Ten years, three months, and two days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, third month, and second day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and twenty-two days since the transmigration).
Master Jedi Bre'ano Umakk's eyes snapped open as Jihan Cross entered the room.
Resembling a cell in some monastery, it was carved into the solid rock on which the Jedi Temple, as it turned out, rested.
"Master," the special agent addressed the Mon Calamari. "A message has arrived from the agents that…"
"The time has come, Agent Cross," the former Jedi rose to his feet, channeling the Force through his body to warm his muscles after a long meditation. "You can give the signal to your comrades to organize sabotage and gain control of the Imperial Palace's computing machines."
"It seems so," the agent agreed, tapping his fingernail on the screen of the personal datapad he had brought with him. The coded message was broadcast on the planet's emergency network. But there was something else, the reason he had visited the former Jedi Master in his "cell." "Scouts report that the Imperials, and indeed throughout Coruscant where there is energy, have simultaneously activated their holovisors. The Republican President is broadcasting about a grand victory over the Five Star Commonwealth. In the Battle of Balmorra, the Republicans managed to defeat Grand Moff Kane's fleet, kill him, capture his Super Star Destroyer and several other ships. They also drove the Commonwealth forces out of the Humbaren sector and intend to continue their liberation campaign, destroying the Imperials."
"Violence only breeds violence," the Mon Calamari said philosophically. "That's why the Jedi considered themselves guardians of peace."
"Which didn't stop them from participating in wars," Cross grinned wryly.
"Double standards are inherent in many intelligent beings," Umakk noted. "Regardless of their religious and political preferences."
"And what about the Force?" the agent asked. "Doesn't it somehow guide, suggest, and so on?"
"There are many philosophical interpretations of the nature of the Force, my friend," Umakk stated. "Unfortunately, not all Force-sensitives understand that it is merely a tool. But not a guide. I studied ancient records found on Ossus. In the past, the Jedi were not so categorical in their use of the Force. They accepted it as a necessary part of their existence. But they did not consider its suggestions as directives for action. The Order drifted further from its foundations with each generation. Until it became extinct."
"So, the Jedi were smarter before," Cross chuckled. "Because by listening to their blasters—whether to shoot or not—agents and soldiers would never have achieved victory."
"Yes, those comparisons are similar," the former Jedi agreed.
He looked with interest at the datapad screen that Jihan was holding.
The scout glanced at the screen, which showed an image of President Fay'lia and a human man sitting next to him, in simple clothes and with a peaceful expression.
The agent turned off the sound, but this did not prevent the Mon Calamari from reading the "scrolling text."
"How interesting," he said. "I know this face…"
"Face'?" Jihan repeated. "I didn't realize you had problems with galactic common. They say 'I know this person'."
"I don't know this person," the Mon Calamari cut him off. "But I know the face of the one to whom it belonged."
Cross looked at his interlocutor with disbelief.
It seemed the Jedi had clearly lost his mind…
"His name was Falon Grey," the Mon Calamari explained. "He was a Jedi Knight, a former Padawan of Rahm Kota. He survived Order Sixty-Six and went into hiding on Dantooine. We… practically didn't communicate."
"Why?"
"We disagreed on our own understanding of the nature of the Force and the path that the renewed Jedi Order should follow," the Mon Calamari explained, taking the datapad. "I don't know how, but the Imperials tracked him down. And killed him. They used Force-sensitive stormtroopers…"
"And you didn't help your fellow Jedi?" Jihan clarified, becoming even more suspicious of his interlocutor.
"He was not my comrade," Bre'ano objected. "Nor my ally. I was protecting the Jedi legacy, the truth that would lead them into the future. And I lived far enough away from him. And he… just hid and wanted a better life. But one like the Jedi lived during the time of the Galactic Republic, shortly before its fall. When I arrived at the battlefield, I saw that the Imperials had killed him. There was no point in staying there. I left. Just as I left that time when Darth Vader came to Dantooine to destroy the resistance cells."
"And I thought that the sacred duty of every Jedi was to challenge Vader to a duel and make him repent for what he had done."
"Yes, perhaps that is the duty of the Jedi," Umakk agreed. "But after Order Sixty-Six, we were no longer Jedi. And calling ourselves that is just clinging to a past that no longer exists. Or to simplify the representation of what you've spent most of your life on. In any case, I am no match for Vader. Nor is most of the Jedi. No matter how much we might think otherwise. Fighting him is noble. But foolish. The teaching of the Force lives on as long as there is at least one who understands it."
"One might think you were just scared," the agent thought.
"This is not Falon Grey," the Mon Calamari shook his head.
"But it says," Jihan pointed to the signature on the screen, "that it is him. In person."
