Ten years, the second month, and the fifth day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, the second month, and the fifth day after the Great ReSynchronization.
(Eight months and twenty-five days since the moment of arrival.)
"All systems at full combat readiness, Captain," the executive officer reported to Tiberos.
"Excellent," the former privateer replied. "What does intel say?"
Working for the Dominion had changed a great many things.
Both Tiberos himself and the very nature of the raids carried out by former pirates and mercenaries now proudly called "auxiliary forces of the Dominion's regular fleet."
Sending scouts ahead, as career military officers did, had also become standard procedure for the crew of the Black Pearl.
Before poking their noses into the Kyle II system where their target was located, Tiberos had ordered several probe droids dispatched.
And now the outcome of the coming battle depended directly on what data the crew of the fighter-carrying Star Destroyer received back from the tiny but nimble machines.
"Convoy in place," the exec reported. "All ships. Including their light escort."
"Understood." Tiberos turned his head to savor the sight of his ship dropping out of hyperspace.
The light filters of his mask clearly picked out the white-blue tunnel destined to collapse the instant the Black Pearl returned to realspace.
The crew was fully immersed in carrying out their duties.
A discipline that would have been impossible to wring from pirates under any other circumstances.
And yet now they even wore uniforms—gray Imperial tunics, minus the caps and rank plaques but with chevrons marking allegiance to a specific destroyer's crew.
Some wore them with pride.
Tiberos's crew included plenty of Dominion citizens lured by high pay and high risk.
True, service in the auxiliary forces earned no seniority or the social benefits due to personnel in the Defense Forces or the regular fleet.
Transferring from the auxiliaries to a Star Destroyer was practically impossible—and no one wanted it anyway.
The auxiliary forces were legalized privateering.
Less bureaucracy, more money.
And no pursuit by Dominion law enforcement.
No wonder there were so many volunteers.
Mostly from Axxila, where the Dominion was only beginning to expand, turning "Coruscant from the inside" into a respectable place and a trade hub.
If not for headquarters' mandatory requirement of full military training for the auxiliary forces, hundreds of thousands of Axxila's citizens would already be listed as dead in reckless attacks.
Two or three attempts to create something capable of rivaling the Cavil Corsairs or the groups led by Irv and Tiberos had been made in every sector of the metropole.
But they all failed on the very first mission—suffered horrendous losses in the D'Astan sector, then were swallowed up by the three key players in the Dominion's unofficial armed forces market.
Well, now it was time to see what today had in store for them.
Tiberos felt his hands reaching for his vibro-axes.
Every raid he itched to charge into the attack first, to smash enemy skulls and bones, but the duties of a group commander—one named after him—reined in those impulsive urges.
"Patience, my friend," came the familiar disembodied voice. "Learn to control your anger. Otherwise defeat awaits you."
Tiberos only smirked beneath his mask.
What could possibly be unusual here that he couldn't handle?
He had done this thousands of times, yet his old friend had not manifested without reason.
Now a premonition gripped Tiberos.
One whose cause he could not fathom.
Too many unknown factors?
No, not really—not a single one.
A caravan hauling ore and equipment from Zygerria to Nar Shaddaa.
Thirty bulk freighters, each hold packed with dozens of tons of refined metals or machinery.
Four Interceptor IV–class frigates as escort.
For the Black Pearl it was no problem.
Just a light snack, nothing more.
"Exiting hyperspace!" the navigator's shout rang out on the bridge.
The counter in the upper corner of the tactical display hit zero, and the nonexistent milky tunnel beyond the Black Pearl's viewports shattered into billions of shards.
One of those shards became the yellow star of the Kyle system.
The star occupied a quarter of the sky, and the system's lone planet hung almost dead center as a black disk, like the pupil of a gigantic yellow eye.
A minor world along the Salin Corridor—a hyperspace route crossing the New Territories and leading to the galaxy's distant eastern sectors.
A route heavily used by ore haulers from the Corporate Sector.
