In all the time that Corran Horn had devoted to serving in the Corellian Security Force, it had never once occurred to him that he would sne
In all the time that Corran Horn had devoted to serving in the Corellian Security Force, it had never once occurred to him that he would sneak onto his home planet like a hardened criminal.
Despite the proximity of Sarapin's location to Corellia, Corran did not head straight home on a direct course.
Fully understanding that since the days of the Empire, his name had been near the top of the list of persons wanted by the pro-Imperial regime of Corellia (yielding perhaps only in "fame" to Han Solo, Wedge Antilles, and Garm Bel Iblis), he had to take care to alter his appearance and acquire a forged identification.
Fortunately, having a father-in-law like Booster Terrik allowed him, over the years of marriage, to pick up some knowledge and connections on the other side of the law.
The very side he had previously despised and eradicated in every way.
He chose his first and last name by leafing through, during the flight, the few records about the Jedi that Luke Skywalker had given him after their joint "adventure" on Jomark.
Once in the Jedi Order, there was a guy named Keiran Halcyon.
Considering that Corran's grandfather, Nejaa, bore the same surname, it was not impossible that Keiran was his direct ancestor.
Unfortunately, hardly anyone would tell him about that.
Except for Rostek Horn.
The man whom Corran himself had considered his real grandfather for most of his life. And, to give credit where due, Rostek was indeed the very man whom the younger Horn would have wanted to see as his grandfather.
And now, having passed customs control with forged documents, Corran could finally breathe in the air of Coronet — the capital of Corellia.
For the first time in many years.
The forged identification documents, made on Imperial equipment and distinguished by the highest quality of execution, were provided to him, strangely enough, by Talon Karrde.
Practically at the first request, as soon as he approached him.
Yes, in exchange for his services and keeping the secret of Corran's survival and intentions, he demanded a certain amount of credits, as well as satisfying his curiosity about what happened on Sarapin.
A quite reasonable price for ideal forged documents.
Especially considering that the New Republic undoubtedly received data on the defeat of Wedge's fleet after investigating the incident in the Sarapin system.
Fully understanding that the command would not allow him to rush into pursuit to rescue his wife and certainly would be against him handing over the Jedi data (if it existed, of course) to Thrawn to end all their ordeals, he was in no hurry to reveal his survival.
At least not until a plan matured on how to extract Mirax, Booster, and at the same time lure Thrawn into a trap from which he definitely would not escape.
How to do that, considering that secret information was flowing straight from the Imperial Palace, Corran had no idea.
For now.
But together with his grandfather, he would surely come up with something.
The method of infiltrating Corellia was unusual and outrageously simple.
Karrde simply included him in the crew list of one of his ships.
Which, without doubt, were smugglers, but skilled ones — with a clever bribe, they bought off the patrol, appeased customs.
And with that, their paths diverged.
Karrde's people went to do their business, and Corran, slinging a backpack with clothes and equipment over his shoulder, set off on his own.
The first thing he did was rent a room for a few days not far from the central street of Coronet — Treasure Ship Row.
He had worked here before — not far from his hotel was the CorSec building.
But no matter how much he observed his former colleagues, those who now wore the familiar uniform, he did not recognize.
Not a single familiar face, not a single familiar name.
The Diktat — the ruling regime of Corellia — not only turned the Corellian Security Force into the Public Safety Service, changed the traditional bright green with black uniform to a darker one, tailored in Imperial traditions, but also threw out the door all those who in any way resisted the rampant lawlessness.
CorSec no longer investigated crimes, caught villains. No, they turned into something between problems for every first trader and a patrol monitoring compliance with public order.
Even the central street turned from a place flooded with lantern light into some dingy alley.
Of course, visually it became brighter, cleaner. Many establishments where the most desperate hotheads could get entertainment to any taste were closed or repurposed into something "civilian."
But it looked cheap, demonstrative, unnatural for Corellia.
No, even before, passersby could be unlucky here, but only when they wandered into such backwoods where usually even CorSec wouldn't go without support from an assault squad.
Now, they could rob you right on the street, and the PSS would only ask for their share...
And if the city center had become like that, then Horn would hardly risk venturing to the outskirts without reliable cover. Preferably including an AT-AT or a battalion of repulsor tanks.
The old Corellia, as Corran knew it, was dead.
And the Diktat clearly had no intention of reviving it, undoubtedly gaining certain benefits from the situation that had developed.
After a day and a half of preparation, Corran finally decided.
