Ten years, three months, and the first day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, third month, and the first day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and twenty-one days since arrival).
It's funny, but the Intergalactic Communications Center – the central hub of the "HoloNet" in the galaxy – will experience something like this for the second time.
Located on the planet Praesitlyn in the Sluis sector, one hundred and fifty kilometers from the nearest continent, this center ensured the functionality of the entire communication network in the galaxy.
Planet Praesitlyn.
During the Clone Wars, the Confederacy of Independent Systems had already paid a "military visit" to this planet, taking control of the central HoloNet relay.
At great cost, the Old Republic managed to recapture this world and the crucial communication node.
The planet, like most worlds in the sector, had fallen out of the New Republic's jurisdiction, declaring its independence after the Sluis Van defeat of the Republican defense fleet.
There weren't that many warships, even in the sector itself.
And even fewer patrol starships in orbit around Praesitlyn.
Literally one outdated "Marauder"-class corvette, found somewhere in a galactic junkyard and revived with what remained of the Sluis Van shipyards.
The Sluisi tried to pursue an independent policy.
But they lacked the funds to build their own fleet.
And so, the gap in defense, noticed by Dominion Intelligence, was used to implement the plan.
A cover ship, a Corellian freighter of such a pathetic appearance that anyone who saw it would sincerely wish the owner to stop torturing the ship and send it for scrap, trembled during its high-speed entry into the atmosphere.
The metal of its hull groaned as the friction turned the air into fire, and Lieutenant Colonel Tiers could observe the orange-red glow through the transpa-steel cabin windows.
He noticed that the pilot was clenching the control stick with all his might, trying to control the unruly machine.
But that's exactly how they needed to act now.
The heat, the descent speed, and the ionized particles caused temporary blindness of the sensors.
Both their own and those located around the perimeter of the target.
But there was another factor that helped confuse potential observers.
Strong dust storms, a common occurrence on this planet, severely hampered the operation of both visual and hardware control systems.
"Everyone prepare," he said, when the flame's glow diminished and the ocean appeared below the ship.
The pilot leveled the ship, set a course, and quickly scanned the sky and space around the ship.
Sensors detected nothing.
And the dust storm, which was anomalous even by local standards, reliably blocked the operation of systems in the atmosphere.
The Lieutenant Colonel glanced at Mr. Pent, who was clinging to the armrests of his seat.
"Icebreaker," holding the equipment case with his legs, pressed himself into the seat with all his might.
And with a pale face, he watched as the target of this entire journey approached.
"Take your pills, Mr. Pent," Groddin said, taking a cloak from one of the guards, which disguised his armor. "Your time to work is about to come."
"Uh-huh," Pent agreed nervously. "I... I'll be ready when you need me."
"I don't doubt it."
Groddin watched as the ship broke through the thick, pink blanket of clouds and found itself ten kilometers from the communication center.
A little further away, the nearest continent was visible.
The sensors began to report a sharp drop in temperature in the lower atmosphere.
An icy crust began to form on the ship's hull, and the snow, turning into hail, rhythmically pounded against the starship's hull.
The local sun, setting below the horizon, illuminated everything around with orange and red light.
The restless, dark northern sea splashed below, uneven white circles of furious surf marking thousands of islets protruding from the water, not marked on any maps.
To the west, quite far away, he could discern the misty edges of the continent with a mountain range covered in snow, its peaks higher than the clouds, and the range stretched from north to south.
His gaze noticed some movement near the ship. A flock of web-winged gulls, too small to be detected by instruments, flew two hundred meters to the right of the starship, and significantly below it. Spreading their huge webbed wings compared to their bodies, they flapped them slowly and flew against the cold wind towards the south.
Their formation resembled a round bracket. They flew south, towards the warmth, and paid no attention to the ship as it flew over them. Their black eyes were closed against the wind and snow rushing towards them.
The pilot turned off the ion engines, and the ship's speed decreased even further.
The instrument panel on the panoramic screen displayed all the necessary landing data.
Tiers traced the ship's course and pointed his finger at the destination.
"There are armed soldiers on the platform."
