The Black Sword Battle Group, like a beautiful but deadly flower, bloomed in the dead silence of the orbital space of the N'Zoth system.
The formation of warships emerged with a terrifying suddenness and precision for any outside observer. A Harrower II-class Star Destroyer, five Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, and a dozen Marauder-class corvettes.
The triangle of the Star Destroyer and the angular Dreadnoughts were instantly taken under guard by the nimble corvettes, which organized a semblance of an escort, while the capital ships launched squadron after squadron of Superiority interceptor fighters into the icy void.
Almost at the same second, the formation of capital ships was supplemented by hundreds of tiny dots – squadrons of X-wings emerged from hyperspace, having made their way to the location under their own power.
The "Crosses," as pilots called these ships for their distinctive fuselage, deployed into a spherical defensive formation. The Star Destroyer and heavy cruisers were its center, with more and more small aircraft rising from their decks.
At the same time, bombers, landing transports, and assault shuttles took off from the spacious side hangars of the Harrower.
You can't risk a ship with an air group and troops on board. The Empire learned that lesson many thousands of years ago. One blockhead of a commander kept pilots on the flight decks to protect his small ships from Republic fire for as long as possible. They were still there when dozens of missiles launched from the surface of the planet Kademimu, where the Empire's ships had arrived to seize the Republic's vast weapons depots, instantly destroying the entire fleet, tearing it apart like a hungry nexu on a bantha.
Over two hundred landing craft — Lambda-class shuttles, Sentinel-class assault shuttles with an escort of nimble interceptors and indomitable "Crosses" rushed toward the orbit of N'Zoth and its three moons. But the terrible power of the armada could only be felt right then by the crews of those ships. The population of this system had yet to feel in their own skin why the howl of ion engines from Imperial interceptor fighters in the atmosphere caused superstitious terror and a desire to hide deep in the ground.
The silence on approach was broken only by the fleet's communication stations, which, crackling, transmitted and received coded communications between ships.
At the center of the large ship formation was the battle group's flagship, the Harrower II-class Star Destroyer Furious. It was a brand new ship, recently built at the Dromund Kalakar shipyards, so its corridors still smelled of sealant and solvent. During its acceptance trials, its engines emitted a sharp, high-pitched sound that the machine crew called "the cry of a child."
But after a hundred hours of running, the engine vibration decreased, the sound became lower. Of course, one shouldn't forget the work of the mechanics, who continuously put the ship in order, muttering under their breath about the ham-fisted assemblers from the company "Sienar Imperial Technologies," whose unfinished work they had to clean up here and there. Crooked welds, improperly secured equipment, constantly glitching control systems.
In the past week — since the Furious left the slipway — its crew had found and fixed a million and a couple more carts of defects, which resulted in an indignant report addressed to Darth Malgus. Who, having barely returned on the battered ships of his fleet to Korriban, was not thrilled with the quality of construction. Rumor had it that for such blunders, a couple dozen negligent masters went to breathe vacuum. Naturally, without spacesuits. A visual lesson for the population of Sith Space: now everyone knows what will happen to them if they decide that they're being paid a salary just for showing up to work and half-heartedly waving a plasma torch.
Nothing like that existed in the Old Sith Empire. Every inhabitant knew they were a small cog in a vast state machine. Work for the good of the state was always the highest good for honest citizens of the Empire.
On the bridge of the Furious stood a tall man of the human race, clad in heavy armor. His face, hidden under a mask — a tribute to ancient tradition — peered through the transparisteel of the traditional triangular viewports of Sith warships at the world that was the target of his battle group's campaign.
N'Zoth. The homeworld of a race known as the Yevetha. According to Imperial data — bloodthirsty bastards, mired in their own ethnocentrism. Before contact with representatives of the Republic in the recent past, they considered themselves the only sentient beings in the universe. Which was hardly surprising, given their rather primitive technology and the physical inaccessibility of the Koornacht Cluster, which included almost two thousand stars devoid of biological life form diversity. But rich in minerals and worlds suitable for life.
Lord Archi, watching yet another Sentinel accompanied by a squadron of interceptors rush toward the atmosphere, smiled grimly. Soon these skeletal bastards would regret what they had done. They seemed to love blood, didn't they? Yes, that was right. They fed it to the incubators in which their children matured and grew.
Excellent. Soon the Yevetha would have a lot of blood.
The Empire does not forgive the murder of its citizens.
Archi had to admit, it was hard for him to understand the motivation of the Imperial Diplomatic Service, which was undoubtedly aware of the ways of these inferior, skeletal-like creatures. They should have been destroyed immediately, as soon as the Imperial fleet carved a path to this cluster through the Unknown Regions.
And yet, according to Admiral Block, who had instructed the new warlord of the Eternal Empire, the Keshiri Lord Archi, the Emperor had decided to first try to establish diplomatic contact with these humanoids.
The result was simple: seven Imperial citizens died, first taken captive, then mercilessly killed by the Yevetha. One of the mission members managed to transmit a message about this — the holo-projector captured the moment a Yevetha pierced him with a sharp spike from its arm.
No more was needed for a punitive operation.
The laws of the Empire, though not yet fully written, did not require any special interpretation regarding what had happened to the diplomats.
The Yevetha must answer for their crimes.
And yet, something troubled the man.
After the Emperor annexed the people of Kesh into the domains of his state, they all ended up on an unknown planet, where millions upon millions of sentients were being filtered by the few employees of the Imperial Security Bureau. Things moved slowly — for ordinary sentients.
The gifted, however...
It was unpleasant to recall the check procedures that he and other Sith had been subjected to by the Imperial Guards, who literally turned the minds of Kesh's inhabitants inside out, weeding out anyone who even remotely plotted ill against the Empire or the Emperor. Archi knew several such individuals personally. Staunch supporters of the deceased members of the High Circle of Lords. None of them returned after their conversation with the guards. Though, there was no sense of their death either. It seemed they simply vanished. Naturally, no one asked any questions about their further fate.
Meanwhile, most of the gifted inhabitants of Kesh did eventually find a place in the Empire. And work was found for everyone.
