Nine years, nine months, and twenty-one days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, nine months, and twenty-one days since the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and six days since arrival).
Grand Moff Ferrus met my gaze calmly.
"Excellent work," I commended, setting aside the personal datapad with metropolitan sector reports.
"Thank you, sir," he replied.
In truth, Felix had accomplished a great deal.
Before me sat the same man I had met half a year ago.
But he was no longer the administrator of a small, remote sector barely making ends meet.
Now, despite his middle age, he was an outstanding administrator and executor, both diligent and proactive.
Thanks to him, the metropolis was transforming for the better with each passing day. With the aid of a loyal staff and his own clones, he had not only restored communication within our controlled sectors and systems in the shortest possible time but also revitalized the diverse economy of our occupied sectors and remote systems.
"By the end of the current year, the economy and production sectors will stabilize at levels that will allow us to provide the population with all necessities and begin accumulating strategic reserves," the Grand Moff stated in a calm tone.
"Does this also apply to the military-industrial complex?" I inquired.
"That is our top priority, sir," Ferrus declared. "Though, I must admit, your desire to standardize an eight-turbolaser turret caliber on large Imperial-designed ships is not without challenges.
"With all due respect to your achievements, Grand Moff, the Dominion cannot afford to produce various types of armaments for the regular fleet," I reminded him. "For this reason, we are standardizing the calibers of Star Destroyers and strike cruisers. The days of amassing forces by any means necessary are behind us.
"Understood, sir," Felix nodded. "The shipyards are working around the clock to refit and modernize the ships. We are decommissioning those with critical damage and using them for spare parts for the rest.
"I take it this pertains to Corellian corvettes, frigates, and escort frigates?" I clarified.
"Precisely, sir," the Grand Moff confirmed. "Has Shipwright Zion sent you his proposals for modernizing escort frigates, interdictor cruisers, and other ships?
"Yes, I received them promptly. It's worth noting that the efficiency of our communication systems is also a credit to your specialists. Thanks to the new relay stations established by your subordinates, the Dominion's territory has no communication dead zones.
"We merely followed your directives, Grand Admiral.
It should be noted that the dozen relay stations, including the inhabited one, are not "new" in the conventional sense. Each was acquired during our assault on Coruscant and a dozen other systems controlled by the New Republic in the Core Worlds.
Historically, the Galactic Republic relegated only cheap and outdated HoloNet relay stations to the galaxy's outskirts. Even if that wasn't the case initially, over millennia, these systems became worn out, and maintaining thousands of such installations across the galaxy in optimal condition is prohibitively expensive.
As it happens, in the northern galaxy, where the Dominion's metropolis is established, the relay stations are quite outdated and in need of repair, significantly complicating communication with remote systems. For now, we've resolved the issue by phasing out obsolete relays and replacing them with those seized from the New Republic.
The New Republic's communication issues are of little concern to me, but ensuring reliable communication for the Dominion is one of my priorities.
Thus, our communication network is now partially supported by relatively new relays and partially by duplicating old installations with new ones.
Naturally, the locations of our relay stations have been changed to prevent the enemy from easily replicating our strategy against us.
"Is Asteroid-II in position?" I asked.
"We've altered the defensive line's configuration in all directions except the Kanz sector," the Grand Moff stated. "Captain Dobramu is continuing to deploy cloaked asteroids in the newly acquired territories of the Kanz sector while the conquest of the Mieru'kar sector progresses. We are increasing production of cloaking fields and necessary asteroids by utilizing old mining bases. We're slightly behind schedule, but by the time Dobramu completes the asteroid deployment, we'll have interdictor stations and a second defensive line ready. Afterward, with the help of the crystal gravfield trap, we'll reposition the asteroids, and the plan for establishing the first and second defensive lines will be complete. I've had to increase funding for several initiatives and hire additional personnel to meet the schedule by the end of this month.
"Expenditures on Dominion security are justified," I stated. "As is their increase. Am I correct in assuming that the shipyards in the Venin sector have begun laying down Crusader II-class and Raider II-class corvettes?
"Correct, sir," Felix confirmed. "The shipyards there are small, suited for ships of this class. The personnel are highly competent. Considering your directive to replace CR90s and DP20s with our own production, I deemed it prudent to initiate full-scale production now. Especially since the facilities for producing components, engines, and armaments are already operational.
"Given that a significant portion of the laser armaments installed on these corvettes is being allocated to the regular fleet for refitting Star Destroyers and other ships, the commissioning timelines may be delayed," I noted.
"That's true, so I'm directing the shipyard to produce and outfit hulls without armaments," the Grand Moff explained. "Afterward, we'll transfer the ships to the fleet base for full outfitting and conduct acceptance trials on-site. This ensures the shipyard remains operational, the personnel receive stable orders and wages, and the fleet gets support ships to replace Corellian vessels. They may not enter service quickly—our industry isn't yet ready to supply the latest laser cannons for both modernized and newly built ships. But we'll have hulls ready and can begin training crews. Arming these starships can always be done quickly later.
"And, no doubt, you're counting on the outcome of our confrontation with the Zann Consortium to acquire their production facilities, solving the laser cannon shortage in one fell swoop," I remarked.
The Grand Moff nodded affirmatively.