"Transmitting recognition codes," the pilot replied. "Two minutes to landing – we've switched to repulsors."
The last explanation made it clear why the starship's flight had become so comfortable.
The rhythmic and constant drumming of hail on the cabin of the ship would lull anyone to sleep like a lullaby.
"Everyone prepare for disembarkation," he commanded into the comlink.
The clicks on the channel were confirmation that all guards on board the ship were aware.
His hands automatically checked if his blasters were loaded, tightened the straps of his composite body armor, and ensured the camouflage was secure, while his thoughts were occupied with something else.
The pilot took a sharp turn, flying in a wide arc around the islet, trying to spot the landing site.
They still hadn't opened fire on them from the defensive turrets, which meant – the locals had at least received the access codes.
"Landing zone is safe," the pilot expressed hope that it was so, encouraging himself. "Initiating landing."
Under the reverse thrust of the repulsor engines, the ship was enveloped in powerful swirls of sea spray and small debris.
Groddin moved through the cabin, wrapping his camouflage so that not the slightest hint of his armament was visible.
In the passenger compartment, he found two sentients in black armor, identical to what the guards wore.
Only the color of the armor and helmet visor differed.
One of the Shadow Guards was sitting directly on the compartment floor, with his legs tucked under him.
The second sat in the chair next to him, impatiently tossing the hilt of his lightsaber up every now and then.
"Lord Maul," he addressed the second. "We are ready. Can you maintain the dust storm for the time we need?"
The faceless helmet turned towards him, and for a moment, Tiers felt an almost forgotten pressure, the kind he experienced in the Emperor's presence.
"Strin will control the weather for exactly as long as is necessary to complete the mission," he said, rising from his chair. "I will go with you on the assault."
It was assumed that Darth Maul would ensure the safety of the ship and his partner while the guards and "Icebreaker" were busy with the mission.
Tiers did not fail to remind the Shadow Guard of this.
"Leave a couple of subordinates for defense," the latter ordered. "I feel that the facility's security is much stronger than anticipated. I foresee that you will need my help."
Groddin had no doubt about the latter.
After all, he was leading two dozen of his own clones into battle, each of them a killing machine in flesh.
But he didn't argue.
Shadow Advisors, like the Jensaarai, sensed the situation much better than ordinary sentients.
Completing the mission was the priority.
"As you wish, Darth Maul."
He headed towards the stern of the starship.
It was time to make history.
The republican shipyard engineer of the Sluisi race looked rested and cheerful.
He easily descended the ramp of the ladder onto the landing pad of the Rendili spaceport, whistling a simple melody, and looked around.
The last time he was here, he could admire the el-shuttles, freighters, packet boats, and other auxiliary ships that, like madmen, scurried between the surface and the slipways, delivering cargo to the Republic-class star destroyers under construction.
Now everything around was clean and tidy.
But only because he had returned to the surface a little earlier than the usual end of his shift.
In an hour, it would be crowded with workers starting their shifts and those ending them.
But the position of engineer had its advantages – under the pretext of talking with planetary services, he could leave the shipyards early.
And not waste time on identity checks at security posts along with thousands of other workers.
After passing the first security cordon, he, as planned, visited logistics.
Where he was thoroughly lectured with reprimands: "If you need these Imperial spare parts, then fly to Kuat and Wohai every day and bring whatever you need from there!"
The Sluisi, as chief engineer responsible for the New Republic's now extremely important project, always found the right words for negligent suppliers, and things moved forward.
Until the next batch of cargo.
And yet, the Sluisi smiled and was happy with life.
It was good to return to the surface.
And not have problems with the law.
And, at the same time, have an excellent job, a clean record, and an indecently high weekly income.
And all this would not have happened if not for the Sluis Van battle, after which his kin declared their neutrality and hastily recalled their citizens from the technical and other services of the New Republic.
A small revenge for the fact that they could not protect the Sluisi homeland from Grand Admiral Thrawn's attack.
Recognized masters of shipbuilding and technology, the Sluisi, like the Verpine, are now not the most frequent guests in the New Republic.
