I'll do images tomorrow. Have fun now :3
***
Nine years, nine months, and eleven days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, nine months, and eleven days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Four months and thirty-one days since the arrival).
The massive metallic structure looming ahead in the spacecraft's course could have been mistaken for a medium-sized space station.
And, truth be told, that's precisely what it was.
Festooned with countless antennas, transmitters, and communication equipment, the station was designed to relay HoloNet signals from one transceiver to another.
Near-instantaneous message exchange across the galaxy, a system established by decree of the Galactic Senate of the Republic and utilized for thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of years.
This station was but a small cog in the vast, invisible machinery of communication that linked millions of planets, moons, stations, and inhabited asteroids across the galaxy.
— Shuttle TN-20-12-23, state the purpose of your flight, — the intercom crackled to life. As expected, it was voice-only communication. — Provide clearance codes for entry into the restricted zone of the relay station.
The pilot glanced questioningly at the ship's commander.
Captain Makeno leaned forward, closer to the microphone.
— This is Shuttle TN-20-12-23, — he stated. — Transmitting clearance codes now. — At his signal, the pilot sent the file to the relay station's garrison. — We're carrying provisions, replacement equipment for Terminal B on the third deck, and personal cargo for the garrison personnel.
Unlike most other relays or transceivers scattered across the galaxy, this facility held not only strategic importance for the sector it was located in but for the entire galaxy as well.
That was why it housed a garrison—seasoned military personnel tasked with protecting the technical crew. There were only a handful, perhaps a dozen or so, of such relays in the galaxy, each costing an astronomical sum. Essentially, this was a communications space station, equipped not only with an immense array of top-tier communication technology but also with living quarters, recreational modules, life support systems, filtration units, and more.
It could always accommodate a team of cryptographers to monitor messages passing through the communication lines, identifying enemy spies and their reports. Ysanne Isard, in her time, had done precisely that.
Of course, one could equip every agent with a pulse transmitter to send messages directly, bypassing relays and receivers. But such equipment cost billions. And even if the price could be managed, what about the size of the transmitter? To send messages directly to a recipient required computational power the size of a house.
You couldn't exactly carry that in your pocket.
While awaiting a response from the station's personnel, Orsan began studying the structure floating before their shuttle.
While autonomous relays resembled unsightly heaps of antennas and modules, an inhabited relay was a model of beauty and ergonomics.
An inhabited relay.
Positioned in an uninhabited system of a yellow star, the relay station wasn't particularly massive—about a kilometer in height, with the central operational-residential module roughly the same in diameter.
Even to the naked eye, the structure appeared relatively new; the paint hadn't peeled or faded. Or, at the very least, it was well-maintained.
Its modular design allowed the central hub to detach easily from the upper and lower spires, which housed the transmission receivers.
How Thrawn had learned of this location was unclear. The positions of relay stations were always kept secret, even during the days of the Old Republic. The sentients responsible for operating and maintaining these communication systems were under constant state protection.
But that wasn't important now—what mattered was that the clearance codes and their cover story held up.
— Shuttle TN-20-12-23, — the intercom crackled again. — Codes verified and confirmed. Your assignment is listed in the updated work schedule. You may dock at the third airlock—we're transmitting approach telemetry.
The pilot nodded silently, acknowledging receipt of the instructions from the inhabited relay.
The Lambda-class shuttle continued its movement through realspace, broadcasting a forged identifier.
The New Republic might consider itself the galaxy's hegemon—at least they thought so—but they continued to rely on trophies from the Galactic Civil War. Thus, pulling off a ruse with a standard transport vessel was no great challenge.
— Proceed, — Makeno said, leaving the cockpit.
He stepped into the troop compartment, where fourteen naval special forces operatives, calm and composed, methodically conducted final checks before the operation.
Clad in black armored suits, the operatives readied their blaster rifles, attaching gas cartridges and energy cells.
One checked the draw of a combat knife from its sheath.
Orsan grabbed his own gear from a seat, smirking at the sight of his helmet. It was an exact replica of a Mandalorian "bucket," popular on the black market among seasoned mercenaries. Even Mandalorians themselves didn't shy away from purchasing durasteel copies of their more fortunate brethren's beskar armor.
Why the "Mandalorian style"?
Because Orsan despised and hated his kin, only a few of whom had supported the New Order, preferring instead to remain "free mercenaries," serving not governments but those who paid the most.
Thus, at every opportunity, he left a "Mandalorian trail." Anyone trying to investigate a band of Mandalorians who'd pulled off a job would inevitably risk crossing paths with real Mandalorians. Out of corporate ethics, they'd likely eliminate the curious investigator and dump the body in a sewer.
