpatine's reign, portraying him as either a liberator from Jedi tyranny or an oppressor.
Victus cared little for the correct answer.
In his life, there was but one question of similar weight: "Is it difficult to be the Moff of Lianna?"
His answer was immediate: "Yes."
It was difficult.
Exceedingly so.
So demanding that, despite having a few mistresses, he scarcely found time to visit them more than once a month, prioritizing his ungrateful spouse—his work. And so it was that the woman who had bound him to this "marriage" now sat to his left, her face an impassive mask as she listened to the New Republic's counselor weave diplomatic rhetoric.
Lady Santhe listened, responded, and posed questions.
Knowing her temperament, Victus was certain the negotiations would conclude with her sending the princess of the fallen Alderaan on a long, one-way journey.
In the next moment, Victus straightened, his attention sharpening—Lady Santhe had signaled that his participation would soon be required. Such moments were rare.
The game was afoot; boredom could wait.
— The New Republic is prepared to confirm that we are not conducting raids against your corporation or its subsidiaries' vessels, — Leia Organa-Solo stated. — Any guarantee letters…
— Let us assume as much, — Santhe nodded faintly. — Moff Victus, what measures can we demand from Coruscant to ensure the princess's claims regarding the New Republic's non-involvement in attacks on our transport vessels and routine cargo seizures are credible?
So that was why he was needed.
— If the New Republic is willing to provide identification data for all ships in its Defense Forces, then certainly, — Joshua replied. — We would obtain objective control data, allowing us to track their vessels' locations.
Did the princess's eye twitch?
Nervous, are we? Well, that's just the beginning—the appetizers, so to speak. The main course is yet to come.
— Is this a jest? — the Republican inquired.
— Moff Victus lacks a sense of humor, — Santhe countered.
Truly?
— Forgive me, but I cannot interpret his words otherwise, — Princess Organa-Solo declared. — Providing such data would mean…
— …that we would know the precise location of every one of your ships, — Joshua finished for her, realizing Santhe had delegated the task of dismissing this nuisance to him. — Without this, we cannot be certain your vessels are not near our cargo caravans.
— You propose we hand over highly classified information, — the princess stated.
— Precisely, — Joshua confirmed.
He also knew that the new rulers of Coruscant, while perhaps naive and overly trusting, were not entirely foolish.
Most likely.
Well, at least some of them.
— We cannot comply, — the Republican sighed regretfully. — Guarantee letters…
— Mere flimsi, — Victus interjected. — At best, an unalterable file. Tell me, Counselor, if Emperor Palpatine had provided a guarantee letter stating the Empire was uninvolved in Alderaan's destruction and would not retaliate against those who destroyed the Death Star, would you have been satisfied with such a document?
— Of course not, — the woman blurted out. Catching herself, she added:
— The Emperor was a tyrant…
— Little has changed since then, — Santhe interjected.
— Everything has changed! — the princess exclaimed.
Joshua leaned forward, hands clasped in a steeple, his chin resting on them.
— Has it? — he pressed. — Let us examine this from our perspective. First, Grand Admiral Thrawn warns us that the New Republic employs Imperial methods to maintain power. We did not believe him. Then, we learn a group of rebels conducts operations against the Empire, justifiably provoking retaliation from the Empire's Supreme Commander—none other than Grand Admiral Thrawn. Next, the galaxy witnesses the New Republic accusing the Ciutric Hegemony of constructing a Death Star. You level the same accusation against us. The New Republic launches an aggressive campaign against Prince-Admiral Krennel, leader of one of the Imperial Remnants, resulting in his death. Yet no Death Star is found. Around the same time, raids on our caravans begin—conducted by Mon Calamari star cruisers bearing Republican identifiers. Our starships are boarded by aliens…
— I was Thrawn's prisoner myself, — the princess declared. — He captured a significant number of our starships. And he commands non-human species.
— He's not far from them himself, — Lady Santhe remarked. — We readily acknowledge that Thrawn may have misled us. The fact that our ships' crews are not killed but are instead provided escape craft and reach territories controlled by our conglomerate suggests it is unlikely the New Republic's doing.