"Sir, this is by no means driven by malicious intent. Of course, I should have consulted you on this development path, but the statistics of your orders regarding enemy industry speak for themselves.
"No need to justify doing good work, Grand Moff," I requested. "Your logic is clear, and I fully agree with it. Additionally, Shipwright Zion will soon receive further instructions regarding several Star Destroyers currently in our repair docks. They're due for significant modernization, so you'll have the opportunity to redirect some laser cannons to outfit the corvettes. By my calculations, the refit will take a few weeks, allowing us to commission up to fifty of the latest Crusaders and Raiders by year's end, phasing out Corellian ships from the regular fleet.
"May I inquire what exactly you plan to propose to the shipwright for development?
The Grand Moff's interest was understandable—military shipyard needs are primarily met by enterprises under his control.
"Are you familiar with our shipwright's interdictor cruiser concept?" I asked.
"Yes, sir," Ferrus confirmed. "He proposes enlarging our existing Vindicator-class heavy cruisers by adding gravity well generators, effectively turning them into larger Immobilizer 418s.
"Broadly speaking, that's correct," I agreed, scrolling through the report catalog to find the relevant entry. "But it will be an entirely different ship. The Immobilizer.
Interdictor Cruiser, Immobilizer-class.
Seeing the holographic projection, the Grand Moff grimaced disapprovingly.
"I wish we were working with Reyes instead," he remarked. "Zion's flamboyant behavior is starting to irritate me.
"I understand completely," I said. "His decision to paint the model in the colors of the Grand Army of the Republic and add the Open Circle Fleet designation from the Clone Wars is, from his perspective, quite witty. A childish prank, nothing more. The substance of his proposal outweighs the absurd form it's presented in.
"I can see the hundreds of gravity shadow generators from the Pentastar Alignment burning a hole in his hands," Ferrus remarked. "He's itching to turn the Vindicators into a parody of interdictor cruisers.
"In truth, it's a worthwhile initiative," I countered. "Zion proposes building a new version of the interdictor cruiser, lighter than the Immobilizer 418.
"I understand why he suggests reducing the number of gravity shadow generators," the Grand Moff said, pointing to the two spherical structures on the ship instead of four. "In ninety percent of cases, two generators and two deployment vectors suffice.
"For countering a weaker opponent, yes," I agreed.
"As far as I know, you often use all four projectors on such ships.
"Because I block not only known hyperspace exit vectors but also the very ability to leave the battlefield," I explained. "Zion's proposal offers a solution that would significantly increase our number of interdictor cruisers.
"You want to strip me of my Vindicators," Ferrus said resignedly.
"Yes, the Vindicator-class heavy cruisers acquired from Grand Moff Kaine will need to be converted into Immobilizers," I confirmed. "And moving forward, we'll establish their production at one of our shipyards. I believe the refit can be entrusted to the Vosterlig system shipyard in the Oplovis sector. They've performed admirably in repairing Mon Calamari star cruisers and modernizing Nebulon-B escort frigates, haven't they?
"That's correct, sir," Ferrus agreed. "But… sir, why make such sacrifices? Just yesterday, the Dominion acquired the Trapper Tori, Bastion, and Assessor, increasing our interdictor cruiser count to ten! Why follow Kaine's example and ruin perfectly good ships for roles they're not suited for? You know how much the Vindicators' firepower drops when converted into Immobilizer 418s. We'd be better off requesting Kaine's other variant of these heavy cruisers, the Raiders, which have more reactors and armaments.
"Clearly, you've misunderstood me, Grand Moff," I said quietly. "No one intends to convert the dozen or so Vindicators we have into Immobilizer 418s. Nor do I plan to reduce their firepower during modernization. On the contrary—our Immobilizer-class ships will retain the Vindicator's turbolaser armament but, by increasing their size and installing two gravity shadow generators, they'll become not just heavy cruisers but heavy interdictor cruisers.
Ferrus stared at me intently.
"Sir, forgive me, I don't follow. Why do you need heavy cruisers with such functions when we have Interdictor-class Star Destroyers? They're more powerful and better protected than what Zion wants to create.
"I agree," I said, puzzling the Grand Moff further. "I don't need ships like these when we already have ten Immobilizer 418s and four Interdictor-class Star Destroyers. And considering that Sluis Van currently holds about thirty interdictor cruisers, including the former Byoo'a, Stranglehold, Paw, Fireclaw, Emperor's Net, Vortex, and Claw—some of the most renowned ships of this type in the Imperial galaxy—I have no need to introduce well-armed but poorly suited heavy cruisers for system blockades. However, they're perfectly suited to lead Dominion patrol groups operating within the metropolis.
Felix narrowed his eyes.
"You want these ships to serve in the Dominion's defense fleet?
"Precisely, Grand Moff," I said. "We currently control fourteen sectors. With Mieru'kar's addition, that'll be fifteen. Formally, they've all undergone major purges of pirates and criminals. Once Operation Crimson Dawn concludes and the Dominion closes its borders to free movement, a black market will inevitably emerge, and smugglers will become more active. Pirates, who are not so easily eradicated, will also resurface. Given that we've dismantled major gangs, we can't rule out that smaller ones survived the purges. They'll hesitate to flee openly and will likely start operating within the Dominion. Immobilizers can counter ships weaker than themselves, fend off attacks on convoys, or blockade trade routes. An armed freighter or outdated vessel is no match for them. Starting next year, the regular fleet will face additional tasks, including border patrols and countering aggressors. We can't afford to divert ships from the perimeter to scour systems for pirates. Nor can we allow supply ships to vanish on our internal hyperspace routes.