Makeno approached the operative responsible for communications systems, who was tinkering with a massive device taking up half the troop compartment.
— Will it work? — the captain asked, watching his subordinate work at the control panel.
— Like a charm, — the operative assured him. — Two kilometers of full-frequency jamming guaranteed. It'll work for thirty minutes before the circuits start overheating and melting without proper cooling.
Cooling a standard "jammer" would have required integrating it into a larger ship's systems.
But that would have raised questions about the transport.
They had to choose the lesser evil.
— We'll manage faster, —26, — Makeno assured him. — No more than a dozen soldiers—a couple of minutes' work.
— Docking in ten seconds, — the pilot announced over the intercom.
— Attention, everyone, — Makeno barked. — We're starting. Don't mess this up—I don't want to be blushing like a Zeltron courtesan, explaining myself to the Grand Admiral. Understood?
It had been a while since he'd "motivated" his subordinates like this. Probably not since they'd left active military service and turned to mercenary work.
Judging by the team, they didn't mind "shaking things up" either. Otherwise, at least one of them would have refused to serve the Dominion.
Then again, with salaries like these, who wouldn't work for Hutts? Though, the slugs would never pay such sums to even highly skilled "rank-and-file" operatives.
In the Empire, they earned far less weekly, even with years of service and bonuses. Many didn't like it, so there weren't many eager to join special forces. Who'd risk their hide for mere decicredits?
But Thrawn paid—paid so well there were no questions left.
And today, this was their test mission.
The captain headed to the ship's rear.
The docking airlock on the inhabited relay was a half-port, into which the Lambda entered stern-first, half its hull inside. Then the standard ramp lowered, allowing the shuttle's crew to descend into the docking bay.
As expected, this relay was built long ago, and the New Republic was simply using it for its own purposes.
As they did with all other relics of the Galactic Empire.
So it was this time.
The ramp lowered, but Makeno gestured for his troops to hold off on an immediate assault.
He glanced at the operative managing the "jammer," then, carrying only a blaster pistol, began descending the ramp himself.
As he'd anticipated, a burly figure with lieutenant's insignia on his uniform stood by the ramp. Behind him were two more soldiers, armed with light blasters.
— New gear? — the lieutenant smirked, eyeing Makeno's armor.
— Standard for us, — he replied simply, handing the garrison commander a personal datapad. — We're a private company. Hired to discreetly deliver your cargo.
— What are our guys doing, then? — the lieutenant asked, surprised, as he read the forged documents on the screen.
— Imps are stirring, — Makeno shrugged. — They launched a raid. Chandrila's under siege, and a few other worlds are hit. The First Fleet's on high alert. They hired us—we don't ask questions. Just want to unload the cargo, get your confirmation documents, and head off for payment.
— Lucky bastards, — the lieutenant muttered, clearly stuck on a long shift, given his willingness to chat with a stranger. — I've been here almost a year. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat.
— What's stopping you? — Makeno feigned interest and surprise. — Bring your docs to our office. Pass the checks and tests, and you'll join one of our squads. We'd be glad for the reinforcement.
— Not bad, — the lieutenant grinned. — What's the pay like?
— No one's complaining, — Makeno assured him, crossing his arms and visibly eager to be elsewhere. — Easy work, and the credits flow like a river. Even for small jobs like this.
— "Like this"? — the lieutenant echoed, watching a pair of Makeno's men haul a massive container from the shuttle's hold. — What's that supposed to mean?
— This, — Makeno replied as a thin beskar dagger slid from a hidden sheath in his left vambrace, its razor-sharp blade slicing open the lieutenant's throat, spraying blood across the surroundings.
— Attack! — one of the Republic soldiers managed to shout before a precise carbine shot tore through his throat, exposing his spine.
The soldier collapsed, and Orsan, grabbing the bleeding lieutenant's body as a shield, fired at the second.
Troops in black armor poured from the shuttle like a wave, spreading through the docking bay in pairs and trios, advancing into the relay's inhabited sections.
— Commander, the jammer's working, — the comms operative reported via comlink. — No alarm signal got through.
— Acknowledged, — Makeno responded, receiving his helmet and rifle from an approaching medic. — We're moving. Guard the device and the shuttle.
— Understood, Commander.
Activating the blaster's power cell, Makeno donned the Mandalorian helmet and joined his squad in engaging the Republic personnel.
Ten minutes of shooting down Republic soldiers and technicians in near-training-ground conditions later, control over the Coruscant sector's inhabited relay was secured.
Half an hour later, a bulk freighter emerged from hyperspace, its cargo bay doors opening to release utility droids tasked with dismantling the structure.