— Exactly! — the princess emphasized.
— However, — Santhe raised an index finger, — there is something we omitted from our diplomatic responses to Coruscant, reserved for precisely this occasion.
— I presume you are now prepared to share, — the princess ventured.
— Without question, — Santhe confirmed. — Are you aware of the Wookiees' animosity toward the Empire?
— Of course, — the princess affirmed. — A close friend of my family, Chewbacca, hails from Kashyyyk. The Empire enslaved them, killed them for sport, and…
— So, you understand the fundamental reasons for Wookiee hatred of Imperials, — Santhe stated. — Then tell me, Counselor Organa-Solo, what could Thrawn, whom you accuse of orchestrating these events, have done to have Wookiees serve alongside humans, Zabraks, and other species as heavy assault troops in his boarding parties?
Joshua nearly laughed as the princess's mouth fell open in shock. Yes, dear, that's precisely why we held back this tidbit.
— There must be some mistake, — she muttered. — The New Republic's forces include few Wookiees, and…
— Are you prepared to provide data on the full composition of your armed forces? — Victus inquired.
— No, — the princess replied firmly, casting a plaintive glance at the protocol droid beside her. — That is classified information.
— Very well, let us discuss what is not classified, — Lady Santhe suggested, her face adopting a "sympathetic" smile. Joshua stifled another laugh. The Republican was about to be thoroughly outmaneuvered. — Lusankya.
The princess tensed. Clearly, this was not the question she anticipated. Well, that's why it was asked.
— You wish to know about that ship? — the princess asked.
— Indeed, — Santhe agreed. — How does Coruscant reconcile broadcasting propaganda about the New Order's symbols of despotism while restoring a ship used by Iceheart to torture sentients and turn them into living weapons?
— Lusankya is now merely a military vessel, — Organa-Solo stated, lips pursed.
— And, per your Constitution, the New Republic maintains only Defense Forces, — Moff Victus confirmed. — Yet that did not aid Prince-Admiral Krennel, as you see. You sent a fleet after him. You would have conquered the Ciutric Hegemony had Grand Admiral Thrawn's aid not arrived.
— Rather swiftly, I might add, — the princess retorted sharply.
— What does timing matter? — Victus shrugged. — It is an Imperial Remnant. Thrawn is the Supreme Commander, known for anticipating his opponents' moves. Unlike you, he was on his own territory, so to speak.
— Furthermore, — Santhe added, — the raids against us could be attributed to Thrawn. But there's a problem—they targeted repaired or purchased New Republic TIE-series craft. Standard models. I could believe Thrawn was behind the attacks, as he needed fighters and interceptors. But his illicit production, per our admittedly outdated intelligence, can supply an entire sector fleet. Continued raids make no sense—yet they persist. Meanwhile, the New Republic faces an increasing shortage of fighters due to our terminated supply and repair contracts. Yet, our data shows no increased procurement from Incom. A curious coincidence, wouldn't you say?
— Are you accusing us of something? — the princess's voice carried a steely edge.
— If I were, you would feel it, — Santhe promised. — At present, I see raids against us, costing my company dearly. Not long ago, Grand Moff Kaine reported attacks on his technical caravans. And, what a coincidence—Mon Calamari star cruisers are involved again.
— As I said, Thrawn possesses many of our vessels…
— As I said, I doubt his involvement, — Santhe declared.
— Not to mention that the New Republic handed over numerous star cruisers and other warships to him in exchange for prisoners, — Victus remarked, feigning interest in his nails. — But that's just another coincidence, isn't it?
— Lady Santhe, — the Republican said emotionlessly, — I assure you, the New Republic is not involved in attacks on your caravans. To prove this, we are prepared to provide our fleet to escort your transports…
— To make capturing them easier? — Victus interjected.
— To ensure their protection, — the New Republic diplomat replied sharply, fixing Joshua with a heavy glare.
— That proposal is unacceptable, — Santhe stated. — We will not permit foreign warships near our transport caravans. All possible cooperation terms have been communicated to the New Republic's Provisional Government. There are no other alternatives.