"I think I understand," the Grand Moff said. "That's why you're not opposed to starting production of Crusader IIs and our version of the Raider. You're transferring Corellian corvettes and frigates to the defense fleet?
"We have about a hundred ships of that type," I reminded him. "We'll phase them out gradually, giving you fast starships for pursuit and patrol. What we can maintain independently should be utilized. By the time repairs on the upgraded Nebulons are complete, the need for Corellian ships will diminish.
"They could be transferred to privateers and auxiliary forces," Ferrus suggested. "As we did with the Arquitens-class light cruisers.
"Exactly.
Despite their age, Arquitens-class cruisers could still chase down old pirate vessels and perform well against enemy fighters. However, with our fast, well-armed Crusader IIs and Raiders, light cruisers become redundant. We simply don't need them when we have heavily armed, swift corvettes or escort frigates.
"Grand Admiral, sir," Ferrus addressed me. "Since we're on the topic of interdictor ships… Allow me to suggest: we have a large number of Imperial-class Star Destroyers, assembled at the Venin sector shipyard, captured from Ennix Devian and the X1 faction. They're currently in drydocks, requiring additional repairs to address numerous shoddy assembly issues. Why not use them, given our large stock of gravity shadow generators?
"That's exactly what I intend to propose to Shipwright Zion," I noted. "However, there's a catch. Interdictors are a trademark of Kuat Drive Yards. We could ignore this and do as we please with our ships—it's a matter of jurisprudence and good-faith acquisition. But we already have an excellent Star Destroyer design.
"The Tector.
"Precisely. Its development requires significant internal refits, so I plan to convert the eleven destroyers we have—four from the X1 faction, six from Ennix Devian, one acquired at Raxus Prime, and some of those we'll gain after Crimson Dawn—into our own type of interdictor Star Destroyers. This accounts for the original design's flaws and operational experience with such starships.
"Doesn't Sluis Van have Interdictors we could seize?" Ferrus asked.
"Only a few. Unfortunately, since the Galactic Empire's collapse, interdictor ships have been scarce. Many Immobilizer 418s ended up in the Pentastar Alignment and were converted into Raiders. Most Interdictor-class Star Destroyers were lost in battles or retreated to the Deep Core. Kuat Drive Yards and Lianna ceased production of these ships under pressure from the New Republic, which is developing its own interdictor starship with significant progress. Thus, we must focus on equipping our fleet with such ships independently. There's nowhere to buy them—if Kuat and Lianna are producing them, it's solely for themselves. Engaging them in conflict at this time is not in our interest.
"Understood, sir," Ferrus sighed. "If you have more time, may I discuss several defense fleet initiatives?
"Of course," I said. "What's on your mind, Grand Moff?
"Commodore Shohashi captured a Keldabe II-class battleship during battles against the Zann Consortium," Felix said. "My specialists evaluated the starship. Its protection and armament are on par with Imperial-class ships, yet it requires a significantly smaller crew. Considering that the Mon Calamari star cruisers in the metropolis fleet have had their SEAL generators removed, perhaps we should consider producing stronger ships for defense? We know the star cruisers we currently have are essentially scraps, used only for lack of better options. Without the SEAL system, these ships are no more dangerous than Victory II-class Star Destroyers. We once thought they matched Imperials due to our limited knowledge, but now, after thorough study, we understand our advanced designs surpass the New Republic's main ships—at least the MC80 line up to the MC80b, like the Mon Remonda. The Keldabe II is quite advanced but weaker than the regular fleet's main starships, so the armament distribution concept will be preserved.
"An interesting proposal, Grand Moff," I agreed. "I'm familiar with the ship's evaluation results. The Keldabe II is equipped with the same electronics and systems as Imperials, allowing us to maintain parts production standardization. But wouldn't it be simpler to produce Procursator-class ships, like your current flagship?
"The Keldabe is better protected and armed," Ferrus countered.
"Our military doctrine doesn't assume an enemy within the Dominion capable of challenging anything stronger than a heavy cruiser," I reminded him.
"Yes, sir, but we also have systems outside the metropolis," Ferrus noted. "Kelada, Chasin, Trogan, Makem Te, Columex, Garos IV, Axxila, Karthakk…
"Yalara, Svekk, Cholganna, Horrn, Susevfi, Myrkr, Wayland…" I mentally added to the list of star systems.
"Not to mention Tammuz-an, which is effectively under our protectorate," the Grand Moff concluded. "Once the Zann Consortium is destroyed and its resources are ours, we could produce these ships for sale to other states. Naturally, they'd contain no classified technology, but it would allow us to openly trade weapons and bolster the budget…
It's not a bad idea.
But there are several obstacles to implementing it immediately.
