Captain Valum Vigor stood on the bridge of the Star Destroyer, gazing into the endless starry blackness.
Here, far from thousands of known inhabited worlds, on the very edge of the Lur star system in the Aparo sector, far from the unfolding slaughter, the man asked himself one simple question.
Was it worth abandoning his career on the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer to…
For all this⁈
Did he desert from the Pentastar Alignment fleet to spend time in Dominion counter-intelligence interrogations?
Or to be sent, like a cadet, after "talks with counter-intelligence officers" to the Captain Schneider Naval Academy, where among hundreds of greenhorns he sat and listened as more fortunate officers, those who joined Thrawn and his Dominion earlier, lectured him on modern space combat?
To have them explain on their fingers how inert the tactics of the Imperial Starfleet, once considered infallible, were?
Or to, after his "graduation," command an interdictor cruiser, plowing the backwaters of the Dominion in search of pirates and smugglers, training the youth?
And, after receiving a promotion, to go to the backwoods on the borders of two sectors at the northern end of the Hydian Way?
Was all this worth trading a career in the Empire to become part of the Dominion?
And to spend time in endless patrols or setting traps for single ships that don't even belong to the New Republic or its cancerous appendage—the Alliance?
After all, he essentially betrayed the state to which he swore the Oath, precisely for this—to become part of the victorious machine acting against the rebels.
Listened to Grand Moff Kaine's advice, as they say.
Fled to the Dominion, like several hundred other officers from the fleet defeated at Balmorra…
And as a result…
Stuck here, in the backwoods, on the edge of the Lur star system in the Aparo sector, commanding a small detachment consisting of a Star Destroyer, a couple of heavy cruisers not of the first freshness, and also—four corvettes that until recently were in service with the "Zann Consortium"?
Was it worth it?
Despite the fact that everything happening didn't quite match his understanding of the military career of a combat officer of the Alignment, the answer could only be one.
Captain Valum Vigor believed the game was worth the candle.
At the very least because under his command was one of the first Dominator-class Star Destroyers in the Dominion.
Yes, it's a deeply modified version of the Imperial "Interdictor," as it might seem from the outside.
Commander of the Dominator-class SD "Occupier" Captain Valum Vigor.
In reality, it's a full-fledged Star Destroyer, from keel to communication antennas, hung with weapons to such an extent that it even surpassed the standard "Imperial," in service with Imperial Space or the Pentastar Alignment, which Valum had the honor of commanding under the leadership of Grand Moff Ardus Kaine.
The heavy cruisers under his command were not some derelicts, but Dominion-upgraded and rearmed "Avengers" that could give their Imperial counterparts a run for their money.
Yes, they weren't fresh off the shipyards (unlike the "Crusaders"), but they represented a significant force.
Vigor knew the history of his ship perfectly well.
It was once an "Imperial"-class that had crashed on the planet Raxus Prime in the Tion Hegemony and had remained on the planet for a long time as a pile of scrap metal, from which the Empire had stripped everything of value.
Then it was reconstructed by some crazy pirates and lifted from the surface into orbit.
Where it was captured by the Dominion and brought to the rear.
Yes, this ship had the insulting nickname "junker," like all ships built or restored at the shipyard in orbit around Raxus Prime.
But after the upgrades it had undergone, this ship was ready to tear apart any starship of its class.
Heavy, ion, and turbolaser artillery in quantities exceeding even those on an "Imperial II"-class, located in both the upper and lower hemispheres.
Deflector field generators relocated under the armored hull plating, supplemented by a SEAL boost generator previously only found on Mon Calamari ships.
And it was thanks to this that those lousy tubs could fight on equal terms with "Imperials" that outclassed them in strength.
Powerful anti-aircraft coverage, leaving no part of the starship without a barrage of fire, including the stern and superstructure.
Turbolasers on the edges of the main hangar, interspersed with anti-aircraft laser cannons on the ventral side and around the cargo hangar.
Proton torpedo and missile launchers (the latter a recent addition, installed a few weeks ago) and turbolaser turrets in the bow section, enhancing forward firepower.
Medium turbolasers of intermediate caliber, located in the forward part of the superstructure, designed to combat enemy light ships of corvette or frigate class.
The firepower of an entire battle squadron, concentrated in just one ship, which, moreover, carried significant automation systems and a reduced crew.
"Sir," the watch officer approached him. "All buzz droids have been deployed into space."
"From all ships?" Valum glanced at his subordinate.
"Yes, sir," he replied phlegmatically. "From every ship in the squadron."
"So the defensive perimeter is established," the Star Destroyer commander nodded to his own thoughts. "Continue holding control of this position, Lieutenant. Remind our pilots not to stray from the carriers beyond the medium perimeter."
"It will be done, sir."
The Lieutenant saluted and headed towards the "pits."
Valum, scratching his chin, thought that in the past he had lacked precisely such efficient and taciturn subordinates.