***
Though Coruscant bore little resemblance to Alderaan, returning to it felt doubly pleasant.
Leia walked through the vestibule of the Imperial Palace, oblivious to the sentients bustling around her.
Even the sight of mighty Chewbacca moving ahead like a dreadnought through a swarm of fighters—whom any sensible member of any species would avoid—or C-3PO trailing behind, lamenting as the eternal companion of her and her friends' adventures, didn't detract from the young woman's sense of contentment, stronger even than when she'd secured the Balmorreans' treaty signature.
— Princess, — Winter emerged from the crowd, appearing at Leia's right.
— Oh, I'm so glad to see you, — smiled the sister of the galaxy's most famous Jedi, embracing her white-haired friend. — How are the children? How are you?
— Sleeping in their room, under tight security, — Winter reported promptly. — I left them with a nanny droid and…
— A squad of Wookiees, — Leia nodded knowingly.
After all they'd been through, especially after learning Han had been a pawn in an attack on an entire species of assassins once loyal to Darth Vader, security was paramount.
Especially after the Grand Admiral's stunt of granting Dominion citizenship to Jacen and Jaina. Whatever Thrawn claimed, neither Leia, Han, nor even Luke—who believed Thrawn could be reasoned with—trusted he'd let Force-sensitive infants go without attempting to reclaim them by force.
At Chewbacca's request, several young Wookiees had arrived from Kashyyyk to serve as round-the-clock guards for the twins.
Han, Luke, and Leia could fend for themselves, but defenseless infants, barely a month old, could not. A mother's heart couldn't leave it be.
— Han met Wedge in orbit, — the princess explained to her aide. — I didn't know he was here.
— Mon Mothma recalled all operational units involved in hunting Thrawn's raiders, — Winter explained.
— Except Bel Iblis, — Leia noted grimly.
— Oh, he's here, — her aide assured her. — Arrived among the first. His ships were sent to Reecee to investigate an attack on a smuggler base aiding our trade restoration.
— Reecee? — Leia was horrified. — Mon Mothma said only Chandrila was under attack…
— Likely, that was true when you last spoke, — Winter remarked. — With Ackbar absent, Mon Mothma ordered Bel Iblis to remain here.
— For what? — the princess asked, surprised.
— Officially, as her military advisor, — her aide clarified.
— And in reality? — Leia caught the subtext.
— Honestly, it's unclear what he's doing here, — Winter admitted. — He's submitted four requests to lead a counterattack against Thrawn's forces…
— And been denied, — Leia said, trying to suppress her growing suspicions. — Which planets were hit?
— Besides Chandrila and Reecee—Roxuli, Kril'Dor, Mrisst, Borleias, Palanhi, Noquivzor, Ord Adalaha, Afran IV, Sif-Uwana, Uviuy Exen…
— Great Force! — Leia whispered, stunned. — He's tearing a chunk of the galaxy out from under us! Did he seize all these systems in a day?
— We don't know, — Winter confessed. — As soon as planetary governments report Imperial ships, communication cuts off. All we can say is that at least the Star Destroyers belong to Thrawn, accompanied by Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, Corellian corvettes, or gunships. Each planet faces a formidable squadron. The First Fleet's been halved, dispatching units to respond to the invasions. Even reserves are tapped. No line ships remain in the sector except those guarding Coruscant. Even Anaxes has only five star cruisers and a dozen strike frigates, despite being the Defense Forces' headquarters.
— Twelve worlds in a day, — Leia shook her head. — And these are quadrants L-9, K-9, K-10, one step from Coruscant! If he annexes them to the Empire, Orinda could practically knock on our door. If he's expanding the Dominion's territory, he's got a staging ground for a full-scale attack on…
A piercing siren wail assaulted Leia's ears, making her flinch. The deafening artificial screech was so loud she couldn't hear Winter, standing half a meter away, saying something.
The panicked crowd surged in all directions, nearly toppling Chewbacca. C-3PO hit the floor, knocked over by a Rodian senator's hefty shoulder.
Even Chewbacca's thunderous roar had little effect—sentients scattered like terrified tauntauns facing a pack of starving predators.
Leia and the Wookiee pushed through the crowd to reach the droid, which risked being trampled.
— It's a battle alert! — Winter shouted into her ear.
— I know, — Leia recoiled as the Wookiee yanked C-3PO to his feet. — I need to get to the command center.
— Understood, — Winter scanned the area, then pointed. — Fastest route is through the third corridor to the turbolift. I'll take C-3PO and Chewbacca to the nursery.
— Thank you, — the princess said, clutching her lightsaber as she darted in the indicated direction.