He caught a speeder, quickly explained to the taxi driver where he needed to go, and despite the stench in the cabin, reluctantly noted that there was still a pleasant change on Treasure Ship Row.
Here you could catch a speeder-taxi without waiting even a couple of minutes.
In the past he knew, it would have taken much more precious time.
And money.
Already approaching the place where Grandfather's house was located, Corran recalled the tricks he went to in order to occasionally exchange messages with his grandson.
He had to choose words and even the background of the holorecording so carefully as not to compromise either himself or Rostek, that sometimes it began to seem as if he had fallen into a spy holothriller.
When the speeder stopped, one glance at the high fence blocking the entire street where he grew up was enough for Corran to understand: not only Treasure Ship Row had changed.
Corran's father's house was next to his grandfather's dwelling, but there had never been a solid fence a couple of human heights tall surrounding the entire area.
Nor locked automatic gates capable of withstanding a shot from a tank gun.
"Is this definitely the place?" Corran asked grimly.
The taxi driver — a nervous Ithorian — nodded confidently in response and pointed to the communication panel embedded in the gate.
Corran pulled out a wired comlink from the slot:
"Good evening."
He was answered by a prim tone bordering on grumbling:
"Director Horn's estate."
"Oh, so that's how it is. Estate? Director? Could Grandfather be heading what was left of CorSec?"
"I would like to speak with Rostek Horn."
"Director Horn ordered not to disturb him."
Corran glanced through the gate's grille, trying to make out the houses hidden behind such a majestic wall in the twilight, but could see nothing.
At least — the houses he remembered.
His father's and grandfather's dwellings had disappeared.
But he could make out a huge house stretched wide and deep, built according to the most modern design. Metal and transparisteel gleamed in the rays of artificial lighting, harmonizing with the dark green color of the hills.
Such a house least suited this once cozy place.
"I understand that, but could you inform him that his old good friend has arrived."
"To call himself by his name or even indicate the degree of kinship — the stupidest occupation. The Diktat had sentenced Corran (as well as Solo, Bel Iblis, Antilles, and other Corellians who fought or were fighting on the side of the New Republic) to death. To risk now — foolish."
"And does the "old good friend" have a last name?" the voice from the comlink asked with a smirk.
"Halcyon," the younger Horn quickly introduced himself with the alien name. "Keiran Halcyon."
"Wait."
The driver sullenly silent, which added even more dark colors to the palette of mood.
Finally, after a couple of minutes, the gates began to open, and soon the taxi stopped at the front door of the estate.
Having paid the driver with money lent to him by the same Karrde, Corran was left alone.
And now he could properly examine Grandfather's abode.
The previous house was modest, two-story, and made of wood. Surrounded by a beautiful garden, in which Grandfather doted and spent all his free money, as well as free time.
The house that Corran saw before him surpassed the previous one several times in area, and turned out to be a floor higher.
But there was no garden here anymore — and that was an alarming sign.
Grandfather would never voluntarily give it up.
To build a new house — yes, why not, if there were credits.
From the front door emerged a short, lean old man whose skin had a greenish tint. In a black uniform with white buttons and gloves, he did not hide his suspicious gaze, after which he stepped aside, gesturing to come inside.
As soon as Corran crossed the threshold and the heavy transparisteel door closed behind him, the old man burst out with the same voice that the "rogue" had heard from the comlink.
"Director Horn is waiting for you in the garden. Leave your things here."
Without letting him say a word, the old man briskly strode forward.
His steps echoed loudly from the decorative stone, from which the CorSec emblem was laid out on the floor.
The emblem that was on his uniform during service, not the disgrace that the PSS has now.
Corran made considerable efforts to walk the corridor without stepping on the emblem.
Perhaps the old CorSec was no more, but the Corellian's respect for the cause to which he had dedicated his life had not disappeared.
The path took some time, and eventually they reached a spacious veranda.
It was so large in area that one could not only comfortably hide from the scorching Corellian sun but also live if desired.
Beyond it began a path leading to a fountain surrounded by an amphitheater of flower beds.
And there stood Rostek Horn.
Lean, with aristocratic manners that had appeared from who knows where, Corran's grandfather could boast hair that was gray but far from falling out or thinning.
Gray eyes never stayed in place, endlessly assessing everything happening around. And Corran remembered how different those eyes could be.
For him, they always expressed love; for those who served under Rostek Horn's command, they could be colder than Hoth.
Like the old man who had brought him here, Grandfather was even leaner than Horn remembered from their last meeting.