Especially if one believed the buzz droids planted by the Colicoid Swarm, which had swarmed the convoy ships like locusts on a Dantooine farm.
The long transports with their silvery-gray hulls accelerating for jump looked like tears.
The freighters' exit vector was parallel to the Black Pearl's entry vector.
Closure was rapid, yet Tiberos still couldn't quite recognize them as Corporate Sector bulk haulers, even though the destroyer's central computer displayed their images on screen.
In detail.
Three hundred meters from bow to sublight engines, minimal armament, poor maneuverability.
Whether the "corporates" were skimping on quality parts or the freighters were droid-piloted was unclear.
But the fact remained—the freighters showed no reaction to the sudden appearance of a fighter-carrying Star Destroyer in their path, surrounded by deflector shielding and training turbolasers on them.
"Jamming station at full power, boss!" came a shout from the comm station.
"No wonder we poured so much money into it," Tiberos thought.
After the regular fleet had taken notice of Raxus Prime and paid it several visits, the Dominion had arranged to buy large quantities of Separatist communications and encryption gear from local scavengers—gear not yet stripped or sold off.
As far as Tiberos knew, those jamming stations blocked long-range comms across an average star system, dooming their victim to silent, solitary death.
They were now being actively installed on Dominion regular-fleet cruisers and Star Destroyers equipped with gravity-well generators.
After Sluis Van the Black Pearl had acquired similar "junk" and could now jam comms and prevent a victim from calling for help.
Too bad gravity-well generators weren't so easy to buy.
If Tiberos had one of those ships in his group, hunting prey would be far more entertaining.
Maybe someday…
For now the Black Pearl's fighter wing bursting forth to the hunt would have to do.
Thrawn used Tiberos for his exact purpose—raiding and privateering—which was why the flight decks carried ships that were the gold standard of speed and maneuverability.
Especially after Dominion engineers had reworked them.
The Grand Admiral had not wasted time; he had tens of thousands (if not far more) of Clone Wars–era fighters, interceptors, and bombers of every type originally meant for the Republic's Grand Army.
That equipment had been slated for Dominion Defense Forces service, but after "Thrawn's death" Armed Forces headquarters scrapped the idea.
Hundreds and thousands of TIE fighters from the regular fleet were transferred to the Defense Forces instead, while the refitted Republic craft, upgraded by Dominion companies, went for export across the galaxy and enjoyed incredible demand.
Governments that had suffered pirate attacks or fought battles on their own soil—places like Tammuz-an, the Thanium Worlds, the Sluissi, and hundreds more—snapped up Dominion equipment, draining their budgets of aurodium and funneling it into the Dominion treasury.
That was the rule of foreign trade with the state created by Grand Admiral Thrawn—external trade was conducted solely for Dominion currency or precious metals.
Otherwise…
Tiberos had no doubt "exceptional cases" where the Dominion met buyers halfway existed, but who would tell someone like him?
Those in power did not advertise secret negotiations to mere executors of their will.
Thus private sale terms for refitted equipment remained secret.
But Tiberos knew for a fact that Thyferra's government had bought an entire armada of upgraded Republic ships, paying with massive quantities of bacta tankers.
He knew because last month he had escorted transports from the metropole to Chasin, then to Thyferra.
From the talkative Yazuo Vain he also knew buyers existed in Hutt Space who paid with slaves—a deal covered by the Colicoid Swarm.
The Cavil Corsairs regularly escorted caravans of Republic military materiel—both upgraded and merely restored—from Axxila to the worlds allied with Baroness D'Asta, returning with Star Galleon–class frigates stuffed with munitions, gems, and aurodium.
Rumor had it a large order had also come from isolationist Manaan. Rumor's nature meant that on the Dominion's internal market the cheaper, less effective bacta analog colto had appeared—once a galaxy-wide bacta competitor driven out by market forces.
But most rumors concerned convoys escorted into the unknown by regular-fleet Star Destroyers.