Archi had chosen waging war as his new path. Given the isolation of Kesh, it was certainly foolish to learn the art of space combat. But he excelled in ground battles. The basics of the Light Side... yes, that path was something new for a Sith, and the man felt revulsion toward the Jedi techniques he had managed to study. And there was even more to absorb in the future. But one had to admit, the concept of the Unified Force was... quite interesting.
Despite their firm adherence to the ideas of their ancestors, the isolationist inhabitants of Kesh had still diluted the Dark Side. The art of healing, strict control over their abilities... The leaders presented this as something new in the teachings of the Sith. But it turned out they were weaving the teachings of the Jedi into the minds of their followers.
And the saddest part was that, in general, there were prerequisites for this. When a Sith ship crashed on Kesh almost five thousand years ago, Jedi had crashed along with them. Over time, former enemies became allies, passing on their mixed knowledge to their descendants. In a way, this was even an advantage — representatives of the Lost Tribe of Sith, as it turned out, learned the basics of the Unified Force concept from birth. And there was no need for adult men and women to go to the Imperial Knights Academy to study alongside children.
But the Sith children were not so lucky — they all went to the Academy. Of course, it was novel — giving your gifted children to be taught by those you had never even seen. But you don't go to someone else's temple with your own codex.
"Enemy ships on the scanners," the ship's commander reported to the lord. A man of average height, who from the very first hours of Lord Archi's presence on the destroyer had seemed to the gifted man to be extremely competent. Iron discipline on board the flagship, relentless drill for the crew, who were essentially now participating in their first-ever combat battle. Yes, in some ways this was new for all of them.
"Do your job, captain," Archi said dryly. The man had no desire to impose his advice on a professional — a graduate of the Imperial Fleet Academy on Odessen. In such cases, it would only lead to failure. Even an ignoramus could see that.
On the monitors, signals from dozens of ships flashed at a frantic pace, and information was being output from the reconnaissance fighters that surrounded the planet in a wide sphere, keeping everything in near-planetary space under control.
New reports kept coming in from the coordination center.
"Multiple contacts in the third sector..."
"Kinetic artillery in the fifth..."
"Red Squadron has destroyed the power station..."
"Troop landing is difficult... Heavy resistance from locals... The Third Regiment is taking minor losses and is advancing toward the capital center under fire."
The attack plan was far too well-developed for a few deaths to hinder its execution. Archi turned away and began studying the tactical battle plan. We'll mourn the dead later.
It was strange, in a way, to know that these guys in black-and-silver armor, loaded with weapons, supported by assault droids and ground vehicles, weren't ordinary sentients but clones. Endless copies of the same person. This was... new for the Lost Tribe. With a sigh, Archi thought that his fellow citizens would have much to learn about the galaxy that the Emperor had opened up for them.
"Breakthrough is complete in all sectors," a lieutenant at one of the consoles reported. "Deployment has been carried out. The capital and other major cities are surrounded. The assault group commander is requesting confirmation of permission to attack on all fronts."
"They're fast," Archi remarked, glancing at the chronometer. A little over two hours had passed since the start of the landing. Either these clones were ideal soldiers, or the locals were truly no match for an advanced society. But most likely, the answer was somewhere in between. "All units: provide flank and rear security, prepare to advance."
"Understood," the lieutenant confirmed receipt of the message and passed it to the assault group commander.
"Any messages from the locals?" Archi inquired.
"We got a couple," the captain smirked. "In shoddy Basic, but you can make out the meaning. They demand we cease fire and surrender to their mercy to avoid the punishment they will send down upon our heads... and so on and so forth."
"Didn't bother to read the entire message?" Archi asked.
"Why bother?" the officer shrugged. "It's clear enough. They think they're better than us and that they can butcher our people like cattle with impunity. If you ask me, this planet should have been turned into slag. And broadcast it all on the HoloNet."
"We're not here for empty glory," the gifted one reminded him. "Our goal is retribution. Though, I imagine the higher-ups will find a way to make what happened here known to those who might want to kill our envoys in the future. But you're right about one thing, captain. It's time to teach these barbarians a lesson. Burn down any one of their cities."
"The capital?" the commander of the Furious inquired hopefully.
"All the most valuable things, peoples keep either in hiding places or in capital cities," Archi intoned. "Something there might be useful to us. As for the rest — it can continue. I'll join the ground forces storming the capital."
"As you wish, Lord Archi," the commander of the Furious nodded respectfully. Then, turning to his men, he began issuing orders:
"Power to the turbolasers at maximum. Find something on this giant desert ball worthy of such an expense of tibanna!"
A few minutes later, the Furious, accompanied by three heavy Dreadnaught-class cruisers, departed the formation. About fifty fighters followed in their wake — even if the enemy's small craft couldn't compare to the Empire's air power, it would be foolish to deny themselves such an escort. Who knew what else the natives might have in store.
Archi watched it all from the cockpit of his personal Lambda-class transport shuttle, which had launched from the starboard hangar of the flagship. Watching the retreating giants, the former inhabitant of Kesh asked the pilot to wait a moment and decided to observe the ships' actions himself. Nothing like this had existed on Kesh.
The group set a new course, crossed the orbital equator, and moved toward the planet's southern pole, where, according to scanner data, the second-largest Yevethan settlement was located.
Several swift Supremacy-class ships were dispatched to destroy the poorly armed orbital sensors and communications satellites. The light interceptors opened fire first on the enemy in this part of N'Zoth. They shot with flawless accuracy, turning their targets into sparkling clouds.
And right behind them, the turbolaser cannons of all four ships joined the fight. Streams of green energy beams rained down from orbit, churning buildings and population into a bloody, dusty, sandy slurry. The Yevethan missile launchers that tried to return fire instantly exposed themselves. The slow rockets were destroyed by pilots while still in flight, and their launch sites received their share of the all-consuming joy of total annihilation.