— But we currently lack sufficient transport starships to retrieve cargo from Lianna independently, — the princess protested.
— Yet you have enough for military logistics, — Victus countered.
— Our transports are engaged solely in economic logistics, — the Republican insisted.
— That's another matter, — the moff noted. — Three months ago, you lacked ships for interstellar trade, disarming nearly half your fleet. Now, only one to two thousand warships are involved in transport, with the rest being civilian freighters. So, what explains the interception of Cygnus Corporation convoys, the disappearance of a private Sullust convoy, and the seizure of hundreds of our transport fleet's starships, including bulk freighters?
The loss of bulk freighters was particularly painful for Lianna. Such starships cost hundreds of millions, if not billions, capable of carrying hundreds of thousands of tons of cargo. Their loss was a significant blow to a technology manufacturer.
New ones could be purchased, certainly. But what guaranteed they wouldn't be seized as well?
Bankruptcy loomed close.
— Is this an official accusation, Moff? — the Republican's eyes glinted with menace.
— Merely a statement of well-known facts, — Victus replied smoothly, deftly avoiding a diplomatic scandal.
— What you load onto your ships is entirely your concern, — Lady Santhe said conciliatorily, steering the conversation away from mutual threats and accusations. — But I will no longer risk my crews and starships by sending equipment to you. No delivery justifies the cost of the transports carrying it.
— We've discussed this, — the former princess reminded her. — The New Republic cannot afford to purchase or repair equipment at the prices specified in your revised contracts.
— In that case, you won't receive it at all, — Santhe concluded the two-day negotiations. — That is all. My decision is final until you either recall your raiders or provide your own ships.
— They are not our raiders, — the Republican repeated stubbornly.
— As you say, — Santhe replied indifferently.
— Thus, your corporation is withholding over a thousand TIE-series fighters produced or repaired for the New Republic's Defense Forces, — Counselor Organa-Solo returned to the start of their dialogue. — We demand fulfillment of contractual obligations per the agreement. Your unilateral refusal to manufacture and deliver products to the client is interpreted on Coruscant as evasion of cooperation. This decision could have far-reaching adverse consequences.
Victus nearly yawned again.
Yes, this was where he'd lost interest last time.
— Counselor, — Santhe said in her usual silken tone, reserved for dealing with intellectual shortcomings or obstinacy, — all those fighters and interceptors were shipped per the contracts. The fact that you allegedly did not receive them is of no consequence to me. Your raiders seized the transports—thus, the New Republic received what it paid for.
— I refer to the second batch, ordered over a month ago, which you refuse to deliver, — the Alderaanian princess clarified.
Lady Santhe sighed heavily:
— Allow me to remind you once more—send your transport ships to collect the cargo. It's of no use to me, merely taking up warehouse space…
***
I once watched a cartoon with my family.
A memorable line stuck with me: "Quack, spit, and secure it with duct tape!"
That roughly describes the field repairs of captured starships in the Fardon system. There was much to fix, for long hours, and often.
Spare parts for such a large number of ships were scarce.
Space for prisoners was limited.
The only abundance was stormtroopers guarding the captives—subdued, sullen, and likely aware their actions earned them a ticket to a labor resort in the fresh air on some Dominion planet. Well, labor ennobles. They say it turned monkeys into men. Hopefully, the proverb doesn't mention reverse transformations.
All small vessels—gunships, corvettes, captured fighters—were stowed in the hangars of larger ships.
The Guardian resembled a freight train from my past life: imposing at a glance, but upon closer inspection, a patchwork of ramshackle parts.
There wasn't much choice, however.
Fardon was compromised, meaning plans for this planet should be shelved for the foreseeable future.
Thus, mobile bases with all equipment were relocated to the holds of the Super Star Destroyer, along with stationary weapon emplacements.
I anticipated the enemy would return—whether with scouts or a raiding party—to investigate why events unfolded here and what I was doing.
So, with the debris field as cover, we left "surprises" for them.
Scout droids, sabotage droids, buzz droids…
The Chimaera in orbit around Soullex.