"Perhaps someone who decided to take his name and looks very much like him," the Mon Calamari examined the image with curiosity. "Perhaps a clone… Yes, most likely. You see," he pointed to the blush on the embarrassed man's cheeks, "he is embarrassed and ashamed that he called himself that. He's trying to object, but President Fay'lia cuts him off. Although it is considered impossible, history proves otherwise. Can you turn on the sound?"
"No problem. If you want, you can watch the speech from the very beginning. I'm recording it for detailed analysis."
"Thank you, I'm interested in this fragment."
Jihan fulfilled the former Jedi's request.
"...I would also like to inform you that this victory of the New Republic is not the only one," declared the pompous, self-important Bothan—the leader of the New Republic. "After we expelled radical elements from our society and became truly free, I would like to announce that the New Republic declares the recreation of the Jedi Order! Under the leadership of Master Falon Grey," the Bothan pointed to the man sitting next to him. "A wise and righteous Jedi who has not disgraced himself with vicious deeds, like Luke Skywalker."
"Oh, you think Luke Skywalker, who was formerly a hero of the Alliance to Restore the Republic and positioned himself as the only surviving Jedi, has disgraced himself?" the host, off-screen, asked in surprise.
"I do not deny that Luke Skywalker and other heroes of the Alliance have many merits," Fay'lia stated. "But, at the same time, I want to note that for many years I have observed how victories over the Empire have gone to the heads of these very 'heroes.' They became more and more authoritarian, doing what they considered right for themselves, not for the New Republic. As a result, the government covered up their actions as best it could. What about that stunt by General Solo, who decided to prevent Princess Leia Organa from marrying Prince Isolder of the Hapes Consortium? This political marriage could have strengthened our state in all respects. And in the end, at that moment, we gained another 'supposed ally.' Who abandoned the New Republic as soon as Leia Organa-Solo admitted her radical views and left with others to found the Alliance."
"Let's return to the Jedi Order," the host suggested. "Do you believe there are still Jedi in the galaxy who will join Master Grey?"
"There are Jedi in the galaxy, though not many," Grey said quietly. "I am sure they are ready to remember their oath and stand up for peace and justice in the galaxy, joining me and the New Republic."
"Aren't your words a bit too optimistic, Master Jedi?" the host inquired.
"No," the President of the New Republic answered for the Jedi. "If the Jedi are true to their oath—to guard and protect the Republic—then they will side with us. As loyal helpers and pillars of a democratic regime, subordinate to the Senate and the President of the New Republic. If not, then, with great regret, I will be forced to state that there is a grain of truth in the Imperial propaganda that told the galaxy's population that the Jedi started the Clone Wars and tried to take control of the Senate, the Republic's armed forces, and kill the then-Supreme Chancellor Palpatine because he represented a life philosophy unfriendly to the Jedi. In that case, such elements pose a great danger to the New Republic. And we will never tolerate them acting without our coordination. Our Jedi Order will set one of its goals—to find such traitors to their oaths and bring them to justice. An honest and fair trial, instead of the show trials that Luke Skywalker staged for the Emperor and Darth Vader aboard the second Death Star."
"A rather bold statement, President Fay'lia," the host assessed. "Don't you think…"
"Thank you, that's enough," Bre'ano Umakk said. "I've heard enough. The rest is not necessary."
"A rather sharp statement," Jihan expressed his opinion.
"Which gives the former Jedi an unambiguous message," the Mon Calamari clarified. "'Either join the New Republic, or be targets for a new Jedi hunt.'"
"It seems to me that against the backdrop of such a statement, your message will look rather pale," Jihan said. "And less imperative to force the Jedi out of hiding."
Instead of answering, the Mon Calamari took out his holoprojector and played a pre-recorded message.
Which was to be broadcast by the Jedi Temple's transmitter throughout the galaxy, using HoloNet relays.
"Jedi, and other Force-sensitive beings! I call upon you all to unite for the sake of the galaxy's future and come to a meeting to discuss our differences and present a united front against a looming threat of galactic scale. We offer you a home, the opportunity not to fear further persecution, and the resurrection of our teaching as it was intended by the ancient founders of the Jedi Order," the Mon Calamari's recording sounded, followed by the name of the planet and its coordinates, where all who wished were to arrive by a specific time.
"Yes," the Mon Calamari agreed. "This is not quite what's needed. I'll re-record the message. Or even better—I'll broadcast live."
Jihan's mouth dropped open in amazement.
"You've gone mad, Master!" he exclaimed. "The enemy won't be able to track a coded signal, but a broadcast on Coruscant—they'll be here in a flash. It's a whole garrison! Significant forces will be sent here to surround the Temple and storm it. Do you want a repeat of Operation Knightfall? My men won't be enough to protect you and ensure your escape."
"I know," the Mon Calamari replied quietly. "Now I understand what I should have done on Coruscant. As soon as the broadcast begins, you must be outside the Temple and retreat to where you will be safe."
No, this Jedi had definitely lost his mind.