Therefore, the game was worth the candle.
Whistling, he headed towards the second security cordon, passing which he could freely exit into the city and rest as he pleased for the remaining time until the start of his new shift.
"Welcome back, Chief Engineer," a young security officer at the second cordon jokingly saluted him, routinely checking his ID, casting a scrutinizing glance at the personal items laid out in the tray, and gesturing for him to proceed through the scanner. "Hope you had a productive time?"
"Oh yes, quite," the Sluissi emerged from the scanner, but only after the guard's approving nod did he retrieve his personal belongings and stuff them into his pockets. "How's your shift, Sergeant?"
"Stable," she smiled radiantly. "Routine."
"Like all of ours."
"Well, you can't say that," the guard winked at him. "Some of us do more than others."
"We're all doing our part," the Sluissi assured her.
"That's true," the guard nodded. "And... if it's not a secret..."
She said the last part in a lowered voice.
The Chief Engineer chuckled, understanding the reason for her interest.
"He's fine," he assured her. "Our fleet did a good job on the 'Reaper,' but we'll restore it. Not quickly, but thoroughly. It'll be better than before."
"I can't wait to see him kick the imps' asses," the guard sighed dreamily.
"One day we will," the Sluissi promised, stepping beyond the cordon and waving goodbye.
"Oh, wait!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. "You have a message."
"Who?" the Sluissi asked, surprised.
"A young woman," the guard winked. "Quite attractive. She asked me to tell you that you forgot something of hers when you were relaxing during the last shift change."
"Is that so..."
The Sluissi was even a bit bewildered.
Suddenly, two questions arose.
What could he have left there, and not even noticed its absence for so long?
And also, he wondered since when did employees of entertainment establishments run after clients themselves to return something.
It was unlikely to be anything valuable, perhaps some trinket with which she intended to ensnare a regular client in her cunning little web.
He wondered what it was all about?
"She asked me to give you this chip," the security girl added, still smiling friendly, handing the engineer the data storage device.
The Sluissi took it hesitantly.
"Don't worry," the guard advised him. "We checked it by all possible means."
"And the contents?" the Sluissi asked, swallowing.
He didn't like what was happening.
"It's just a holorecording with an address," the girl replied. "A house in a residential area."
"Alright," the Sluissi managed to say. "Thank you."
Hiding the chip, he headed for the hover-taxi stand.
The droid driver kindly (which was starting to annoy him today) asked for his destination.
Without hesitation, the Sluissi inserted the information chip into the receiver slot.
The equipment read the data, and the transport lurched forward, merging into the general flow.
He unfastened the blaster holsters under his cloak and pressed a button to open the compartment.
The cargo ramp lowered onto the landing platform, and a cold wind rushed into the cargo hold, filling everything with the smell of the ocean and salt.
He heard the sound of sand rustling against the ship's hull.
He stepped out of the starship.
The light of the setting sun momentarily blinded him, and the guard squinted.
He, like his entire team, had flown for several days under artificial light, choosing the most convoluted hyperspace routes to avoid any enemy encounters.
His boots crunched on the freshly fallen snow and sandy grit that covered the black surface of the landing pad.
Thick steam billowed from his mouth, immediately carried away by the wind.
Two men moved towards him, and they met halfway between the ships.
Both were human and both were bearded.
Both were dressed in insulated uniforms – representatives of the local central defense forces.
One of them was one-eyed and had a lightning-bolt-like scar on his cheek. Both had blasters hanging from their belts, and, like Grodin, their holsters were unfastened.
But they couldn't even guess about the existence of his weapon.
Shielding his eyes from the light and snow, Thiers instantly assessed the disposition near the ship.
Two fighters in front of him.
Two more at the entrance to the center.
Distance – twenty meters.
Armed with heavy blaster rifles.
On the balcony of the second floor – another sentry.
This one had a heavy repeater in his arsenal.
With a bit of effort, such a squad could shred anyone attempting to attack the communication node.
It seemed Darth Maul was absolutely right – his help would definitely be needed.
All of this evoked the usual unpleasant sensations of impending battle and many deaths.