But from his movements, it was clear that Rostek Horn was not even thinking of yielding positions in the matter of his mobility.
But the biggest surprise was that Grandfather was dressed in dress uniform.
Actually, he had retired, promising to step away from affairs and deal exclusively with the garden.
But in such clothes, you couldn't dig in the dirt.
No, Grandfather had returned to service. And he was working in the garden.
But no longer as a gardener.
Suddenly, Corran realized that he did not see in Grandfather's gray eyes the tenderness that was always there when meeting his grandson.
And the old man who had led him here stopped dead in his tracks, extending his arm and blocking the way further.
"He didn't recognize me," realized Corran.
Well, he could pat himself on the back for the wonders of conspiracy — if even Grandfather hadn't uncovered him, then what about those idlers from the PSS.
"We haven't seen each other for a long time, Director."
"To be precise — never at all," Rostek did not move a millimeter, remaining immobile like a rock.
"On the contrary," Corran assured him. "In the past, I spent a lot of time in this house. More precisely, in the one that stood in this place. I understand that I might have distracted you from important matters, but in this house, I was always told to listen to my inner voice. And it led me here."
That's exactly what his father and Rostek himself had told him.
Without directly revealing that his "inner voice" actually had a direct relation to the Force.
Rostek Horn narrowed his eyes, after which understanding and recognition flashed in them.
"You are free, Tosruk," he said. "This man is indeed known to me. The boy has grown up and become a man, and now it's hard to recognize him."
The accompanying old man removed his arm and, not at all embarrassed by Corran's presence, said:
"I didn't notice any special devices on him."
"That's unnecessary," Grandfather declared in a commanding tone. "Halcyons have never been feared in this house. And they never will be in the future."
"Exactly so, sir."
"You are free, Tosruk," ordered Rostek Horn, and the escorting old man instantly retreated.
With a sinking heart, Corran made the entire way to Grandfather, fighting the desire to rush to him at a run.
They hadn't seen each other for too long, and too much was at stake.
Corran was already risking by calling himself by the family surname of his Jedi grandfather, but as he had come to understand even during his growing up, the Empire in the Corellian Sector not only got rid of the Jedi but also did everything so that not even a mention of them remained.
Whoever became interested in the surname "Halcyon" would have to work hard to understand to whom it actually belonged.
Stopping a meter from Grandfather, Corran extended his hand in greeting, but Grandfather, without unnecessary words, embraced him in a strong hug, releasing him only when the grandson began to experience a slight oxygen deficit in his lungs.
Immediately after that, Rostek stepped back and looked at Corran with love in his gaze:
"Sith take you, I'm so glad that the rumors about the destruction of your unit turned out not to be true, but you shouldn't be closer to the sector's borders than a hundred parsecs!"
"I had to see you," swallowing the lump that rose in his throat, said Corran. "Yes, the Rogues perished. Only I and Wedge remained. But he's in captivity, and I need your help to free him."
A promising smile appeared on Rostek Horn's face:
"And punish that fire-eyed demon who's been drinking your blood for the last year and a half?"
"Almost six months since he latched on so that you can't tear him off without a lot of blood," Corran supported the joke. "Actually... He ordered me to fly here."
Rostek Horn's face became a stone statue.
"Ordered?" he asked in a low voice. "It seems to me that this Grand Admiral Thrawn is taking too much upon himself."
"The worst thing is that he also manages to carry away everything he takes," Corran said grimly.
"Come," Grandfather nodded toward the greenhouse, which was barely visible through the thickets of plants. "I want to show you some of my successes in gardening."
Only after they both were inside the greenhouse, where the overhead light turned on, and Grandfather, having rid himself of the uniform, sat in a chair next to the equipment for genetic engineering of plants, did he speak again:
"Tell me," he said. "It's safe here — I clean up reliably, and no weeds or pests survive if I don't need them. Don't worry," he winked, "right now, foreign surveillance has annoyed me, and I had to get rid of it. And they're not hurrying with the new one."
And Corran told.
From beginning to end, hiding not a single detail.
About Thrawn's attacks on convoys, about Isard, about the search for Mirax and Booster that led him to the mad Jedi clone, about killing the latter, about the hunt for the Imperial ace pilot...
He dumped everything he had heard from others and what he supposed himself.
All this time, Rostek Horn was silent, but at the mention of the greenhouse, his facial features sharpened.
"And so I ended up on Corellia," Corran summarized his detailed account of events.