***
"That's it," Mister Pent leaned back in the operator's chair, closing his eyes blissfully, staring at the ceiling. "The 'Icebreaker' has done its job. The 'Icebreaker' can rest. Wake me up tomorrow—I'm sleeping."
His blue hair, which he kept cut in a regulation style (unlike his original's mane) in this position, made him look like a dim light fixture.
Lieutenant Colonel Thiers approached the "Icebreaker."
"Did you launch the program, Mister Pent?" the commander of the Dominion Guard asked dryly.
From the movement of his eyelids, it was clear that the young man had not yet begun to fulfill his wish.
"I'm sleeping," the clone grumbled.
"I asked a question."
"Everything is done. Let me sleep," the "Icebreaker" said with annoyance. "I've been working with the HoloNet code for almost twenty-four hours straight. And this isn't a portable datapad operating system. It's trillions of lines of code written over millennia. Huttish assortment, created by the hands—skilled and not growing from the shoulders—of thousands of programmers. Not to mention that I've sifted through the viral software of Republican special forces, copied it, adapted it to our search program, tested it, and launched it! And it, hastily assembled, on the fly, works! If I don't sleep and recover from the programmer's horror I've seen, my brain will unravel. I'll be drooling all over the place."
Grodin, without even turning his head, raised his hand so that his own clones behind him could see it.
He used sign language again to convey the command, and the clones set to work, dispersing throughout the operational zone.
Some began working inside this room, others—in other parts of the station.
But the work was the same.
They were covering their tracks.
And leaving others'.
"How long do we need to be here to get a response from the search program?" Thiers asked, unwavering in his desire to get all the data on the mission's progress and results.
"May a rancor be your relative, Lieutenant Colonel!" the programmer jumped up from the workstation in irritation and stared at the guardsman. "My eyelids are closing from fatigue and…"
Pent fell silent, looking first at his interlocutor.
The determined face of the man who had single-handedly wiped out an enemy squad showed not the slightest hint of sympathy.
"Does the broadcast of President Fay'lia's speech across the galaxy reliably mask our search query?" the commander of the Dominion Guard continued to ask.
In such a polite tone that even Kashyyyk would have started an ice age.
"Yes," Pent felt that, against his will, he even somehow pulled himself together, straightened up as if on a parade ground. "I've configured the search query to be transmitted with the same intensity as the Republican chief's broadcast. Judging by the fact that I found traces of recent intrusion into the code, the Republican specialists deliberately dug into the program to ensure uninterrupted broadcasting to all holoreceivers in the galaxy."
"And is the broadcast even happening in Dominion territory?"
"Nope," it seemed the danger had passed. "We have software filters on the relays. We filter out everything that is transmitted not on our frequencies and not from our planets. This program, which the Republicans implemented, is entirely designed for civilian receivers that do not have sixth-generation software protection against external control. Therefore, I used their developments and attached our signal to their broadcast. In addition to broadcasting it myself from here as a parallel information stream."
"So, we have two broadcasts?"
"Well… in fact, yes," Pent scratched his head. "I just thought that since the Republicans found someone smart enough to write control code for remote activation of holoreceivers with sixth-generation protection—and these are Imperial standards—then why not use their innovation to try to reach that troublesome piece of rock?"
The lieutenant colonel remained silent.
"If a response comes from only one search program—which uses code for remote access to Imperial technologies—then we will know that the equipment on the ship was forcibly shut down. If from both search programs—then the Imperials simply didn't try hard enough to find this ship earlier."
"Uh-huh," Pent replied in a somewhat discouraged tone. "I didn't expect you to understand what's what so quickly…"
"Set Fay'lia's broadcast and both of your search queries to automatic mode," Thiers ordered.
"And… Why?" Pent didn't understand.
Then his gaze fell on the clones bustling around the relay center equipment under the lieutenant colonel.
"Um-m-m," the "Icebreaker" drawled. "And do you know what your subordinates are doing, Lieutenant Colonel?"
"Their work," Grodin explained impassively. "You also need to follow their example."
"Are they copying information from the servers?" Pent looked suspiciously at the guardsman.
"No," Thiers replied without even looking back. "They are taking backup versions of the HoloNet software along with the carrier objects—backup servers. You, in addition to what I've already said, need to check each server for tracking devices. The faster you do this, the faster you'll get some sleep."
Pent opened his mouth to object, but seeing the guardsman's impudence, he realized that all objections were futile.
"Well… alright, of course," he sighed. "I'll go work. But it would be much easier if the local operators helped me."
"They are unavailable now," Thiers cut him off. "Manage on your own, Mister Pent. And—as quickly as possible. We need to leave the station as soon as possible."
The "Icebreaker" yawned at length, only bothering to cover his mouth with his hand at the last moment.