"Who are you?" asked the man with the scar, and vaguely gestured towards the ship behind the guard. "Your rust bucket isn't on the flight plan, friend. So, be a good fellow, don't make any sudden moves."
The man without the scar stood nearby, shifting from foot to foot, and seemed nervous.
Grodin nodded in agreement, maintaining an impassive face, but felt his body begin to actively release adrenaline, preparing for the upcoming troubles.
"What are you doing here?" the man with the scar asked him.
"I'm delivering a shipment of equipment for the center," Lieutenant Colonel Thiers replied calmly. "Another courier was supposed to arrive, but he got lost somewhere along the way. I was sent as a replacement."
"Replacement," the second sentient repeated, still shifting on his feet, and quietly giggled.
"What's so funny?" Grodin asked him, moving his right hand back and forming his fingers into a specific pattern.
The sign language of the Stormtrooper Corps.
Before the second man could answer, his scarred partner gruffly asked, "What's your identifier?"
The hand, moved back, dived under the cloak.
His fingers closed around the hilt of a throwing knife.
"The same as everyone else."
The scarred man grimaced.
"I don't like you, kid."
"Well, I'm not a Twi'lek to be liked by everyone," Grodin said, and smiled slightly. "Everything's as usual."
The pair standing before him exchanged glances.
"Hand over your identifier and the cargo manifests."
At the same time, their hands rested on their blaster hilts.
Grodin felt calm and serene.
He usually felt this way when danger approached.
When it was time to kill.
The Lieutenant Colonel made an imperceptible movement with his hand, and the knife that appeared in it slit the scarred man's throat.
He collapsed onto the landing pad, emitting death rattles from his severed throat, with the black hilt of the knife sticking out.
The other enemy fighters stirred.
Grodin rolled forward, punched the opponent's chin from below with his fist, breaking his jaw and disorienting him.
Using him as cover from the pursuing guards at the entrance, Grodin charged forward.
Ahead and overhead, blaster bolts whizzed – the other guards, taking cover behind metal crates that simulated cargo, laid down suppressing fire.
For a brief moment, there was the roar of an object being torn from its mountings, accompanied by a soul-chilling scream.
Grodin, pushing the corpse onto the nearest of the two guards, quickly drew his blaster from his hip holster and shot the second in the face.
The opponent, out of surprise, took a step back and fell like a tree sawed at the roots.
His mouth opened silently, and his right hand was extended towards the guard, as if he wanted to stop the blaster shot that had already sent him to his ancestors.
The second guard fell with a hole in his chest – someone from the other guards had taken care of it.
And from above, splattering everything with blood and guts, the fifth shooter fell, looking as if he had been skinned alive.
The guards, clad in mercenary armor, broke through to the doors, taking up a circular defense.
External side passages led here, to the left and right, through which soldiers with firearms were already running.
The guards took them down one by one.
"Blocked," reported the 'ice-cutter,' delivered to the entrance door under the cover of guards. "I need a couple of minutes to open it..."
The next second, the metal of the door creaked.
And so pitifully that Thiers at first couldn't believe that an armored bulkhead was capable of such a thing.
Then the flat surface of the door crumpled – not much, barely noticeably.
And a second later – it turned into a huge, heavy lump, like a crumpled sheet of flimsi.
True, weighing a couple of hundred kilograms.
"Done," Darth Maul announced, as if nothing had happened, squeezing past the attackers and entering the main corridor first.
The other guards followed him, filling the corridor with the deadly fire of their firearms.
His scarlet blade came alive and turned into an elusive stream, blocking the hail of blaster fire.
The Shadow Guard walked like an armored droid, deflecting every charge directed at him.
He extended his left hand – and from the balcony of the second floor of the central building, one of the enemy combatants fell over the railing.
With a disgusting squelching sound, he crashed onto the corridor floor, after which the bloody projectile was launched like from a slingshot towards two other fighters firing from cover.
Grodin immediately shot another opponent standing near the side corridor.
He jumped aside, took cover behind the fairing, drew his blaster, and shouted something into the comlink on his wrist.
