Ten years and one day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year and twenty-first day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Seven months and six days since the arrival).
The guardsman in scarlet-and-black armor who entered the office remained silent and motionless until Grand Moff Felix Ferrus finally took notice of him.
"Delivered?" he clarified with the convoy commander.
"Yes, sir," came the voice from beneath the guardsman's helmet, lifeless and utterly impassive.
The helmet's vocoder would have concealed any emotions in speech, but Ferrus had no doubt that even without the guardsman's armor, the inflections would have remained the same.
The phenomenon was called "professional indifference."
The Dominion Guard, heir to the Imperial Guard, represented the quintessence of the best qualities of its predecessors.
Including complete indifference to anything that did not concern their direct duties.
But, to be completely honest, there were considerable doubts about that as well—the guardsmen were phlegmatic to the point of indecency.
The convoy commander stepped aside, allowing two of his fighters to escort the middle-aged man in simple civilian clothes to the lone chair opposite Ferrus's desk.
However, even if the grand moff had not known who was paying him this scheduled visit, he would have instantly identified the visitor.
The gaze, posture, and manner of marching directly indicated the guest's military past.
But there was also a certain "civilian" looseness that the invitee was diligently suppressing within himself.
Once the guest had settled in comfortably, Ferrus, ignoring how one of the guardsmen positioned himself silently like a shadow behind the newcomer, leaned back in his chair, inviting the guest to start the conversation first.
After all, it was he who had wanted to meet.
"I'm glad my request for a meeting reached you, Grand Moff Ferrus," the guest's voice rang out strongly, laced with the notes of a well-trained bass.
"Not every day do entire moffs from the ranks of freed prisoners bombard me with papers requesting an audience," Felix explained. "To what do I owe the honor, Moff Jarnek?"
"No longer a moff," the man stated. "Not since the Rebels tricked me and threw me in prison."
"As you say," Ferrus agreed easily.
Harlov Jarnek had once been the moff of the Tandon sector and had been captured as a result of a regrettable miscalculation.
In his time, Jarnek had graduated from a military academy, acquiring the military education so necessary for a moff. Among his colleagues, he was known as a cool-headed, effective leader.
The latter helped him advance quickly and methodically up the career ladder until he headed the Tandon sector.
In the same year that the first Death Star was destroyed, Jarnek acquired a pet.
Which turned out to be not only a sentient being but also a spy for the Rebel Alliance.
Jarnek had grown very fond of his new pet and kept the Rebel spy close to him, unaware that his "pet" was secretly transmitting vital information to the Rebels.
Months after the Battle of Endor, Jarnek traveled to the planet Spirador, where he owned a palace, and secured his personal safety with a planetary blockade using the forces of one Star Destroyer and stormtroopers, as well as battle droids.
And yet the moff was captured by Luke Skywalker and sent to prison, from which he and many other Imperial prisoners of war were freed by Dominion operatives and military personnel during Operation Crimson Dawn.
Along with tens of thousands of ordinary soldiers, officers, and specialists, the filtration camps for freed Imperials sometimes held quite a few Imperial bureaucrats and administrators.
The counterintelligence work consisted of assessing their usefulness to the Dominion.
If a person turned out to be a sufficiently valuable specialist who had not stained himself with repressions against the civilian population or connections to criminal elements, then such an individual was offered service in their specialty.
Harlov Jarnek was exactly the type of sentients that the metropole so sorely lacked.
His entire career had been built on a combination of hard work and the rigidity of his worldview.
In his sector, he had demonstrated miracles of effective management, but he was considered dangerous enough by the New Republic due to his lack of ceremony with criminals and lawbreakers.
Not prone to groundless malice and sadism, which many Imperials were guilty of, he nonetheless suppressed any dangerous dissent with force without hesitation or qualms of conscience.
He would do everything possible to make the system under his management work properly, but thanks to his inner self-discipline, he did not cross the line into cruelty and harshness.
His unsociable nature and drive, which he did not disdain to channel in the right direction, made him a lonely man, so he had become so attached to his "pet" at the time.
And yet, unlike most moffs, although he possessed basic military training, desk work instead of a military career made him far less competent as a military leader than as a civilian administrator.
In the position of an Imperial moff, combining both aspects, it proved to be a fatal mistake: he failed to prevent the defection and desertion of most of his troops, who sided with the New Republic and seized control of his armed forces, slaughtering the moff's loyal stormtroopers.