"The proposal merits detailed consideration," I said. "We're still only speculating about the Keldabe II's true combat value, and it hasn't been tested against ships of its class. The confrontation with Crimson Dawn in the Hypori system isn't a definitive trial. I suggest restoring the ship, replacing its anti-starfighter laser cannons with standard rapid-fire models, and deploying it to the Bosf sector to support mining companies there, which are in conflict with the Corporate Sector and the Zann Consortium behind it.
"Refitting the ship will require significant time and resources," the Grand Moff warned.
"Of course," I confirmed. "But we must understand that if this ship is exported, we won't equip it with our advanced technologies.
"Naturally," Ferrus nodded.
"Let's return to metropolitan affairs," I suggested. "How are the Torpedo Sphere modernization efforts progressing?
"In full swing, sir," the Grand Moff stated. "Shipwright Zion is providing modernization plans. Ideally, we'll reduce the crew size to twenty-five thousand.
That's more than half.
The freed-up officers and enlisted personnel could easily crew several modernized Tector-class destroyers.
Speaking of which, we should stop calling them that and devise a proper name for this ship type. Despite being a deep modernization, aside from the triangular hull, elevated superstructure, solar ionization reactor, and some internal elements and decor, this ship bears little resemblance to an Imperial-class.
Naming things is quite a task, though. Not a top priority.
Perhaps we could hold a contest among the Dominion's metropolitan population on this matter—let the sentients feel involved in governance. The same could be done with the redesigned Interdictor…
But again, these are not pressing matters.
They can be deferred for later.
"How are the efforts to ransom New Republic prisoners progressing?" I asked.
"Surprisingly well," the Grand Moff, overseeing the operation, perked up. "We've already sent home up to forty percent of all prisoners, mostly enlisted personnel and junior officers. Counterintelligence reports that several quasi-state New Republic entities have joined the effort. They're primarily interested in senior command staff. We're returning them, except for those convicted of crimes against civilians or other war crimes. For the latter, we only release their bodies after execution.
"Perfection isn't a war crime if you enjoyed it and acted for the sake of democracy."
I once read that slogan on a fan site from my past life in this universe. Obviously, it was a joke, but the more our counterintelligence worked with Republic prisoners, the more they realized how many young sentients had been brainwashed by Republic propaganda.
For them, fighting the Empire is like a thrilling game, leading to theatrical comedy routines over the comms instead of concise negotiations.
They lack any internal understanding that war is a place of bloodshed, where death can come for anyone.
Captivity in the Dominion has somewhat sobered their perspective.
The filtration camps and procedures awaiting former prisoners upon their return to the New Republic only add color to the ordeal.
"Is the budget boost noticeable?" I asked.
Not that the launch of interstellar trade and the Dominion's economy, coupled with aurodium sources and the treasures of the Sa Nalaor, left me facing financial shortages.
But extra credits never hurt.
Especially Republic credits, which our trade agents, like Captain Hoffner and his clones, use to purchase defensive stations and other equipment.
"We're saving significantly by using the proceeds to acquire necessary goods," the Grand Moff confirmed. "This allows us to advance several projects, including the construction, modernization, outfitting, and restoration of the inhabited sphere.
Captured in the Ghost Nebula from Ennix Devian's fleet, the inhabited sphere lost its entire production and industrial cluster. All that equipment was repurposed to bolster our shipbuilding and repair capabilities within the metropolis.
The battered hull of the massive space object was designated as the Dominion fleet's headquarters. It will take considerable time to launch this project, even in a semi-complete state.
But the idea of the Dominion having a secure, mobile headquarters capable of sublight and hyperspace travel never left me.
Attacking a planetary base requires little effort or ingenuity.
But destroying a 120-kilometer, semi-combat-ready station moving through secret coordinates—that's a challenge.
Especially once the project is complete.
But it will require either vast sums of credits and workers or several years.
Possibly even decades.
Sinking the entire budget into it would be foolish.
For now, the inhabited sphere is tucked away, far and long-term, mostly undergoing equipment dismantling.
Because the only one who could properly overhaul it from an engineering standpoint is busy improving our starfleet.
"Are the academies completed?" I inquired.
"And ready to accept recruits, sir," Grand Moff Ferrus beamed. "The Lieutenant Tia Volunteer Pilot Academy, Colonel Selid's Storm Commando Academy, Captain Von Schneider's Senior Command Staff Academy for the regular fleet, along with its branches named after Captains Brandei and Harbid, Lieutenant I-Gor Jr.'s Mid-Level Command Staff Academy for the regular fleet, General Maximillian Veers' Ground Forces General Academy, and Colonel Molo Himron's Intelligence Academy… The Storm Corps Academy is still under construction, but details are classified, as are those for the Storm Commando and Intelligence Academies. I recently received a notice from Astarion that the Counterintelligence Academy won't hold open recruitment—they'll select students based on their own criteria, as will the Intelligence Academy. The institutions are spread across the metropolis on various planets, most fully constructed with the help of prisoners and construction equipment. We're finalizing the outfitting of these academies with necessary equipment, simulators, and other assets. We plan to begin the first recruitment next year once the instructor and faculty staff are finalized. No quotas, restrictions, prejudices, or bans—admission to most higher institutions will be based on open competition, determined by exams and interviews. We've received over three hundred thousand applications to the rectorates, even though the admissions commissions haven't started work and the academies aren't officially open! The fleet headquarters reports transfer requests from active service to teaching positions. Among fleet officers, it's considered an honor to teach at institutions named after fleet heroes, some of whom were their commanders or comrades. In coordination with the regular fleet, armed forces, and defense fleet command, we've arranged lectures by active commanders and specialists. Commodore Shohashi has submitted a draft for a lecture series on detecting and neutralizing pirate threats. Captain Morgoth Astorias is coordinating with academy leadership to conduct classes on ambush tactics for operational units. Captain Stormaer—actually, the headquarters and ship commanders have provided a wealth of additional material that, I'm assured, will enhance and diversify the old Imperial curriculum. I won't even mention simpler institutions like the Internal Affairs Academy, where future law enforcement officers will be trained centrally, or the dozens of other institutions addressing the Dominion's need for qualified public sector specialists… " The Grand Moff paused briefly, frowning at me. "You're aware of these initiatives, aren't you?