Everything we had on the starships—because shortages could be replenished at the base. Regretting not deploying droids would be worse.
— Report, — I demanded.
— Tangrene's "Grid" is currently at seven cells, — the shipbuilder reported, lacking enthusiasm. Understandably so. He likely expected to focus on designing lead ships, delegating routine tasks to other shipyards. We now have five: one at Tangrene, one at Ciutric IV, two in Lok's orbit, and the facilities at Vostelstig in the Oplovis sector. But while Lok's two yards are clandestine and halfway across the galaxy, Tangrene remains our fortress planet, ideal for covert ship repairs.
Ciutric and Vostelstig are well-suited for regular fleet maintenance and repairing less-sensitive trophies, like those from Soullex.
But discussions about those yards' capacity should be with Moff Ferrus, not Zion.
— I'm pleased to hear Dressed in Amber is finally complete, — I said, eyeing the shipbuilder Zion's hologram.
The man nodded, as if to say, "I promised, didn't I?"
— Prepare your team for intensive work in the coming months, — I continued. — After this operation, you'll have a broad field of activity. We also need additional specialists to modernize our existing ARC-170s. I need those fighters for long-range reconnaissance, urgently.
— Understood, Grand Admiral, — the man replied, unenthused by the new task. — My team has never shirked its duties. We have a significant number of prepared units—about five squadrons.
Sufficient, considering they won't be stationed on every fleet ship.
With no standard TIE scouts, we'll use what's available. Post-upgrade, ARC-170s become capable reconnaissance-combat units.
When you lack fine parchment, you write on newsprint. It's better quality anyway. No need to store it in the hangar deck—there's subdeck space for civilian transports.
— Now, to specifics, — I said. — By the fleet's return, I'll need Project Asteroid-II assets.
Zion, if surprised, showed no sign.
I hope he understood I meant *all* Asteroid-II assets. Even if unprepared by the fleet's arrival, we have time to ready them before departure.
— As you wish, Grand Admiral, — Zion replied, a hint of displeasure on his face.
— Furthermore, — I continued, — increase production of Project Asteroid-I assets.
The shipbuilder's single organic eye narrowed strikingly.
— That will require additional budget allocations for equipment, — he warned.
— Moff Ferrus will return to Tangrene soon, — I informed him. — He'll address your concerns.
— Understood, Grand Admiral, — the shipbuilder confirmed, though his displeased expression lingered.
Who cares if he's preoccupied with other tasks?
He wanted a shipyard, didn't he?
He got it.
What's to complain about?
None.
— I assume the rearmament of the remaining Sunburn project ships is on schedule? — I clarified.
— All ships in that project are ready, — the shipbuilder said with evident pride. — The yard is currently working on Victory, Acclamator, and Vindicator-class vessels…
— Good to hear, — I said, genuinely pleased. We have numerous starships needing upgrades for upcoming tasks. — That's all, Shipbuilder. Proceed with your assignments.
— Aye, — the man replied without enthusiasm before his hologram faded.
Naturally, the damaged fleet won't go to Tangrene—at least not entirely. Only the Guardian and Nemesis, to conceal their survival from the public until repairs are complete. Tangrene is ideal for hiding and repairing them.
It's also defensible against assault.
Alternatively, we could send the Guardian to the Karthakk system—fortified, hard to access, and home to significant fleet forces, including Acclamators with cloning facilities. Under the guise of "training" recruits, they continuously clone our best specialists to crew upgraded dreadnoughts and pilots for captured MC80s' X-wings.
But logic argues against it.
The New Republic will eventually learn I possess a Super Star Destroyer.
Devian's pilots may have reported it to their warlord—we lack data on whether their ships had modern long-range comms, unlike the ARC-170s we captured.
Our plan to let those ships escape assumed Devian hadn't modernized them, as the fighters from base RZ7-6118-23 lacked such systems, having been cannibalized by the Empire.
Thus, two or more adversaries will learn of the Guardian. I anticipated increased espionage, hence my order to accelerate ARC-170 upgrades. Used as long-range scouts during the Clone Wars, they can patrol Dominion territories and detect intruders.