Grandfather was sullenly silent for a few seconds, looking only at the benches strewn with trays of seedlings past which they had walked to reach this corner of the greenhouse.
"If we exclude your personal story, I know about Thrawn roughly as much as you do," said Grandfather. "He was indeed exiled to the Unknown Regions for cartography. But the matter was unclean. First, he dealt with the rebellious Grand Admiral Zaarin and clearly shouldn't have fallen into disfavor. So, I think, he disappeared from sight and databases not just like that."
"So, we're fighting someone like the Emperor's super commander?" Corran clarified.
"Are you familiar with the term "Deferred Vengeance"?" asked Rostek.
Corran nodded affirmatively.
"That's how I would characterize this Thrawn. The Emperor clearly tried to preserve his life, so probably the story that all this "exile" is nothing more than a spectacle is more truthful. If the victor over Zaarin himself started weaving intrigues against Palpatine, he would disappear the moment the Emperor learned of it."
"Perhaps the Emperor didn't want to lose such a strategist and shoved him farther away," Corran supposed.
"No one would preserve the life of even the most brilliant commander if he intended to weave intrigues against the throne," objected Rostek.
And Corran had to admit he was right.
"I'm much more interested in the information about what Jedi legacy he was talking about," confessed Corran.
"You understand that you can't go along with someone who has taken hostages?" Grandfather clarified.
"That's why I'm here. I need advice to understand how to defeat him."
Rostek Horn was silent for some time, pondering what was said, so Corran decided to inquire about more personal topics.
"What happened to the old house?" he asked.
"I collected a lot of dirt on various influential people," said Grandfather. "Politicians, entrepreneurs, Imperials... When the PSS came to replace CorSec, I was already retired and couldn't influence real affairs. But some of the powers that be thought my archives could seriously harm them. For some reason, they decided the archive was at my house. Or at your father's house. In one not so fine moment, one after the other, both houses burned to the ground."
Despite Grandfather's calm voice, Corran felt that in the latter's intonations there was a mockery of his opponents' stupidity.
"But it turned out that the dossiers were in almost every computer network, and the number of copies exceeded all possible limits. Part of the compromising materials began to come to those who were behind the fires. They were delivered by couriers. Along with flowers that could only be seen in my greenhouse. The hint was understood correctly. Officially — for outstanding impeccable work in CorSec, as well as to preserve my flowers, which in a short time became truly priceless, the government bought all the land in the area and built this house for me. Free of charge. There were so many means of covert surveillance and tracking that sometimes it was tiring to dig them out. Tosruk and my other servants regularly go to report to various departments. However, this doesn't hinder me — after all, my people are loyal only to me, and the government receives only the information I deem necessary. Part of my archives went to the competent authorities, which allowed various tyrants to recruit subordinates whom it was easy to manipulate or intimidate with blackmail."
"Unpleasant," confessed Corran.
"It is what it is, but we're talking about survival," said Grandfather. "I intended to get rid of all this after retirement, but with their actions, they're only preventing me from stepping away from affairs."
A mocking smile appeared on the younger Horn's lips.
"They messed with the wrong Corellian."
"I'm not interested in their assessment," emphasized Rostek Horn. "The archive allows me to control many. Sometimes they receive flowers from me with notes. And this allows me to restrain them from rash actions. Like joining your Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"Is the Diktat seriously considering such dangerous prospects?" Corran was horrified.
The New Republic has superiority over its ill-wishers as long as the largest shipbuilding corporations in the galaxy are on their side. The Imperials have full-fledged shipyards — one or two at most.
And under such conditions, Thrawn manages to terrorize the galaxy for half a year already.
And what will happen if the production capacities of a giant like the Corellian Engineering Corporation end up on his side?
The New Republic can be buried immediately.
"Let's say they put this initiative in the long drawer," Grandfather smirked. "Though it cost me considerable efforts. The Diktat believed so much that Thrawn is the future Emperor that they even turned a blind eye to him kidnapping ships right under their noses."
"So it's a fact," stated Corran. "We suspected him in the disappearance of Corellian ships due to the increase in his fleet of starships of this type, but suspicions are one thing, and having proof is quite another."
"The Diktat has even less proof than you," declared Grandfather. "We only know that our ships are disappearing — and in significant numbers. And after that, we see their tracking beacons stop working closer to the borders of the Imperial Remnants. Nothing points to Thrawn."
"If the Diktat and the Dominion unite, it will be a catastrophe," stated Corran.