His last sentence carried a hint of apprehension.
"Yes, I approved them all," I confirmed, and it seemed to lift the shadow of concern from his face that he might have overstepped with his initiatives. "Establishing the educational process is undoubtedly important. It's your domain, and I won't interfere. However, I advise not neglecting civilian sectors.
"We're even more productive there," the Grand Moff smiled. "We're increasing funding and state licensing for the Lorrdian University, educational institutions on Agamar, and across all sectors. We're considering fully free higher education, but I fear we can't afford such a broad gesture right now—it would severely strain our budget. Partial quotas are the best option for now. Perhaps in a year or two, once most military projects are complete, we'll free up some of the military-industrial budget.
"I wouldn't count on that," judging by his expression, the Grand Moff already knew this was unrealistic.
"Understood, sir," he confirmed. "My specialists are exploring initiatives to increase tax and other revenue through private business or public-private partnerships. Once the ideas are fleshed out, I'll present them for discussion.
"Good," I agreed. "What about migration policy?
"We're seeing significant growth in settlers from Republic and Imperial worlds," the Grand Moff said, growing serious. "The former seek a quiet, stable life; the latter, service that suits them. Defense fleet vacancies are filling rapidly. It's common for families, distant relatives, and acquaintances of those already living in Dominion-controlled sectors to relocate. This population could potentially boost budget surpluses through their economic activity…
The Grand Moff continued reporting on the state of the metropolis, providing data on peripheral affairs.
Planets transformed into fortress worlds through immense effort and financial investment were also flourishing, contributing to the budget and strengthening the state's economy and political stability.
I understood that life in the Dominion was taking shape.
Of course, these were just reports, and there were surely issues on the ground—otherwise, "bureaucratic assistance teams" and counterintelligence wouldn't be rushing across planets and systems like scalded banthas.
You can't build a state from scratch without issues.
Either you establish a clear, transparent, and efficient system from the start, or you'll face a tangle of problems that could eventually spark a new civil war.
Listening to the Grand Moff, I pondered whether to order the relocation of the Noghri to a specific planet where I planned to establish my secret refuge and command-analysis center.
And… perhaps it was time to speak again with the Saarai-kaar about relocating the Jenssarai under the metropolis's protection.
We have enough uninhabited planets and moons suitable for life to accommodate this people and build them their own academy.
My concern is simple—if Crimson Dawn concludes as planned, we can avoid the destruction of the Dominion's peripheral worlds.
But an attack by the mad Emperor's minions on the Jenssarai, once they declare their allegiance to me, is inevitable.
Since we've heavily thinned the Susevfi asteroid field for our needs, hiding there is difficult.
And saving them is necessary—the hour approaches when they'll need to demonstrate all they've learned under the Mon Calamari's brief mentorship.
***
Following the palace dispatcher's instructions, Rederick reduced speed.
The instruments in the cockpit of the outwardly old but heavily modified freighter responded promptly to the new inputs.
"I'm telling you again, think it over," said Aveka Dunn, seated beside him, demonstratively resting her long, slender legs on the upper edge of the control panel. "The plan is so bad that if it were a component, even a Jawa would scoff at it.
Rederick stared at his companion's legs, clad in tight fabric armor leggings, struggling to collect his thoughts.
"Put them down," he finally said.
"What?" Aveka asked in an innocent tone.
"Your legs.
"Why?" she purred, stretching like a nexu, sensually licking her lips and giving Rederick a suggestive look.
The agent nearly warned that she might interfere with the ship's controls but caught himself in time.
"Sexualized provocation is Vex's key tactic," he recalled Agent Cross's words. "Dunn knows male psychology and uses your subconscious against you. Don't let her get inside your head. And definitely not under your clothes."
Bravo-III pulled a calming capsule from his belt pouch and took it.
His actions didn't escape Vex, who twisted even more provocatively in the co-pilot's seat. If that was even possible…
"Stormtrooper-level restraint," Dunn laughed melodiously. "How long will those pills last?
"Is this your thanks for becoming an agent?" Rederick asked, feeling the heat in his blood subside.
"Let's say I was an agent long before you put in a good word for me with your rancors in counterintelligence," the woman said, dropping her seductive tone for a less provocative one. Or was it the pills kicking in? "And if you think about it, with all your talk of legality, stability, and order, a Hutt would've kept me in your dungeons for ages.