Regarding the drawbacks of moving the Guardian to Lok's yards:
First, it's too long a journey for a heavily damaged ship. Even with repaired hyperdrives—main and backup—it's not justification for such a trip.
Nor can I spare a fleet to escort it; I need ships now.
Amusingly, I suffered no defeats while distancing myself from Thrawn's persona. No pattern, perhaps, but notable.
Second, Lok's industrial base, while resource-rich, lacks the capacity for rapid ship restoration and isn't as fortified as Tangrene.
Moreover, enemies now aware of the Guardian will seek it. With constant supply convoys, a secret base in the New Republic's heart could be exposed, much like we found the Guardian.
This would be more than a failure—it would be a strategic defeat: losing a Super Star Destroyer, a covert military base, a recruitment source for auxiliary ships, and Acclamators with cloning cylinders.
It would also end our raider operations under New Republic flags, sowing the chaos I need.
Thus, the Guardian goes to Tangrene, where it can be hidden and secured.
Currently, Tangrene's orbital repair yard grid holds seven ships—Republican and Ubiqtorate destroyers lacking trained or cloned crews.
With the Guardian's crew, we can address this, especially since the Ubiqtorate destroyers, lightly damaged, are already restored.
They're not Triad-class, but better than nothing.
The Guardian's crew hasn't seen real combat in years, and their recent battle was nominal.
They won't see frontline action yet. Let them "train on cats"—patrol and punitive operations against pirates in the Sprizen sector, supporting the Red Star squadron. Shohashi won't refuse free aid.
The other two grid cells at Tangrene's ORY-II will soon house the Guardian and Nemesis.
Other Imperial-designed ships have minor damage, manageable by Ciutric IV's ORY-I. Vostelstig will handle Republican trophies. Small ships can be repaired in space or docked to the grid's exterior.
Project Asteroid-I isn't just for aesthetics. It's a defensive-offensive perimeter and a testbed for Project Asteroid-II, mass-produced at Tangrene and, for misdirection, Yag'Dhul.
Its time has come.
We'll use buzz droids on Home One to achieve the desired result—nullifying the New Republic's attempts to replicate Ackbar's success. They won't spread word of my strategic tactics, the Red Dragon, or the Guardian's existence.
That will remain "need-to-know" information.
But the "destruction" of Nemesis? They'll trumpet that. I can already envision their news cycle. Let them have it.
I've grown accustomed to victories and was inspired by them.
Let them enjoy theirs.
It won't last long. The fallout from their "news" will be… fascinating.
— Grand Admiral, sir, — Lieutenant Tschel's voice crackled through the comlink. — The fleet is ready to breach the light barrier. Hyperdrives are operational and tested. Damaged corvettes and gunships are stowed within Star Destroyers. All ships report systems functional. Awaiting your orders, sir.
Thrawn's fleet before the jump.
— Ensure commanders of undamaged units have received their individual order packets, — I instructed.
— Confirmed, sir, — Tschel replied. — Captain Pellaeon also asked me to convey that the Guardian is impressive, but he'd prefer to return to the Chimaera.
— Did he now? — I asked.
— Direct quote, Grand Admiral, — Tschel confirmed.
— Noted. Fleet—jump to targets.
And we departed Soullex.
***
Once the negotiation chamber housed only the two sentients tied to the Santhe conglomerate, its namesake stood by the vast panoramic window, gazing at Lianna's orderly structures bathed in soft natural light.
— Your thoughts? — she asked without glancing at Victus.
— It's bad, — the moff admitted frankly. — The New Republic has been taking hit after hit. They're losing ships—in battles or trading them to Thrawn for prisoners. The difference is negligible. They lack funds—remember, their first procurement was paid in nearly ten installments for a paltry sum. The second was slightly better. But they're bleeding—massively. They don't turn to Incom because they can't pay. So, they seek fighters wherever possible. Raiders helped them seize TIE-series equipment once; now they want compensation for our non-fulfillment or new batches. Pure adventurism, fitting their style—heroes of the Rebel Alliance are thieves, smugglers, fugitives, financial swindlers… the list goes on.