The loss of Imperial Starfleet personnel as a result of the Imperial Civil War and the unsuccessful confrontation with the New Republic had led to dire consequences.
Essentially, to the point where yesterday's youngsters who had completed crash courses for junior officers were serving on the Star Destroyers of the Pentastar Alignment and Imperial Space.
The Dominion, it seemed, had solved this problem.
The "Raider" was currently the fifth and last of the commissioned "Dominator"-class Star Destroyers.
And its crew was almost entirely staffed by clones—all pilots, technicians, mechanics, lower ranks, and most of the line officers without exception.
Defectors from the Pentastar Alignment, who had heeded Grand Moff Kaine's order-request to flee to the Dominion and had passed a rather rigorous selection and internship, were also part of the regular Dominion fleet's combat ships.
Only ten former comrades-in-arms served on Vigor's "Raider"—the rest were "scattered" across other ships of the huge fleet.
As far as the "Raider's" commander knew, the situation in the fleet was roughly the same as on his ship.
A significant portion of the Dominion's regular fleet personnel consisted of clones of the best of the best specialists available to the young state.
And, watching as they had recently masterfully intercepted and destroyed ships of the "Zann Consortium" trying to break out of the blockaded Lur system, Valum could not argue against the plain truth he had witnessed with his own eyes.
These clones are good.
On par with, if not the best officers of the Imperial Starfleet who perished in the inglorious conflicts of past years.
But they certainly qualitatively surpass everything that was at the disposal of the Imperial Remnants.
Based on these considerations, Captain Vigor simply could not understand one simple thing.
Why his squadron, as well as similar forces—four other squadrons identical in quantitative and qualitative composition—were blockading hyperspace routes on the borders of the Lur system.
Well, okay, the system blockade wasn't entirely global—at least one passage from here remained unblocked.
Why were they deploying buzz droids around themselves but not joining the starships that were fighting and dying in the enemy's minefields, breaking through to the planet surrounded by enemy ships and orbital defense stations?
He was told it was necessary to protect the squadrons from cloaked enemy ships.
Supposedly, the "Zann" forces intended to break out of the system and, noticing that Dominion ships were scattering buzz droids around themselves—which had repeatedly demonstrated their effectiveness—would be afraid to approach the starships of the blockading squadrons.
But then why wasn't the sixth and final hyperspace exit vector blocked?
Why leave this loophole for the enemy?
Why had they deployed gravity well projectors, and why had they communicated their vectors to the fleet command if the "Red Star" still hadn't joined the current battle?
After all, not a single starship had arrived in the system since the vectors were deployed.
The strike force exited hyperspace ten minutes before them, sustained significant damage from enemy ships, forcing both "Venators" with ion cannons to engage as strike carriers.
Why weren't the Dominion's newest starships participating in the breakthrough, and why was the assault being carried out solely with trophies from last year's campaign?
Numerous strike frigates, Corellian corvettes and frigates, even older Republic "Marauders," "Carrack-class" ships, and other morally obsolete scrap metal?
It all resembled standard Imperial tactics of overwhelming the enemy's defenses, regardless of losses.
But hadn't they told him in the "advanced training" courses that the Dominion didn't use reckless, headlong tactics?
Hadn't they reminded at every opportunity that the lives of crew members were important and losses should be minimized?
Why was this slaughter happening, with dozens of ships from both sides perishing?
Could it be that everything they told him was just a lie, and in reality, the Dominion was no different from the other Imperial Remnants?
Or, after the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn, were all their military successes nothing more than coincidences due to numerical superiority over the enemy?
Captain Vigor didn't know the answers to these questions.
But he carried out the combat tasks assigned to him precisely and flawlessly.
He hoped that one day the deep meaning of what was happening, if there was one, would be revealed to him.
He could only console himself with the hope that he simply didn't yet enjoy sufficient trust from the command to have the whole picture revealed to him.
And he also understood that by deserting from the armed forces of the Pentastar Alignment, he had burned all his bridges behind him.
He had nowhere else to go.
And he also knew one simple truth.
The very one that had earned him his command stripes.
Whatever he undertook, he did it excellently and as efficiently as possible to accomplish the combat mission.
It would be the same in the service of the Dominion.
* * *
Despite the fact that a combat alert had not been sounded on the "Guardian," the bridge was bathed in the blue glow of combat lighting.
And in this unusual twilight, the figure of the Dathomirian witch looked quite ominous.
Especially now that she had approached the central viewport and could use the Force.
The commander of the "Guardian" was a couple of steps away from her, but within the range of the Force-suppressing field generated by the ysalamiri lizard nearest to him.
Oh, how much time he had wasted arranging the cages so that only a tiny area—two by one meter—on the entire bridge was open to the forces that could neither be measured nor assessed.
But, defying all laws of physics, they existed.