"As always," he said, smacking his lips. "You know… I was thinking. Since we're taking the backup servers, maybe we should grab a couple of working machines? With their help, we won't need to wait for a response on this station at all—we can set up a 'receiving end' anywhere in the galaxy. I just need to do something with the equipment…"
"Proceed, Mister Pent," Lieutenant Colonel Thiers agreed after a moment's thought.
***
As soon as the thermal paste burned through the emergency hatch lock, the doors parted, allowing the Fourth Special Commando Unit to begin its work.
A wide stream of fire, the first launched into the short corridor by THX-0333, licked the surface of the inner plating, melting plastic elements and thin metal.
Through the noise of the raging flames, the screams of the fighters and enemy crew members could be heard, who, out of habit, decided to resist the storming troops.
The problem was that the armored pieces of the ship, left from the "Galactic Traveler," had no artificial gravity.
And the enemy could not use any cover.
Except perhaps to secure themselves in doorways or behind protruding bulkheads.
But the Mon Calamari design played a big trick on them.
Smooth walls and floors, gentle transitions and overlaps, the absence of sharp angles and transitions, as well as—protruding interior corridor parts of the structure and power frame—was the reason the enemy failed to drown the attackers in blood.
THX-0333 turned off the flamethrower.
A quick assessment of the situation revealed a smoke-blackened corridor ahead, in which charred bodies and soot particles floated.
"Assault."
A squad of four special forces soldiers, stepping heavily in magnetic-soled boots, moved forward slowly.
Meter by meter.
Compartment by compartment.
Each locked room was scanned for airtightness.
If confirmed, the locking device was blown, and then the flamethrower barrel was inserted inside.
No hand grenades, which would not have a long throwing range and the necessary trajectory due to the absence of artificial gravity.
No prolonged blaster fire.
No hand-to-hand combat.
The Fourth Special Unit went head-on.
Even without the support of droidekas and droids.
The former, although they had magnetic grips on their limbs, were still not the best helpers where they could not move in a rolled-up state.
The latter were generally useless in a zero-gravity space.
The assault commandos worked in their usual heavy atmosphere.
Despite the flagship's destruction, there was still life inside the wreckage.
Built with a modular assembly type, having many armored capsules inside, this ship, like other Mon Calamari-type starships, had reactors distributed throughout its hull.
It was obvious that some of them were still active and provided the survivors with everything necessary.
Light, heat, oxygen.
Not by gravity.
It took a long time to clear out this armored capsule.
But as a result, they were able to discover and take control of the ship's central computer.
The databases on it were destroyed by erasure.
Whether this process can be restored or not will be figured out by specialized professionals.
THX-0333 himself considered it a great stroke of luck to discover partial technical plans of the ship: someone from the crew had forgotten a technical deck with such important data in the cabin.
Now, all that remained was to solve the problem of a single, but quite important compartment, which remained uncontrolled by the assault commandos in this wreckage of the enemy flagship.
The bridge.
It was protected by a heavy armored bulkhead, blocking access to the control instruments and external access to the compartment.
It was obvious that the Mon Calamarian shipbuilders had learned from past assaults.
And now, in case of a bridge blockade, it was impossible to get onto it without breaching a bulkhead as thick as the capsule's hull.
However, such radical solutions were not typical for the shipbuilders from the planet Dak.
Gliding smoothly from one compartment adjacent to the corridor leading to the bridge into another, THX-0333 slowed down, grabbing onto a technical ladder with his hand.
Its position did not correspond to similar ones he had seen in other parts of the section.
According to the builders' design, it was supposed to help technicians gain access to technical corridors and tunnels directly from the corridor.
The commando unerringly determined from the torn seal that the mechanism had already been used.
Following his gaze along the possible path, he also discovered that one of the technical hatches leading to the central sections of the armored capsule was open: the mounting screws were missing.
Someone had passed this way.
The size of the technical hatch, and consequently the tunnel behind it, allowed a sentient being in a light emergency suit to squeeze through.
This meant that it would be possible in armor as well.
But first, the tunnel should be checked for possible danger.
"I need a 'scout'," he informed the fighters of his squad via comlink. "With a magnet."
A couple of minutes later, he was handed...
A mouse droid.
The simplest, smallest, most inconspicuous service droid, so familiar to the eye.
"Control transferred to the helmet visor," the squad technician reported. "The magnetic pad is set to medium mode."
"Received."
THX-0333 slid the panel aside and activated the droid, pushing it inside.
Controlled by a simple electronic brain, the apparatus, using a magnetic pad located under its chassis, pressed itself to the lower surface of the technical tunnel.
Thus ensuring the grip of its wheels on the metal surface of the tunnel.
With artificial gravity, such manipulations are unnecessary – the droid works reliably under the influence of gravity.
The mouse droid illuminated the technical tunnel with its scanners, after which a blinking icon of remote visual control appeared on the visor of THX-0333's helmet.