— The princess's appearance feels like a final warning, — Lady Santhe mused.
— They've effectively issued an ultimatum, — Victus confirmed. — Either we keep supplying equipment they covertly seize, or… She didn't say it, but the hint of "adverse consequences" is clear. If they can't get what they want through schemes, they'll take it by force.
— Is that so? — The phrase should have been a sarcastic jest, but from Santhe's lips, it sounded like a threat. — I hadn't noticed. I need to know if we can repel an attack.
— We have the conglomerate's full might, — Joshua reminded her, referring primarily to the vast financial reserves under Santhe's control. — We'll hold.
— Alone? — The corporate head fixed him with a prolonged stare.
— No, — the moff admitted honestly. — Since you shifted to this new production…
— That's not up for discussion, — Santhe snapped. — The conglomerate earns immense profits from these developments, crucial given the financial and material losses from New Republic raids.
— I don't trust the warlords in the Deep Core, — Victus confessed. — Vague promises, unclear orders…
— The commercial aspects of the contracts don't concern you, — Santhe cut him off. — We need funds; we get them. The client needs these machines; they'll get them. I need your assessment of our defenses, nothing more.
Joshua took a deep breath.
— Let's think logically, — he proposed. — The conglomerate's combined strength can withstand a well-equipped Republican fleet. Our defensive lines are robust. But, as I warned, if they target us seriously, we won't last a day. The New Republic is rebuilding Lusankya at Rendili StarDrive's shipyards—they mean business. We can't stand against a Super Star Destroyer. Threatening Moff Gronn with reprisals if he encroaches on Lianna's independence won't work on those who matter.
Moff Gronn controlled the Allied Tion sector.
Until the Battle of Endor, Lianna was part of that sector. After the Emperor's death, amid the ensuing chaos, Lianna declared independence.
Moff Gronn, now a warlord, knew his forces' lack of standard TIE fighters left him vulnerable, with insufficient ships and supplies.
Lady Santhe offered a compromise: continued TIE supply in exchange for non-interference in Lianna's affairs. Gronn reluctantly agreed, and a special separation charter was enacted.
Santhe also secured Gronn's cooperation with a substantial aurodium payment, effectively buying him off and preventing invasions. Gronn received equipment nearly free and was obligated to defend Lianna with his fleet in any conflict. Though his fleet was small—under a hundred ships, with few Star Destroyers—combined with Santhe's forces, it could ensure victory in local conflicts.
The issue was that this agreement primarily countered the Tion Hegemony and Cron Cluster, also independent entities within the Tion Cluster supersector.
The Tion Cluster supersector (and its three sectors).
Santhe had secured protection from the New Republic through Coruscant cooperation until recently, but that agreement now showed cracks.
Victus was certain Gronn, a cowardly sycophant, wouldn't aid them—he'd be too afraid. The Tion Hegemony and Cron Cluster would also ignore aid requests, eyeing New Republic membership. Such allies were worse than enemies.
— I'm not sitting idle waiting to be conquered, — Santhe warned. — I need to know if the Republicans plan a campaign against us and with what forces.
— That's not easy to ascertain, — Victus noted. — I'd rather seek Thrawn's help. He's proven he can defeat Republicans and is always a step or two ahead of Coruscant.
— I want nothing to do with him, — Santhe declared. — Nor will I hand over orbital assembly plants—the backbone of our new Deep Core order.
— Then why not ask the client for protection? — the moff suggested. — It's in their interest to safeguard their investment.
— Their involvement is non-negotiable, — Santhe snapped. — We solve this ourselves.
What's the point of such clients? Payment only upon order completion, due next year at best, and they can't provide protection.
Strange, very strange…
Either Santhe was playing secrets with her manager and defense chief, or she was losing her edge.
Soon, the Santhe family might see another round of backroom battles for conglomerate leadership—a war fiercer than turbolaser barrages.
— Then I suggest hiring criminal scum, — Victus continued listing options.
Santhe considered this.