"To the surface," Archi ordered. He had seen everything he wanted. The ships continued their work, incinerating anything that even remotely resembled structures built by the hands of sentients. Yes, a vivid lesson — part of the communications satellites was destroyed by interceptors only after the city had been reduced to fire-gripped ruins, in whose flames the representatives of the Yevethan people perished.
Perhaps they weren't to blame for what their rulers had done to the Imperial diplomats. However, sifting out the uninvolved now would be a thankless task. Unfortunately for them. But repaying the Yevethans a hundredfold was a tribute to their fallen comrades and a statement to the rest of the galaxy: no one should even think about harming Imperial citizens. Or, they'd better prepare for trouble and retribution.
* * *
"Last time, your people were more hospitable," he said, taking a small sip from his glass.
Thousands of years had passed... And the wine had only gotten worse. Quality had suffered for the sake of quantity. In the Empire, everything was completely different. In the Empire, everything was for the citizens. Well, not for all of them.
Now, though... Even nobles were served some kind of swill.
"Last time?" the sentient sitting across from him exchanged glances with his colleague from the military department. "I don't recall our peoples ever having conducted diplomatic negotiations before."
"That was long before you were born," Alexander said with a sigh. "Many thousands of years ago..."
Alexander. How long had it been since he'd remembered the name given to him at birth?
Translated from the ancient Tion language, which his late parents had loved very much, the name given at birth meant "protector."
For most of his conscious life, he'd carried a very different one. But he hadn't forgotten the original.
They'd predicted a brilliant military career for him. With his sharp mind, natural ingenuity, and quick wit, he could have become one of the greatest commanders of his time.
But he chose a different path.
No less difficult, and far more dangerous.
On the battlefield, you know who your enemy is. You know he must be killed. Otherwise, he'll kill you.
In diplomacy, though, everything is... much subtler.
You have to smile at the one you should tear to pieces. You shake hands and assure of good intentions the one whose homeland will be invaded in a few hours.
Diplomacy is dancing in a minefield. It's the virtuoso ability to turn potential enemies into allies. The capacity to neutralize nuclear warheads before they leave their silos. One wrong word or move — and your state is mired in a war it doesn't need at all.
And now... It's roughly the same situation.
In diplomacy, it's important to understand the psychology of your "partner." Aggressive races will mistake it for weakness if you show up to a meeting without any protection at all. Peaceful ones, on the other hand, will refuse negotiations the faster the more military force stands behind you.
The representatives of the race he was negotiating with now... They had always shattered the usual canons.
Nothing had been simple with them the first time. And it wouldn't be simple now.
He had spent too much time in captivity. Millennia of stasis on Belsavis don't do anyone any good. Especially when your biological age has long since left youth behind.
Alexander held himself steady and calm. Despite having spent the entire night — already short on this planet, where a day lasted twenty-five standard hours — systematizing the gathered intelligence data from his spies, so that later the preparation of the report on the negotiations with the Chiss Ascendancy, which would land on the Emperor's desk, wouldn't take up much time. He loved order in everything. And he preferred not to waste time.
It was a strange character trait for a diplomat, where most of the time was, by default, useless chatter around and about. But it was all a game of minds. A test of the "partner's" strength — the one who couldn't hold out first and got down to business would effectively demonstrate their interest in the key issue of the negotiations. And that already gave an invisible psychological advantage over them. A simple principle: if you started discussing it first, it means you're more interested in us, not the other way around. A moral as old as the universe, but it hadn't changed in millennia.
Millennia...
That despicable bitch Acina had stolen millennia from him.
He had led the diplomacy of the Sith Empire long before the war with the Republic began. And he led it later. And he achieved victories where even the best of warriors surrendered. He made the Empire stronger.
Right up until the supposedly dead Emperor Vitiate was resurrected, desiring to destroy his own creation. Most of the Dark Council members were either destroyed by the hordes of soldiers from Zakuul or perished in the endless conflict among themselves. The outcome was one: of the twelve members of the Dark Council, by the time the figure of the Outlander emerged at the dawn of the galaxy, only the two strongest Sith in the Empire had survived.
Him and Acina.
Sith don't need to know the reasons why other Sith want to destroy them. It's clear without words — power. He had possessed enormous influence and could easily have become Emperor — if he had wanted to. But he hadn't even intended to. He had always served his state. A small contradiction in his own head — every Sith wanted to reach the limits of power. He had wanted it too. And after he took the seat of a Dark Council member, his activity was directed only for the good of the Empire. The growth of influence within Sith society was a necessary and almost forced measure for achieving the tasks set before the Dark Council.
Acina, though... He had underestimated her desire to gather all the fullness of power into her fist.
Without a twinge of conscience, she revealed to the Republic the travel route of her main opponent. And no matter how valiantly his escort fought, the Republic forces managed to capture his ship, and take him prisoner.
Counting on a fair trial from a sworn enemy — that was a fairy tale. The Jedi sent him into exile on Belsavis, where thousands of captured Sith had been sent before. They placed him in one of the most remote and well-guarded cells. And they forgot about him.
Until the servants of the new Emperor found him.
Figuring out the intricacies of the politics of the time he'd landed in was a simple matter. Finding his place in this new world... was harder.
The ideology of the Unified Force... something that should be repulsive to any Sith. Mixing one's power from the Dark Side with Jedi knowledge... an abomination.
And at the same time — the only way to survive.
The deal he had struck was simple to the point of being trite: serve the Empire or die. After millennia of stasis, the latter option wasn't the stupidest, as it might seem at first glance. When everything you'd given most of your life to had sunk into oblivion, when everyone you'd known was dead and even their bones were buried who knows where...
But Sith know how to adapt. Those who haven't learned to benefit from the lessons of the past simply repeat the same mistakes.
He didn't consider himself a fool.
Alexander had had a conversation with the Emperor. Though not long, it was thorough, and that was already better compared to the fact that he'd seen Vitiate in general only a few times in his life — and even then, only in the guises of the Voices, the puppet bodies destined to absorb the blows aimed at the head of the Empire. The current head of the Empire wasn't afraid to show his true self.
A diplomat must be able to extract benefit from the most difficult moments.
So, he joined the Eternal Empire of Zakuul.