Rederick looked at his companion with interest.
"You're not that naive, are you?
"Of course not," Aveka batted her eyes. "Have you figured out why I volunteered for this mission and why they let me tag along?
"Because the cover story needs a striking woman," Rederick replied automatically.
"Oh, you gave me a compliment," Aveka fluttered her lashes, making a cute face. "That's so sweet. I'm all aflutter, burning with the fire you've ignited in me…
Only the pill kept the agent from letting go of the controls.
"What the hell?!" he snapped, shooting his partner an angry glance. "Why are you doing this?
The woman instantly dropped the act.
"Because you're an undercover agent, kid," she reminded him. "But your training is that of a fleet brawler. Let's be honest: you became a spy because the Dominion is short on personnel. Your Grand Admiral doesn't seem to know much about this, so he pushed through a reform without considering the consequences. And you, my friend, went from tactical scout to strategic operative, skipping several evolutionary steps…
"That sounded harsh," Rederick said, though deep down he agreed with his partner: he was far from Jahan Cross's level.
"Truth doesn't take offense, kid," Aveka said, settling properly at the console. "You're decent in a fight but a complete amateur in undercover work. I get that fleet types don't bother much with cover stories, composure, and all that. Your style is: fly in, land, sneak behind enemy lines, plant detonators, take prisoners, blow up the rest. Your deepest infiltration is the enemy's rear. But an undercover agent operates under the nose of the biggest enemy, waltzes through the front door, smiles, makes small talk, and plays their role flawlessly. The slightest mismatch between role and behavior, and some nitpicky guard slaps a tail on you. Result: dead agent, failed mission, wasted time.
"So you're not my assistant on this mission—you're my babysitter," Rederick said, guiding the freighter to land as instructed.
"I'm your partner, guy," Vex declared. "My job is to help you, share my knowledge, and keep you from dying over a stupid mistake.
"I haven't made any mistakes," Rederick insisted. "And your feminine tricks don't work on me.
"Partner," Vex's face showed mock sympathy. "Your pills will run out soon, and I haven't even turned on the charm. Beautiful women are your problem.
"I'm fine with women," Rederick retorted.
Only after speaking did he realize he'd said it too sharply.
"Don't get so worked up," Aveka said, smirking smugly. "Agents and the fairer sex are a topic for a military psychology dissertation. You're just a bit out of your element, and all this is new to you: high-society receptions, refined ladies, and so on. Statistically, over half of rookie undercover agents slip up when a stunning woman with a sultry voice and a pretty face is around.
"Infiltrating a Hutt's operation isn't a gala on Etti IV," Rederick noted. "This is a criminal gang, not a lavish feast with a cloyingly sweet crowd pretending they don't want to tear you apart. In these groups, there aren't many masterminds—nobody pretends they don't want to shoot each other. On the contrary, such behavior shows you're dangerous and worth something as a professional.
"Your reasoning is mostly sound, but you don't know Grappa well," Aveka countered. "Hutts were and are slavers. They surround themselves with expensive toys, trade them, and use them to boost their influence. Every dancer in his palace," Vex nodded toward the nearby structure, "is likely used to relax a guest, dance for them, or serve at their table. Slaves are ignored because they're nobody, nothing. Movable property. It's psychology—and few remember that this 'property' has ears.
"Slaves as a means of gathering intel isn't new to the galaxy," Rederick said.
"Just don't forget it," Vex said meaningfully. "Our job isn't to slip up and turn this into a firefight.
"I remember the mission's objective," Rederick declared. "And you don't need to flaunt your vast experience. You're here for cover, not to lead the operation.
"But the main part of the job falls to me, doesn't it?" the woman smirked, giving her partner an appraising look.
"Only because we're playing a lovestruck mercenary couple, nothing more," Rederick said through gritted teeth. "When I get back, I'll wring the neck of the coordinator who came up with this cover.
The idea for this infiltration had merit—Imperial Intelligence typically relied on male agents, which quickly raised suspicions. A lone mercenary without a reputation known to the criminal underworld was always a risk. Such adventurers were met with caution.
At all levels of crime.
A young couple, however, was different.
Criminals know Imperial chauvinism wouldn't allow a woman in operational roles. Thus, such mercenaries would attract less scrutiny than a lone operator.
"No need to thank me," Vex said. "I came up with the cover.
"No wonder it reeks of cheap farce and feminine melodrama," Rederick snorted.
"Or maybe I just don't want you dragged into some pleasure room where a couple of obliging dancer-masseuses loosen your tongue," Aveka noted. "You know, I don't like sharing my prize. And I've got my eye on you.
Rederick ignored the obvious jab.
Locking the ship's controls and activating the security system, he headed to the rear, descending the lowered ramp first.
Aveka followed like a smirking shadow.
Five minutes later, they approached a spacious arched entrance leading to the corridors and chambers of Grappa the Hutt's palace.
*Grappa the Hutt's Palace*
Surrounded by rocky ridges and barren mountains with impassable passes, easily covered from barely noticeable balconies crowning the palace, it resembled a massive hive intersected by concentric spiral rings.