"Prudent residents of the sector understand this like no one else," agreed Grandfather. "But this doesn't prevent Corellians from relocating to the Dominion by the tens of thousands. They abandon business here or sell it at a bargain price, relocate entire families. Many young Corellians who grew up with brains washed by COMPNOR see him as a fighter against rebels, and the lack of victories from the New Republic only reinforces their confidence in his victory. As far as we know, he started with a small task force, and now he has fifteen sectors under control and plenty of systems, each turned into a fortress planet. Our homegrown military literally live by searching for holorecordings of his battles to learn something new. Every Thrawn victory on Corellia turns into a holiday. Treasure Ship Row turns into a place of folk festivities, and the Diktat uses these spontaneous celebrations to sow discord even deeper between Corellians and the New Republic."
"Great Force," exclaimed Corran. "A few more victories, and Thrawn can simply fly into Corellia's orbit, smile, and the sector will enter his Dominion's piggy bank!"
"It's not all that bad, grandson," corrected him Rostek. "For now, my like-minded people and I manage to restrain the hotheads in power. They reject the people's initiatives for joining, which results in protests. Which the army disperses. Sometimes — too harshly, and then I send flowers with compromising material for publication. People lose posts, the dissatisfied leave the sector with curses, but we manage to maintain peace. However, we've already lost about seven to ten million Corellians. Young, hot, and promising. Technicians, engineers, pilots, military, just daredevils — all run to Thrawn. Simply because after declaring independence, the Diktat began to instill in citizens the idea that "Corellia is better than the New Republic." But didn't dare open confrontation."
"And they fell into the trap of populism," understood Corran. "First, they boiled the people, then realized it's too late to back down. And people started fleeing to the Dominion to vent their hatred for the New Republic."
"The problem is not only that," Grandfather said seriously. "Thrawn has established a strict militaristic order in the Dominion. Punishment inevitably follows crime. He unites around himself those dissatisfied with the New Republic's policy, which doesn't particularly want to interfere in the affairs of the outskirts. But Thrawn — wants to. And, most sadly, can. What's even more regrettable — he does it. Haven't you been interested in exchange rates on the InterGalactic Banking Clan exchanges?"
"This question passed me by," confessed Corran. "I didn't pay attention to it before, and now even more so."
"My acquaintances living outside the Corellian sector noticed interesting things. Hundreds of transport ships are going to the Dominion. Machines, equipment, spare parts, technologies... This guy isn't just pretending he cares about the people — he really solves their problems. Not long ago, the PSS caught several pirates. Former "Kavrilhu." So they told us that Thrawn's destroyers swept through their bases with fire, cutting out everyone who was in any way involved in their trade. If there's a place calmer than the Dominion in terms of crime, I haven't encountered it. Operational investigations, harsh sentences. Actually, for criminals there, there's little alternative: be killed during capture, get sent to hard labor, or death penalty. Thrawn rebuilds entire worlds with the forces of criminals. He has only fifteen sectors, but goods from the Dominion are wildly popular. And all this positively affects the stability of the Dominion's auridium credit. And the more stable the currency — the weightier the state's affairs. And the more attractive it is for settlers."
"After your words, one involuntarily wonders if I'm on the right side," muttered Corran.
"You are," assured him Grandfather. "Whatever Thrawn does in his Dominion, it's still the same Empire. Peoples live as Thrawn tells them. Of course, it suits them — who will think about freedoms when you have everything. In the end, everyone doesn't care about the form of government if their needs are satisfied by the government."
"And now, with my help, Thrawn wants to organize his own Jedi Order," Corran thought sadly.
"As far as I know, at the moment he's exterminating Republican task forces in the Tanium sector," declared Grandfather. "The New Republic's operation to capture Lianna is on the verge of failure. Ships led by the Lusankya are wiping the floor with local ships. And the second wave of landing definitely won't reach the Republicans. The Red Star has killed everyone there. Or will soon finish them off."
"How long ago did you learn about this?" Corran darkened.
"I have a couple of friends in the command of Lianna's defense forces," said Rostek. "They report that Republican troops are storming the planet, as well as smashing the orbital group. And at the same time, Thrawn's ships attacked the ships that were ready to move to the planet and support the attack on the planet. Corran, there's such a slaughter there that it's scary to imagine."
"If there's one thing Thrawn knows how to do, it's arrange mass bloodshed," agreed Corran. "I don't know what had to happen for us to attack a neutral world."