What exactly was unclear due to the roar of battle.
But the next second, an invisible force ripped him from his cover.
Still in mid-air, two precise shots ended the defender's life.
Darth Maul, running, jumped to the second floor, where several more sentient beings were located – and all, to a man, with intentions unfriendly towards the attackers.
He cleaved the first opponent from head to waist.
The second – he pulled towards him and impaled on his lightsaber.
The third, clenching his left fist, he raised into the air, forcing him to grab his throat, and then with acceleration smeared him across the corridor floor.
Grodin took a blaster in each hand, held his hands over his cover, and began firing at the people running towards him as fast as he could.
He didn't see the results of his shooting, but it hardly bothered him – it only took a couple of shots for the guard to assess the direction of fire.
Besides, the Lieutenant Colonel did this so that the defenders would start looking for cover, hiding from the shots.
Which would inevitably make them excellent targets for the other guards.
After he fired more than a dozen shots, and no shots were returned, he jumped out from behind cover and charged forward.
He reached the new opponent before he could figure out what was happening.
Sparks flew in all directions from their impacts, and the smell of melted plastoid filled the air, mixing with the salty smell of the ocean.
Grodin drove his elbow into the enemy soldier's face, breaking the latter's face with the armored element.
A finishing shot to the head – and the opponent fell silent forever.
"Lieutenant Colonel," he heard the voice of one of the junior commanders of the squad. "Group 'Alpha' is advancing along the north wall."
"Group 'Beta' – along the east."
"'Gamma' has taken control of the west."
Each squad – five fighters.
Out of twenty-one – two guarding the ship.
Fifteen are engaged in external control.
Grodin and three other fighters were supporting Darth Maul, who was finishing off the last defender of the central corridor.
At the moment, he had stuck his blade into the armored door behind which the main server and operations rooms were located.
That's where they needed to get.
Rushing after him, Thiers on the go gave orders to the fighters of his squad to ensure Mr. Pent's safety.
He reached Maul just as the Shadow Guard cut a huge oval out of the door, pulled it out of the wall, and slipped inside.
The Lieutenant Colonel Thiers followed him in there.
Just in time to see Maul cut through three enemy soldiers in half with one blow.
"Nobody move, and then nobody gets hurt," the Dominion guard commander roared, looking at the frightened faces of several dozen sentient beings huddled in a far corner of the room. "Order your guards to lay down their weapons. Otherwise, they will be destroyed."
"We can't do that," stated a young specialist standing closest to Thiers.
"That's what you think," Darth Maul, the faceless one, said menacingly, looming over the operator. "Think carefully before I start tearing your limbs off one by one."
"That's not our guard!" the operator shouted in fear. "They took us hostage a week and a half ago!"
Thiers, making eye contact with the approaching fighters of his squad, gave the appropriate order with a nod.
One of the guards, whose face, like all the other soldiers, was hidden behind an impenetrable helmet of armor, knelt beside the corpses previously bisected by Darth Maul.
Quickly searching the bodies, the subordinates handed the Lieutenant Colonel the identification of each of the killed.
"Hack it," he ordered Mr. Pent, who had already settled behind the nearest workstation.
The 'ice-cutter,' having retrieved his equipment, connected the chips one by one to his deck and gave an answer a couple of minutes later.
Which Grodin did not like.
Not at all.
When the taxi approached the indicated address, the Sluissi already knew several things.
First.
He had never seen the woman sitting in the holorecording in a light robe, lounging in a soft armchair, in his life.
Despite the fact that she addressed him by name and accurately indicated the place he had visited on his last leave, he had never seen her before.
Although she herself claimed otherwise.
Second.
He was beginning to feel that she was as much a victim of circumstances as he was.
During the recording, this woman looked at someone beyond the holographic camera's view, as if she wanted to ask something or get confirmation for her actions.
Well, and third.
The recording itself.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but my conscience won't allow me to hide from you that you forgot your things with us last time," her expression was sad, as if she was upset about something. She smiled sweetly, showing a small chain with a medallion on it. "If you need this item, you can pick it up from me at the address..."
