Grand Admiral

Nine years, eight months, and twenty-five days after the Battle of Yavin…

Or forty-four years, eight months, and twenty-five days since the Great Resynchronization.

(Four months and ten days since the arrival.)

It must be acknowledged that the admiral's quarters aboard the Reaper were impressive not only for their grandeur but also for the opulence of their furnishings.

Exquisite carpets adorned the deck, intricately carved wooden furniture—clearly crafted from genuine materials, not imitations—valuable paintings, and delicate statuettes…

If these were not placed here to mislead me, an appraisal of these artworks suggests that Kaine is a man burdened by insecurities, constrained, content with what he possesses, and unwilling to take risks…

This assessment largely aligned with the information previously gathered about him and his psychological profile.

— I never cease to be amazed that you dare to arrive for a meeting with a super star destroyer aboard a single star destroyer, — Grand Moff Kaine remarked wearily, sinking into the chair across from me. With a sharp tug, the man loosened the collar of his tunic and gazed tiredly at the metal table before him.

— Care for a drink? — he asked in a rather informal tone, gesturing toward a sealed bottle of Corellian whiskey.

— I'll pass, — I replied. Truth be told, even in my previous life, I was never fond of drinking, and in this one… I see no reason to start indulging at every meeting. — Have we already moved to informal terms?

Kaine froze for a moment, midway through uncorking the bottle, as if caught with his trousers down in the middle of a city square. With a resigned nod, he continued removing the seals from the container.

You look at that resolute face, recall the proud posture I noted during our first meeting… and wonder what could have so thoroughly shaken a man who seemed courageous and resolute.

Then you observe what surrounds him—statuettes, paintings depicting heroic figures whose faces are frozen in terror—and realize that Kaine's "colorful persona" is merely a façade. In truth, he is weak, pliable, and cowardly (as we all are). He simply concealed it well. But someone or something found a way to press on his vulnerabilities.

— My apologies, Grand Admiral, — he said curtly. — I thought we were comrades in misfortune.

— Is that so? — I raised my right eyebrow in surprise. — Could you elaborate on that point?

— Palpatine, — the Grand Moff clarified. — He and his lapdog Blackhole played me for a fool. When you clamped down on the Ubiqtorate at Tangrene, intending to requisition their fleet, they had been groveling at my feet for two years to gain access to my archives.

— The ones copied at the Imperial Palace? — I clarified.

The master of the Reaper regarded me thoughtfully, his gaze intensely scrutinizing.

— Let's say so, — he replied. — They came to me with their Inquisitorial brood, spinning tales of their usefulness and the mutual benefits of cooperation. I needed their help to maintain power in the Pentastar Alignment, so I agreed. They were indeed somewhat useful, but I had no idea that all their advice, intelligence, and assurances that the New Republic was about to attack me were solely to bolster my armed forces and fleet. Yes, perhaps the rebels were planning to wage war against me, but with the forces I already had, I could have bathed their soldiers in their own blood. Yet I built an entire armada of heavy cruisers…

— Suitable for occupying conquered territories after an orbital bombardment? — I interjected.

Kaine, frowning, filled his glass to the brim and downed it in one gulp.

— Tell me honestly, — he said. — Did you deduce this from my story just now, or earlier?

— About three and a half months ago, — I admitted candidly. — When the Ubiqtorate refused to comply and did everything to purge their ranks of those who might be useful to me. Though, to their credit, they were smart enough not to eliminate specialists but to place them under my command. The rest is clear without words.

— And you didn't tell me I was being led by the nose, — Kaine said bitterly. Perhaps I should have lifted the veil of truth, admitted that I initially considered him an ally of Palpatine, but that would have raised more questions. And now, a rather intriguing dialogue is unfolding…

— Very well, — Kaine said sharply. — That's all in the past. Let's be frank, — he pulled a scrambler from his tunic pocket and activated it demonstratively. — Do you intend to submit to Palpatine when he crawls out of his hole?

— Our duty is to serve the ruler of the Empire, — I declared, awaiting his reaction. I needed to understand the purpose of these "heart-to-heart" conversations. What does Kaine want—a covert alliance against Palpatine, or to elicit a confession of my intent to resist, which he could later use for leverage, blackmail, or even elimination? Though such duplicity doesn't quite align with his persona.

— Hmph, — Kaine snorted. — Testing me, are you… — He downed another glass. — Well, I believe that wrinkled old bastard doesn't deserve our loyalty. The Empire wasn't built by him but by people like you and me. We preserved its remnants and owe him nothing when he emerges from whatever hole he's been hiding in these past years, ignoring us all, watching Imperials slit each other's throats, when he could have simply let us know he was alive, that old wretch. Then there wouldn't have been such chaos. Do you follow my meaning?