Activating it, the commando took a comfortable position, not bothering to worry about his safety.
The fighters had already switched to guarding the commander, and "accidents" like an enemy fighter emerging from nowhere and wounding the sergeant would not happen.
The "scout" is a homemade modification of a simple mouse droid.
THX-0333 assembled it from a broken droid for the purpose of remotely detecting enemies or tracking dangers.
A simple and cheap means to check technical passages for mines, traps, or ambushes.
The development needed to be tested in the field.
And the wreckage of the "Galactic Traveler" was perfect for this.
Traces of movement through the technical tunnel were practically indistinguishable under the current conditions.
The lack of gravity had lifted the sparse dust into the air, so noticing anything on the floor was pointless.
THX-0333 was more interested in the technical cables, ties, and structural supports.
They were placed to suspend communications in a state of rest, but now they were not needed.
And whoever moved this way did not bother to preserve the technical solutions.
THX-0333 understood why the technical tunnel was needed.
Judging by the direction of movement in which the tensioners were cut, whoever moved this way was making their way to the bridge.
Unable to reach it otherwise, they took a detour.
A logical action.
Soon, the "scout" discovered a light source emanating from a ventilation grate in the floor.
Which unequivocally indicated a simple fact – the droid had reached the desired compartment.
Below it was the bridge.
THX-0333 did not intend to detonate the droid, as had been done before.
First, the situation inside the compartment should be assessed.
To do this, he adjusted the extendable holocam so that it could observe what was happening below it.
The technical hatch, unlike the ventilation grilles, although made of latticed metal, had its peculiarity.
The space between the strips was not for air movement, but therefore turned out to be filled with transparisteel.
This resulted in a combined sealed hatch.
Through which the "scout," and consequently THX-0333, saw a very curious picture of what was happening on the bridge of the enemy flagship...
Or rather, what was left of it.
"Contact 'Guardian'," THX-0333 ordered, breaking visual contact with the droid. "I have a report for Captain Pellaeon."
***
Darth Maul looked with undisguised disdain at the fifty sentient beings who were now standing and sitting before him, locked up while Tierce's guard group worked in the local mess hall.
He had no intention of hiding his attitude towards these weak, frightened, and frankly pathetic creatures.
But he also understood that under the helmet of his uniform, they could not see the manifestation of his emotions.
And they couldn't even hear him – the helmet's vocoder concealed any intonation in his voice, turning disdain into the common speech widely known in the galaxy thanks to the notorious Imperial stormtroopers.
"Listen carefully," he said. "No one will repeat it. The New Republic, in pursuit of its plans, struck the InterGalactic Communications Center to take control of the central 'HoloNet' node. This has happened before – the previous time was during the Clone Wars. Your leadership did not provide adequate protection for such valuable equipment and its personnel. The result," he gestured with his armored glove at the bodies in body bags lying in the food freezing zone, "you all see for yourselves. The mercenaries who were supposed to guard you have been wiped out by Republican special forces."
"And you wiped them out!" someone from the crowd exclaimed.
It would have been easy for Maul to find out who it was – just call upon the Force and read the emotions of these sentient beings.
But he didn't care.
"Does anyone feel sorry for them?" the Zabrak asked. "I don't. They attacked the weak – you. And they killed your guards, taking your node under their control. We did the same. In your place, this should be considered the liberation of hostages. Or am I wrong?"
He wasn't concerned about the answer either.
He didn't care about these sentient beings and their fate.
Judging by the fact that none of those present even tried to express their opinion in any way – they were in agreement on this matter...
"Are you saying you came to free us from captivity?" the same disgruntled voice asked. "You yourself were planning to do the same! If they hadn't killed the mercenaries, you would have done it yourselves."
"But they didn't," Maul chuckled. "History has no subjunctive mood. Nor does it have respect for mercenaries. But I'm not here to waste my time on such conversations. The one by whose order we came here has instructed us to evacuate your team from here."
"For what purpose?"
This guy is starting to annoy him.
Darth Maul opened himself to the Force.
And instantly found the sentient being who was the source of the malice and irritation projected towards the Shadow Guard.
"What do you want from us?"
Yes, the voice matched the emanations he was picking up.
Maul threw his right hand forward, clenching it into a fist and releasing the Force, directing it at the restless one.
The latter shot up sharply to the very ceiling of the mess hall, his eyes bulging, scratching his throat with his nails.
"For starters – so that I'm not interrupted with your petty remarks," he explained. "Everything that concerns you will be announced. If it hasn't been said, then you don't need to know it. Is everyone clear?"
Silent, but affirmative nods.
The Zabrak turned so as to examine the disturber of the peace "in all his glory."
A human.
A fat man.
An unpleasant face.
A second or even third chin.
Not a trace of intelligence on his face.
"Is this your director?" he asked those present.
And again – affirmative nods.