"You've positioned yourself quite well," said the Dathomirian witch, standing with her eyes closed before the central viewport. "You yourself are under a cloak, which is why your starship isn't being attacked. You're using the power of the Night Sisters against an opponent who has no Force-sensitives at their disposal, and you're searching out their secrets. Quite cunning..."
The commander of the "Guardian" ignored this barb, continuing with his own affairs.
And trying in every way to ignore the annoying woman, whose intrusive words literally resembled the irritating splashing of water.
"Don't be afraid, Captain Pellaeon," he heard the suspiciously gentle voice of Lady Baritha. "I don't bite. Usually—no."
"Glad to hear it," the commander of the "Guardian" replied stiffly, vainly trying not to show his dislike too openly. "I also don't have a habit of shooting in the temple those who are on the bridge of my ship. But I'm always ready to make an exception if circumstances require it or if the appropriate order is given."
He expressively patted his unholstered sidearm with the standard-issue blaster inside.
A hint that he would use the weapon without hesitation if he deemed it necessary.
"Of course," the Dathomirian witch's face, devoid of wrinkles and resembling a porcelain figurine, reflected satisfaction at her interlocutor's discomfort, but nothing of the sort seeped into her voice. "Don't flatter yourself—I'm not going to take control of your barge's crew. I'll do what Grand Admiral Thrawn requires of me. And nothing more."
"The 'Guardian' is a Super Star Destroyer," Pellaeon cut off, glancing at Thrawn, who had stepped away from his chair. The latter was studying something intently on the tactical monitor. Probably counting how many ships they had already lost. "Combat barges of such size—that's something from the realm of fantasy or ancient legends."
Baritha, without opening her eyes, smiled triumphantly.
"Typical Imperial soldier," she said. "You all assume that we women should understand your flying and shooting toys."
"And shouldn't you?" flashed through Pellaeon's mind a sacred thought, so surprising as if it could be otherwise.
"It seems you should be busy with your assignment," the captain said confidently. "Grand Admiral Thrawn is expecting results from you."
"He expects work from me, not even knowing if I'm capable of it," Baritha parried the captain and snorted again. "Quite reckless on his part—to trust someone whose capabilities he doesn't even know due to his shortsightedness and inability to feel the Force."
A signal on the console, which he had been watching all this time, spared Pellaeon the need to respond.
"We're taking losses in ships," the captain informed the Dathomirian witch, once again unambiguously reminding her why she had been kept alive and brought to the bridge in the first place.
However, knowing Thrawn, one could assume that he might easily allow the witch to sacrifice their entire assault fleet, fighting to the death with the ships of the "Zann Consortium."
Of course, if he wanted to learn something important from her.
"You'll tell me more about thousands of lost souls," snorted the native of Dathomir.
Pellaeon left even this jab without a hint of debate.
Although he very much wanted to say a great deal of what he thought about this overgrown, utterly artificial and unnatural young lady to her face, without mincing words.
He had no doubt that his original would have done just that, had he been in the commander of the "Guardian's" place now.
Although, no.
Gilad Pellaeon would never have admitted to anyone that he was afraid to command such a ship.
Panicked and terrified.
The captain knew this because he had inherited the original's memories of the Battle of Soulex, where Pellaeon-the-original had already had to command a Super Star Destroyer.
He wasn't thrilled.
Sincerely considering himself capable of commanding something no larger than a battlecruiser.
Though now it's clear why he dotes on his "Allegiance" and cherishes it like the greatest treasure.
"Interesting tactics you have," the troublesome Dathomirian witch interjected into the flow of his thoughts. "Do you think the enemy doesn't understand what you're doing? It's obvious even to a blind man."
Goosebumps ran down the captain's spine, but prolonged interaction with Thrawn had a positive effect.
So, apart from a painfully bitten lip, there was no reaction to the rude remark.
"Are you unfamiliar with the concept of a combat mission?" Pellaeon inquired coldly.
"I am a Dathomirian witch, Captain Pellaeon," Baritha opened her eyes and turned her head towards him; in the "mirrors of the soul" of this woman, a dark fire of righteous (in her opinion) anger blazed. But her face was adorned with beads of sweat and an expression of excessive strain. It seemed such "tricks" didn't come easily to her. This circumstance needed to be remembered—in case it became necessary to use it. "The Night Sisters clan has never submitted to men—it is our sacred tradition. We are not your witless little soldiers to whom you can give an order and expect them to carry it out."
"Sounds like an admission of your own helplessness," the commander of the "Guardian" snorted, distracted by another detection signal. "Shall I inform Grand Admiral Thrawn that you are incapable of carrying out the task assigned to you, Lady Baritha?"
"You can report whatever you like, you brute," the witch said irritably. "I have completed my task. There are eighteen cloaked ships in the system."
"Seven more were destroyed by Shohashi during his assault attempts," the commander of the "Guardian" mentally calculated.
"It would be kind of you to indicate their type and location," the captain grumbled.