— Quite clearly, — I replied, removing my gloves one by one and setting them aside. Then, I unfastened the hooks of my tunic's collar, signaling that I understood the subtext of his words. — Pour me three fingers, Ardus. I think we have much to discuss.

***

Moff Ferrus settled into a chair on the far side of the massive table in the conference hall of the palace once belonging to the Imperial governor of Axxila. Now, it housed the council governing the planet—or rather, its legitimate faction.

The true rulers of this world, who held the majority of power and wealth, met in far less modest settings.

— Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, esteemed councilors, — he said, looking into the faces of those seated across from him. — Shall we proceed directly to business?

— It seems we've made our position abundantly clear, — remarked a man whom Felix, due to his considerable girth, mentally dubbed "Fatso," his voice shrill. — Axxila remains a neutral planet.

— Whose protection and security depend solely on how many starships the Anti-Pirate Fleet based here can provide? — Moff Ferrus clarified.

— We have sufficient forces to repel any attack, — declared the second councilor, whom Felix labeled "Skinny," with haughty arrogance. In truth, this man was as gaunt as his counterpart was corpulent. They could have been called "Lardbucket" and "Twig," but Felix was reluctant to alter his established nicknames.

"Indeed," Felix thought, "which is precisely why, when my cruiser entered the system, all you could muster against me were a couple of decrepit Marauders from the Clone Wars."

— I am not advocating for forcible assimilation, — Felix stated. — The Dominion respects the rights and opinions of all planets under its aegis.

— And why should we care? — Skinny huffed indignantly. — We're perfectly content with the current state of affairs. No one bothers us, the planet operates under Imperial laws, and the citizens are satisfied…

"What a farce, no doubt about it," the moff thought.

— I presume there's no need to point out that seventy-nine percent of Axxila's sentient population lives below the poverty line? — Felix asked. — Twenty percent are bureaucrats, law enforcement, and personnel serving on the Anti-Pirate Fleet's ships. And only one percent live without want. Have I missed anything?

— Plenty, — Skinny retorted nasally with irritation. — You fail to grasp a simple truth: Axxila has long grown accustomed to its neutral status. We have no need to join any state entities. Our economy and industry are highly developed…

"And there's also rampant spice trafficking, pirate dens across the planet, criminal gangs, and a significant portion of the economy extorted as 'tribute' by the underworld," Felix continued mentally.

— The Dominion offers you reliable protection, — Ferrus reminded them, referencing one of the clauses in the proposed alliance treaty sent to Axxila's government for approval. — A true fleet, real soldiers, and the genius of Grand Admiral Thrawn—all standing guard over your borders and the peace of your citizens.

— We need none of that, Moff Ferrus, — Fatso sneered, his massive cheeks quivering like ocean waves. — We have everything we require.

— And should you think you can conquer us, I suggest you consider that one of the most vital hyperspace routes to the Dominion's borders passes through Axxila, — Skinny's voice carried a hint of irony, sarcasm, or perhaps a veiled threat. With a voice reduced to shrill notes, it was difficult to discern his intent.

— The Dominion has no intention of annexing Axxila by force, — Felix replied coldly. — As long as we coexist without causing harm to one another, your neutrality is not at risk. Thank you for your time, councilors. Should you reconsider, I am always available.

— We won't reconsider! — Skinny shrieked hysterically. — Do you think we don't know what you're after, moff? You want to seize the planet and claim our revenue streams? That will never happen! If a single Dominion ship appears in our star system, we'll unleash every vessel we can hire against you. Is that clear?

— I hear you, councilor, — Felix responded evenly, mentally picturing his interlocutors as flayed carcasses. — Once again, thank you for your time.

Leaving the hall where the final round of talks with the fat and skinny hysterics had taken place, Felix, accompanied by his guard, reached his transport, which was under the vigilant protection of another guard detachment.

Only after the airspeeder delivered him to his shuttle, which in turn brought him aboard the Neutron Star-class cruiser—the flagship of his fleet defending the Morshdine sector—did the moff allow himself to release his emotions. But first, he changed into athletic attire and proceeded to the compartment where he trained his combat skills.

After ten minutes of furiously pummeling a training dummy with fists and feet, he finally released the nervous tension accumulated over weeks of negotiations and was ready for a calm, measured analysis of the situation.

Yes, the negotiations had failed. That much was clear almost from the start—the first day of talks made it evident that Axxila wanted nothing to do with the Dominion, the Empire, the Republic, or anyone else.

Axxila was, in essence, a world unto itself.

Years ago, thanks to some hero of the Rebel Alliance, the planet earned the moniker "Coruscant inside out" because semi-legal and outright illicit activities here transformed into fully legitimate businesses. A glance at the planet's cargo turnover data revealed that, if not trillions, then hundreds of billions of credits, peggats, and other currencies flowed through it.