No one knew what equipment or to which buyer they escorted, but talk of large quantities of Imperial ground hardware appearing in the Armed Forces spoke for itself.
Either the Dominion was secretly trading with one of the Imperial Remnants, or the New Republic was playing its usual double game with exquisite finesse.
Tiberos himself believed the Grand Admiral, with his characteristic skill, was manipulating perceptions and the equipment came from Dominion colonies on the periphery.
Just as Kelaada supplied the Dominion with speeder bikes and grav-cycles, heavy equipment could be manufactured somewhere on Chasin, Trogane, or elsewhere.
One way or another, trading old military hardware with Dominion upgrades for strategic resources enjoyed massive galactic demand.
Not to mention that some planetary governments inside the Dominion preferred buying stored equipment to maintain extra, permanently based defense forces, still distrusting the government's assurances that the Defense Forces could crush any internal threat.
Of course Holonet rumors claimed the Dominion, having scorched pirate groups with durasteel, was supplying them technology in exchange for continued attacks on New Republic worlds, but no direct proof existed.
Tiberos didn't believe it either—he knew the truth.
Most pirate groups either didn't care about the Dominion or were on the side of its enemies.
But such a rumor was currently invaluable for justifying the appearance on the battlefield of upgraded obsolete fighters.
They sold for more than used baseline models, but the quality was worth it.
The civil war in the D'Astan sector had been perfect advertising, and now dozens of shell companies across the galaxy were actively unloading surplus stock to anyone willing to buy this wonder of military engineering.
But such ships served in the Dominion's auxiliary forces—in particular with the Cavil Corsairs, on the Black Pearl, among the Mandalorians…
Only Irv preferred scouring the galaxy for vulture droid starfighters, unwilling to allow anyone he didn't trust aboard his Colicoid Swarm.
His right—he was the ship's commander.
Tiberos watched dozens of his Dominion-upgraded Delta-7s tear into the enemy formation, inflicting irreparable damage on the escort ships.
The quartet of Interceptor IVs hastily abandoned the convoy's rear, racing toward the Black Pearl to draw it into a gunnery duel and thereby allow their transports to escape.
They must have been utterly baffled by what had befallen their hyperdrives, which failed simultaneously and left the transports unable to flee the battlefield.
Surely by the twentieth minute of battle, when the first Interceptor IV became a fireball, having realized the launchers on the Black Pearl were not for show, the crews of the remaining ships began to grasp that the trap and the hyperdrive failures were connected.
One wonders whether they realized buzz droids were responsible or blamed infiltrating saboteurs aboard their transports.
"Begin boarding operations," Tiberos ordered.
Droch-class boarding ships fired from the Black Pearl sank their pointed prows into the thin hulls of the transports.
Powerful mechanisms whirred to life, tearing plating and allowing dozens of Tiberos's fighters to storm the decks, neutralizing counter-boarding systems.
Where they existed, of course.
One by one the ships changed owners, and repair droids, receiving damage reports from the Morrti-project buzz droids, set about preparing the vessels for lightspeed jump.
But the three remaining Interceptor IVs did not yet know that.
Those ships, like the Dominion-upgraded obsolete fighters, were nothing more than marketing victims.
And the marketer was none other than Tyber Zann.
In the early days of rebuilding his Zann Consortium after the Battle of Yavin, that very ship type had terrorized fringe systems and sectors.
After the organization's destruction, many crews either sold or abandoned their vessels.
And the Corporate Sector, famous for thrift and hoarding, could not pass them up.
So now they were dying.
Blue turbolaser beams from the Black Pearl's batteries scarred one frigate's hull.
A precise salvo from a single battery tore away several armored plates, hurling them into space.
Atmosphere, bodies, and debris followed.
An anti-ship missile slammed into the frigate's upper hemisphere, severing the long "handle" running two-thirds of the Interceptor IV's length.
The defender took several more hits.
Its port engine exploded, sending the ship into a slow flat spin that worsened as every engine on the left was shredded by the carrier Star Destroyer's turbolasers.