"The defeat of Admiral Duplex's group, the destruction of Antilles' fleet, and prolonged failures," prompted Grandfather. "Politicians can have a million reasons and a few in reserve. But because of their "effective" actions, completely different sentients die."
"One way or another, soon I'll need to return with the data left by Nejaa Halcyon," Corran saddened. "If we believe Thrawn, I should look in the greenhouse..."
"And that's what scares me seriously," said Grandfather. "In this world, there's only one person — me, who knows that such a legacy really exists. And how it's connected to my flowers."
"I'd be glad to be enlightened too," confessed Corran.
"All in due time," promised Grandfather, rising from the chair. "I'll order a room prepared for you. You'll spend the night with me, and in the morning, we'll get to solving your problem."
Corran wanted to object, but remembered in time that arguing with Rostek wasn't worth it.
That's why he came here — to get advice.
And Grandfather gave it.
All that remained was to wait through the night and meet him in the morning.
***
When Moff Grann's fleet was yanked out of hyperspace, neither its numbers, nor composition, nor the history of each starship held any secrets for me.
The captured Ubiqtorate databases and a copy of the base from the Imperial Palace grant truly great knowledge about the enemy.
But, everything in order.
First in line were four Victory-class Star Destroyers.
The Zeppelin was a participant in Grand Admiral Zaarin's uprising.
This ship was preparing to defect to the Rebel Alliance. The Empire tracked the ship and boarded it, destroying the entire crew and returning the ship to the Imperial fold.
The Skeltor, on the contrary, was under Mitth'raw'nuruodo's command during his hunt for Zaarin.
The Defender is known for being sent by command some time before the Battle of Endor to destroy a Mon Calamari star cruiser in the Sallast system, but failed the task. It participated in the Battle of Endor, avoided capture, and was considered lost by the Empire. And in the end, it turned out to be serving Moff Grann. Interesting career "swings."
The Warlord was used by the Imperials in some project "NOVA," however, no details were found except that Lianna was involved.
The six ships moving in the second rank belonged to Imperial-class Star Destroyers.
Of various classes, but still.
The Immortal was a "two," famous for hunting the Tantive IV — the legendary ship of Princess Leia. With varying success, it hunted the corvette to prevent the data transfer to the Rebel Alliance, but in the end, Darth Vader achieved this over Tatooine.
The ship has several known operations against rebels to its credit, quite successful, it must be noted.
The other five Star Destroyers belonged to "ones," but that didn't make their fate any less interesting.
The Tyrannic — generally an almost unknown ship at this time. However, thanks to foresight, I know that in about ten years in the events known to me, this ship was used by the con artist Flim, posing as the late Grand Admiral Thrawn.
The Emperor participated in a major operation against Rebel Alliance agents. But it's more known for joining Grand Admiral Demetrius Zaarin's forces a year before the Battle of Yavin.
A similar "trail" was in the service record of the Star Destroyer Thunderer.
And the destroyer Garrett once served under the command of Darth Vader himself during the Sith Lord's hunt for another Imperial defector, Admiral Harkov.
This commander decided to defect to the enemy shortly after the Battle of Hoth, but was exposed, captured, and executed by the Sith Lord.
And finally, the last one.
The Grey Wolf.
Here I'd like to dwell on the ship's history in more detail.
This Star Destroyer was specifically used during the punitive campaign against Ali Tarrak and Nami in response to their theft of TIE Defender technology. The criminals' forces — three Carrack-class light cruisers and two Strike-class medium cruisers were attacked and held accountable.
An important milestone in this ship's history was that the ace pilot Maarek Stele once served aboard it.
At the moment, the fate of this pilot, whose name was also on the list of the Emperor's Hands, is unknown.
There is information that he served under Baron Fel for a time, but whether he is in the Empire of the Hand or not — unclear.
The latest available data indicated that he served one of the Imperial Remnants, but checking this trail led nowhere.
And finally, something interesting.
It was the Grey Wolf that was used by Mitth'raw'nuruodo as a flagship for hunting Demetrius Zaarin. This destroyer destroyed the traitor's flagship, the Imperial-class destroyer Glory.
In total — five out of ten ships that Moff Grann was leading to aid Lianna were in one way or another connected to Zaarin's uprising. Coincidence?
I don't think so.
I'm more inclined to believe that Moff Grann was sent "lame ducks" back in the days of the Empire: those who had somehow tarnished their honor.