This explained the local government's unwavering confidence that nothing could threaten them. The Anti-Pirate Fleet mentioned by the councilors was, at present, little more than a scarecrow. It had reached its peak under the command of a young Firmus Piett, who later became the final commander of Darth Vader's Death Squadron.

Attempting to conquer Axxila would be a colossal waste of resources. The system boasted around a dozen defensive space stations—FireStars, Golans, and others. Numerous trading platforms were equipped with weaponry capable of causing significant trouble.

The planet itself had a substantial air force, used primarily by local gangs for "hunting." Most pirate fleets consisted of armed freighters and "ugly" fighters cobbled together from various starfighter parts.

According to intelligence provided to the moff, the government and its elite—the one percent basking in luxury—had unspoken agreements with pirate and other criminal organizations. The government refrained from rooting out this blight, maintaining order only in the upper levels of the ecumenopolis, in exchange for ten percent of the criminals' illicit profits.

**The streets of Axxila.**

It would seem simple enough to resolve: bring in a fleet, crush the planet's defenses, deploy stormtrooper units, and begin a systematic purge…

But that would spell the downfall of the entire Dominion.

Such a policy would incite the entire population against it. Axxila had seen such an episode before: when Prince-Admiral Krennel hunted Sate Pestage, he acted from a position of strength, and it cost him dearly. When Krennel sought to dominate the entire Ciutric Hegemony, which once included Axxila, he effectively destroyed the Anti-Pirate Fleet. Its survivors now merely mimicked activity, as, despite their near-equivalent numbers to Axxila's armed and law enforcement forces, they made no effort to eradicate crime from the planet or its stations. They limited their actions to targeting those who broke away from gangs or violated the boundaries of "feeding territories"—criminals were forbidden from operating in the upper levels of the ecumenopolis.

This did not prevent the largest gangs from maintaining both their usual illicit income sources in the Lower City and legitimate businesses in the Upper City.

Returning to Krennel's attack on Axxila, its limited success stemmed from one key factor: the planet lacked robust defenses at the time. The local government turned to the criminal underworld for aid, and it answered, unwilling to lose such a strategically valuable base and trading hub. Krennel retreated to Ciutric IV with a battered fleet.

Since then, the criminal element had become an integral part of Axxila's society. Those who could and wished to leave the criminal ecumenopolis did so. The rest either eked out a meager existence working in the lower-level factories or joined gangs to become pirates—or any other type of criminal this planet was so rich in.

Currently, the largest pirate group operating on Axxila was the Cavil Corsairs, a band of former Imperial privateers who, for several months after the Battle of Endor, served Coruscant and the Ciutric Hegemony's government. Based on Axxila, they maintained the largest fleet of "ugly" fighters.

This was all the information the moff's intelligence and slicers aboard the cruiser had gathered. With departure imminent, a decision was needed: whether to act on Axxila or leave and report the failure to Thrawn.

He could continue pressuring the local government, gradually eroding their "policy of rejection" toward an alliance with the Dominion, but it would yield no positive results. One could be impeccably logical and present compelling arguments, but who would listen when the diplomatic counterpart had chosen a stance of isolation and refusal?

Thrawn hadn't ordered the planet's acquisition through diplomacy alone—only to conduct negotiations. After their discussion on Ciutric IV, he made it clear that Felix's task was to demonstrate the Dominion's interest in Axxila. He likely anticipated this outcome.

That meant he had a plan. If only I knew what it was.

After changing, the moff returned to his cabin-office. The ship's commander reported preparations for departure. They had half an hour to review the latest data being compiled by the slicers, who had been hacking the government network while Felix wasted time with Fatso and Skinny.

A brief chime signaled a visitor's arrival. Glancing at the chronometer, Felix smirked—punctuality was utterly foreign to this individual.

— As soon as I heard you were back, I rushed over, — the young man said, clearly out of breath, clutching his datapad to his chest as if it were armor in a firefight.

— I hope you have good news, Mr. Ghent? — the moff inquired, watching as the blue-haired slicer with a childlike demeanor unceremoniously climbed into the soft chair across from his desk, tucking his legs under him.

Under other circumstances, Felix would have ordered the youth to mop the floor and clean the upholstery. But Zakarisz Ghent's genius earned him considerable leniency. Still, he couldn't be allowed to continue acting so casually.

— Depends on what you consider "good," — Ghent replied. — I hacked their network.

— You did that two weeks ago, — Ferrus grimaced, recalling how eagerly the slicer had recounted breaching the government's data banks, which provided insight into the local elite's operations.

— No, no, no, — Ghent waved his hands. — I mean the Cavil Corsairs' servers.

— Pirates, — Felix corrected, calling things by their proper names. They were no longer corsairs, just a large gang of mercenaries raiding at will or for clients. — Do they even have servers?

— As it turns out, yes, — Ghent nodded so vigorously his hair became a blue whirlwind. — They have extensive data banks storing information on their allies, targets, cargo manifests of captured ships, and more…

— Necessary for reporting to the government, — Ferrus realized.