"So, to what do I owe this?" Ferrus asked.
The former moff Harlov Jarnek with his "pet."
"Rumors reached the barracks where I'm held that you're looking for civilian specialists, administrators, and former moffs," Jarnek stated his intentions. "I'd like to offer my candidacy, as well as a few capable guys from my squad, with whom I served my sentence in New Republic prisons. Each of us has the experience and necessary skills to integrate into the Dominion's civilian administration in any sectors you assign us to."
"Mr. Jarnek, you are aware that the Dominion is not a proponent of the New Order?" Ferrus clarified. "We honor the laws of the Empire, and much of them, in one form or another, govern the entire territory of the Dominion."
"I'm also aware that the Dominion does not enslave peoples, allows local self-government on planets, does not interfere in territorial laws, and does not dismantle existing authorities," the Imperial continued. "You have allowed planetary governments to continue their independent policies and adherence to their own laws, provided they do not contradict the laws of the Dominion. This is a wise step—a direct continuation of the Empire's policy toward loyal sectors. This point of view appeals to me. I'd like to join."
"Commendable zeal," Ferrus agreed. "However, your motivation remains unclear to me thus far. At this point, we've already selected two waves of prisoners willing to cooperate with us. Neither you nor those you're vouching for have expressed such a desire until now. What has changed?"
"For starters, I must note that both waves of volunteers are primarily military," the former moff declared. "The recruiters have only just reached the 'civilian' barracks. And among us, there are plenty who want to trade the filtration camp for normal housing, food, and pay. I don't think you know how disgusting the food in the filtration camps is. Take my word for it—compared to what you can buy in stores while working even as an assistant administrator or in some minor position, versus what we eat—it's the best motivation to get out of the camp as quickly as possible."
"That's exactly the calculation," Ferrus thought.
After all, no one thought that former prisoners, some of whom had even surrendered voluntarily, would be fed the finest dishes from restaurants?
No, on par with New Republic prisoners of war, they were fed solely nutritious but unimpressive fare.
The camps were not resorts; there were no chocolate fountains here.
The former military of the Galactic Empire had understood this immediately.
Or almost immediately.
It was no wonder that practically all of them, at the current moment, had either already passed counterintelligence checks by the Dominion and been assigned to units, crews, or forming formations with preservation of past merits, or were in the process of it.
But the queue had only now reached the "civilians."
No, of course, the most prominent administrators and specialists had already been individually freed or deported beyond the Dominion.
But those were precisely the mid-level specialists so necessary for the bureaucratic machine.
And moffs and their ilk…
"I believe you know full well that the food and medical care meet all the criteria of the Empire itself," Ferrus stated. "The foodstuffs and meals are supplied according to army rations."
"Grand Moff, forgive me, but I'm not trying to complain about the conditions here," Jarnek spoke up. "Compared to the slop we were fed in the New Republic, the nutrition here is on another level. Neither I nor those I represent have any complaints on that score. We're merely asking to expedite the review of our cases by the filtration units. We're ready to start performing the tasks assigned to us right now."
"Is that so?" Ferrus chuckled. "And why should I believe you won't betray us at the first opportunity and stage sabotage on the ground? As it happens, we're in a cold war with the other remnants of the Empire, which is about to turn hot."
"That's known to me as well," the former moff agreed. "I can't offer better proof of our loyalty than the fact that it was the Dominion that pulled us out of captivity, where we were held for our beliefs and disagreement with the 'democratic principles of the New Republic.' We want to leave the camp; we're ready to work where we're told and as we're ordered. And we have no intention of betraying the Dominion. It's not in our interests. The Empire abandoned us in prisons and thereby proved that to them, sentients of any level are no more than mere cogs that can easily be disposed of. That's insulting and doesn't add any love for those now at the helm of the Empire's remnants. You'd have to spit on your own 'I' and self-respect to crawl on your knees to those who don't give a damn about you."
"And are you sure the Dominion doesn't give a damn about you?"