"Don't trouble yourself, Captain Pellaeon," Baritha said venomously and not without pleasure. "I will undoubtedly show you where these ships are. However," she smiled nastily, "not to you personally. To Grand Admiral Thrawn."
And reporting to Pellaeon, apparently, her religion doesn't allow.
"Do you think he has time for such trifles?"
Baritha looked with a joyful smile towards the figure in the white tunic behind them.
"Men always have time for women," she said, looking at the commander of the Super Star Destroyer. "Warriors have always needed those who would brighten their leisure, brighten their dull weekdays, treat their wounds, and listen to their grand plans for conquering worlds. The better a woman does this, the more valuable she is to a warlord. And you won't even blink when I start giving you orders and watching you march in step before me. Alongside your officers and sailors."
Pellaeon grunted, unable to hold back a laugh.
"Yes, yes, yes," he heard his own voice. "You just try. And I'll prepare the ion engine ignition chamber to vaporize your mutilated remains."
"You yourself don't understand how deep a hole you're digging for yourself, Captain," Baritha said lazily. "Your Grand Admiral has shown me he can give me what I could only dream of. I think I'm ready to get even what I never thought of."
"A walk outside the 'Guardian' without a spacesuit?" the captain almost flinched upon hearing Grand Admiral Thrawn's voice.
Looking towards the source of the sound, he saw with relief that the Supreme Commander was nearby.
And, apparently, he had witnessed the witch's latest utterances.
"Oh, Grand Admiral Thrawn," Baritha beamed with a smile, turning to face him. "I was just about to say..."
Thrawn gave her a look as if he intended to incinerate her on the spot and scatter the ashes to the stellar wind.
Interesting, how does he do that?
After all, he doesn't even frown, doesn't change his facial expression, doesn't widen his eyes, doesn't blush...
Doesn't change at all.
But the commander of the "Guardian" could easily sense when his commander was ready to kill with a word and when he was inclined for a heart-to-heart talk.
The Grand Admiral didn't even pretend to believe the nonsense the Dathomirian witch was trying to feed him.
"Yes, I heard what you wanted to say," he said quietly. "In turn, I want to warn you that any of your actions beyond the agreed-upon relationship will cost you everything. Including your life. Apparently, you can't wait to do everything to shorten its duration."
"No, I merely expressed my concern that such a magnificent man lacks a lady of his heart suitable in status and grandeur," Pellaeon mentally applauded the witch.
The way she had spoken to the commander of the "Guardian" with such arrogance and venom not long ago and now was literally fawning over the Grand Admiral was worthy of a rather good acting performance.
"I wonder, can I already order her to be thrown out the airlock, or is it still premature?" the officer thought.
"I am a man of my word, Lady Baritha," Thrawn said just as quietly. "I promised you power over Dathomir. I can also deprive you of this opportunity. I advise you not to cross the boundaries of our working relationship."
Not a single muscle twitched on the witch's face.
"Understood," she said dryly. "Your assignment is complete, Grand Admiral Thrawn."
"Not the most prompt result," the Chiss commented, causing a crack of annoyance to appear on the "porcelain" face. "Where are the enemy ships located? What is their composition?"
"I recently explained to your soldier that I don't understand the types of your military toys for grown-up boys," the Dathomirian witch commented sarcastically, looking at Pellaeon.
"You are making one unforgivable mistake after another," Thrawn said unexpectedly. "Captain Pellaeon is the one who was planned in the future to command in the Kvelii sector. It's rather foolish to spoil relations with someone who, due to your lack of restraint, could turn all of Dathomir into a slag-covered, lifeless desert."
Baritha and Pellaeon looked into each other's eyes with unconcealed mutual surprise.
"I hope you're joking," the witch said as if she were a balloon being deflated.
"I don't have that habit," the Grand Admiral noted coldly. "Captain Pellaeon."
"Yes, sir?"
"Provide our guest with a datapad containing data on enemy ship types—let her indicate the number of starships she was able to detect," Thrawn ordered.
"Y... Yes, sir," Gilad muttered, looking at the monitor screen right in front of him.
Well, what's the point of this?
"Your practical value is diminishing with each passing minute, Lady Baritha," Thrawn said dryly, looking at the deadly melee unfolding before him between the two fleets.
"You're demanding the impossible from me, Grand Admiral," the witch hissed. "The Force allows me to see sentients, through time and space. Even cloaking screens don't save them. I see thoughts, their images in the Force... I don't care what metal box they're in."
Pellaeon felt his lips twist involuntarily.
And this arrogant woman was telling him about grandeur and adoration just minutes ago, and now she was justifying herself in the simplest way to someone who could decide her fate with a snap of his fingers.
It's even funny.
Better not laugh out loud.
Pellaeon handed the witch a personal datapad.
"Sounds like an excuse," he said quietly and out of the corner of his eye noticed a barely perceptible smile on Thrawn's face.