— Exactly, they send documents every time a freighter or crew returns from a raid, — Ghent agreed. — Imagine… I ended up in the very place even Karrde tried to avoid…

— Less poetry, Mr. Ghent, — Felix advised. — Did you obtain any information, or are you here to waste my time?

— I got it, of course, — the slicer said, his voice tinged with offense. — Here's the deal. The government takes a cut from the pirates for using Axxila and its defensive platforms…

— Ten percent, we've established that, — Felix said, growing irritated. — Is there anything else you've accessed?

— That's the interesting part, — Ghent grinned. — The Cavil Corsairs have bases on Edusa and Vandaine…

— What?! — Ferrus leapt from his chair, leaned over the desk, and yanked the slicer's personal datapad to verify or refute this claim. The lines on the screen spoke for themselves. — That's impossible!

The slicer, startled by the moff's sudden reaction, stared wide-eyed, clearly unsure what had provoked such a response. Of course, he wouldn't understand—after years of service, months of purging and organizing his sector, learning that pirates had settled in two of its twelve star systems, undetected, was a shock.

Cursing under his breath, Felix returned the datapad to its owner.

— Is the information accurate? — the moff asked.

— Taken straight from their servers, — Ghent said, spreading his hands. — But that's not the most interesting part.

"Really?" Felix nearly blurted out. "The fact that my pirate purges amounted to nothing isn't the most important?"

— The thing is, the Cavil Corsairs are effectively run by three lieutenants, — Ghent continued. — Each oversees one base. On Axxila, for instance, it's Lieutenant Anilex. After Leonia Tavira seduced and executed Cavil to take over the gang, Anilex assumed control of the organization's core. Back then, lieutenants led each group…

— Stop, — the moff demanded. — Leonia Tavira was involved here too?

— Well, — Ghent hesitated, — at least that's what the corsairs' records say. But the real kicker is something else…

"So, not the fact that, on Thrawn's orders, Tavira was broken psychologically and placed in charge of auxiliary forces, which could prompt the Cavil Corsairs to hunt the Dominion?"

— Get to the point, — Felix demanded.

— All three groups deliver their haul to Axxila after their raids, — Ghent said. — There, it's assessed, the government takes its share, and the rest is divided among the pirates…

"I'm going to hit him," Felix thought. He wouldn't make it back to the training room.

— Except the gangs on Edusa and Vandaine don't send all their loot to Axxila, — Ghent continued, sensing the impending trouble. — I found evidence that the manifests of captured ships are falsified. I reconstructed them, and the pirates in your sector deliver no more than fifty percent to Anilex. Over half the goods stay with the other groups…

— Anilex is doing the same, — Felix dismissed with a wave.

— He's a former officer of Axxila's Anti-Pirate Fleet, — the slicer said. — Was, until Cavil lured him and some officers to become privateers. His records are clean… He's kind of odd.

— In what way? — Ferrus asked, puzzled.

— Well, he doesn't condone slaving from Axxila, enforces strict discipline among his pirates, and is fairly lenient with captives—his crew only kills those who resist, no cutthroats or sadists among them. He's only interested in cargo, offering crews or owners the chance to buy back their ships. Unlike other gangs, he doesn't demand ransoms for captured crew members' lives, just lets them go. And he's adamantly against attacking the Empire—likely because the New Republic helped Tavira eliminate Cavil. From what I gather, he's trying to bring order to Axxila's Lower City, phasing out illegal spice trade and improving the slums…

"What a picture-perfect hero, ready for a propaganda poster," the moff scoffed mentally. But ideas were already forming in his mind.

— As I understand, he's not favored by Axxila's government, as his actions reduce their passive income from the planet…

— Understood, — Ferrus interrupted. He seemed to have found a solution. — How do I contact him?

— He went on a hunt a few days ago, — Ghent shrugged. — Where to, I don't know.

— I want to know where he is, — the moff said firmly. — By any means necessary.

— Well… — Ghent hesitated. — That won't be quick. I could search for his ship's engine signatures in open spaceport databases, but it's unlikely…

— Son, — Felix leaned forward. — Don't think. Do. That's more important!

— Well… — the slicer sighed heavily. — I'll try something. I have a couple of ways to pull it off in a few hours, but I'll need to connect to a HoloNet relay.

— How fortunate there's one ten parsecs away, — Felix smirked. — Get to work, Mr. Ghent.

As the door closed behind the carefree slicer with a child's soul, one thought dominated Moff Ferrus's mind.

Why doesn't Thrawn clone such valuable specialists as Mr. Ghent?

***

Throughout history, rulers have been fiercely protective of their dignity, reacting harshly to insults from subordinates, even trusted ones, regardless of intent.

The punishment for such transgressions is inevitable death. Palpatine does not forgive mistakes or oversights. This is precisely why Kaine spoke of the Emperor in such terms.