"An empty man," Maul waved his hand, and the fat man's body slammed into the metal wall at high speed.
A crunch of bones was heard.
The body that fell to the floor did not move.
And it's hard to do so when the back of your head is caved in.
"Anyone who feels sorry for him can do the same as you did for the deceased mercenaries: pack the corpse in a bag," Darth Maul suggested.
No one even moved.
It seemed the local management was very "loved" here.
Because even such riff-raff as mercenaries were packed into body bags, but their direct superior was not.
"And now let's get back to what's really important," the Zabrak said. "This station is mined. Republican special forces planned to blow it up to hide the traces of their invasion of the 'HoloNet'..."
In reality, Lieutenant Colonel Tierce's fighters were mining it, which is why the station workers were gathered in one place.
But the prisoners didn't need to know that.
"Why do this?" someone exclaimed in horror. "We don't know anything, no corporate secrets!"
"They wanted to collapse the 'HoloNet'!" a second assumption arose.
Perhaps even a correct one.
"Nonsense! There are backup lines, other centers. Yes, there will be a communication collapse for a while, but after a couple of days everything will work."
"A couple of days? Months! Backup servers and other 'hubs' have been in conservation for at least fifty years, if not more!"
"A real circus," Darth Maul thought, looking at the sentient beings arguing among themselves.
"My command has a proposal for you," he continued, drowning out the hubbub with the power of his voice. "Since your own leadership doesn't care about you and could only come up with fifty second-rate mercenaries for your protection, and the Republicans weren't going to mince words with you at all, I have the right to offer you to work for those I represent."
"And who are they?" a timid voice came from the crowd.
"You'll find out if you want to work for us," Maul replied evasively. "You are offered high salaries – much higher than you received here. Complete safety under our wing. The specifics of the work will be the same as here. But with strict discipline and obedience."
The crowd buzzed, talking among themselves.
"We're just relay node operators," another said. "And not the best ones at that."
"They hired us because almost all of us are former students who don't have much work experience, and therefore – they can pay us minimally," another explanation arose.
Darth Maul moved his hand aside and, using the Force, with a screech and groan of metal, crushed the distribution table into a small ball.
The hubbub among those present stopped at once.
"All who want to work for us will get off this station," he explained. "The rest will blow up with the charges. So, should I repeat the question?"
It wasn't necessary.
There were no idiots among the operators.
All forty-nine survivors agreed.
***
When Lieutenant Colonel Tierce finished his report, received instructions on further actions, and his hologram faded, all that remained was to "tick off" the next item on the plan.
And "close" a few more positions.
After some time, when the leadership of the InterGalactic Communications Center realizes that something incomprehensible is happening with their central node on Praesitlyn, they will undoubtedly try to contact the communication center abandoned by all living beings.
Without receiving confirmation – they will send out scouts.
And there, many surprises await them.
Which will advance my plan in further implementation.
Sending guards and Mr. Pent to Praesitlyn to use Fey'lia's broadcast for our own purposes is not the ultimate goal.
The real goal is much bigger.
More global.
"HoloNet" is not just a name.
Everything is much more complicated.
"HoloNet" is the largest communication system in the galaxy, providing information transfer from planets in one part of the galaxy to another.
Through telecommunication equipment – transmitters, relays, and other tools that have been seeded throughout interstellar space for tens of thousands of years.
Each of the more than a thousand sectors of the galaxy has a huge number of telecommunication devices – receivers and transmitters.
These, in turn, allow signals to be transmitted within a sector in real-time.
To send a signal beyond the sector, even to neighboring administrative units, a much more powerful transceiver – a relay – is required.
It is through this that all information flows of the sector pass, as well as beyond it.
We used this feature last year to block information exchange between the planets we were attacking.
But the relay doesn't work on its own.
When one sector transceiver fails, information flows are redistributed through the nearest equivalent in a neighboring sector.
This increases the information transmission time.
Sometimes – very significantly.
But this does not happen on its own.
All traffic between sector relays passes through Praesitlyn – the servers of the InterGalactic Communications Center, which was recently secretly and bloodily taken under the direct control of the New Republic.
This is how they ensured President Fey'lia's broadcast to the entire galaxy in real-time.
And the cunning nerd managed to convey his truth to both the Imperials and the Republicans.
Not to mention other territories, except for the Dominion.
Thanks to the work of Mr. Gantz's clones and the sector relays stolen from the New Republic last year, we have secured our own closed broadcasting system, filtering out unwanted information, and sometimes even espionage communications.
"HoloNet" has existed for millennia and was used by both citizens of the Galactic Republic and the inhabitants of its successor state, the Galactic Empire.
After the Battle of Endor, the New Republic, the successor government created by the Rebel Alliance, took formal control of the "HoloNet" and began to weaken Imperial restrictions and censorship.