— Acceptable, — she said. — But are there mercenary bands with fleets capable of opposing the New Republic?
— That's the problem, — Victus agreed. — Krennel spent heavily to lure mercenaries to the Ciutric Hegemony. Most were destroyed or scattered by Thrawn. Even the Cavil Corsairs, versatile cutthroats, took a beating.
— Start moving, — Santhe's calm tone was a command he couldn't ignore. — Learn the New Republic's plans. Sound out mercenaries and inform Moff Gronn we may need his ships.
— Valless, — knowing the answer but trying one last time, — let's give Thrawn one assembly plant. He'll solve the problem. I'm sure the clients would prefer delayed delivery over losing the product entirely. If we fall, personal motives won't matter. If the Republic aims to subjugate Lianna for its own fighter production, nothing but a large Star Destroyer fleet will save us. You dismissed Kaine and the Imperial Ruling Council, so that leaves…
— No Thrawn, — Santhe interrupted sharply. — We got the new order because I promised the Deep Core snobs no rivet would go to him. Whatever he did to them, I don't want to know. Nor do I wish to anger them. Solve the problem—Lianna must be defended.
"How?" Joshua thought, irritation rising. "Am I supposed to conjure Star Destroyers? Or rent them?"
Having served the Empire, he regretted falling for Santhe's promises and deserting to lead Lianna's forces.
Now this madwoman pushed him toward the impossible. Build Lianna's defenses, train a corporate army—then what? Her dismissal of his advice to acquire a Star Destroyer fleet was ignored.
But of course, corporate giants know best!
Spending billions on a minor moff barely managing the Allied Tion—whom Thrawn, Kaine, and the Imperial Ruling Council ignored—was fine.
But spending billions to buy twenty Victory-class Star Destroyers from the Corporate Sector was "too costly, unnecessary, and we have enough forces."
He could have led his own sector, been a minor warlord, and avoided these headaches…
Look at Thrawn, building a state from scraps and a few destroyers, bleeding the New Republic like a butcher a bantha…
Amusing comparison.
Blood is let before the final slaughter.
***
After reviewing the report, I pondered for a few seconds.
— Will the B'omarr Order truly transplant a brain back into a body? — I clarified.
— The Order is not monolithic, comprising several factions, — Agent Inek, or "Bravo-One" under Dominion Intelligence's new field aliases, explained. — Many would perform the procedure for the right price.
— Perhaps, — I agreed. — But our agreement was different, Captain.
— I know, sir, — his holographic face remained impassive. — However, Shira is clever enough to realize consciousness transfer to a cloned body isn't feasible. I exceeded my mandate, but I had to act swiftly—she might have grown suspicious.
— On the other hand, — I continued, — we could use her desire for a new body to clone her and convince her the procedure succeeded.
— That depends on the monks' actions, — Torin Inek replied. — From what I know, they perform the operation on a living body…
A curious moment.
On one hand, Torin overstepped, incurring costs if he secures the monks' cooperation.
On the other, this opens remarkable prospects… Transferring a brain from a failing body to a new, even cloned, one extends life.
It could save key Dominion personnel from death or debilitation.
General-Major Veers, for instance, would be keenly interested.
And not just him…
— Proceed, Agent, — I ordered. — Find B'omarr monks willing to perform this procedure.
— Aye, sir.
— First, conduct mind-copying and obtain cloning samples from the girl, — I continued. — She'll serve our purposes, one way or another.
— It will be done, Grand Admiral. May I supplement the report?
— Your report was incomplete? — I asked, surprised.
— I have assumptions, sir, — he clarified. — Reports don't include those.
Imperial bureaucracy's casuistry—facts only. Assumptions are for private discussions with superiors, who may or may not appreciate them, or kept to oneself.
How much Imperial legacy we must overhaul…
— I'm listening, Agent.
— Beyond agreeing to the terms, she demands her brother's elimination as an "advance," — Bravo-One said. — I suspect negative interactions with her brother, but her provocative, ambiguous behavior is atypical. A girl offered a return to full existence wouldn't act this way.