No matter how vital a grand moff he may be, if he's recording this conversation and presents it to Palpatine or his minions, he'll earn a blaster bolt to the back of his head first. Only then would they come for me.

His tirade was a signal that Kaine was ready to speak openly.

That was encouraging.

Handing me a crystal glass filled a third with amber liquid, he sighed with relief.

— You know, until you addressed me by name, I kept expecting the salon wall to explode and your guards to storm in, drag me off, and throw me at that bastard's feet…

Guards? No, certainly not. But the Noghri… Rukh is in the ventilation shaft, while Grodin Tierce and a couple of guards pose as an appropriate honor guard at this compartment's entrance.

— What conditions were imposed on you? — I inquired.

Our conversation had naturally shifted from formal to friendly. Let's see if I might gain an ally…

— Keep building ships, — Kaine said. — Declare a covert mobilization and begin maneuvers. They're demanding I construct about two hundred Dragons in the near future. And another two hundred by year's end.

"Dragon, Dragon…" Clearly not my ship. So what then? A new type of cruiser? Or an old, experimental one unknown to me?

"Galactic Dragon."

Seeing my silence, Kaine placed a portable holoprojector on the table.

A white-blue image of a starship with an uncharacteristically rounded design for the Empire flickered to life above it.

— Only one such ship was built, — Kaine sighed. — The Galactic Dragon. It was commanded by Moff Delurin during trials. A vessel only good for chasing natives—useless in a line battle. Blackhole ordered me to build them…

— Because they're meant to guard conquered and weakened systems, — I finished. The Grand Moff nodded silently.

— Blackhole, I assume, is the Director of Imperial Intelligence, predecessor to Ysanne Isard? — I clarified. Regrettably, I knew little of this figure. I vaguely recalled him as a character from a comic series, but… in my past life, I had more pressing matters than reading adolescent leaflets. And it seems I erred in that. Increasingly, I encounter events I only knew in broad strokes from encyclopedias, not primary sources. This could be problematic in matters of detail.

— At least he acts the part, — Kaine grimaced. — I've never seen him except as a hologram. It's his signature style…

Or a way to conceal his true identity. We've pulled similar tricks on the Republicans. Technically challenging but feasible. So, Blackhole might not be himself but someone using suitable "props."

If so, I should revisit Mara Jade's report from her mission on Yag'Dhul. She discovered that Imperial Intelligence received data on servers installed aboard ships, and their locations could be traced. It's possible to identify Blackhole and question him directly, not to mention gaining access to the Ubiqtorate's entire agent network or intelligence data.

This aspect warrants attention.

— Let's get to business, — I proposed. — What's the purpose of this meeting and conversation?

— Well… I still want Octavian back, — Kaine said. — Though I'm not the only one.

— Palpatine? — No need to guess. The Grand Moff nodded. — Any understanding of why he wants him?

— Officially, to execute him for treason, — Kaine sighed. — Publicly, brutally, and so on, as he prefers.

— But there's another angle, isn't there? — I pressed.

— There are things even the Ubiqtorate doesn't know, — Kaine admitted reluctantly. — Octavian developed numerous strategic plans for me, so if he falls into their hands, Blackhole will turn him inside out before delivering him to Palpatine. Leaking that information would jeopardize the Pentastar Alignment's defenses.

And Bastion's coordinates.

— Are you suggesting we arrange his escape? — I offered.

— Even the dimmest clerk wouldn't buy that, — Kaine scoffed. — I suspect Blackhole didn't highlight the Emperor's interest in Grant for nothing. Anything that happens to him now will be our fault. Death by sedative overdose, a shuttle explosion, an escape—none of it will be convincing enough for those who want his head.

Depends on how you play it.

There's no point asking the Grand Moff why he fears his secrets falling into third-party hands. His fear is obvious.

— I don't trust Blackhole's or Palpatine's promises that everything will stay as is, — Kaine confessed. — He'll use us, drain our resources and troops on the front lines, then occupy the Pentastar Alignment and other Imperial Remnants. I looked into his eyes, spoke with him… The bastard is younger than he was ten years ago. But it's madness… He's obsessed with personal vengeance. He wants to burn everything he dislikes. I'm not willing to sacrifice what I built with my own hands on the altar of his revenge. I think you understand that too…

Regarding myself—yes, I understand. After the glorious victory over the New Republic that Palpatine expects me to deliver, victorious commanders become expendable. At best, they're sidelined to the fringes; at worst, eliminated. Neither option suits me. With a ruler like a deranged Palpatine clone, the former would likely lead to the latter.

— Thus, we must secure our territory, — I said.

Kaine looked at me with hope.

— Execute Grant, — he said softly.

— An intriguing proposal, — I noted. — Unwilling to expose yourself to Palpatine's wrath, you suggest I do it?