"I'm only sure of what depends on me," Harlov cut him off. "But I see that you're recruiting from Imperial prisoners. And granting citizenship even to Republican prisoners of war if they prove their ability and willingness to act for the good of the state. This proves you're interested in filling the state system with patriotically minded and effective specialists. I've done some work for you and selected a few candidates who might be useful to you. Especially given that Grand Admiral Thrawn is dead, we thought the best demonstration of our desire to sever ties with the Empire and its Remnants would be to enlist in the Dominion. Many of us remember the crisis in the Empire when the Old Republic fell apart. And the unrest that followed the Battle of Endor. We wouldn't want to go through that again in connection with a power crisis. Our knowledge and skills could be useful in the current situation. Strong and effective local authority backed by the fleet and army could help reduce social tensions among the population. A crisis inevitably brings panic, and we, experienced managers, can help deal with it."
"Thank you for the work done," Ferrus said. "And who are these sentients?"
Jarnek leaned forward, slipping his hand into his trouser pocket.
He froze in place as a heavy guardsman's hand clamped down on his shoulder and the muzzle of a blaster pressed into the back of his neck.
The former moff licked his lips, not taking his eyes off the grand moff.
"There's a data chip in my pocket," he explained. "May I retrieve it?"
"Only slowly," Ferrus advised. "And preferably in such a way that the guardsman can see the contents of your hand. It's not worth making them nervous—they don't like sudden movements."
"I understand," the man sitting opposite said, unaware that the Chiss, whom he and much of the Dominion's population believed dead, was at this moment more alive than many.
Under aim, he withdrew his hand so that the data chip lying in it was visible to the guardsman.
Who immediately took it, turned it over in his hands to check if the device was a dangerous fake, and only then handed it to the grand moff.
Ferrus connected the data storage to a separate deck, the contents of which he could easily part with in case the chip contained malicious software.
But the information protection programs written by the slicers of the Dominion Armed Forces headquarters detected nothing of the sort.
"Interesting candidates," Ferrus declared, reviewing the list. "Moff Vensell. Isn't he the one who handled the withdrawal of Imperial forces after the engagement with Rebel Alliance troops at the planet Jerichador in the Calaron sector?"
"Precisely," Jarnek confirmed. "With the forces of two ships—just two cruisers, one heavy and one medium—he routed a large Rebel force. And withdrew his starships from the battlefield without losses. He led search teams for Rebel cells after Endor. His ships fell into an ambush and were boarded. He and over a thousand loyal subordinates surrendered. Over the last five years in various New Republic prisons, they staged more than one uprising and riot. The moff and his people attempted three escapes but couldn't advance and lose themselves on enemy territory. At present, in the sixth barracks, there are nearly seven hundred military fleet specialists loyal to him, ready to follow him. Each is a veteran. If he ordered an escape from your filtration camps, they would have done it already. But Vensell ordered them to wait. Take him on, and his people will transfer to your service. You can fill many vacancies at once, and you needn't doubt: if Vensell swears loyalty to you and knows you won't abandon him in a tough spot, he'll be faithful to the grave."
"I'll consider this proposal," Ferrus stated, shifting his gaze to another candidate. "Well, well, well… Each new name makes it all the more interesting. Grand Moff Lynch Hauser?"
Jarnek grinned crookedly.
"He's as much a 'grand moff' as I am a 'moff,'" the interlocutor explained. "He once held that rank. After the proclamation of the Galactic Empire, Palpatine made Hauser grand moff of the Dustig Oversector and appointed him commander of the Seventeenth Sector Army."
"'Chrome Shield,'" Ferrus pronounced the more common civilian name for the Seventeenth Sector Army. "Honestly, when I saw his name on the lists of freed prisoners, I thought it was a joke."
"It's not," the interlocutor stated. "Hauser in person. I understand your skepticism—after he triumphantly exposed the shady dealings of one governor embezzling natural resources and replacing stormtroopers with pirates, his name should have rung out across the Empire."
"But instead, his subordinate, who investigated the case, fell in love with a lady who was apparently a descendant of the local royal line, disobeyed Hauser's order to execute the rebel, and fled with her," Ferrus recalled. "They hunted that boy's head for quite a while."
"And found them in the end," the former moff reported. "The lovers were executed in front of the boy's father, Admiral Trommer. Palpatine intended to make an example of the latter too, as it was believed the admiral helped his son hide. Hauser stood up for his subordinate and fell into disgrace as well. The latter's connections were enough to keep him and Trommer from execution, but they were thrown into a high-security prison for a long time. When the New Republic captured the facility, both prisoners continued serving their sentences. In response to the fact that both Admiral Trommer and Grand Moff Hauser had gone to great lengths in their time to eliminate all popular unrest and all provocateurs, Rebel agents, and saboteurs."