— A logical desire for someone who endured his beatings and humiliations, now with a chance to settle scores, — I nodded. — But it also resembles eliminating the second of two sentients with knowledge of Sa Nalaor's location.
— I had the same thought, sir, — Torin replied. — I request permission to subject her brother, Reom, to mind-copying and cloning sample collection.
A prudent decision.
Insurance against Shira raising stakes mid-deal.
Three scenarios emerge:
First, proceed as planned. Allow Shira to eliminate Reom, leaving her the sole keeper of Sa Nalaor's coordinates. If agreements hold, we gain a loyal cyberneticist, the ship's location, and leverage for negotiations with survivors. Sa Nalaor holds not only mythical wealth but unmatched prosthetics technology. We could seize it by force—though data might be incomplete—or use Shira's loyalty to negotiate with survivors, who could serve the Dominion.
I have projects needing experts like Sa Nalaor's commander's associate, a talented engineer and prostheticist.
But what if Shira intends to protect her comrades and hide their location?
Eliminating Reom leaves her the sole keeper, allowing her to manipulate that knowledge for concessions. The outcome is uncertain, but the framework is clear.
Second, we copy her consciousness, extract the coordinates—if she knows them.
Third, we do the same with Reom.
In that case, Shira becomes expendable.
From a pragmatic perspective:
We don't know Shira's true intentions.
One.
Two, we can copy both siblings' minds and obtain Sa Nalaor's location—if they know it. Reom planned to take his Star Destroyer somewhere, didn't he? His crew lacks the data, and the navicomputer has none… So, if it exists, it's in Reom's head.
Three, Shira, as a disabled sentient, is a test subject for the brain-transfer procedure, which intrigues me for its pragmatism. We could clone her and perform the operation on the clone.
But experimental criteria matter.
"Brain transfer from clone to clone" interests me little.
"Brain transfer from original to clone" does.
Finding loyal, condemned sentients for such tests is time-consuming. But this experiment needn't be singular. Statistics matter.
If nine out of ten brain transfers from original to clone succeed, that's a pattern. If one, it's chance.
I need a pattern. I won't risk valuable personnel.
Successful procedures could be offered to key Dominion sentients unable to continue in their current bodies.
Brainless original bodies can be frozen for future DNA cloning.
But this is a layman's view, unfamiliar with the intricacies of galactic species' genetics, biology, or medicine.
My role is war, Dominion foreign policy, and task-setting—not mastering every discipline.
— Abyssal Fury is en route to Ciutric IV, — I said. Hmm… We should establish sector bases and a fleet headquarters to separate military and political interests from the capital. Nor should the capital remain an industrial hub to Coruscant's extent. Light industry and food production suffice. Caring for the capital's ecology is never too late. — By my arrival, the equipment for all procedures will be in-system, — I added, referring to an Acclamator with Spaarti cloning cylinders, always near the metropole. — Clone and copy both. They must not know.
— Aye, sir.
— Continue the operation with Shira as if we trust her, — I continued. — Determine her motives—after her brother's death, she may be more forthcoming. Naturally, clone and copy Reom before fulfilling her request.
— It will be done, Grand Admiral, — Inek confirmed.
After his hologram faded, I reviewed data from various units, including Mr. Ghent's clones.
Encouraging information.
Things could turn out better than planned.
Good that only Tierce witnessed my emotional outburst. The guardsman is accustomed to his masters' quirks, so he poses no threat.
But I must control myself more rigidly. Mitth'raw'nuruodo never lost composure, even after greater defeats.
Yes, the operation didn't meet all objectives.
Yes, Ackbar exposed some of my tactics and may report them.
A reason to plan future operations more meticulously.
This isn't a personal vendetta.
We each do our jobs. He did his well. For me, it's a lesson in caution.
This hand-breaking incident can further my "humanization policy." I can't always be Thrawn.
What concerns me more is that my personality's evolution aligns with Iceheart's predictions.
Speaking of her…
I have questions for her, and I anticipate our meeting.
For now…
It seems I have Jenssarai Order members aboard without clear tasks. Time to address that.
What productive use can I make of them?