Even if it stank like that abomination Valkorion had once created, this Empire wasn't abandoned by its ruler to the whims of fate. Proof of that was the silent hulk, clad in armor, standing behind his back and the back of Grand Admiral Thrawn. An armored piece of meat, an executor of another's will. The Emperor's will. A killing machine and, at the same time, the Emperor's Herald.
The one once called the head of the Black Guard — a Sith cult — was now merely a puppet in the Emperor's hands. Obedient and dangerous. He had accompanied Thrawn, relaying the Emperor's orders to him throughout the entire Chiss campaign in the Unknown Regions and Wild Space. He whispered the Emperor's words into the Grand Admiral's ear, dictating which peoples to exterminate, which to capture. And which, in this case, to make allies.
Oddly enough, Alexander approved of this approach from the Emperor.
The Eternal Empire was barely over a year old. The loyalty of high-ranking officials, like ordinary citizens, was won over decades. Vitiate, to become a beloved ruler for all he'd eventually led to Dromund Kaas, had led them through the blackness of space for decades, making them dependent on him. In the end, every inhabitant of the Sith Empire, even after millennia, was ready to die for him. And Vitiate rejected that sacrifice. He abandoned his creation and set about making a new one.
The new Emperor, to whom Alexander had sworn an oath of allegiance on Belsavis, loved his state — the diplomat could tell from how people lived in the Eternal Empire. Always fed, provided with work, protected by law. Even though the Emperor wasn't physically present, he existed in the minds of his servants and watched over everything that happened in his Empire.
And this Lord Kursk was his latest set of eyes and ears. He watched and continuously reported everything to the Emperor. Alexander had no doubt that failure in the current negotiations could be followed by his lethal removal from the position the Emperor had granted him.
However, he himself had no intention of returning to Zakuul with his tail between his legs.
If he intended to remain in the power granted to him, to serve a new master and a new people, he simply had to succeed.
"You hoped we would hold negotiations in our capital?" the foreigner, dressed in yellow tones, inquired. Alexander didn't need to strain his memory to remember that the Chiss Ruling Families had a certain fetish for the color scheme of their wardrobe. It played no particular role in what was happening.
If the representatives of all the Ruling Families of the Ascendancy were sitting before the Empire's representative now — as it had been thousands of years ago. Not just one Aristocra and one Admiral.
"Hope is the lot of those who are unable to dictate the terms of unfolding events themselves," Alexander remarked. "You have already been able to see that the Empire does not rely on ephemeral concepts."
"Oh, yes," the female Chiss sitting nearby, dressed in a snow-white uniform, smirked. Quite unusual, considering that the traditionalist Chiss belonging to the military sphere preferred to wear black uniforms. "The way you burned the worlds of the Vagaari, butchered the Ssi-ruuk and the Tofs, and secured the Nagai's entry into the Empire — is certainly impressive. But what makes you think the Ascendancy has any interest in cooperating with the Empire?"
"And did anyone mention cooperation?" The Sith feigned surprise. After exchanging an exaggerated glance with Thrawn sitting beside him, he returned his gaze to the other two Chiss. "I personally drafted the note sent to your government. And there wasn't a word about cooperation in it."
"So you intend to conquer us?" the yellow-clad Chiss asked coldly.
"Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano," the Imperial looked straight into the burning red eyes. "The Empire has no need to wage military actions against those who could become our allies. It's a different matter if the Ascendancy suddenly wants to rattle its sabers — then yes, our starships will be in orbit over Csilla faster than you can think to return to the negotiating table. But nobody wants that — not me, not you, not the Emperor. And the one least interested in landing stormtroopers on the surface of your homeworlds is our Grand Admiral."
"Then... I don't understand the point of this meeting?" the Aristocra frowned.
Alexander allowed himself a smile.
"First and foremost — to express gratitude to you, Chaf'orm'bintrano, and to you, Admiral Ar'alani, for the Empire's invaluable assistance in delivering preemptive strikes against our enemies," the diplomat stated.
"I don't know what you're talking about," the Chiss from the Fifth Ruling Family replied with a stone-faced expression.
"As do I," the Admiral joined him.
"Really?" Alexander feigned surprise. "In that case, Grand Admiral Thrawn, allow me once again to express admiration for your genius. To gather such detailed information about our opponents, destroyed by your forces, in such a short time — one would need a truly extraordinary, I would even say — prophetic — gift."
The Grand Admiral, measuring the diplomat with a cold stare, returned to examining the metal table, on opposite sides of which the negotiating parties sat. Well, of course — did you really think there was no one in the Empire for whom your flirtations with former colleagues were a secret? For those around — undoubtedly, yes. But the Emperor personally warned his chief diplomat about the capacity in which Mitth'raw'nuruodo had agreed to swear allegiance to the Eternal Empire of Zakuul. Protecting his homeland first and foremost. It was naive to think the Chiss had no support among his kin — even despite his exile.
In general, the idea of diplomatic negotiations on a remote, sparsely populated planet — Crustai — belonged to the Chiss themselves. In response to a message sent to the homeland of the blue-skinned, red-eyed humanoids via the Empire's Expeditionary Force channels. Actually, it was part of their territories and, judging by the sparse infrastructure, a recently acquired one. However, what wasn't shown to the guests spoke volumes more than what the Chiss wanted to demonstrate.
"But, let's return to the details of our meeting," the diplomat took a datapad from his travel case and placed it on the table.
"What is this?"
"The terms of capitulation for the Chiss Ascendancy," the Sith said impassively, feeling the air become palpably thick with human emotions. Anger, irritation, surprise... and anticipation. The man glanced surreptitiously at his companion. The Grand Admiral looked simultaneously unruffled and interested. But even in the Force, it was practically impossible to read his other emotions. Interesting... he had never encountered anything like this before.
"Darth Ravage," Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano addressed him. "This is an extremely poor joke."
"You think so?" the former head of the Sphere of Diplomacy and Expansion smirked. "It seems genuinely funny to me."
"For what reason?"