Reaching the turbolift, she was nearly swept away by the exiting crowd. Barely avoiding being trampled, Leia entered and selected her destination.
The lower level of the Imperial Palace was entirely dedicated to military operations: peripheral areas housed less critical services, while closer to the center were the offices of the commander-in-chief, fleet commanders, intelligence, special forces, and other vital New Republic Defense Forces offices.
Leia presented her identification to the guards at the level's entrance, then merged into the crowd of disheveled sentients—surprisingly numerous for the early pre-noon hour in the command center. Understandable, given the alert.
It hadn't sounded in months.
Because it only rang when Coruscant itself was under attack.
Crossing the threshold of the armored, hermetic, ultra-durable, and impenetrable (though the Death Star might disagree) door, Leia finally reached the command center.
The first thing that struck her was the chaos reigning within.
Barely ten minutes had passed since the Imperial Palace's halls echoed with alert sirens, yet the command center was packed with officers of all ranks and species, rushing from one terminal to another to assume their posts per the facility's combat protocol.
At the room's center, visible from every angle, glowed a hologram of Coruscant, depicting not just the planet at a sizable scale but also marked with thirty Golan defense stations and nearly four hundred ships of all classes belonging to the First Fleet. Normally, far fewer were needed, as patrolling and defending the capital required minimal effort.
But Mon Mothma seemed to have anticipated where the Grand Admiral's main strike would fall, pulling all available ships to the capital.
To think, just a day ago, as dawn broke over Coruscant's government district, Leia was informed that Chandrila had been hit.
Now she'd heard of eleven more systems, and with this new dawn…
— It can't be, — Leia gasped, realizing the reason for the battle alert.
Four Interdictor-class Star Destroyers and an equal number of Immobilizer 418 cruisers, marked in red, took positions in sectors four through twelve, facing the New Republic fleet.
Positioned beyond the range of turbolasers and v-150 Planet Defender ion cannons, these eight ships deployed artificial gravity vectors, as if encircling one hemisphere with invisible nets.
If the computer was correct, the vectors were oriented to create a barrier not only along the equator—completely impenetrable—but also across the southern hemisphere.
With the New Republic fleet stationed near the equator, such tactics seemed foolish, even to a sentient unversed in military matters.
The sheer number of active gravity well generators completely blocked entry and exit vectors into Coruscant's orbital space. Two escort frigates that had rushed toward them wisely retreated as Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers began appearing near the Imperial ships.
— Not the cheeriest morning, is it? — Leia heard a strong voice behind her.
The young woman turned, meeting the gaze of General Garm Bel Iblis.
The Corellian stood against a wall a few meters away, watching the hologram with sadness.
— The Empire's attacking us, — Leia explained, unnecessarily. — Clearly, they've joined Thrawn's campaign.
— I've noticed, — the general said calmly. — But there's a discrepancy. The Empire isn't involved.
— What do you mean? — Leia frowned.
— The ships' transponders are active, — Bel Iblis said absently, eyes fixed on the tactical hologram. — We can identify them.
— Of course, we'll try, — Leia said sternly, confused by the situation.
— Why try? — the Corellian asked, surprised. — Just read the right column—the computer lists identified ships there. Black Asp…
— That was ours once, — Leia recalled. — It surrendered and…
— Vanished months ago, right? — Bel Iblis gave a wry smile. — Keep looking. Constrainer—once part of Prince-Admiral Krennel's fleet. Detainer. Sentinel. Eternal Wrath… Familiar names. Painfully familiar. As is that Dreadnought.
— From where? — Leia asked, surprised.
— Peregrine was my flagship once, — Bel Iblis said bitterly. — And the five other heavy cruisers that emerged from hyperspace first were, too.
Leia, though she'd suspected, wasn't prepared for what she heard.
— Thrawn, — she whispered, staring at the hologram as Imperial-class Star Destroyers emerged from hyperspace with academic precision, forming battle formations.
Leia watched the galaxy's infamous triangular ships, mentally counting them, lips moving childishly.
One, two, three, four, five…
Winter mentioned twelve attacked systems, each with a Star Destroyer as the enemy flagship. Thrawn's supply of such ships should be limited.
Chimaera, plus a few captured from the Republic or Krennel…
…six, seven, eight, nine…
How many Star Destroyers had he seized? Two at Hast, Loyalty, Red Gauntlet, a pair in the Oplovis sector, four in the Fourth Fleet's First Division…
So he'd brought all those not engaged elsewhere. Surely, he'd included some Victories…
…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…
The Imperials kept coming.
Leia felt faint.
Because alongside the Empire's well-known "triangles," the space around Coruscant's eight sectors was rapidly filling with Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers and Victory-class Star Destroyers.