The Black Pearl let the damaged ship pass beneath her, continuing to fire on the two survivors.
But that did not mean the cripple was forgotten.
A squadron of Deltas pounced on the battered corporate ship, and minutes later its perforated wreckage was finished off by another missile salvo.
The Black Pearl's point-defense guns choked on laser fire, relentlessly swatting missiles the Interceptor IVs tried to use to fend off the oncoming Providence.
Tiberos ordered fire concentrated on the ships' bows from every weapon, and fighters that had finished with the transports to shift to destroying the enemy's engines.
Safer that way—back in the Zann Consortium days the Interceptor IVs had expertly raked enemy fighters with their bow missile launchers.
The tactic Tiberos chose meant fighters attacking from astern would be safer.
The Black Pearl, even if she ate a few dozen missiles, would not suffer catastrophic damage.
Concentrated fire on the bow hemisphere reduced the carrier's forward deflector strength.
"Even out the forward deflectors!" the ship's commander ordered.
Under constant fire that was difficult, so Tiberos's next order concerned the missile launcher operators.
Anti-ship missiles crashed against the Interceptor IVs like an unstoppable wall.
Simple unguided missiles were easy to fool, and the frigate crews tried.
Both ships immediately turned to shake the annoying neighbor.
Thereby reducing their own fire density.
The frigates were decent for patrol, guard duty, and destroying light forces, but not for facing a heavy Star Destroyer.
The Black Pearl demonstrated with every turbolaser that neither training time and countless battles for her crew nor upgrades to the combat systems of a nearly thirty-year-old ship had been wasted.
And how!
The exposed flanks of the Interceptor IVs vanished beneath massive turbolaser and missile strikes.
Enemy deflectors collapsed like glass.
On the third frigate the bow was blasted to fragments and the stern, still pushed by functioning engines, began spinning—becoming a target for gunners and operators on the port side.
The fourth Interceptor IV began axial rotation to shield its chewed flank.
But that only drew the Black Pearl's fighters.
Like a pack of starving predators they delivered a massed laser-cannon strike on the unprotected side, finishing what the carrier's guns and missiles had started.
The ship still tried some piloting flourishes, but that only invited more kinetic and laser rounds.
Unmanageability showed the crew had given up fighting for survival and saving the vessel.
The first escape-pod markers appeared.
"Boss, what do we do with survivors?" the exec asked briskly.
Tiberos wanted to order "Kill them all!" but command needed intelligence.
A modestly seated figure at a secondary control station, dressed like the rest of the crew, gave Tiberos an interested glance, awaiting the captain's reaction.
"Send shuttles to capture the escape pods," Tiberos ordered. "Fish out every single one and deliver them aboard the Black Pearl as quickly as possible."
"Yes, Captain," the exec replied.
The third Interceptor IV's remains scattered in a fan after meeting another missile salvo.
The fourth ship was living its final seconds.
Tiberos glanced at the tactical monitor.
The ship had perhaps ten minutes, maybe more, to live.
By the time the corporates decided to check what had happened to this convoy, everyone aboard who survived but failed to evacuate would already be dead of hunger, thirst, or asphyxiation.
"Transports fully under our control!" came the report from the command post.
"Immediately transfer them to the rendezvous point!" Tiberos directed. "Finish off the fourth escort, collect all survivors, and get us out of here."
He felt the Force stirring, as it often did before something irreparable.
But because of his weak connection he could not pinpoint when it would happen.
Any other privateer feeling that would have bolted, but not Tiberos.
Not here.
Not now.
Either gather all survivors and leave no trace that could tip the corporates to the identity of the one who caused this mess.
Or finish the last escort, giving fighters and rescue teams time to clean up.
The Dominion had effectively begun a shadow war with the Zann Consortium, but that fact had to remain secret as long as possible.
An hour and a half after the battle began, the field was left without living witnesses.
The presence of wreckage from his own fighters bothered Tiberos little—thanks to active Dominion trade, such craft existed all over the galaxy.