Nothing unusual.
Simple attentiveness.
But her last phrase changed everything.
"I still hope we'll meet, because you said at the establishment that this item connects you to the past, when you worked at other shipyards."
There was nothing objectionable here either – certainly not for the security service of 'Rendili StarDrives.'
After all, they knew he had worked at the Sluis Van shipyards in the past.
But there was a problem.
He had worked at the shipyards before he joined Rendili.
But not at Sluis Van.
And he never had a chain with a pendant.
And only those he had worked for in the past could know about his real place of work.
If the Republican special services found out about his double game, no one would lure him out.
They would simply come and arrest him.
No ceremony.
So, he had to be prepared for the fact that absolutely everyone knew about him.
And for some reason, his previous employers needed him.
However, he guessed why he had attracted such interest precisely now.
Run?
Pointless.
He couldn't tell the SB officers about the situation either – they would clearly guess about his double life, and then everything he had strived for would come to an end.
Therefore, he reached the required address and paid the droid.
Indeed – a residential area.
Quiet, cozy, calm, safe.
Huge high-rise buildings, inhabited by thousands of sentient beings, were built with a charming design that did not stand out from the urban landscape.
The Sluissi quickly found the right building.
In the lobby – he found the turbolift, having asked a couple of workers tinkering with communications for directions.
This residential area was recently built, and the builders periodically finished certain gaps in their work that were made during the construction phase.
Or, more simply put – the builders stole a lot during their work, and now it turns out that the pipes are wrong, the wiring is cheaper, the lighting is not what was provided by the standards...
The developer, trying to save money, as always, had to shell out and redo the work that he didn't want to do correctly from the very beginning of construction.
So, almost no one lived here – who would want to move into apartments where there was noise from "finishing work" from morning till night.
"Oh," the female worker scratched her nose. "You need the turbolift, right?"
"Yes," the Sluissi confirmed. "Can you show me where it is?"
"Let's go," the female worker slapped her partner on the back. "We'll check and de-energize the distribution panel on the technical floor right away, before looking for the cause of the burnt wiring in the lobby."
The Sluissi was taken aback.
Were they serious?
Who in their right mind would go to repair power lines when they were energized?!
Even he, not being a builder, knew that!
"Yeah, let's go," the male worker sniffled. "Mister, the turbolifts are over there in that part of the lobby."
"New ones, it seems," thought the Sluissi, assessing the un-worn uniforms of both workers.
The three of them got into the turbolift cabin.
The workers unceremoniously pressed the button for the technical floor, located under the very roof of the building.
The Chief Engineer, without overthinking, made a correction to their intentions by activating the button he needed.
The cabin doors closed, and the spacious, chrome-gleaming cabin shot upwards.
The Sluissi absently pondered his own thoughts, barely listening to what the two workers were chattering about, as they repeatedly pulled equipment out of their bags, arguing about whether the scanners were set up correctly...
"It was careless of you," the female worker suddenly said, looking directly into the Sluissi's eyes.
"What, excuse me?" he blinked.
"We don't forgive," the male worker replied, aiming a blaster at him. "Worse than traitors can only be double traitors of Ten Dorn."
The Sluissi swallowed the lump in his throat with a loud gulp.
It seemed... Everything was worse than he thought.
He was pulled out of the turbolift on the technical floor, thrown into a corner like a sack of rags.
The engineer quickly surveyed the room and realized that the only way to escape was through the ventilation shaft.
Outside.
And a fall under the influence of free fall acceleration for all hundred floors of the building.
Because the 'workers' had sealed the turbolift cabin.
"Y-you've got the wrong person!" the Sluissi stammered. "Y-you need someone else! I-I-I, I'm here on business!"
"Came for the chain?" the girl chuckled, twirling on her finger the very item that had been demonstrated by another unknown person in the holorecording a couple of hours earlier.
"N-no, what are you... I'm visiting friends!"
"Is he an idiot or does he think we are?" the man asked his partner.
"What are you, what are you, how could you," the Sluissi stammered, crawling backward, seeing the pair approaching him.