Two Quasar Fire-class escort carriers, lost by Han at Honoghr, appeared.
And an obscene number of Corellian corvettes and gunships.
Yet the Imperials kept coming.
…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…
And there was Thrawn!
— Chimaera, — Bel Iblis noted, pointing to the final Star Destroyer emerging from hyperspace. — That's twenty-two Imperials alone, eight Victories, at least three recently taken from the New Republic, two escort carriers, a hundred Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, ten Strike-class medium cruisers, nearly a hundred and fifty Corellian corvettes and gunships, six Raider-class corvettes, and three Venator-class Star Destroyers, undoubtedly used as carriers… I can't fathom where he got such forces. Drayson said he had, at most, fifteen Star Destroyers, including those taken from us.
— Unless the Imperial Remnants lent him aid, — Leia said. — Winter, my aide, mentioned a dozen squadrons hitting our worlds, each with a Star Destroyer…
— We have nearly a hundred Mon Calamari star cruisers in various configurations, — Bel Iblis reminded her. — Almost two hundred escort frigates and Corellian corvettes and gunships. Plus strike frigates, cruisers, light cruisers… Over two hundred ground-based squadrons ready to engage from Coruscant's moon, Centax-2…
He pointed to the celestial body, positioned to the right of Thrawn's stalled fleet, which had emerged from the southern hemisphere and was now aligning before the Interdictors and Immobilizers, likely to protect their interdiction ships and prepare an attack.
They were positioned almost directly opposite the New Republic's ships.
Thrawn's fleet had arrived to discipline the New Republic.
The moon's military-base-covered surface was likely visible to anyone with eyes.
Leia looked detachedly at the former Corellian senator.
— You don't understand, do you? — she asked quietly.
— What don't I understand, Leia? — the senator replied with a strained smile, as if hiding inner pain. — That we outnumber him, but he outclasses us? That he orchestrated strikes on outlying systems, luring over a hundred star cruisers from the Coruscant sector? Or that he has a Dominion out there with a Bellator-class dreadnought and a massive fleet he's taken from us? Not to mention nearly a hundred and twenty other ships, from cruisers to Star Destroyers? No, Leia, I understand perfectly that we've just done him a great favor.
— He's gathered every notable commander or politician on or above Coruscant, — Leia said. — You, Rieekan, Drayson, Han, Wedge, a good dozen others—not to mention the admirals leading squadrons to the attacked worlds. And on Coruscant, the New Republic's provisional government…
— Yes, — Bel Iblis agreed. — All the advisors, except Fey'lya.
— Do you know where he is? — Organa-Solo asked.
— Heard he left for his homeworld, supposedly to answer to the Clan Council for his actions, — the Corellian said with disdain. — But something tells me that sly Bothan bolted on purpose.
— Are you saying he was tipped off about the attack? — Leia was horrified.
— He was a prisoner of Isard and didn't become a sleeper agent? — Bel Iblis asked rhetorically. — Sorry, Princess, but I don't believe in miracles. It looks like we've all been caught in a big trap.
— The worst part is something else, — Leia whispered. — Ackbar, who could match Thrawn's genius, is either dead or captured. And you… — she looked at the Corellian. — Who's commanding Coruscant's defense?
— Admiral Firmus Nantz, leading the First Fleet, left with the squadron sent to liberate Chandrila, — Bel Iblis recalled. — If I'm right, Mon Mothma will appoint Admiral Drayson as commander—he's the only one with experience managing such vast forces. And as intelligence director, he should know Thrawn well… No need to panic—we have plenty of capable commanders and specialists…
— Garm, — Leia said bluntly. — I've known Drayson for years. In a battle like this, he…
Suddenly, the tactical hologram ceased being the focal point.
Because the image of Coruscant and its ships vanished, replaced by a massive holographic figure of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
The Dominion's commander-in-chief stood with hands behind his back, staring directly into the holocam. His resolute face showed no trace of emotion, his posture exuding control. Leia noticed the stunned reactions around her.
The command center's slicer defenses were supposedly unhackable.
At least, that's what they'd said.
— Great Wookiee's mother! — someone from the cybersecurity section exclaimed. — They've breached our cyber defenses!
A deathly silence fell over the command center.