"Almost four thousand years ago, I was the one who, on the orders of the Sith Emperor Vitiate, sent the Ascendancy a note demanding capitulation under threat of armed invasion and enslavement," Ravage stated. "It took the Ruling Families just two hours to send their representatives and announce that they were ready to join the Empire as full allies."
"An interesting story," Ar'alani said. "But what relevance does it have to what's happening now?"
"The most direct relevance," Darth Ravage lowered his voice. "I devoted decades to studying Chiss society. And, as a representative of the Emperor and the Empire — a state that has sent your government an official proposal to begin diplomatic negotiations — I cannot fail to recognize the fact that the arrival at this sort of negotiation of just one representative from one of the Ruling Families, just as the participation of military personnel in this kind of negotiation, is mere fiction. Which gives an eloquent answer to the Emperor: the Chiss are not burning with desire either to become part of the Empire or to become its full-fledged allies. That is, of course, if the official circles of the Ascendancy are even aware of what's happening."
Chaf'orm'bintrano and Ar'alani exchanged glances. Oh, yes, my blue friends, you're absolutely right. Your little game with your friend Thrawn is no secret to me.
"We had to be sure of your intentions," Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano said. "Defending borders is one thing, but an alliance..."
"Stop messing with my head," Ravage snarled, staring into the faces of the Chiss in turn. "All three of you are allies. Only a blind man wouldn't see that. Thrawn is a brilliant commander. But without reliable information — which it's utterly impossible to gather in a couple of months, or even a couple of years — his campaign would have dragged on for a long time. Consequently, he had informants just as interested in eliminating the threat in this region of the galaxy as he was. And only the Chiss benefit from that. Whose military doctrine forbids striking first. But you have someone for whom the ends justify the means — our most dear Grand Admiral. With his help, you've gotten rid of many minor threats. But the question arises — in what capacity should we regard the Eternal Empire? As a friend or an enemy? Thrawn can't reliably answer that question, because he doesn't know it. So, as soon as he was informed that the Empire was ready for a dialogue with the Ascendancy, he personally told the two of you. And you decided that there are no people in the Empire who would expose your little improvisation — to extract information from the Empire's representative and prepare for what is coming from Zakuul. In the event that the Empire tries to harm the Ascendancy, it's likely our Grand Admiral would return to his homeland. But if we came in peace after all — the message about the negotiations would still reach the right Chiss. I admit — simple and tasteful. But don't mistake the Empire for a gathering of idiots."
"Brilliant, Darth Ravage," Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano smiled. "You've uncovered our little arrangement. But I dare to assure you — the Empire has no reason to be angry with us for this small performance."
"Understand one thing, Aristocra," the Imperial diplomat said sharply. "The Eternal Empire of Zakuul doesn't get angry. It concentrates."
"Is that a threat?" Ar'alani frowned. The man felt notes of apprehension and annoyance begin to slip through Thrawn's mask of indifference.
"It's a warning," Ravage stated. "The Empire doesn't like being led by the nose. Usually, this is punished by battle groups of our glorious fleet appearing near the capital world of such shortsighted races and conducting a local re-education using heavy weapons."
"Sounds like a threat," Chaf'orm'bintrano snorted.
"Not at all," Thrawn spoke up, examining his fingernails. "This is the real state of affairs. Darth Ravage has neither exaggerated nor understated the situation by a single standard unit."
"In that case," Ar'alani concluded. "I take it our meeting is concluded? We know each other's intentions and will inform our government..."
The female Chiss's words were interrupted by the loud, booming laughter of the former Sith.
For a few seconds, the diplomat laughed, genuinely enjoying the moment.
"Now it's clear why Thrawn is the best of you," he said after his laughter subsided. "Only he was smart enough to leave behind the rigidity of your society and worldview, and to follow the new for the sake of saving his fellow citizens."
"We acknowledge the strategic genius of Mitth'raw'nuruodo," Ar'alani noted coldly. "But our traditions..."
"An attempt to bury your head in the sand won't help against the Far Outsiders," Thrawn said in a neutral tone.
"Still dreaming of those same fantasies?" Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano inquired. "The Far Outsiders are merely a minor threat, which you yourself have eliminated by now..."
"If that's so," Ravage placed a small holocommunicator before the Chiss. "Then what is this?"
For the next hour, those assembled watched a video recording of a battle between Darth Malgus's fleet and something that looked more like a collection of space boulders. Ones that fired plasma and flew in a vacuum with surprising correctness at speeds exceeding normal inertial movement.
"When was this recorded?" Admiral Ar'alani's nostrils flared as she took a deep breath.
"A little over a week ago," Ravage leaned back in his chair. "We managed to destroy their reconnaissance fleet, capturing one of the large ships, as well as a ground base and several hundred prisoners."
"Their further fate?" Chaf'orm'bintrano's eyes flashed fire.
"The trophies have been sent to our research facilities for further study."
"For what purpose? Their fleet is destroyed and..."
"You weren't listening carefully," Darth Ravage said slowly. "Our ships destroyed the RECONNAISSANCE fleet. Which is thousands of times smaller than the main invasion force."
"That cannot be..."
"Oh, but it can," Thrawn nodded. "An invasion by an entire race is on the horizon. Extremely aggressive and intolerant of dissent. It is precisely in anticipation of their arrival that the Empire is eliminating those who could become their allies."
"When?" Ar'alani's fists clenched so hard that white spots appeared through her blue skin.
"Not soon," Darth Ravage replied vaguely. "But rest assured, it will happen within our lifetime."
"This information undoubtedly deserves attention," Chaf'orm'bintrano frowned. "But as you understand, we need to communicate this to the members of the other Ruling Families. Perhaps this will be the very reason our peoples draw closer and diplomatic relations truly develop between the Ascendancy and the Empire..."
"Grand Admiral," Ravage turned to Thrawn. "Do your kin have a poor understanding of their native tongue? Or did I express myself incorrectly in Cheunh?"
"Your pronunciation is impeccable," Thrawn noted. "I think my kin simply didn't grasp the meaning of what you said."