"Admiral Trommer's name is on this list too," Ferrus noted. "So I take it they're both disillusioned with the Empire and the New Republic, so they've decided to try their hand in the Dominion?"
"Something like that," Jarnek confirmed. "But with a caveat—they in no way claim restoration to the same ranks they held under the Empire. Trommer expressed a desire to become an instructor at a military academy. The guards said you have your own educational institutions, but of course, it's not for us to decide where to send him. It's just a wish."
"And what does Hauser want?" Ferrus inquired.
"I can even quote him," the man opposite smiled. "'I've already been a grand moff. I'd try again under Thrawn's leadership, but I'm not in a position to demand anything. I'm old and experienced. I'll gladly help where needed. But I can't sleep on that hard bunk anymore. Even as a secretary, but away from the barracks.'"
"Amusing remark," Ferrus chuckled.
In fact, he wouldn't mind having an assistant or advisor with the colossal experience that Grand Moff Hauser possessed.
During the years of his rule in the Dustig Oversector, the latter had never experienced any significant upheavals and was renowned for its stability.
On which the grand moff succeeding Hauser rested.
Until the Rebels executed him, "liberating" the oversector, which at present had turned into a hotbed of lawlessness and democracy.
Though the last two concepts were practically synonyms.
Reviewing the entire list took some time, during which Ferrus exchanged remarks with Jarnek about one candidate or another.
Some, like the former Grand Moff Nigel Nivers, the grand moff rejected outright, as counterintelligence had already processed them and deemed these sentients unfit for recruitment.
That same Nivers had "distinguished" himself after Endor by becoming one of the numerous warlords. And he sought to enslave one world, promising the locals that they would either work for him or he would make them suffer.
The intervening Rebels crushed Nivers's armada, and he himself was thrown into prison.
How such a New Order fanatic wasn't shot—unclear.
But he was useless even as a clone donor—stupid and envious. Yes, a talented organizer, but this was precisely the case where the minuses outweighed the vaunted "pluses."
Letting such near power was highly imprudent.
Even on Jarnek's list, he and all those rejected stood apart.
"I'll repeat—you've done tremendous work," Ferrus declared when the list of more than a dozen names of moffs, grand moffs, and administrators alone came to an end.
And the list held hundreds of names of lesser bureaucrats and specialists… In fact, if all went well, such a "personnel drop" could qualitatively bolster the administrations stitching together on the ground in the sectors.
"I, like many others, just want to be useful," the interlocutor replied. "Besides, working to one's abilities is much better than idling or laboring in the camp workshops."
Unlike New Republic prisoners of war, who under the supervision of numerous intimidating nonhumans from the Dominion were sent to newly habitable planets to build outposts, former Imperial military and civilians, during filtration, could work in the camp workshops if they wished.
There, uniforms for prisoners of war, criminals, or clothing for the filtrants themselves were sewn.
In a word—self-sufficiency, as factories and plants worked to supply the Dominion's civilian population or armed forces.
And the clothing and footwear of filtrants and prisoners of war often wore out before their fate caught up with them to return home or epiphany with a desire to join the Dominion's side.
Simple and unpretentious work that required no great skills in the new profession but allowed filtrants to earn a small amount of credits to improve their own living conditions.
"The edited list will reach counterintelligence leadership shortly," Ferrus reported. "I promise nothing, but if your comrades are indeed as you say, there won't be problems. You'll work under the supervision of our specialists for now. If all goes sufficiently well, you'll eventually get full freedom of action on the ground."
"Thank you," Jarnek stated. "For us, understanding that we're still needed by someone is worth a lot."
"There's nothing worse than being full of energy and cast aside from life at the same time," a thought flashed through Ferrus's mind.
On that note, they parted ways.
Left alone, Felix activated the holoprojector.
A volumetric projection of territories under Dominion control emerged.
Yes, one's own clones in power in the sectors was, of course, good.
But clones were short-lived.
They were created (as were clones in the Armed Forces) to serve as an operational "crutch" for the limping bureaucracy.
And now there was a real opportunity to do it all differently, as it should be.
Pondering for a few more seconds, the grand moff reached for the encryption equipment.
To send the candidate lists to counterintelligence, it was worth discussing the initiative with the grand admiral first.
Hearing his considerations on such a crucially important matter was critically necessary.
***
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