Including, rumor had it, with pirate gangs.
So even if someone found pieces of destroyed machines, they could prove nothing concrete against the Dominion.
Without living witnesses there could be no substantive questions.
And everything else…
"Transports jumping to the rendezvous!"
"Shuttles and fighters back aboard!"
"Sir, we've registered a new ship entering the system!"
Tiberos cursed.
Whatever that ship was, it was an unwanted witness.
It could not possibly belong to the Dominion.
Therefore whoever controlled it was an enemy.
"Identification!" Tiberos barked. "Scan its shields and armament!"
Without waiting he rushed to the sensor operator.
The ship's central computer displayed data on the uninvited guest.
"This is no coincidence," Tiberos hissed through clenched teeth, evaluating the enemy's characteristics. "We destroy a convoy and right behind it comes an upgraded Invincible-class dreadnought…"
Heavy dreadnoughts of that class were an anachronism known galaxy-wide only for service in the Corporate Sector.
Slow, lightly armed, but armored better than any modern ship.
And now it saw the vector along which the Black Pearl's captured transports were fleeing.
And registered the wreckage of its own escorts.
Changing the transports' rendezvous was impossible—either send a ship with hyperdrive out of the system or shut down the jamming.
The Black Pearl had no other hyperdrive-equipped craft.
No accelerator rings for the "Aether Sprites" either.
Shutting down jamming meant giving the enemy a chance, however brief, to broadcast data to its masters.
Fighting this heavyweight would undoubtedly delay them in-system—an unjustifiable risk.
Unfortunately, the very risk they had to take.
"Prepare for battle!" Tiberos roared. "Rotate the fighter complement! Begin pounding that pig with anti-ship missiles! Launch fighters and interceptors—we'll smash its engines and keep picking at it until it cracks."
***
The hologram flickered several times due to comms interference before stabilizing.
"Sir, mission accomplished," "Lieutenant Mak" reported. "Durron Senior and fifty-one stormtrooper legions have successfully left Carida aboard the transports you sent. We rendezvoused with the combat escort at the designated point."
Agent "Bravo-One" had succeeded.
"Were you able to track where Ambassador Furgan stashed the luxury items and art you gifted him?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. Private vault on Carida. As far as I know it belongs to Furgan and other influential Caridans on the planetary board."
Well then.
Valuable intelligence.
And it would be used for suitable purposes.
"Excellent work, Agent Inek," I said—no harm in praising one's subordinates.
Even a hardened agent, saboteur, assassin, and provocateur with years of experience.
A subordinate, no matter who, needed to know their efforts were noticed by command.
"Ready for the next assignment, sir," "Bravo-One" declared.
An interesting man.
Not a maniac, not a butcher.
He clearly separated emotions from "work."
Never mixed duty with personal feelings.
A model agent.
No wonder he and Sergius had been donors for the agent-cloning program.
"You are due rest, Captain," I reminded him.
"With all due respect, sir, I can rest during the jump to the next assignment," the hologram replied.
"I don't doubt it, Agent," I nodded. "In that case you are bound for Jaminere."
"Capital of the Allied Tion sector?" the intelligence officer showed off his erudition.
"Precisely," I confirmed. "Your task—escort the stormtrooper ships to Jaminere, ensure they secure all sector territories and prepare them for defense. You are also tasked with leading the operation to eliminate anti-government forces whose position contradicts the official one."
"Immediate purge?" Inek clarified.
"Only if rebellious elements oppose Moff Gronn's will," I stated. "Your objective—prepare the sector and its population for incorporation into the Dominion."
The agent's face did not change, but I noticed wrinkles appear on his forehead—he was frowning.
"Sir, as far as I know Moff Gronn opposed joint action with you."
Precisely why, when I began acting against the Imperial Ruling Council's will and brought the Morshdine sector under my control, Gronn was replaced with a clone loyal to the Zann Consortium.
Until then he had controlled the sector unofficially; after the substitution he moved to open action.