"I don't care about all these classifications of yours!" Baritha began to boil over, clearly losing her temper.
Her gaze darted between Pellaeon and Thrawn, while in her hand was the datapad, to which she showed not the slightest interest.
"But I care about them," the Grand Admiral reminded. "Are you ready to provide the information?"
The witch, pursing her lips, buried herself in the personal device.
"Always at your service," she announced sarcastically, clumsily poking her fingers at the touch screen.
Pellaeon found it amusing.
And this is the symbol of power she imagined herself to be?
She can't even handle the simplest device.
Well...
Okay, not exactly the simplest.
Not every cadet can place eighteen markers on a three-dimensional map on a tactical pad.
"Lady Baritha?"
The witch bit her lip, still staring stupidly at the screen.
"I don't understand how to submit this," she surrendered, returning the device to Pellaeon and looking at him with fury.
"How strange," Thrawn's calm voice was heard. "And in a recent conversation, you almost told me that schools and educational institutions on Dathomir are unnecessary."
"Witches have a different standard of living," the Dathomirian native grated with strain. "We have magic... We have no need to grovel before all these technologies."
"Judging by everything, it's a great stroke of luck that she didn't die somewhere in a doorway on Kamino, or blow up her own dreadnought out of ignorance," thought the commander of the "Guardian," taking the datapad.
"I hope you are at least able to indicate on which ships there are more sentients and on which fewer?" the Grand Admiral was the epitome of pointed, undeniable courtesy.
Pellaeon could barely restrain himself from grinning like a Gungan praised for his efficiency.
A shadow of displeasure crossed the witch's face.
"There are only six large ships under the cloak," the witch declared categorically.
"Are you absolutely certain of this, Lady Baritha?" If Pellaeon didn't know the Grand Admiral from his current life and the original's memories, he would have thought he was deliberately mocking the "guest" to remind her of who she was and where the limits of her "grandeur" ended. "Because if you are mistaken, and it turns out completely otherwise..."
"I am not mistaken, Grand Admiral Thrawn," the "porcelain figurine" enunciated with an arrogant tone. "I will carry out your assignment. Of the eighteen ships, six are large, the rest are small. I can even say that on the large ships, the sentients are arranged along an imaginary straight line, dispersed from the front to the rear, width-wise—in the aft third. And on the small ones—more compactly, practically on top of each other."
A short pause hung in the air.
The commander of the *Guardian* frowned, trying to figure out what type of ships the witch was trying to describe.
However, if one abstracted from the assumption that the enemy was using several types of combat starships at once, all equipped with cloaking systems, the answer was obvious.
"An Aggressor-class Star Destroyer and Vengeance-class frigates," Thrawn stated.
Baritha looked triumphantly at Pellaeon.
The latter, wincing at her haughty little smile that practically screamed, "See! I did it!", looked at the control console display, comparing the results.
"The ships are grouped into squadrons of three starships," the Dathomirian witch continued. "Two small and one large."
"And they are dispersed near the hyperspace exit vectors," Thrawn declared.
"Weeell," Baritha drawled. "Yes. At a significant distance from your squadrons, which have them trapped here. They understand that in an open battle, they stand no chance. Your valiant warriors..."
Oh, gods, if you exist, please make her shut up.
"The tactic of deploying buzz droids worked," Pellaeon realized, looking at the Grand Admiral.
"As anticipated," the latter nodded almost imperceptibly, continuing to observe the carnage unfolding before the *Guardian*'s nose between the Dominion's assault fleet and the defending forces of the Zann Consortium. "The enemy is perfectly aware of what our buzz droids can do to his ships."
Captain Pellaeon had not witnessed the events himself, but thanks to his original's memories, he perfectly "remembered" how enemy starships were tracked using buzz droids.
And the spectacular way the flagship of the New Republic Defense Fleet, Admiral Ackbar's ship *Home One*, the progenitor of the entire series of star cruisers of that name, entered the Republic base on Centax-II, a satellite of the capital planet Coruscant, was something one could never forget.
"Can you indicate the location of each of the enemy squadrons?" Thrawn inquired.
"Approximately," the witch, for once, didn't prevaricate. "But I will need help to figure out all these technical novelties. Won't you provide me with such a service, Grand Admiral?"
"No," Thrawn cut him off. "Captain Pellaeon."
"Yes, sir?"
"Activate the tactical holoprojector and display the positions of our ships at the system's boundaries on it," ordered the Grand Admiral, continuing to contemplate the scene of carnage.
"Certainly, sir," the commander of the *Guardian* saluted, immediately launching the required equipment.
The witch, grimacing, stepped out of the area where she had been controlling the Force and moved to the part of the bridge where the ysalamiri held absolute sway.
Strangely enough, it took her just over ten minutes to demonstrate the positions of the enemy ships to Pellaeon.
As expected—they were holding position two echelons above the blocking squadrons.