Seeing the frowning Chiss sitting opposite him, Ravage tapped his finger on the datapad's screen.
"As I said before, this contains the text of the Chiss capitulation..."
"What do we care about a treaty that's almost four thousand years old?" Ar'alani inquired. "We will convey your proposal to begin diplomatic relations between the Ascendancy and the Empire, but the decision rests with the Ruling Families."
"This document is two hours old," Ravage explained, smiling as he watched the eyes of the imperturbable Chiss widen. It finally dawned on them. Pleasant to realize that of this trio, the most shrewd and calculating one was on the Empire's side.
"That means..."
"This means that from today, the Chiss Ascendancy is part of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul," the chief diplomat stated. "It wasn't that hard, after figuring out your little, foolish scheme, to send a courier to Csilla. And while the two of you were acting out a conspiracy of universal proportions here, my subordinates secured an audience with the heads of the Ruling Families. You were quite wrong to flaunt your importance here, Admiral Ar'alani and Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano. The Chiss remember the capabilities of the Sith Empire and have received a visual demonstration of the power of the Eternal Empire of Zakuul. And the other Ruling Families have no desire whatsoever to fight those who are many times stronger than them. But they fully realize that cooperation with Zakuul will bring new milestones in the development of your society. It is for this reason that the Immortal Emperor has graciously allowed the Ascendancy to enter the Empire under autonomy, retaining its own government."
"Since that happened, why did you, Darth Ravage, continue to maintain this whole performance?" Chaf'orm'bintrano frowned.
"Your comrade, Grand Admiral Thrawn, spoke highly of both of you," Alexander, with an internal laugh, moved to the main idea of this event. "A talented commander of the armed forces and a talented diplomat and mediator. Personnel that the Empire so sorely lacks..."
"If you think we will work for you..." Ar'alani stood up from her chair with a crash.
"I don't 'think,' I 'know' that you, Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano, and you, Admiral Ar'alani, will walk out of here as subjects of the Empire serving in the Imperial service," Darth Ravage said slowly.
"What gave you that idea?"
"Our secret is out," Thrawn said, glancing at Ravage. "It's hard to imagine otherwise — how the Ruling Families made a decision without your involvement, Formbi."
"That's right," the Sith chuckled, looking at the stunned faces of the two Chiss. "Frankly, even the threat of invasion by the Far Outsiders wasn't as compelling to your rulers as information about a prominent aristocrat from a Ruling Family and a leader of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet who were passing secret intelligence to a disgraced relative serving another state. You are both hereby exiled from the Dominion. Beyond the doors of this room, your former subordinates, Admiral, are already waiting, ready to take you into custody and transport you to Csilla for trial."
"Well played," commended Chaf'orm'bintrano. "I never thought there could be someone capable of outplaying me on my own turf."
"Delusion is the key to failure," Darth Ravage said didactically. "The offer stands for only the next five minutes. After that, according to the alliance treaty between the Dominion and the Empire, war criminals must be handed over to representatives of the respective side. On the other hand, the same treaty provides that military and state officials of the Dominion may enter the service of the Empire, though they forfeit their position in the native hierarchy. I could be mistaken, but once the general public learned that your unspoken national hero — Mitth'raw'nuruodo — serves the Empire, there was no shortage of those wishing to serve under his command. I don't think either of you relishes spending the rest of your lives on some backwater planet. As it happens, Grand Admiral Thrawn and I need competent deputies."
"I marvel at your ability to assemble a plan that looks absurd but is stable and effective from scattered pieces," Chaf'orm'bintrano shook his head.
"Yes, the plan isn't much to look at: improvisation on the fly isn't my strongest trait," the former Sith shrugged, placing on the table a plaque bearing the rank insignia of an Admiral of the Imperial Expeditionary Forces and the chevron of an employee of the Sphere of Galactic Influence — which Darth Ravage had headed in the Eternal Empire. "But one way or another, I always get what I want. So, what will your affirmative answer be?"
After exchanging glances, the former aristocrat Chaf'orm'bintrano and the former Admiral Ar'alani reached for the new insignia.
"Splendid," the lips of the former Sith, who led the diplomacy and intelligence activities of the Eternal Empire, spread into a smile. "The Emperor will be pleased."
* * *
Ikeru stood on his favorite balcony of the Anil Kesh temple, succumbing to melancholy.
Occasionally, it was interrupted by a dry, exhausting cough that literally doubled him over. Hutt's plague.
Behind him, in a dim glow, lay the laboratory, at the center of which on a pedestal rested something vaguely resembling a high-tech coffin.
Delivered to Tython in deep secrecy, this sarcophagus was still guarded by members of the Imperial Guard — half a dozen soldiers encased in snow-white armor with impenetrable visors silently watched the entrances and exits to Ikeru's private laboratory, preventing anyone from entering who, at such a late hour, was breaking the daily routine and not snoring softly into the wall in their bed.
These precautions were unnecessary, however.
From the very first days of Anil Kesh's restoration, the students had learned a simple lesson: don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. Because no one particularly wanted to later wonder "where did that overly curious pair of students disappear to?"
There was no doubt that the technology used to make this sarcophagus was clearly Sith in origin and its roots went so far back into hoary antiquity that hardly anyone could say exactly when it had been invented. The numerous inscriptions covering the device's casing testified to this. And it so happened that among the masters of the Great Temples on Tython, and indeed throughout the entire Empire, only Ikeru could read and understand what was written.
That was precisely why the Guards had turned to him. By the Emperor's personal order.
"How much longer, Master?" a voice came from the depths of the laboratory.
"Just a couple more minutes, Lieutenant Logan," the young gifted one asked. "I need to catch my breath..."
In truth, he needed much more time. And not to breathe the night air of Tython, but to piece together everything that had happened.
So, he was infected.
Something very ancient and insidious. Hidden in the depths of the sarcophagus's outer layer.
When he and the Guards had opened the shell, nothing — neither scanners nor the Force — had hinted at any danger. Which was very, very strange.