Formally, like the other Remnants, he supported Mitt'hraw'nuruodo's campaign financially.
In reality he served his masters' interests.
It was not hard to see that even Zann benefited from my campaign against the New Republic—it drew Republic attention away from his plans to seize the Ciutric Hegemony.
"All correct, Agent," I confirmed. "Moreover, you are to watch the moff while serving as his adjutant. And identify everyone who tries to contact him on the Zann Consortium line. You will receive support on-site from other agents who have already done preliminary work."
"Understood, sir," Inek nodded. "What are the mission deadlines?"
"The sooner the better," I replied. "The longer it drags on, the greater the chance of failure due to your charge's progressing dementia."
"Permission to speak, sir?" the agent asked, surprised.
"Granted."
"Gronn isn't old enough to suffer degenerative brain changes," he clearly rummaged through his memory.
"Correct," I agreed. "The thing is, Agent, the real Moff Gronn committed suicide during my confrontation with him and the Guardian at the Battle of Lianna. The one you will work with is a clone of the real moff's body with a Dominion-loyal agent matrix uploaded. That process causes consciousness degradation, progressing daily. In practice you have slightly over a month before his brain begins rejecting the loyal persona. There is no treatment. At least not yet."
"Understood, Grand Admiral," the agent saluted. "May I know whose consciousness was uploaded into the clone? It would ease coordination if I've worked with that agent before."
"Whether it eases things depends entirely on your worldview, Agent," I said.
Torin no longer hid his frown.
"Sir, that means…?"
Inek broke off, stunned by his own guess.
"Exactly, Agent," I nodded.
To bring an entire sector under my control right under the enemy's nose and expose them, I needed an experienced assassin, provocateur, saboteur—someone who had proven loyalty not just with words but with deeds.
"The moff's body contains your edited consciousness, 'Bravo-One,'" I dispelled one intrigue and started another. "I hope obeying yourself will not be difficult."
For the first time since I had known this intelligence officer, I noticed a nervous tic.
***
Upgraded Invincible-class dreadnought.
Hutt only knows when that relic became part of galactic history, but facts are facts.
Tradition: "If there's junk, the corporates will buy it" had been known for centuries.
Invincible-class dreadnoughts were an immovable part of that tradition.
From what Tiberos knew, they had been built at Rendili StarDrive yards and other contractors, serving in the Old Republic's fleet for millennia.
Before becoming incomprehensible trash in the Corporate Sector Authority fleet, naturally.
Eymand once said they dated back to the Alsakan Conflicts over ten thousand years ago, when Coruscant's enemies fielded their own massive battleships.
Times were different then; speed was not required—only protection.
In the past one such ship could be pounded for days and it wouldn't care.
Now, of course, it was a real "warrior."
A dozen turbolaser cannons evenly distributed between bow and broadsides.
One hundred twenty laser cannons in thirty quad turrets protecting the perimeter on all sides.
Half a dozen launchers for proton torpedoes or anti-ship missiles.
They had even seen action in the Clone Wars, though due to hopeless obsolescence the Invincibles were strictly limited to rear-area and secondary-theater roles.
After the Galactic Empire's formation and the rapid development of its fleet and those of planets and systems loyal to the New Order, the Invincibles—like other obsolete ships—were gifted to the Corporate Sector.
Tiberos knew from experience that in this region local authorities rarely fought enemies with modern armament and large warships.
So various antique hulks sold for pennies found excellent use among the corporates.
For chasing pirates and smugglers, such archaic wrecks were more than enough.
Lacking high tech, these dreadnoughts were exactly what the Corporate Sector needed, suffering a chronic shortage of trained personnel for modern-ship crews.
Despite rumors of over five hundred Victory-class Star Destroyers acquired from the Empire, they refused to scrap such anachronisms.
Slightly over two kilometers long, armament not up to modern times, crew of over twenty thousand, capacity for six thousand troops.
Sublight speed—twenty MGLT.
Class-four hyperdrive.
But armor thickness reached several meters in places.