Like birds of prey, ready to swoop down and attack unsuspecting prey at any second.
With one exception.
Both the attackers and the defenders knew that cloaked Zann Consortium ships were present in the system.
That's why the latter were keeping a reasonable distance.
Not close enough to be caught by the buzz droids scattering in all directions anytime soon.
But also not far enough to ignore their ability to open fire with all guns and inflict significant damage on the Dominion starships.
On the tactical hologram, Pellaeon saw Dominion and "Zann" Star Destroyers and other ships perishing.
The light forces, gathered from across the Dominion, brought to order for a single mission, were now charging headlong.
They spared neither themselves nor the enemy, lashing out with fire at anyone within their reach.
And they were answered in kind.
Pellaeon calculated the losses.
About fifty Dominion ships of various classes and types had already been destroyed, breaking through the minefield.
Torn apart by enemy guns and self-propelled barrier munitions, they did not stop or falter in the face of danger.
Two waves had collided, neither willing to yield an inch of the space won at monstrous cost.
"I see you don't spare your trophies, Grand Admiral," Baritha said with a smirk, glancing at Thrawn.
*And why should we spare them?* Pellaeon thought in surprise.
"They are fulfilling the combat tasks for which they were created," Thrawn replied with a general phrase.
Baritha was once again playing the role of a high-society aristocrat, irritating with her appearance, tone, and behavior.
"The Night Sisters respect and value those willing to go to the end for their desires," her words flowed like sweet molasses. "I think you will be popular among my people, Grand Admiral."
It was becoming unbearably cloying.
One just wanted to free one's ears, which had become receptacles for this irritating mass of deceitful speeches.
Pellaeon thought once again that it must not be easy for Thrawn to communicate with all these cunningly crafted and narcissistic personalities he was forced to interact with.
He himself would have long ago given the order to get rid of her.
And the Grand Admiral must understand this better than anyone.
Wasn't he taking too great a risk by saying that Pellaeon was supposed to command forces in the Kveli sector?
The Captain's patience lasted exactly as long as it took to give the order for orbital bombardment.
And if he had something larger than an old tub, such "performances" by witches would not end well.
Thrawn was unlikely not to understand this.
But, as a junior in rank, Pellaeon felt obliged to inform his commander of his biased attitude towards witches because of this very arrogant individual.
Interesting, did the original Pellaeon suffer similarly from having to communicate this way with Baroness D'Asta?
"You are mistaken, Lady Baritha," Thrawn cooled her ardor. "Fame and popularity among sentients interest me least of all."
"And it seems to me that you do everything to become the most popular military commander," the witch continued her flattering speeches. "Unyielding, like Mandalorian iron. Straightforward and deadly, like inevitability itself. Knowing no mercy, like a rancor, and sparing no one around you. Not even your subordinates. Admit it, you organized this test," she nodded towards the deck, "to impress me and charm me with your masculinity?"
Pellaeon felt as if he were about to be sick.
"And once again, you are fundamentally wrong, Lady Baritha," Thrawn's tone seemed to radiate shades of disappointment. "The ongoing operation has several objectives at once. One of them is to verify your loyalty."
"Interesting," the Dathomirian witch hissed through narrowed eyes. "You make me look for ships that you yourselves cannot detect."
A rather loud chuckle escaped the commander of the flagship Super Star Destroyer.
Pellaeon simply could no longer contain the mirth bursting from within him at what was happening.
"Did I say something funny?" the Dathomirian witch bristled. "Answer me, Captain Pellaeon! How dare you mock someone without whom you couldn't even have learned the number of the enemy's cloaked starships, huh? Amusing, is it? Without me, you are nothing and no one... What is this?"
At Thrawn's signal, the commander of the *Guardian* displayed data from his console on the main tactical screen.
Where a two-dimensional map of the system showed not only the ships currently engaged in battle in the orbit of the planet Lur, getting closer and closer to it.
It was now visible to the naked eye how swarms of TIE fighters and other similarly designed craft erupted from the depths of the four *Venators* in the center of the formation, which had lost their ion cannons during the three previous and the current assault attempts.
But that wasn't the key point.
On the edges of the display, in five locations, there were markers for the Dominion's blocking squadrons.
And near them, as well as at the sixth system exit vector, a total of eighteen enemy markers were indicated.
Clearly divided into two ship types.
Only the commander of the flagship starship still knew for certain about their belonging to Vengeance-class frigates and Aggressor-class dreadnoughts.
That Thrawn, unfamiliar with the scanner data, had accurately identified them could be attributed to luck, coincidence.
Or simple logic, which the fleet commander had not disdained using lately on and off the battlefield.
"We knew the location of the enemy squadrons, their numbers, and qualitative composition long before you, pretending to be a technically illiterate sentient, staged this scene here, flirting with our male egos," Thrawn said calmly. "As I said—it was nothing more than your test."
Baritha looked at the tactical screen, biting her lip.