A deadly dangerous pair.
"Let's not waste our time," the man suggested. "For you, Ten Dorn, we had to travel a long way."
"I'm telling you, you're mistaken!" the Sluissi stammered. "I'm not Dorn, I'm..."
A short, direct punch to the head caused sparks to fly from the Chief Engineer's eyes.
"Don't waste our time," the man advised. "We know perfectly well who you are and what you're about."
"If you want, I can recite it," the woman offered. "I had quite a bit of fun reading your agent file, Dorn."
"You're mistaking me for someone else," the Sluissi tried to squeeze out a tear of pity.
But it didn't work.
Inside, he was simply trembling with fear.
What he had so desperately wanted to avoid had caught up with him.
Where he least expected it.
"You are Ten Dorn, a Sluissi who worked on Admiral Jial Akbar's project to create a heavy assault fighter, known as the B-wing, or simply 'razor'," the woman said in an imperious tone.
"You also worked on a device that allowed the release of tractor beam grapples," the man added.
"After which you defected to the Empire," the woman continued, approaching the alien from the side.
While the man continued to advance directly at him, keeping his blaster aimed.
"You worked at the Vosteltig shipyards in the Oplovis sector," he said, naming another line from the Sluissi's real biography. "For which you were declared wanted by General Kraken as a threat to the security of the New Republic."
"After which, as soon as the New Republic took the sector seriously, you fled from there," the woman took one long step to get behind the Sluissi. "At the same time, according to all the documents, it appeared that you were still working at Vosteltig."
"True, no one could find you there," the man said. "Neither the Republic nor the Empire."
"You simply disappeared as if you never existed," the woman stated. "And the Sluissi, whom you left at Vosteltig instead of you, of course knew nothing about you. And your search was suspended."
"I'm just an engineer!" the Sluissi shouted, not particularly hoping for success. "I just work for Rendili! And before that – for Sluis Van."
"You appropriated the identity of that Sluissi, whom you passed off as yourself at Vosteltig," the man cut off. "And with these documents, thoroughly cleaned up, you 'surfaced' in the New Republic. Exactly after Sluis Van refused to conduct any business with the Republicans."
"Including exchanging information," the woman continued to shower him with facts.
"What do you want from me?!" the Sluissi shouted. "Yes, I made a deal, saved my life! Yes, I was given new documents, so what?!"
The man and woman exchanged glances.
"New Republican documents that passed enhanced checks so that he managed to infiltrate 'Rendili StarDrives'," the man said, looking at his partner.
"Did you notice that too?" she winked. "We couldn't manage to get you, – she gave the Sluissi a light tap on the back of the head, – directly from the slipways. And you, without even a shred of experience in special services – managed?"
"Someone helped me!" the Sluissi said plaintively.
"And who?" the man asked.
"Friend! I don't know his name! He came to me almost immediately after it became clear that Oplovis was surrendering to the New Republic's attacks!" Dorn stammered. "Only a hologram, I didn't see anything else!"
The man and woman exchanged glances.
Judging by the change in their faces, both were not thrilled with what they heard.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" the man asked.
"Uh-huh," the woman placed her hand on the Sluissi's head and, without the slightest hesitation, brought a knife to his exposed neck. "Let me guess. In exchange for new documents, this 'someone' demanded that you hand over the developments on the 'razors' to his subordinates?"
"Yes-yes-yes," the Sluissi nodded.
And he did so, albeit energetically, but with great caution – the blade at his neck had never done anyone any good with sudden movements.
"What else was included in the agreement?" the man asked.
"To work for him," the Sluissi said. "To pass on information about what's happening on Rendili."
"And what have you managed to tell him already?"
"Nothing," the Sluissi whined in a mournful tone. "I swear by all the gods of all peoples – nothing. I thought this invitation to a meeting was from him. Especially since I was appointed chief engineer for the repair of a captured Super Star Destroyer."
"Maybe, maybe," the man stated vaguely. "But you're very lucky today, Dorn. I'm offering you a choice – either we leak information about you to the local special services and keep you in a secluded place where they are guaranteed to find you and deliver you to a trial..."