— New Republic, — the Dominion commander's voice complemented his image with soft yet firm, insinuating tones. — Citizens of Coruscant. I am Grand Admiral Thrawn, Commander-in-Chief of the Dominion. Weeks ago, the so-called New Republic Defense Forces invaded a Dominion star system intending to kill me. The celebrated "hero" of the Rebel Alliance, Admiral Ackbar, attacked my flagship, the Star Destroyer Chimaera, in Dominion territory. An entire fleet's assault couldn't stop my mission to eradicate criminals threatening the peace and order decreed by Imperial law. Time and again, attacking worlds under my protection, the New Republic faces fierce resistance. Its soldiers are captured by the hundreds of thousands after each battle, forced to labor in camps since Coruscant's government refuses to exchange them, prioritizing military hardware over freeing its sworn protectors. My patience is exhausted. The Dominion's Armed Forces, under my command, are shifting from defense to active military operations against the New Republic and its allies. As of this moment, I declare I will strike New Republic and allied military targets wherever they are. All civilian and military casualties in future conflicts will be on the conscience of the New Republic's provisional government. And I will begin with Coruscant. Now. Citizens of the capital world, I suggest you look to the skies above. New Republic military, I urge you to closely observe the hyperspace exit vector at point seven-three-seven. You will now witness how I deal with your celebrated heroes. After this, I will destroy anyone who stands in my way. New Republic personnel—either surrender Imperial technology voluntarily, or I will take it by force. In the latter case, your lives are no longer guaranteed.
The hologram of Grand Admiral Thrawn vanished, replaced by the familiar image of Coruscant and its defense perimeters.
The tomb-like silence lingered.
— I'll admit, I was wrong, — Bel Iblis said quietly, but Leia heard him. — Now it's time to worry.
***
Captain Pellaeon glanced at the blue-haired young man lounging in a chair.
Zakarisz Ghent gazed enthusiastically at the Grand Admiral standing on the central dais, delivering an ultimatum to the New Republic in a matter-of-fact tone.
— That simple? — Pellaeon asked skeptically. — Two minutes, and you sliced the Imperial Palace's ice?
— Not simple, of course, — Ghent declared. — I had to compile code accessing Imperial computers, embed it in encrypted data exchange protocols used to falsify orders for the Dreadnought Crimson Dawn…
The slicer tapped his datapad's screen.
— There, as I warned. Their slicers pinpointed the breach and are scrambling to restore defenses. They know Imperial computers well, since they use them, but I used my algorithm to force all Palace terminals into a single cluster. So their machines are lagging while my program hacks their archives and servers…
— Will your program accomplish what we need? — the approaching Grand Admiral inquired.
— Yes, — Ghent straightened instantly. — We've already accessed data on the New Republic's secret prisons. Current information on their military bases, shipyards, stations, and more is being copied.
— I'm more interested in the assets of the Republic Intelligence unit called "Asset Tracking," — Thrawn noted softly. — As well as data on Imperial agents. We either know or can locate Republic military bases without issue.
Ghent chewed his lower lip, studying his datapad.
Then his fingers danced across the keyboard.
— Alright, I've redirected the program, — he said, looking up. — We're cracking Republic Intelligence archives. It'll take time…
— You have it, — the Grand Admiral said magnanimously.
His glowing eyes turned to Gilad.
— Captain, let's go, — Thrawn ordered. — Let's not distract Mr. Ghent from his work.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon echoed, following the commander to his favored chair.
— Given no support ships are deploying from Anaxes, Captain Makeno succeeded in disabling the sector's relay, leaving Coruscant without long-range communication, — Thrawn mused.
— Correct, sir, — Pellaeon confirmed. — The station is offline and being dismantled.
— Excellent, — a smile played on Thrawn's lips. — They can't call for help or contact squadrons sent to other attacked systems.
"Not to mention the Kuat fleet, guarded by Kai Fel nearby," Pellaeon thought.
— Indeed, Grand Admiral, — Gilad nodded like a droid. — We not only provoked them into weakening the First Fleet but also slipped away unnoticed.
— Yes, — Thrawn confirmed. — Attack planets, draw attention, dismantle and remove local relays, then leave special cargo for arriving enemies and withdraw ships to the fleet's rendezvous point… It'll take the New Republic time to unravel the sequence of events.
"If they manage it," Pellaeon thought. — "Who in their right mind would imagine Grand Admiral Thrawn attacked a dozen systems just to distract, conduct covert operations, then withdraw squadrons, leaving locals without communication to warn Republic squadrons that Dominion ships have moved elsewhere? To Coruscant, for instance…"
— Sir, shall I order the attack? — Gilad asked.
Frankly, it unnerved him that the enemy, with numerical superiority, hung motionless near their defense stations, not even attempting to attack.
Nor did the Dominion's fleet.
— No need, Captain, — Thrawn declared. — Give the New Republic time to organize their battle formations.
Sure, let's wait until they drag Lusankya from Rendili, why not?