"If I had lied to you, you would have found out and killed me," she said slowly.
"Yes," Thrawn did not hide the obvious.
"So, you didn't trust me when you offered me to lead Dathomir," the woman concluded.
"There is no note of gullibility in my personal file, Lady Baritha," the Grand Admiral said. "That is precisely why I delivered special equipment to the *Srazh* aboard cargo ships that allows us to detect the enemy's cloaked ships."
"And what was the point of this whole performance?" The speed with which the words escaped her mouth spoke of great impatience.
The Dathomirian witch's eyes blazed.
Her fingers kept clenching as if wanting to crush something.
Or strangle someone.
"Trust is too valuable a currency to squander on everyone who declares a desire to serve the Dominion," Thrawn explained. "The story of your rescue is as sensational as it is utterly false. In the interests of my people, I had to make sure you are on our side and not capable of deceiving our counter-intelligence."
"And have you made sure?"
"At the very least, that you are not on the side of the Zann Consortium," Thrawn said evasively.
"Eloquent," the witch said, pursing her lips. "I take it this is not the first or the last test?"
"This isn't even its beginning," a half-smile appeared on Thrawn's lips. "You have demonstrated your thirst for power and your willingness to walk over heads, to gain as much power as possible by any means."
"One might think you don't do the same," Baritha snorted, pointing to the unfolding slaughter ahead. "How many sentients are dying there right now so you can reach this frozen ball?"
Pellaeon, turning, searched for the nearest Shock Trooper with his eyes and nodded for him to move the ysalamiri cage to block the last island of connection with the Force on the bridge.
Baritha, who happened to be near the central viewport, winced, realizing she could not use her supernatural abilities.
"Thousands," Thrawn answered succinctly. "And yes, we are almost at the goal. The assault fleet has cleared a channel through the minefields."
"You sacrificed your people," the Dathomirian witch said triumphantly. "So we are alike."
"Not in the slightest," Thrawn replied, looking at the commander of the *Guardian*. "Is the channel width sufficient for the *Guardian* to pass?"
"Affirmative, sir," Pellaeon reported. "The assault fleet has fully accomplished its assigned task. We are registering heavy losses among our Strike Craft."
"As anticipated, the enemy is using all forces to crush the troops," Thrawn stroked his chin, as if pondering something.
"Our fighters are seventy percent destroyed," Pellaeon reported. "The enemy has lost up to half of their Strike Craft. A significant portion—due to the action of the buzz droids our assault ships launched at the moment of contact combat."
"Starship ratio?"
"All large enemy ships without exception have sustained significant but not critical damage," Pellaeon checked the central computer data. "Up to forty percent of the enemy's light forces have been destroyed by our ships of similar type."
"Our losses?"
"Eighty percent irrecoverable losses among light ships," the commander of the Super Star Destroyer reported. "Shall I order the *Venators* to disengage?"
"Yes, it's time," Thrawn agreed. "Let the other ships cover their retreat to the sixth system exit vector."
"It will be done, sir."
"Monitor the actions of the minefields," Thrawn ordered. "I want to know how static the minefield is."
"Yes, sir."
The Dathomirian witch obviously understood that her remarks were of little interest to anyone.
It was even unusual to see her silent.
But Pellaeon noticed progress.
If before she had tried to act like a high-society lady, now she was openly displaying her barbaric behavior.
Not restraining her emotions, she watched the carnage with almost satisfaction.
"A pity I cannot savor the sensations of death and the suffering of the dying warriors," she said.
"I doubt the clones the Zann Consortium uses are even capable of experiencing emotions," Thrawn stated.
"You use them too," Baritha looked at Pellaeon. "I recall communicating with an exactly identical sentient. But he was older, with gray hair. And different command plaques on his chest."
The commander of the *Guardian* remained impassive.
Now that this arrogant bitch had been put in her place, clearly shown that her "feminine wiles" and "Dathomirian tricks" wouldn't work, the commander of the Super Star Destroyer no longer had to hold back.
He met her haughty gaze with all the calm and composure available to him.
From time to time, smirking meaningfully.
"We do," Thrawn agreed. "But not in this case."
"Excuse me?" the Dathomirian witch was taken aback.
"As I already said—this attack serves several purposes. One of them is understanding the limits of your capabilities. You have clearly demonstrated to us what you are capable of in terms of searching for life signs of sentients. For which I am grateful to you."
"For what exactly?"
"We have already used a similar method to hunt a Jedi," Thrawn explained. "Now, thanks to you, we have found an alternative method for searching for cloaked ships, without using the crystalline gravity trap that the *Guardian* carries."
The Dathomirian witch remained silent.
"Cleverly devised," she said. "I take it you are not using the tactic of breaking through the minefields with the entire fleet for no reason?"
"I need a channel to bring my flagship to Lur's orbit unimpeded," Thrawn explained, turning to Pellaeon. "Captain, I need the barrier's parameters."