"After which you will undoubtedly be shot," the woman suggested the end of the intriguing offer.
"And what's the second option?" the traitorous Sluissi quickly asked.
"And this is where the most interesting part begins," the man smiled at him. "Do what we command – and you'll never have to worry about being caught by one special service or another again."
Ten Dorne nodded in agreement.
No, well, what?
It was a pretty good option.
***
When Lieutenant Colonel Thiers finished his report, my first desire was to ask a clarifying question: "Is this data accurate?"
But my momentary doubts dissolved as soon as I remembered the guard commander's efficiency.
"Interesting," I said. "Well, that was expected."
In fact, it was no more than a guess.
One hypothesis out of hundreds of others.
But it fit the context of what was happening better than any other, becoming an additional puzzle piece in the mosaic of the actions of one particular restless sentient.
"A rather rash step on the part of the Republicans," Lieutenant Colonel Thiers shared his opinion. "The seizure of the central communication hub of the 'HoloNet' by special forces is a direct aggression against the government of the Sluis sector."
"Correct," I confirmed. "But the Sluissi do not have much political influence or a fleet to present their objections in any way other than notes of protest. But such actions will clearly lead to certain consequences on the galactic stage."
"What will be the orders, Grand Admiral?" the lieutenant colonel clarified, perfectly understanding that interference in the enemy's operation could also entail a change in our actions.
There were many options for how to proceed in the current situation.
Quite a lot.
But at the same time, that's no reason to get distracted.
On the contrary, it's a very, very interesting way to turn the situation from a different angle.
"Continue the operation, Lieutenant Colonel," I ordered. "Be prepared to withdraw your detachment to a reserve base in case of an invasion threat. Take measures to ensure that the enemy cannot find traces of your intervention, but discovers another presence. Everything must be done with the mandatory preservation of the lives of the hub employees and their evacuation to territories under our control."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral."
The lieutenant colonel's hologram dissolved.
I was left alone with my thoughts.
Or rather, with those that had just been born.
And it's not like they're particularly novel.
The 'HoloNet' is a rather old, but at the same time actively used telecommunications system.
During the Clone Wars, control over it was steadily maintained by the Old Republic.
It was used, among other things, for communication, coverage of combat operations, and propaganda and counter-propaganda activities.
The Confederacy of Independent Systems organized its own type of telecommunication – 'Shadow Broadcasting'.
For the same purposes.
Since then, several dozen variations of 'HoloNet' have appeared, with various limitations or scales of operation.
The New Republic had its own type of 'HoloNet', but, having become a hegemon in the galaxy and gaining many influential cartels as allies, including those responsible for the 'HoloNet', they simplified their work.
Well...
The Sluissi breaking free from their control complicated life for the New Republic.
Now they could rely solely on their communication network – the 'New Republic HoloNet'.
Why then attack a neutral broadcasting system?
The answer is simple – it has access to all corners of the galaxy, as it is a legacy of the Old Republic.
And with the help of this communication hub, one could convey their thoughts to both the worlds of the New Republic and the Imperials.
Not to mention the neutrals.
A great way for propaganda and hybrid warfare.
We used this approach last year – but for general coverage, we had to literally bombard the information network with numerous copies of the same recordings.
Some were destroyed, some reached their recipients.
Overall, with great effort, the result was not the most extensive.
Fey'lia decided to use my developments against me.
Well, that shouldn't be done.
And why – the Bothan will soon find out.
The sound of a comlink rang out.
"Grand Admiral, sir, our 'Interdictors' have pulled enemy starships out of hyperspace," the commander of the 'Guardian' reported.
"Excellent news, Captain," I allowed myself a slight smile. "Begin implementing the agreed-upon plan. I will join you on the bridge of the 'Guardian' shortly."
"It will be done, sir," Pellaeon stated.
When the comlink disconnected, I stroked the tiny head of the ysalamiri.
"Well, it has begun," I said, rising from the workstation and heading for the exit.
Given all the circumstances, it's even curious how the current events will unfold.
It's going to be very interesting now.