Honestly, facing a fleet twice your size was… unsettling, to put it mildly.
Yes, they had Thrawn, and the ships carried special cargo loaded during the fleet's staging. The Dominion crews were exceptionally trained…
But why delay?
Now, while the enemy was demoralized by the sudden attack, was the time to strike, crush them to the Hutts before the Force, ever loyal to the New Republic, threw problems at the Dominion!
But Thrawn waited…
What for this time?
— I see you have questions, Captain, — Thrawn noted, studying the tactical hologram displaying Coruscant's orbits, its moons, the double-layered planetary shield, enemy ship markers, and fighter activity at the Centax-2 Defense Forces base.
— A few, sir, — Pellaeon admitted. — What are we waiting for?
— A fair and timely question, — the Grand Admiral said unexpectedly.
Really? Would he answer?
Because so far, the Strike-class cruisers had formed a separate unit on the left flank, as if capable of attacking the New Republic's Centax-2 base.
The Imperial and Victory-class Star Destroyers moved to the front line, pushing Dreadnoughts into mirrored positions above and below the main strike forces.
The Venators wisely stayed back, opening their hangars, ready for battle. Naturally, only these relics were missing. It had been thirty years since Coruscant saw battles with "ethereal fairies," Actis-class, and Nimbus-class fighters…
The corvettes and gunships had no formation—light forces, after all.
— We're not waiting for anything, — Thrawn's words turned Pellaeon's thoughts upside down.
He trusted Thrawn implicitly, to the end.
But right now, this very minute, Gilad began to doubt… as he had six months ago, when he met Thrawn's "genius" ideas with silent irony.
— Sir, — Gilad said patiently, addressing the commander-in-chief. Nerves frayed, a slaughter looming, and they were waiting!? — What's happening?
— Patience, Captain, — Thrawn said, glancing at a chronometer. — Excellent, one minute left. Order Captain Bren to prepare to strike target one, per his flight plan.
Alright, this sounded like the start of a battle.
So the Scimitar was to attack some target…
— Ship approaching! — the grav-acoustic officer reported. — Vector from the New Territories, three-six-nine.
— Here's our tardy actor to open the show, — Thrawn said, like a seasoned impresario.
Gilad shot him a suspicious look.
And found himself staring into the glowing embers of the commander's eyes.
A faint smile played on Thrawn's lips.
— Honestly, Captain, — he said, pointing to a star cruiser materializing two echelons above the Dominion fleet. — You should be ashamed. Amid the splendor of our operation's preparations, did you forget Admiral Ackbar, so eager to deliver news to Coruscant?
Gilad blinked, checking the trajectory and speed of the newly arrived Home One.
Again.
And again.
Disbelieving his eyes, he rushed to the central viewport to watch the legendary Rebel Alliance flagship streak past.
— What the…? — Gilad blurted, grasping the wrongness of it all.
Looking at Thrawn, he saw him stroking an ysalamiri, as if losing interest in the events.
Gilad watched Home One race at tremendous speed toward Coruscant's second moon…
What.
Was.
Happening?!
They were supposed to finish the Mon Calamari!?
— The galaxy is dark and full of terrors, Captain, — Thrawn said softly, more engrossed in petting his ysalamiri. — On Nam Chorios, for instance, there are insects called drochs… I think, after today's demonstration, Project Morrrt should be renamed… or at least paralleled with a similar program.
A chill ran through Gilad.
"Your bluish mother! Did you infest Ackbar's ship with drochs?!" — Pellaeon's eyes widened.
Droch—scourge of spacefarers, devouring travelers from within, burrowing under their skin.
— The problem with parasites, Captain, — Thrawn said in a veterinary tone, — is they're harmless until they control the entire body.
— And then what? — Gilad whispered.
— You'll see the result shortly, Captain, — Thrawn promised. Sweat trickled down Pellaeon's back… — You, and everyone watching from the planet and enemy ships.
No, Thrawn couldn't have…
It was impossible…
Did he plan to destroy the New Republic by infesting Coruscant with drochs?!
How do you fight a forest fire by pouring fuel on it?
No, Thrawn, you couldn't…
***
Centax-2 loomed closer.
Admiral Ackbar shifted in his command chair.
— Sir, — the chief engineer rushed to him. — Nothing's working!
— Cascading system failure? — the Mon Calamari blinked, puzzled.
The engineer shook his head.
— No, sir, no such failures exist. First, hull integrity blocked access to the engine room, then manual switching from the main hyperdrive to the backup failed. Now, exiting hyperspace, our braking engines fail, and the ship accelerates as other systems shut down?! No, Admiral, I've seen every kind of malfunction. This isn't a failure—it's sabotage. Deliberate and well-planned.