Not something you punch through quickly even with anti-ship missiles and modern turbolasers.
Under any other circumstances the Black Pearl would have shown this relic her thrusters and jumped away, but it wasn't that simple.
Witnesses—especially corporates—must not survive this encounter and must not report anything to their command.
"We'll have to gut this pig," Tiberos repeated. "Range to target?"
"Sixty-two klicks and closing!"
"At sixty—add anti-ship missiles to the turbolasers," the Black Pearl's commander ordered. "Fighters attack from the rear hemisphere. That terentatek dung has no hangars anyway, but if we take away its ability to maneuver—that's only better for us."
Immobilizing the ship would allow tractor beams to kill its inertia and permit point-blank fire.
Increasing gunnery accuracy and hit probability.
The better the accuracy, the faster this armored beast would be destroyed and the Pearl could leave the field.
The Invincible's appearance here so soon after the convoy pointed to one simple thing—it had been following the convoy.
Precisely to engage whoever attacked it.
Meaning one plain truth—the corporates either suspected or knew for certain their cargo caravans would be hit.
The former spoke well of their strategists.
The latter meant Grand Admiral Thrawn's plan was not as perfect as it seemed.
Tiberos mentally thanked the Force for deciding to upgrade the Black Pearl, replace her guns with Victory turbolasers, add armor, and improve her.
Otherwise this clash could have gone badly for him.
No, the Invincible could not destroy Tiberos's ship, but taking down the heavy dreadnought would have taken far too much precious time.
And a prolonged raid was death.
Every privateer, corsair, and pirate learned that with their crews' blood after the first failures.
"Additional task for the air wing," Tiberos said. "Destroy its comm antennas!"
No wonder he had received warning from his old friend.
No wonder the Force was restless.
Tiberos was no great strategist, but a rather unpleasant picture was forming in his mind.
What if neither the first nor the second option was correct, but the third?
What if the corporates had no guesses, no traitors inside the Dominion, but simply understood their convoys might be attacked?
And that was why heavy escort followed the freighters and their light screen?
After all, in every system where Providence ships had planted buzz droids, the droids had attached only to the freighters and their known escorts?
The corporates were clearly planning something.
The faster the Black Pearl dealt with this Invincible, the faster Tiberos could use comms to report it to Grand Admiral Thrawn.
If they could knock out its comm gear, that would happen before the battle ended.
If not…
There remained hope things were not as bad as they first appeared.
As soon as the Black Pearl unleashed her full turbolaser fury on the enemy, its crew clearly realized they faced not Clone Wars relics but an upgraded ship.
The Invincible began turning to present its starboard side, putting its port under the Pearl's guns.
Correct move—it could not jump stern-first, and the Pearl blocked forward breakthrough.
Crossing on counter-courses would be suicide.
After the first missile salvo the port engine blister ignited and began detonating.
The second salvo struck the joint between the surviving port engines and the still-intact starboard cluster.
Tiberos watched intently as turbolasers hammered the Invincible's deflector shield.
Fighters, like a swarm of mosquitoes, attacked without pause, bathing the ship in fire.
The problem was that the old ship's deflectors were projected a short distance from the armored hull.
Unfortunately that only became clear during the fight.
To strike the engines the Black Pearl's fighters had to skim the hull itself.
That led to piloting errors and pilot deaths.
The fighter-attack plan was falling apart—getting to the engines was far harder than initially thought.
In the end pilots faced an unpalatable choice: risk themselves to slip under the heavy dreadnought's heavy laser fire, duck beneath its shield, and approach the stern from midship—risking collision with armor or point-defense fire—or attack from astern, which was pure suicide.
Ion wash that dense would fry a fighter faster than it could fire if it got near the nozzle cluster.
Thus the entire burden fell on the Black Pearl's gunners and missile operators.
Fighters became useless ballast.
"Change of orders," Tiberos said curtly. "Pearl turbolasers—strip the port-side deflectors. Fighters—clear fire points on that bearing. Missile launchers—strike the stern. Execute immediately!"