Their path was blocked by two burly, green-skinned Gamorreans, covered head to toe in road dust that clung to their clothes and shoddy armor.
The pair, armed with vibro-axes and blaster rifles that looked like relics from the Alsakan Conflicts, grunted menacingly, brandishing their axes at the newcomers.
"Get out of the way, both of you," Aveka said lazily as the first Gamorrean began to grunt something.
The pair exchanged glances, bolstering each other with dull looks, then their grunting grew more insistent.
"Seems they don't like being spoken to like that," Rederick remarked, casually resting his hand on his blaster.
He understood exactly what was happening.
And why they'd been allowed to land but were now obstructed by these two dimwits.
"Oh, like anyone cares about their feelings," Aveka scoffed. "Hey, you two, vanish into thin air before I blast holes in you that your parents didn't even know about when they conceived such ugly offspring in some sty! Did you buy your brains at a lingerie clearance sale? If we landed, it means the dispatcher cleared us!
Rederick noticed one Gamorrean staring at his weapon and raised his hands to show his peaceful intent.
The Gamorrean looked away, distracted by Vex's masterful verbal sparring with the second guard's unattainable logic.
That was enough for the agent to leap forward and slam his heavy boot into the second guard's face.
An indignant squeal erupted as the Gamorrean stumbled back two steps, while his companion charged at Aveka, swinging his vibro-axe.
Two red flashes stopped the lumbering guard, burning holes through his face and neck.
The first guard collapsed into the dust, convulsing.
His partner, wiping blood from his snout and spitting out a couple of teeth, aimed his blaster at Bravo-III.
Rederick was faster, turning the guard's throat into a scorched blaster wound.
The air reeked of burnt, rancid fat and unwashed skin.
"You don't mess around," a voice called from the arched entrance.
Rederick aimed his weapon at the source and saw a tall man with a bare torso.
His long hair complemented his dark skin, and his belt, clearly from military trousers, was laden with weapons—from a pair of daggers and a sword to a hefty blaster pistol.
"Don't hold us up," Aveka said. "Besides, they're just Gamorreans. One or two less, no big loss.
"And you definitely didn't need to put us through some stupid test," Rederick added, matching his partner's casual tone.
"Oh, just a little joke, nothing more," the thug laughed. "A rite of passage for newbies to see who you are and what you're made of. People come to Grappa for easy credits almost daily. But only a few are willing to get their hands dirty.
"Well, there's two of us already," Rederick said, noting how the half-naked man devoured Aveka Dunn's figure with his eyes.
Her point about male psychology seemed valid.
"I'm Sol Mon, I work for Grappa.
This pirate's name was well-known to Imperial and Dominion law enforcement.
Mon led a pirate gang with several retrofitted starfighter squadrons.
Famous for robbing both Republic and Imperial ships, he left no witnesses, destroying survivors to cover his tracks.
He'd tried attacking Dominion convoys several times but only lost some of his men. As a result, job postings appeared on the HoloNet…
Which Rederick and Aveka had seized upon.
The Dominion was hunting this thug to bring him to justice, and now it was clear where he'd been hiding these past weeks.
"I'm Tyr," Rederick declared.
"And you can call me Pyr," Aveka said, using her alias.
"What, are you brother and sister or something?" Sol Mon asked, surprised.
"What's it to you?" the Dominion agent snapped. "The point is, we answered your job offer. And since you didn't shoot us down on approach, you need fighters.
Infiltrating a Hutt gang constantly recruiting mercenaries was the best way to access their base.
Genon had been under Grappa's control long enough for him to set up plenty of traps for uninvited guests.
Learning what this Hutt was up to and who he was working with was the primary objective.
And the best way to do that was from inside the base, not puzzling over how to sneak in without an invitation.
"You don't care what the job is, do you?" the pirate raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
"As long as there are credits," Aveka said indifferently.
"Exactly," the Dominion agent agreed.
"Well then," Sol Mon eyed the pair. "Come on, since you're so eager. There's plenty of work.
"You have no idea how much," Aveka whispered as they followed the muscular pirate.
Rederick stayed silent.
Today marked the beginning of the countdown for the Zann Consortium and all its incarnations.
***
The IsoTech-Dominion building looked like a typical futuristic skyscraper from the outside.
Constructed from durasteel and polarized glass, it gleamed like fire in the sunset rays of the Ciutric system's star.
The interior was a testament to the designer's wild imagination.
The stark Imperial pragmatism and angularity were cloaked not in the usual gray-steel tones but in soft, pastel hues that softened the design's aggression.
Once, this building housed a medical company that hastily left the newly formed Dominion's territory for ideological reasons.
As far as I know, the company's owner, a staunch New Order supporter, found refuge on Orinda.
He never started a new business, resting on his laurels and past wealth.
But the medical center's unemployed staff eagerly joined a public-private enterprise, led by a tall Arkanian woman whose white hair and eyes stood out starkly.
Even her facial implants were barely noticeable against this backdrop.
"I'm pleased to welcome you, Grand Admiral, to our humble medical center," Cratala said, feigning a smile, though her voice was as cold as the ice of her homeworld.
"Let's skip the pleasantries," I requested. "Neither of us needs the formalities.