For two weeks, while he figured out the sarcophagus's mechanisms and the records in its memory card, the disease gave no sign of itself. Just a slight malaise, which, in his youth and research fervor, he chalked up to simple fatigue.
It turned out to be far more serious.
Morning scans showed that his lungs and several internal organs were affected — for a being accustomed to relying on the Force, it was quite shameful to miss such a state of his own body.
The disease had apparently lain dormant in his body, waiting out the incubation period, ripening inside him like a parasite within a host. And now, having reached its peak, it had made itself known.
Only one thing was comforting.
The disease, though deadly — the computer had issued its prognosis — was quite curable. And, fortunately, not airborne. The question remained: how had he himself become infected? And how could this contagion be transmitted to others?
"And here I was glad I'd stopped smelling the stench from my subjects' guts, that I 'got used to the smell,' hutt," Ikeru lamented. "Good thing I had the sense to work, as always, in a completely isolated compartment. The virus will soon be completely destroyed..."
He spent most of his time on finding a cure, locked in a completely sterile laboratory box, when the Guards, led by Lieutenant Logan — whose area of responsibility included the security of the Academy and the planet Tython as a whole — showed up here late at night. Demanding answers immediately.
If only he had any.
Checking the blood transfusion device attached to his arm, powered by a reservoir on his back, the master noted that only a few hours remained until the procedure was complete. Hutt, this was taking forever!
Creating a vaccine in a week against a contagion he was seeing for the first time — especially when it had little in common with the biological objects and knowledge of organic chemistry, virology, and bacteriology he was familiar with — virtually without strength and with a fever that could be used to keep warm in winter, was a feat. It remained to see it through to the end — finish the final cycle of blood renewal and rid himself of the infection. Destroying its last samples — Ikeru's own infected blood.
"Master," Lieutenant Logan joined him on the balcony. "Time waits. The ship is ready for departure."
"Then delay it for a while," Ikeru replied with quiet venom. Couldn't he see how badly he felt? They'd brought the plague into his lab, and now they were rushing him!
"That's impossible," Logan stated in a flat tone. "The ship's route has been calculated precisely. There can be no delays."
"That's always the way with you," Ikeru complained. "Do this, do that..."
"It's the Emperor's request," Logan reminded him. "That doesn't happen every day."
"Yes, bringing some vicious plague into my temple isn't something you manage every day either," Ikeru hissed. "Be glad I managed to self-isolate and develop a treatment. Otherwise, the entire Academy could have been infected. And in a short time, instead of an ancient sarcophagus, the Emperor would have had a planet of the dead."
"It was an accident," Logan cut him off. "During transport, organic objects came into contact with the sarcophagus. We've already warned those who will examine the organic samples for infection. Fortunately for all of us, it turned out fine there — no infection."
"Well, that's good," Ikeru nodded. "I wouldn't want anyone else besides me to get infected..."
"Other sites are working in biological protection suits," Logan reported. "My men and I are in sealed, closed-cycle armor. You should also follow safety measures, since you're digging around in all sorts of filth..."
"Alright, enough lecturing," Ikeru grumbled irritably. "Let's go. Let's try to remove the inner layer again."
Like anyone who had trained at the Imperial Knights Academy, Ikeru, worthy of his rank of Master, was proficient in both sides of the Force, thanks to which he both crippled and healed quite successfully. Everyone. Including himself.
Right now, however, he had to use all his ingenuity and resourcefulness to get rid of a covering that appeared thin but was extremely dense, hiding the contents from prying eyes. All he needed to do was break this shell, held together not so much by mechanisms as by Sith magic, which reliably concealed the contents from anyone who tried to look inside using the Force.
Only one thing remained — to continue studying the Sith inscriptions, searching for a clue. But so far — nothing useful.
"Perhaps you could at least tell me where you found this relic?" he asked the Guards. The soldiers weren't particularly eager to share information. Though, he hadn't been counting on them anyway.
"Would that help get things moving?" Logan inquired.
"At the very least, it would let me not be distracted from my work," Ikeru lamented. "Besides, the history of this miracle device might help me understand at least a little of what's going on..."
"The Guards destroyed a pirate and smuggler base in the Unknown Regions. This was among the loot. The Emperor ordered it handed over to you for opening."
"Why not another temple?" Ikeru asked. "Anil Kesh has a somewhat different focus — we work with living specimens, or what they should be."
"Inscriptions in the ancient Sith language. Which none of the current generation of the gifted can read. Except for you, of course."
"Uh-huh," the master of Anil Kesh nodded, peering at a line of symbols that were smaller than the rest and carried no logical meaning. Someone had just listed numbers in two rows... "I think I've found it. It's a combination lock."
Picking the combination didn't take long. After a couple of hundred attempts, Ikeru heard a distinct hiss as the inner layer's lid, with a crunch like breaking ice crust, slid aside.
Rising from his crouch where he'd been examining the device, Ikeru noticed that inside the sarcophagus lay a body. A very, very ancient body...
"It's a stasis pod!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Not functional, but..."
"This device is called 'Dreypa's Oubliette,'" Logan said in a voice that wasn't his own. Deep, as if splitting... "You have done excellent work, Master Ikeru. I am pleased with you."
"Logan?" The former adherent of the Sith cult watched in amazement as the Imperial Guards, wordlessly and silently, lifted the stasis pod from its pedestal and moved toward the exit. "What is the meaning of this?"
"That you have done your job excellently," the Guards lieutenant spoke in the same disembodied voice, still motionlessly watching the Guards disappear into the darkness of Anil Kesh's corridors.
"The Emperor," the master bowed his head in submission. How belatedly he realized he had heard a voice like this before. "I'm glad I could please you..."
"Not just me," Dougan communicated through his subordinate's lips. "That plague you caught and managed to cure — it's an extremely potent thing, developed by the Yuuzhan Vong for... Unclear what for. As for that idiot who didn't secure the cargo in the transport, causing the Vong's organic technologies," Master Ikeru nearly asked "who?" but realized in time that the Emperor was not obligated to explain anything to him — "to smear across the sarcophagus, which led to the infection, the Guards have already taken him for re-education. And since it so happened that you managed to figure it out almost fifty years before its official appearance, you've saved us a lot of time and effort for countering the biological threat. Your efforts will be appreciated in the future."