— We're both dead men, you realize that, don't you? — Kaine asked. — But you have time to return to your Dominion and organize its defense. The Pentastar Alignment, if I kill Octavian myself, is in the direct line of fire from the Core.

Kaine is overly… fatalistic.

To my recollection, he supported Thrawn, wasn't a staunch advocate of the New Order, joined Palpatine, yet survived. No one even glanced at him suspiciously.

What's behind this near-hysteria now?

— The Ubiqtorate didn't approve of your decision to transfer ships to me, did they? — I clarified.

— They advised against it the first time, but the second… It's as if they no longer care, — Kaine said, surprised by the topic shift. — In fact, it was their idea to plant trackers on the ships. I pulled the starships straight from patrols to ensure they're clean of any junk. You understand—there was no time to scan every ship. And no guarantee the specialists doing it are loyal to me, not Blackhole.

Now the picture takes shape.

When Thrawn was supported solely financially, it suited everyone.

The Ubiqtorate didn't want me to have more warships, but I forced Kaine to provide them. This was likely seen as covert collusion—by then, I'd already been noted for "building political bridges."

In other words, they preemptively marked him for elimination. Whether he realizes or merely suspects it is secondary.

— The issue with Grant will be resolved, — I promised.

Kaine sighed with relief.

— I hope you're not planning to extract information from him and then cut the thread? — he asked warily.

— We're discussing outright treason against Palpatine, — I noted. — I care nothing for the Pentastar Alignment or anything else. My concern is solely the Dominion.

— Glad to hear it, — Kaine said reluctantly. — So, you'll want something for your service? Those Vindicators I brought, you'll take them, no doubt…

— And a billion credits, — I reminded him.

— Right, — Grand Moff Kaine chuckled. — Had to shake down the bankers on Muunilinst and Mygeeto, but I got the sum. In your requested currency.

— Excellent, — I assured him. — Now, to specifics. I need technical data on the Dragon-class cruisers.

I need to understand what this "wunderkind" is, its potential, and how it could benefit or harm me. Even a "colonial station" is a formidable starship in the Galaxy Far, Far Away. And when there are hundreds…

No, armored trains must be crushed while they're still irons.

— The Dragon's construction is overseen by the Ubiqtorate—there are more of their agents on the shipyards than actual workers, — Kaine admitted. — I'd gladly hand over the technical documentation, but that would put me in the crosshairs first.

Logical. His response is reasonable and motivated.

But it doesn't resolve the core issue.

— Do you have information on the Galactic Dragon's whereabouts? — I asked.

— Vague and superficial, — Kaine admitted. — My contacts at Kuat Drive Yards are extensive, but they aren't privy to the ship's military purpose or test locations, so it's all speculation based on rumors. Even this hologram, — he nodded at the projection, — came from my people there. Information on the Galactic Dragon post-construction is scarce. I know Moff Delurin commanded it during prototype trials. It was built on an Imperial-controlled assembly line in the Obstrecta sector, Karavis system. That's the source of the ship's data. Its known use was the bombardment of Myko in the Sorella system, Esaga sector, in the Mid Rim near Hutt Space. Delurin controlled that territory, but after the power crisis following Palpatine's death, he was ousted. Rumor has it Delurin fled on the Galactic Dragon toward the Wild Space sector. Scattered reports suggest he's still alive—my smuggler contacts confirmed it. Delurin's lurking in quadrant N-14, "north" of Endor and the Moddell sector, possibly subjugating primitive alien systems with his cruiser…

And potentially serving as a conduit for Palpatine's will.

— The Karavis system is part of the Pentastar Alignment, — I recalled. — You should have some idea of the Galactic Dragon's armaments, given your "excellent" Kuat contacts.

A smirk crossed Ardus Kaine's lips.

— Seven hundred meters long, fifteen turbolaser batteries, seven launchers for proton torpedoes or concussion missiles, numerous quad turbolaser turrets, — he said without hesitation. — Unfortunately, I couldn't obtain more precise data—after rotations, few at Kuat's facilities I can access recall that project. So, don't hold it against me—I couldn't get detailed tactical-technical specs.

— I'll obtain them myself, — I assured him, wondering briefly if the source on Delurin was my acquaintance, Talon Karrde. — I'll also need precise information on Delurin's and his ship's current location.

— Why? — Kaine asked, genuinely surprised.

I tilted my head slightly, as if viewing him from a new angle.

— Fair enough, — Kaine chuckled. — Everyone has their secrets. Let's just say that information isn't cheap…

— Has Talon Karrde raised his commission rates for Imperials? — I clarified.

The Grand Moff grimaced, realizing his minor schemes weren't as secret as he'd hoped. Well, apologies, but I can't help with that. The Galactic Dragon may have been designed as a "native scarer," but it troubles me that Palpatine took an interest in this supposedly "unfit for line battle" project. The Galactic Dragon and its derivative cruisers may not be the "weaklings" Kaine perceives.