— Perhaps, — Ackbar agreed. He'd had suspicions but could only confirm them by sending crew through depressurized corridors to the ship's stern. No sentient-rated suits could withstand hyperspace radiation, hundreds of times stronger than normal space radiation. Even astromech droids wouldn't last long. Only Separatist or Zann Consortium buzz droids resisted such radiation. — But there's no time to speculate.
The Mon Calamari eyed the approaching orb of Coruscant's moon.
— Communications are down, we can't brake, no escape pods… — the renowned admiral listed quietly. — And, — he glanced at a miraculously functioning monitor displaying short-range scanner data, — we're in the enemy fleet's kill zone… Well, now we don't need to wonder who's behind our misfortunes…
— Thrawn, — the chief engineer spat. — Or Schneider.
— Same thought, — the Mon Calamari shared. — Saboteur droids were dropped on Home One during battle or when Nemesis rammed us.
— We need to do something, — the ship's senior officer said, joining them. — Starter engines exploded during course correction or braking attempts. The hull's disintegrating. Sublight engines are running like mad, and we can't do anything.
— Reactors offline? — the Mon Calamari clarified.
The chief engineer nodded.
— That won't help, — he said. — The saboteurs powered the engines from backup reactors in the damaged section. Even if acceleration stops, we'll keep moving by inertia. At this speed, towing is pointless—we'd drag the tugs with us…
Admiral Ackbar sighed heavily.
— Use suits to save the crew, — he ordered.
— Sir, we have only two dozen suits, — the senior officer said. — And hundreds of survivors on board…
— Evacuate who you can, — Ackbar commanded. — Someone must survive to report what happened. You two, — he looked at the chief engineer and senior officer, — evacuate, no exceptions. The New Republic must know Thrawn's technical and tactical innovations to prepare for future attacks.
He didn't say he had no idea if the New Republic's capital would survive Thrawn's attack, which he and Home One's crew were witnessing—likely not by chance.
— But, sir… — both protested. — You must be among the saved! You alone can…
— That's an order, — the Mon Calamari raised his voice at subordinates for the first time in years.
Turning away, he signaled he wouldn't discuss his orders.
Instead, he watched Centax-2 grow larger in the central viewport.
He saw ships scrambling to evacuate the massive Coruscant support base.
He saw tugs attempt to stop the speeding cruiser-projectile, then abandon the futile effort.
Admiral Ackbar sat in his chair, silently observing another triumph of the cunning Grand Admiral Thrawn.
An entire base, thousands of fighters and ships, tens of thousands of New Republic personnel—all would perish from the ramming of a star cruiser, once an icon of the Rebel Alliance.
The impact found him in that position.
***
Watching Centax-2's vast region become a fiery crater, obliterating everything and cracking the moon's surface, Gilad silently regarded Grand Admiral Thrawn in his chair.
— Sir… — he whispered. — I… owe an apology.
— I'd wager a hundred credits you thought I infested Ackbar's flagship with drochs to destroy the New Republic? — Thrawn's blue face raised a questioning brow.
Gilad didn't answer.
He silently pulled a credit chip from his uniform trousers and handed it to Rukh.
The gray-skinned creature grinned, accepting the payment and swiftly retreating to Thrawn with the winnings.
To the Hutts with proper betting terms…
Gilad was so stunned that…
— An entire base, — he said, awestruck. — In one strike…
— We've secured our left flank, Captain, — Thrawn continued casually. — Time for the second act of our performance.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon said, detached.
— Mr. Ghent, have we secured our objectives? — Thrawn asked, raising his voice slightly.
— Yes, — came a youthful, cracking voice. — All targets achieved. They're counterattacking cyberwise, so staying longer is unsafe.
— Begin destroying your program, — Thrawn ordered. Ghent confirmed with a vague "Uh-huh," but he was a genius, so it was forgivable.
Though Pent seemed more mature.
And easier to talk to…
Absently, the Chimaera's commander thought the New Republic now likely had code accessing Imperial computers…
But what did it matter if the Dominion's computers were shielded from that exploit?
Probably nothing.
— Captain Pellaeon, — Thrawn's voice snapped him from his reverie. — Are you with us?
Gilad shook his head, dispelling the haze.
— Yes, sir! — he replied.
— Then we're done demoralizing the enemy, — Thrawn said. — On to the battle. Forward units—execute the Marg Sabl maneuver.
— Yes, Grand Admiral!
Thrawn laced his fingers on his chest and smiled in anticipation.
His crimson eyes, like fading embers, flared with infernal fire.
— Time to destroy the New Republic's First Fleet.