"Glad to serve for the sake of the Empire," the master of Anil Kesh bowed. Only one question remained: whom had he helped free from the icy prison? What were those old hag's remains, and why was it so important to discover them in complete secrecy?
Ikeru had already opened his mouth to inquire about the questions tormenting him when suddenly Logan's body straightened unnaturally and turned, staring him straight in the face with its snow-white visor.
"I advise you to keep everything you have seen and heard in your laboratory to yourself," the Emperor said in the same sepulchral voice. "What happened here is a secret of the Empire. And frankly, I would not want to one day learn that the mentor of the young generation has disappeared without a trace. I hope I have made it perfectly clear what your words about the days spent in this laboratory with this device should be from now on?"
"Perfectly clear, Your Majesty," Ikeru said slowly. "No sarcophagus, no nocturnal experiments with it... I'm just experimenting here with little animals..."
"That's right," the pleased voice from under the helmet reached the young man. "Just tormenting little animals..."
The Emperor's consciousness left Logan's body the very next second. For a moment, it seemed to Ikeru that the room had become brighter. And warmer.
Pushing the events of the last few days from his mind, he waited for the lieutenant and his men to leave the laboratory, firmly locked all the doors, then disconnected the apparatus from himself, noting with relief that the disease had receded. After that, without undressing, he collapsed onto his bed and fell into a deathlike sleep.
* * *
The LAAT, adorned with a mischievous Twi'lek on its hull, delivered me, both students, and five padawans to the deck of the Spirit of Fire in a few minutes.
Finally, it was all over.
The fucking planet. A chunk of rock on which tens of thousands of soldiers' lives had been left. Most of them died without even the slightest chance of avoiding death or facing the enemy. It becomes terrifying when you imagine yourself in their place. Sitting in a trench or behind some half-ruined wall as a rocket-propelled projectile flies at you. Knowing that in a moment it will end your life and there is no salvation... That's scary. And it literally rips your head off.
We were silent the whole way back. No one felt like chatting. Everyone was thinking about their own things, but mostly — about how badly we'd been beaten.
All the plans about a swift capture of enemy planets with four corps went down the drain. Because four corps is a force that can crush anyone on any planet. But when barely more than three-eighths of the standard complement remains of the entire "Dougan's Fist" that's no longer fun. Not fun at all. With losses like that, it's worth considering sending all four corps back to the rear for reorganization and replenishment.
As soon as the shuttle's hull touched the surface of one of the onboard hangars, I silently slid the armored door aside, dryly said goodbye to the others, and silently headed for the exit.
Did I blame myself for these monstrous losses? Yes. Because I didn't supervise, didn't teach...
It's only idiots who, after a crash, with a clear conscience, pin the blame on the one who slipped up. The true cause is always bigger than one commander's carelessness. It also includes the complacency of his superior higher up. In this case — me.
I alone bear the responsibility for the deaths of so many men. While Ahsoka was merely acting within the bounds of her own experience, I failed to pay more attention to improving her level of knowledge. I completely neglected training with Oli and my duties as a teacher. Palming her off on the Dathomiri, Fay, or someone else — yes. That was clever. She doesn't follow me around, doesn't breathe down my neck. But the connection that had existed between us from the very beginning — light, friendly — was gone, replaced by something more adult. Oh, how many branches I had sawed off that I was sitting on. First, I let the girls loose, then I drove them under pressure. No middle ground between the carrot and the stick... Yeah...
My feet carried me to my cabin on their own.
I wouldn't say I was physically exhausted — it was more like I was morally drained. All these deaths, the constant switching between surrounding reality and the minds of my servants in the Empire... It was wearing me down.
Getting rid of my armor, I headed for the shower — I had a huge desire to get rid of all this, just wash this day away. But no matter how many times I put my face under the streams of water, the images of the fallen clones stood clearly before my eyes.
Just as I finished showering and intended to slip into bed and get a good night's sleep (to hell with all this formality, let Cross work), my comlink beeped.
Oh, for crying out loud...
"Go ahead," I answered.
"Sir, it's Mara." Speak of the devil. "We were waiting for you in the tactical room, but..."
"I'm not feeling well. Conduct the briefing yourself, prepare the reports; I'll look at them later."
"Yes, of course, Grand Moff," she said. "It's just..."
"What now?"
"The medics report they've brought the enemy commander to consciousness... She's on stimulants, but the medical bay warns she won't be in this state for long — then she'll black out for quite a while — the body's protective reaction to extensive damage. We're already preparing a bacta tank for her. If you intend to interrogate her, you'd better hurry."
"I see, well, fine," I sighed. "If you want results, get them yourself..."
Getting to the medical bay took five minutes.
No one greeted me there, but that wasn't a surprise. In a way, it was even easier.
I waited until the doors closed behind me, until the medics, obeying my orders, one by one left the place where, in a personal tank of precious bacta, a blue-skinned Twi'lek with tattooed head-tails floated, connected to respiratory systems. Her gaze was hidden from me by lowered eyelids, but the Force told me the tattooed woman was conscious.
"Wake up," I tapped on the glass surface of the tank, bringing her to awareness. What works on fish works in this situation too. At first, she tried to feign surprise, but then, meeting me face to face, she obediently went limp. The Force filled with the bitterness of resignation... She didn't seem to believe she'd survive a conversation with me, so she seemed to have accepted what she believed was her fate. A fatal one. How interesting. I'll have to remember this trick.
"Listen to me carefully, friend," I said loudly. For those floating in bacta, words come through distorted — the same principle as in water. "I'm going to ask you simple questions, and you're going to give me answers. Completely truthful. Tell the truth, and you'll live a long and moderately happy life. Start being evasive, and your path ends here. Understood?"
Pausing for a second, the Twi'lek nodded her head satisfactorily. She got it. Excellent. I like reasonable people.
"So, let's begin... Is General Grievous currently on Selucami?"