Since the main active node of the "HoloNet" was located in the Sluissi sector, after it seceded from the New Republic, the "HoloNet" became a neutral information network.
Controlled by the government of the Sluissi sector.
The indigenous inhabitants of Sluis Van are not aggressive or vindictive by nature, but this did not prevent them from maintaining their neutrality not so much by the forces of the tiny remnants of their own armed forces, but by keeping their hand on the "pulse" of the global information network.
Its functioning is important for everyone in the galaxy.
"HoloNet" provides not only communication, news broadcasting, but also participates in stock trading, interstellar economy, and ensures communication for the military and industrialists.
Not to mention other things.
A direct attack on the Sluissi sector would clearly lead to the destruction of the InterGalactic Communications Center and the paralysis of most of the galaxy for a long time.
Why most, not all?
Because the Empire has its own communication network, spread exclusively within Imperial Space and Imperial Remnants.
It is called the "Imperial Network."
It is somewhat similar to an extremely simple social network from my past life, and during the reign of the Galactic Empire, it was nothing more than an internal service for citizen communication.
Not particularly popular, by the way.
But now it is gaining momentum and is the main source of internal Imperial propaganda.
This communication tool "didn't take off" largely for the same reason why the New Republic (and before it – the Rebel Alliance) failed to gain total control of the information space with the introduction of its own analogue many years ago.
The New Republic currently also has its own internal communication network – the "New Republic HoloNet."
Active by the year of the Battle of Endor, this network became the source of information about the destruction of the second "Death Star" through all the "HoloNet" transceivers on Coruscant.
This led to a local uprising of the locals against Imperial rule on the capital planet.
Quickly and bloodily suppressed by the Imperial government.
It continued to serve as the official broadcasting system for the New Republic when it came to power on Coruscant and in most of the galaxy.
Currently, it is used in the same capacity solely as the official propaganda organ of the Fey'lia government.
But in any case, neither the Imperial nor the Republican analogues can compete with the "HoloNet."
Simply because the galaxy's population is accustomed to the most widespread broadcasting network, not to homemade imitations.
And there are quite a few of them, in fact.
For example, at one time, a private broadcasting network known as the "Baobab HoloNet" was widely known in the galaxy.
Created by an enthusiastic scientist from a noble family, it emerged during the period after the fall of the Old Republic and the rise of the Empire.
Baobab wanted to create an alternative to the HoloNet, which was controlled by Imperial forces and broadcast only propaganda, portraying the Empire in a positive light.
However, after the fall of the Empire, Baobab's alternative was largely abandoned and forgotten, as larger media outlets – the galactic "HoloNet" – resumed regular broadcasting free from Imperial influence.
By the way, this same sentient being also created the largest archive of knowledge in the galaxy, known as the "Baobab Archive," which can rival most libraries and scientific funds in the galaxy.
During the Mandalorian Wars, the planet Taris had its own broadcasting network, isolated from the galactic "HoloNet" and not allowing direct transmission of galactic information directly to the inhabitants of Taris, which continues its work to this day.
The Cloud City on Bespin also had its own broadcasting network, similar to the one on Taris.
Corellia, the Tapani sector, the Hutts, the Hapans, the Corporate Sector... all have their own broadcasting networks.
In remote sectors touched by civilization, there were also their own internal networks, based on information transmission using sector relays, but not allowing direct transmission of information from the "HoloNet" to consumers.
There was always a certain buffer that filtered out all "unnecessary" – according to the local government.
This phenomenon is quite common, so there is no surprise about how the Dominion population calmly accepted information isolation and censorship.
Yes, not without certain unrest among citizens, but the situation is under control.
I was interested in the "HoloNet," or rather its weakening, primarily from a military and counter-propaganda perspective.
Coordination of armed forces on the front is the key to success.
And gathering information, even from open sources, for which Botarian spies are so famous, is a separate art form.
Fey'lia has gone to war.
Well, our armored train has also been moved from the siding and put under steam, undergoing final maintenance.
The leadership of the InterGalactic Communications Center will undoubtedly come to its senses soon and realize that there are problems.
Here, one must take into account that initially Fey'lia's broadcasts will be perceived solely as copies of my propaganda speeches.
And they will understand that the situation is much worse after a few standard days.
When Fey'lia's videos continue to break into the galaxy's information space.
On a regular basis.
And then they will go to Praesitlyn.
To investigate what is happening.
They will definitely go because they will not be able to contact the center through communication channels.
And when they arrive there, they will find "quite a few interesting things."
Which will finally and irrevocably break the ties between Sluissi and the New Republic.
Not to mention what awaits the rest of the galaxy.
At this moment, I need the "HoloNet" to function as it is.
Too much is tied to it.
And after the InterGalactic Communications Center is destroyed, nothing will be able to stop the victorious march of the Dominion's regular fleet.