— Yes, — the Pentastar Alignment's ruler admitted. — The price is steep. I heard he's had some troubles lately…

— As have we all, — I assured him.

This is all empty talk.

Kaine may fear for himself and his future, but he shows no readiness for decisive action.

Time to clarify this situation.

— Are you familiar with the name Ennix Devian? — I asked.

A wave of fury, disdain, and a desire to personally kill the named sentient crossed the Grand Moff's face.

— More than familiar, — he admitted, his voice boiling with anger. — I assume you're not asking to tell me where his grave is?

— Far from it, — I confessed. — I have information that Palpatine's hired killer is alive and well, assembling a fleet and forces to restore the New Order.

— Is that so, — Ardus gritted his teeth. He reached for the bottle and poured another glass, downing it in one gulp. Hmm… perhaps I should remind him of alcoholism's dangers? I haven't touched my glass—the conversation is far too engaging. — I suppose you know the rumors that he commandeered one of Coruscant's habitable spheres after the Defeat at Endor?

— He took both, — I clarified.

— I'm only interested in the one meant for me, — Kaine said firmly.

— My information suggests one sphere was destroyed shortly after Endor, — I said. — Devian passed it off as another Death Star. While the Rebel Alliance dealt with its disposal, Devian attacked their shipyards and stole ships.

— Striking from the shadows is his signature move, — Kaine said venomously. — So, you know where he is now?

— I know the galactic region where he's holed up, — I generalized. — And I'm taking steps to flush him out.

— Going against Palpatine's lackey means openly challenging the Emperor, — Kaine noted.

— My information suggests Devian is not loyal to Palpatine and isn't serving him currently, — I said, relying on knowledge from my past life. I desperately hoped my actions hadn't altered reality to the point where the Reborn Emperor had re-enlisted his assassin.

— Let's assume so, — Kaine agreed. — Why bring up Devian?

— I take it you'd like his head? — I asked.

— I'd prefer the whole enemy, — Ardus's voice carried notes of cruelty. — To kill him during a "conversation."

— I can try to arrange that.

Kaine gave an approving chuckle.

— I sense this isn't purely altruistic, — he said with a smirk.

— Not in the least, — I confirmed. — You yourself noted we're "comrades in misfortune," not allies.

— Good thing we're not enemies, as our mutual acquaintances tried to make us, — Kaine said grimly.

— Fully agree, — I said. — I'll do everything possible to deliver Devian to you.

— The price? — Kaine shifted to practical matters. After a pause, he added with a smile:

— I won't give up the Reaper, that's for sure.

— A pity, — I feigned disappointment. — In that case, I assume you won't mind if I take the habitable sphere?

The Grand Moff fell silent, pondering my words and their subtext.

— You could've said nothing about it, — he noted. — Taken it, found a quiet corner to hide it… A war trophy, after all.

— Indeed, — I agreed.

Come on, Kaine, follow the thread.

— You don't want us to have grounds for mutual claims, — he said, meeting my expectations.

— We both understand the situation and near-future prospects are grim, — I said. — There's no certainty Palpatine will keep his word and not turn against us.

— More likely, he'll send his assassins, — Kaine admitted. — I'm sure he has plenty.

— Including Force-sensitive ones, — I noted.

— Jedi? — the Grand Moff asked, surprised.

— More like Inquisitors, — I corrected. — I'm aware of at least seven such sentients. They call themselves the Dark Side Elite. Led by one Sedriss. Another is someone named Solusar.

No one told me the name, but I recalled it from my past life, from the Expanded Universe books, not the comics describing Operation Shadow Hand.

— Plus Palpatine himself, — Kaine said thoughtfully. — The names Sedriss and Solusar are unfamiliar to me.

As if they could be otherwise.

— Very well, — Kaine agreed. — Palpatine, the Dark Side Elite, Devian… How does it all connect?

— There's strong suspicion that Palpatine is negotiating with some active warlords to join his forces, — I continued. — Devian commands a significant number of former Imperials, skilled specialists, and professional soldiers. Some will fall into my custody after I deal with him.

— And? — Kaine still didn't follow.

— I don't need them, — I clarified. — But you mentioned losses among specialists who defected to the Dominion.

— You're offering to hand over Devian's former lackeys? — Kaine grimaced. — They're likely as vile as Palpatine's assassin.

— Makes it easier to send them to fight the New Republic, don't you think? — I pointed out. — What does it matter if they die? Radicals aren't loved, not in these times. You can preserve the lives of those loyal to you, perhaps even hide certain starships from Palpatine's gaze.

— Forming my own reserve, — Kaine nodded understandingly. — Yes, a solid idea. But I'm certain the Ubiqtorate has already cataloged every ship I have. Blackhole's a cunning, slippery creature… I suspect he's overseeing Palpatine's operations while the Emperor hides in the Deep Core.