The Grey Wolf doesn't seem to fit this category, but if we recall that Mitth'raw'nuruodo was quickly forgotten as soon as the Emperor sent him to the Unknown Regions for reconnaissance and annexation of new territories to the Empire, I can assume that the former flagship of the newly minted Grand Admiral was removed out of sight, out of mind.
One can guess as much as one wants.
As well as ponder whether the crew on the ship is old or Grann replaced them with his own people.
"Is the Eternal Wrath blocking long-range transmissions?" I inquired.
"Immediately as soon as Moff Grann's ships exited hyperspace," confirmed Captain Pellaeon.
"In that case, connect me to the Immortal," I ordered, noting that the enemy's ships
Pellaeon gave me a questioning look.
"Moff Grann is vain beyond measure," I explained. "Where else would he be but aboard the most famous Star Destroyer, and one that surpasses the others in class?"
"We're being hailed!" reported the officer from the communications section. "The signal is going to the Eternal Wrath, they're relaying it to us."
Well, of course.
After all, we're in ambush.
In the most visible place in this interstellar space, but in ambush.
In the Thrawn Trilogy, Talon Karrde did so to remain invisible to the Chimaera's scanners when the Grand Admiral turned against him.
And Han Solo hid in plain sight on his Millennium Falcon when he magnetized to the hull of a Star Destroyer.
Perfect tactics — why not use it, radically creatively rethought?
"Connect," I ordered. "For starters, only audio. Connect holovideo on my command."
"... I don't know what you think of yourselves, Dominion dogs, but I won't allow you to interfere with me!" the voice of Moff Grann himself came almost spitting saliva from the speakers. "Immediately disable the gravity wells before I unleash the full power of my invincible fleet on you! I'm counting to five..."
"Voice connection," I commanded.
And above the projecting panel embedded in the armrest of my chair appeared a miniature — only forty centimeters tall — hologram of a man in an Imperial tunic with moff's plaques.
The view was spoiled only by the precious jewelry he was adorned with and the fur cape.
"I can't say that I share your pain with arithmetic problems, Moff Grann," I said, "but giving orders to my ships is beyond your authority."
"Thrawn!" the moff instantly recognized me. "In the name of all the Death Star debris, what's going on here?!"
"A Dominion military operation," I explained calmly.
"On the border of the Lianna system and the Allied Tion sector?" Moff Grann regarded my words with suspicion.
"Yes," I replied. "Do you have any complaints, Moff?"
"Hutt take it, yes!" the hologram exploded. "Lianna is under attack by the New Republic fleet. According to the latest data, the Star Dreadnought Lusankya is there. Lianna's defense fleet is almost destroyed. The enemy is capturing Golan-type defense stations. New Republic troopers have landed on the planet and stormed part of the facilities. Moff Victus is in a desperate position! And you're here with your Interdictor and a dozen Acclamators deciding to hunt?! Whom are you looking for on the shortest path between the Allied Tion and Lianna?!"
"Good question, Moff," I praised. "And most importantly — timely. But first, I want to ask you the reason why you and your subordinates did not respond to my call, announced to the entire galaxy via HoloNet — to arrive and join the Dominion's armed forces?"
"What?!" Grann was taken aback. "What Sith are you allowing yourself, Thrawn?! You're only the nominal Supreme Commander of the Empire! I sent almost all Strike-class medium cruisers to your fleet so you wouldn't interfere in the Allied Tion's affairs. By what right are you making any claims to me here at all?"
"For your information, Moff Grann, the crews of the Strike-class medium cruisers deserted from the Dominion fleet some time ago and disappeared in an unknown direction," I said. "In this regard, I have a reasonable question for you — for what purposes and for what reason did you recall these ships from my fleet, considering the agreements between me and the Imperial Remnants you already mentioned?"
"What nonsense!" roared Grann. "Thrawn, have you lost your mind?! I have no idea where you put those ships! They didn't arrive at my location, and their fate is unknown to me. I'm going to aid Lianna, leaving my territories practically unprotected! Get out of the way before I smash your joke fleet to pieces."
"In that case, Moff Grann, I can only state one thing — the ships you transferred to me deserted on your order," my calm voice acted on the vain military like a red rag on a bull. "No competent military would go on a campaign leaving their territories unprotected. Either you're lying to me, or worse — you're incompetent, and your actions put the security of Imperial territory at risk."
What Grann depicted on his face resembled more a grimace of pain, contempt, surprise, and rage.
"Enough talking my teeth, Thrawn!" he snarled. "Don't waste my precious time!"