"Grand Admiral, sir," Captain Pellaeon's voice came from the intercom of my apartments. "Assault teams report complete clearing of ships from enemy resistance."
"Results?"
"We have taken control of all twelve star destroyers shelled by ion cannons," the commander of 'Guardian' reported. "All 'Quasar Fires' have also been captured. The greatest resistance was encountered on the damaged escort frigates, but they also submitted. Technical teams report that the key systems of the ships are functional, and soon they will be ready for hyperspace jump to our base on Horrn."
"Contact Commodore Brandey," I ordered. "We need escort ships, personnel for transfer, and transports with spare parts and technical personnel led by Chief Engineer Reyes at Horrn by the time we arrive. Inform them about the malfunctions of the captured ships."
"It will be done, sir," Pellaeon replied.
"Are there any surrenders?"
"Two hundred thousand sentient beings, sir. Most of the destroyer crews, almost all on the escort carriers. On the escort frigates, the crews fought to the last."
He fell silent abruptly.
"Sir, we have an urgent message from the cleanup crews," the assault commando said. So the assault commandos made contact. Good. "Survivors have been found on the bridge and in the hangar of the wreckage of the 'Galactic Traveler.' Two groups. Among one of them are severely wounded."
Who would doubt it.
"General Solo, Lando Calrissian, and their mutual Wookiee friend named Chewbacca?" I clarified.
"The identity of the first has been confirmed – search parties found him and the bridge crew locked in an armored capsule in the command bridge," Pelleon said. "The other two cannot be identified, but pilots report that a damaged Corellian freighter, identified as the 'Millennium Falcon,' is present in the hangar of the enemy flagship. Its power supply is minimal, and there are hull deformations. The ship is not suitable for interstellar travel. Two life forms are registered on board – a human and a Wookiee."
"In that case, it's them," I decided.
I have no doubt about the durability of Han Solo's ship, that Calrissian and the Wookiee are deliberately portraying themselves as prisoners doomed to a slow death.
Based on the data obtained from the central computer of the 'Galactic Traveler,' at least this ship is built according to the modular scheme of Imperial shipbuilding.
And it represents a set of armored capsules – bridge, hangar, reactor compartment, battery decks...
There are systems for maintaining an emergency oxygen supply, which allows survivors to last until help arrives.
In fact, the ship fell apart into these armored capsules after the 'Guardian's' shots from pistol range.
From intercepting enemy communications, we knew that Solo was on the flagship, and Calrissian and Chewbacca were on the 'Falcon.'
The latter are responsible for the destruction of our 'Dragon-Eleven,' as it was their targeting system that the proton torpedoes from the 'Galactic Traveler' followed.
"Have we finished the evacuation from the wreckage of the 'Venator'?" I clarified.
"Yes, sir. All – living and dead – have been delivered to our ships. From the former, control teams have been formed for the ferry crews of the droids operating the captured starships. All valuable equipment from the wreckage has been dismantled by repair droids and delivered to the cargo hangar of the super-destroyer."
"Order the 'Guardian's' gunners to destroy the wreckage of the 'Dragon-Eleven'," I commanded.
"Yes, sir," Pelleon replied. "What is the decision regarding the survivors on the 'Galactic Traveler'?"
Good question.
I have no desire to communicate with these sentient beings at the moment.
Especially since there is no need to bring them aboard the 'Guardian' under the current circumstances.
These individuals have a habit of sniffing out secrets and using even visually acquired knowledge to their advantage.
And just seeing the corridors of the 'Guardian' would reveal what kind of ship it is – and none of our enemies in the galaxy yet know exactly which star super-destroyer destroyed Admiral Akbar's fleet.
Not to mention that the perceptiveness of this trio will allow them to identify a number of our upgrades.
Including automated defense turrets, force fields, system lockouts for non-crew members.
As well as a reduced number of the latter.
"Drop the emergency beacon," I ordered. "If those star cruisers that 'missed' due to our actions with the gravity trawls need them, then Solo and the others will be found. Don't forget to seed the wreckage of the Republic ships with buzz droids from project 'Morrt'."
If no one comes to help Solo and his friends in the near future – so be it.
However, I am sure that Bel Iblis himself is approaching with half the Alliance fleet, intending, if not to destroy us in the initial trap, then at least to finish us off after a heavy battle.
We could, of course, destroy his reinforcements as well, but excessive risk is not our way.
There is no need to change the plan without reason for another battle.
Which will happen anyway.
But, on our terms.
Without intelligence on Lantilles and an accurate understanding of the forces with which Bel Iblis might move towards us, I do not want to take risks.
"Understood, sir," Captain Pelleon confirmed his understanding of the order. "We will be ready for the jump in ten minutes."
"And one last thing, Captain," I remembered. "Provide me with the full recording of the New Republic President's speech. And one more thing. Reprogram the emergency beacon signal to the following text..."