On the very next missile salvo the dreadnought's port engine cluster was ripped away root and branch.
Mangled framing and debris smoked; flames were visible—decompression.
The already low sublight speed dropped further.
Now it tried to complete its long turn using only the starboard cluster, but the Pearl's missiles were already solving that problem.
"Enemy port deflectors down!"
"Concentrated turbolaser fire on a single hull section!" Tiberos ordered, staring hungrily at the armored carcass. "Finish those engines already! Move!"
The behemoth seemed not to notice the fiery hell the Black Pearl poured onto it.
Its armor showed no sign of yielding to turbolaser fire.
No wonder—human-height thick…
That was why missiles were essential!
"Engines destroyed!"
"Missile launchers—fire on the same point as the turbolasers!" Tiberos directed. "Lock it with tractor beams! Kill its momentum!"
Guns and launchers spat their deadly loads in unison.
And again.
And again.
Enemy artillery was virtually nonexistent.
The privateer ship's fighters traced fire across the hull, burning out gun nests, sensors, antennas…
But it was not enough.
Far too little for instant victory.
Only on the sixth combined salvo did the first signs of progress appear.
On the eighth, spiderweb cracks and turbolaser craters became visible on massive armor plates.
The tenth salvo shattered an armor plate the size of a corvette, exposing the ship's innards and streams of freezing air, debris, and junk rushing toward the Black Pearl.
Things moved a little faster.
Fire shifted to the breach, and after several more salvos massive internal detonations became evident.
Internal explosions blew out dozens of viewports along the ship's "equatorial" plane—from bow to mangled stern—briefly lighting the void with countless fiery torches.
Range was too close—only ten klicks.
The Black Pearl was firing virtually point-blank, and through the flashes of turbolaser salvos one could see everything inside the breach destroyed and deformed beyond recognition.
Another anti-ship missile salvo streaked into the breach amid crowns of white-yellow plasma.
"Commander!" the gunnery officer called. "We're down to six hundred missiles!"
"What, are you eating them?" Tiberos nearly snapped.
Two thousand two hundred missiles spent on this fight!
There had never been such expenditure in all the time since Aurra Sing's son took command of this ship!
"Batteries seven through sixteen need to be taken offline," the same officer continued. "Power cells overheating. Reports of cracks in focusing lenses!"
That was all they needed!
"Begin maneuvering!" Tiberos ordered. "Bring broadside turbolasers into action. When are you finally going to die?!"
The last phrase was addressed to the Invincible.
And the ship, with a massive hole already visible through its middle, showed no intention of dying.
Helpless, unable to move, pounded from all sides, stripped of even the remnants of artillery and deflectors, yet still not destroyed!
Tiberos looked at the ship's chronometer in horror.
Two and a half hours had passed since the operation began!
He had spent one and a half times longer on this ancient Corporate Sector tub than on attacking, destroying the convoy, and capturing thirty transports—including the rescue mission!
When missiles finally ran out, the ship broke in half, becoming two mangled, molten hulks.
"Position us between the sections," Tiberos ordered. "Hold them alongside so their interiors are in the broadside turbolaser arcs! Fighters join in burning this junk from the inside! Laser gunners too! We have to finish this crap before half the galaxy shows up!"
It took another hour and a half to burn the ship out from the inside with energy weapons.
At the end of a three-hour battle the Black Pearl jumped to hyperspace, leaving behind five destroyed Corporate Sector ships of no great age.
Of those ships' crews only the ones captured during the rescue mission remained alive.
The Black Pearl limped away from the scene of her rampage with empty missile magazines and only thirty percent of her artillery combat-effective.
Before she could resume full privateering she faced lengthy repair and rearming.
The problem was that Grand Admiral Thrawn's plan had called for Captain Tiberos to intercept at least six convoys.
The plan had to be revised after the very first.
Whatever sat at the helm of Corporate Sector military command clearly knew how to calculate situations no worse than the Grand Admiral himself.