"Don't overestimate yourself, Moff Grann," I advised. "I have a proposal. For the deserted ships you transferred to me, you immediately hand over to my control these ten ships at your disposal, which in your shortsightedness you're leading straight into the trap of the forces attacking Lianna."
"You've lost your mind, Thrawn!" Grann was stunned, stepping back from the receiver. A second later, he appeared again, and his face was distorted by the anger bursting the man. "You... you... you! Is this true?!"
"Such are my intentions," I said, nodding barely noticeably.
Pellaeon understood the conditional signal perfectly and without prompts. Here it is — self-improvement.
"Don't talk my teeth!" the moff hissed. "Our scanners register a huge amount of debris in this area! I recognized several ships — these are mercenaries attracted by Moff Victus to protect Lianna! And since there's no one here but you..."
"All correct, Moff Grann," I said. "The Dominion destroyed the mercenaries and pirates whose services Lianna paid for."
"You... you... you... traitor!" my verbal opponent finally found the right word.
I looked at the tactical monitor.
Splendid.
They've reached a suitable attack point.
"I'm only keeping the word given to Lady Sante," the words I uttered made Grann grimace. Obviously, he had already been informed that the transmission was on an open frequency, and every crew member of every Star Destroyer was aware of what we were discussing. "Her behavior and attitude are the reason why Lianna is now under siege. It's my ships that are now destroying the battle groups and formations that have blockaded Lianna all this time. I promised Lady Sante that one day the New Republic would come to her and seize what she refused to sell to strengthen and enhance my positions in the war. From the point of view of the Empire's military laws, Lady Sante committed a war crime and is now reaping the fruits of her perfidy. The time when private contractors dictated their terms to the military — is over. I've turned this page. And I warn you — if your destroyers approach even ten units closer to the Eternal Wrath and the escort ships, I'll be forced to attack you, disable the ships, and capture them with subsequent annexation to the Dominion fleet. Anyone who opens fire on Dominion ships will be destroyed. I'll land assault teams on your ships, which are awaiting their hour aboard the Acclamators, and capture your ships. There will be no mercy. This is the only warning. Join my side, retreat to point four-seven-seven, or perish. There are no other options — staying aside won't work either. Your fleet has ships that participated in my campaign against Grand Admiral Zaarin. If at least one crew member is currently a witness to those events, I think you understand what will happen to you if you reject my proposal."
"You're taking too much upon yourself, Thrawn," growled Moff Grann. "Your pathetic fleet of a dozen Acclamators and a single decent Star Destroyer is nothing compared to the power of ten first-class Star Destroyers under my command!"
Looking at the tactical screen, I allowed myself a light smile.
"You have big problems with arithmetic, Moff Grann," the man tensed noticeably, looking around. "The Grey Wolf has just made the right decision and left your formation."
"Sir, the Tyrannic is following the Grey Wolf," reported Captain Pellaeon to me. "Heading to point four-seven-seven."
"The fleet's ships, except the Warlord, Garrett, Immortal, and Defender have begun movement along the indicated vector," the watch officer reported immediately.
"This is the commander of the Grey Wolf." a new male voice sounded on the open channel. "Grand Admiral Thrawn, sir, glad to serve under your command again!"
"The destroyer Tyrannic on the line," another command intonation. "Captain Nalgol to Grand Moff Thrawn. It's a great honor for me and my crew to serve you."
"Thunderer to Grand Admiral Thrawn," a low but well-set command voice that could make an unprepared listener shudder. "We fully share your opinion regarding the dominance of corporations over the military."
"This is the Emperor," the calm, cold voice of this destroyer's commander like a cold shower. "I've listened to Grand Admiral Thrawn's arguments and find them fair. Neither I nor my people will shed blood for Lianna and its interests."
"Zeppelin joins the Dominion's side."
"Skeltor on the line," something like a sigh of relief, "Grand Admiral Thrawn, request permission to join the Dominion fleet. I apologize for not doing so earlier."
Six against four.
And now four Imperials, two Victories surrounded pairs of their brethren respectively.
One can engage in polemics as much as one wants, but the outcome of this battle was predetermined.
Even without these starships defecting to my side, the battle would have been won.
"Surrender, Moff Grann," I advised. "Your subordinates made the right decision."
"Traitors!" roared the ruler of the Allied Tion sector. "I'll hang you all! Shoot each one! Fire! Grind them to powder!"
But no one was listening to him anymore.
"All ships — fire from ion cannons," I ordered.
War is war, but trophies on schedule.
Especially since I have something to surprise the enemy with.
***
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