"Then let's get to business," the woman said, settling into a high-backed chair at her spacious desk. "Which project interests you most?
"All of them," I replied simply. "Start with prosthetics for military personnel.
"It's standard," the Arkanian replied without a hint of enthusiasm. "You send us maimed soldiers, and we, at state expense, install prosthetics and return them to normal life. No fatalities during prosthetics or surgeries. No complaints about product quality or issues with our devices.
"I'm aware," I assured her. "What about the side projects in this area?
"If you mean preparing cyborg stormtroopers, I only know who I've installed prosthetics for on special order," Cratala said. "What you do with them afterward doesn't concern me.
The unspoken question's answer is simple—we retrain injured stormtroopers from their usual roles to ones they haven't mastered before.
The Galactic Empire's Stormtrooper Corps had specialized roles requiring cybernetic prosthetics. Volunteers underwent limb or organ removal to enhance resistance or protection in hazardous environments.
With access to supposedly destroyed data from the Imperial Palace, the Dominion acquired training protocols for these specializations. Rebuilding the Stormtrooper Corps was progressing rapidly.
The only difference was that I found it sacrilegious to mutilate people for such roles. It's far easier to offer a disabled soldier a chance to return to life—not just as a stormtrooper with prosthetics.
But as a more advanced, better-equipped part of the Dominion's Stormtrooper Corps.
Naturally, there's no shortage of volunteers.
And what sentient, even a clone, would refuse the chance to trade low-paying regular service for a more dangerous but better-paid role?
Stormtroopers aren't fools.
"Cloning," I indicated my next interest.
"Not exactly my field," Cratala warned.
"That doesn't mean you can't analyze the data and provide conclusions," I noted. "Arkanians are known for their expertise in genetic manipulation. I'm curious how far you've progressed in this area.
"We're still gathering information," she shook her head. "It's too early for conclusions, but I can already warn that clones' life cycles are accelerated compared to standard tissue and fluid samples. We're calculating the approximate cell degradation coefficient for an expert opinion.
"The Spaarti program—have you figured it out?
"Surprisingly, yes," Cratala perked up. "The provided documents show traces of Arkanian involvement. Clearly, the project was created or adjusted by one of my kind…
"Would your tone be so pleased if you knew the program was developed by Zeta Magnus?"
"Loyalty programming and cognitive degradation," I reminded her of the key points.
"That's where Arkanian interference is evident," Cratala said. "Apparently, this block was added and didn't come with the cloning cylinders. This creates a system conflict the developers couldn't resolve. First, transplanting a consciousness matrix into a non-donor clone leads to degenerative brain changes and reduced professional capabilities. The process is irreversible, as far as I understand its progression. So, if you're considering transferring one consciousness into another body, don't—degenerative changes will render the clone useless.
Which was already known.
I needed a more qualified specialist's answer.
And I got it.
"Now, regarding loyalty programming," Cratala continued. "According to the Arkanian scientist's notes, it's based on conditioned reflexes in the human body. Free programming of a body different from the matrix's originator caused numerous side effects. The notes suggest this is primarily due to differences in program receptivity and body control.
"Clarify," I demanded.
"It's simple," the Arkanian replied in a bored tone. "The human brain is a biochemical computer. Thought generates tiny electrical charges. These must be consistent throughout the body. But since the consciousness is accustomed to its own thought patterns, it forces the brain to produce its own charge. This causes a program failure, resulting in dementia, psychopathy, or similar mental conditions.
"In other words, you're saying we should only copy those whose bodies we plan to use for consciousness transfer?" I clarified.
That's exactly what we've been doing since discovering the process hindering the program's full operation.
We spoke for several hours.
Cratala delved into the minutest details I wanted to understand.
A familiar picture emerged:
Clone the body and program loyalty only for those unequivocally devoted to you.
This ensures better program assimilation.
Intuitively, we'd arrived at this conclusion.
Though, I admit, I'd hoped to learn more.
"With all due respect, Grand Admiral, I have no desire to meddle with cloning," Cratala said seriously. "If you want to continue research and limitations, do as you please. I'd rather focus on what's close to me.
Her words seemed provocative, almost inviting conflict—but that's the Arkanian way.
Arrogant, haughty, self-centered.
Trying to change them is futile.
Nor is reacting to such behavior productive. The desired result won't be achieved.
At least not with her help.
"One last thing. What can you say about the cloning facilities I provided?
The question made Cratala look away.
"Someone, likely the Hutts, tried to replicate Kaminoan cloning cylinders, combining them with Spaarti program technology," she said. "And did it so poorly that the clones emerging from these autoclaves are emotionally immature and thus insane. This was done to accelerate maturation but causes irreparable damage to their appearance and brain. Clearly, the work was done without proper understanding of the cloning process or incubator function.
"Can the defects be fixed?" I asked.
"For clones already produced, wherever they are—no. But with ingenuity and a suitable sample, my team could try to correct the assembly errors and restore the incubators to working condition…
That means an additional four thousand cloning cylinders, acquired from the X1 faction's base on Mustafar. Even if half can be safely repaired, it's a victory.
Who could resist such a gift from fate?
"Consider that you'll have the sample," I promised, mentally calculating the time required.
***
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