"Our ships are in the channel, but the mines are no longer reacting to them," Pellaeon reported. "Obviously, they are outside the mines' target detection radius."
"Has mine movement been registered?"
"No, sir. Spy droids indicate that old, non-self-propelled mines are being used," Pellaeon reported.
"In other words, you have punched a hole in their defense," Baritha concluded. "Interesting... Judging by your lack of concern for losses, you are not worried about the lives of the clones."
"The soldiers of the Zann Consortium interest me as little as popularity in narrow or wide circles," Thrawn answered succinctly.
"And what about your own?" she clarified.
Pellaeon saw a shadow of bewilderment and wariness cross Baritha's face.
"There is not a single living soul on any ship of the assault fleet," Thrawn stated.
"Droids," the Dathomirian witch pursed her lips. "And I couldn't understand why there were so many ships and so few life signs reflected in the Force in reality..."
"Now you know."
"But the fighters... There are pilots there!"
Pellaeon smirked.
Coming from the mouth of the Dathomirian hag, this phrase sounded like an attempt to catch the Grand Admiral in a slip of the tongue.
And thus triumphantly declare that he was as much a butcher as she was, as her subordinates.
"There is not a single living pilot in the assault fleet," Grand Admiral Thrawn clarified. "We are merely conducting large-scale tests of our TIE droid projects on the TIE fighter platform."
Pellaeon smirked.
The Dominion had abandoned the individual TIE droid projects developed on Lianna.
Instead of unfamiliar hulls to the galaxy, the production of which required its own production line, the Dominion refined the technology based on the results of previous tests.
And, since the state manufactured TIE fighters for the Imperial Shards, their hulls also served as platforms for the TIE droid project, which the Dominion still did not want to abandon completely.
Well, today's battle once again showed that there was still a niche for TIE droids.
When it was necessary to throw them into a suicidal attack on impassable enemy defensive lines, mindless machines were suited for the role of Strike Craft like nothing else.
As were many unnecessary ships that did not fit the concept of a regular or defensive fleet, captured during the campaign of the previous standard year.
"I don't understand," Baritha admitted. "You throw dozens of ships, an armada of droids, to their destruction, yet you could easily have destroyed the enemy starships that are under cloak. And after that—dealt with the rest of the Zann Consortium ships. But for some reason, you are not taking these actions."
Pellaeon gave a short smirk, continuing to monitor the positions of the enemy's cloaked ships.
Not one of them had even twitched since their detection.
They thought they were completely safe.
Well, well.
"It's simple," Thrawn replied. "I need the enemy to think he has won this battle. To decide that we have thrown all our reserves at him."
"And what does that give you?"
"He will attempt a breakthrough, believing our forces are weakened and cannot stop his Star Destroyers."
"And in reality?" Baritha persisted.
"In reality, I have no intention of stopping them," Thrawn answered. "I have my own tasks."
"You'll let them go?" the Dathomirian witch couldn't believe it.
The commander of the *Guardian* couldn't hold back a chuckle.
But he immediately became serious, running into the disapproving gaze of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
"My apologies," he said dryly.
"I don't believe you will let Zann's ships out of the trap," Baritha shook her head. "Let's not beat around the bush, Thrawn. I perfectly understood that you took me on this journey to demonstrate your ability to use and destroy any opponent, no matter how advantageous his position. And your 'tests,' and all this," she pointed to the carnage, which had shifted to the very boundaries of Lur's geostationary orbit, "are a warning to me not to violate the agreements to avoid retaliation. I understand and accept all this. Dathomirian witches readily understand the language of force—better than any persuasion or bargaining. But I will never believe that you will let the enemy leave here alive!"
"Sir, the strike fleet is destroyed," Captain Pellaeon reported. "Our *Venators* have left the system via the sixth vector rendezvous point."
"The enemy?" the Grand Admiral inquired, ignoring the questions and the impatience radiating from the Dathomirian witch.
"The remaining starships, except for the cloaked ones, are regrouping and moving towards the sixth vector."
"So they are going for a breakthrough," Thrawn nodded to his thoughts.
He looked at Baritha.
"You are quite right in your concerns," he declared. "The surviving starships of the Zann Consortium will leave this system."
"But you have such power in your hands," the witch gestured around the bridge, implying the Super Star Destroyer. "You can swat them like household pests with a kick!"
"I can," Thrawn agreed. "But I will not."
"But why?" the witch became enraged. "You cannot leave the enemy alive."
"I agree," the Grand Admiral said. "But I also don't have time to kill each of them. However, I have competent subordinates. And I and the *Guardian* have a completely different task on Lur. Captain Pellaeon."
"Yes, sir!"
"Prepare the 501st Legion and special forces for the assault on enemy ships and orbital shipyards as soon as the enemy ships leave the system and engage the forces of Rear Admiral Shohashi."
"It will be done, sir!"