— I've had the same thoughts, — I confirmed. — Now, imagine a hypothetical scenario: the Ubiqtorate's oversight vanishes.

— How so? — Kaine asked, stunned. — They're always poking their noses where they don't belong.

— It's hypothetical, — I reminded him. — The Ubiqtorate and Blackhole stop breathing down your neck. Would that ease your life?

— At least until another of Palpatine's minions demands my submission, — Kaine snorted. — But if you're planning this, Thrawn, it's… bold, to say the least. One misstep, and they'll unleash every rancor on you.

— Fear rancors, and you'll never walk in Hutt palaces, — I remarked.

— Interesting saying, — Kaine chuckled. — Never heard it.

— A Jedi acquaintance told me, — I lied without blinking.

— Interesting, — Kaine smirked. — Is Skywalker on your side?

— He's loyal to the New Republic, — I noted. — But that doesn't mean he can't be used in certain circumstances.

— Fine, suppose the Ubiqtorate stops breathing down my neck, — Kaine said. — Then what?

— Tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of Devian's former troops will come to you, — I noted. — What you do next is your call. I've suggested a course of action.

— Hiding ships isn't so simple, — Kaine grimaced.

— But they could be lost in clashes with Republic raiders, — I pointed out. — Remember, Krennel faced such issues, and Valles Santhe is suffering massive losses from New Republic ship seizures…

— Blackhole once let slip that Lianna is ready to sever all contracts with Coruscant, — the Grand Moff noted. — Mon Mothma's office accuses Santhe of building a Death Star, while the old lady insists rebels are attacking her transports.

— Not long ago, I repelled an attack on the Oplovis sector, — I reminded him. — Nearly ten raider groups.

Ardus let out an impressed whistle.

— Yes, I suppose ships could vanish due to New Republic raider attacks, — he agreed, smiling broadly. — But again, the question of price.

— I'd prefer payment in aurodium, — I admitted.

Kaine's face twisted in clear disappointment.

— Planning to strip me of my entire aurodium reserve? — he asked.

— Only what you're willing to provide, — I noted. — The Pentastar Alignment has no shortage of currency or funds, as I understand?

— Something like that, — Kaine said glumly. — No other options?

— Why not? — I asked, surprised. — You need justification to send your ships on raids to peripheral systems hunting New Republic raiders, don't you?

— Their presence is reason enough, — Kaine noted. — Extra security…

— No one will buy that, — I declared. — But if your transports carrying turbolasers and Imperial equipment for ship construction are attacked by Coruscant's raiders… that's a solid basis for a search campaign.

The Grand Moff froze for a moment.

Then a knowing smile spread across his face.

— So, the missing military assets will be counted toward our deal for supplying Devian's former men?

— Not only that, — I clarified. — It would look highly suspicious if, instead of handing you Octavian Grant, he dies, and you still give me the promised ships and money.

— Yes, that would raise many questions, — Kaine agreed. With a grin, he said:

— Turbolasers, deflector shields, engines, spare parts… Worth over two billion credits, right?

— I think "over five" is a more accurate figure, — I noted.

— What, planning to build a couple of Executors? — Kaine asked, astonished.

My eyebrow shot up again.

— What, has Kuat Drive Yards forgiven me for attacking Kai Fel and seizing their hyperdrives? — I asked.

— No, — Kaine admitted. — Though they fear venturing beyond their sector or launching a punitive operation, seeing how you're trouncing the New Republic, they won't abandon plans to punish the one who tarnished their reputation. Not anytime soon.

— More precisely, until it's proven they can't get away with it, — I clarified.

— Hence why they're jacking up prices for the New Republic, — Kaine agreed.

— But not for you, right? — I pressed.

— The Pentastar Alignment has a fair number of Kuat enterprises, — Kaine admitted. — If they try negotiating from a position of strength, I'll nationalize everything they have through confiscation. If they push to prove I'm wrong, I'll grind them to dust.

— Well said, — I admitted. — I think it's time to discuss our criminal conspiracy against Palpatine and his lackeys in detail. Given that I'm taking on most of the action and risk, the number of "transports seized by raiders" should be significantly higher.

— Don't stick a finger in your mouth, — Kaine said with admiration. — You'll bite up to the ribcage.

— Such are the harsh realities of our turbulent times, — I shrugged. — To maintain the façade of waging war solely against the New Republic while weakening Palpatine's potential allies, I'll need a vast array of resources. Weapons, stormtrooper gear, spare parts for vehicles and starships, turbolasers, munitions, plasma drills for ore mining…

— Why the last one? — Kaine asked, genuinely surprised.

— To drill down to the truth, — I replied evasively, pulling a comlink from my pocket. — Disable the scrambler for a couple of minutes—I need to issue orders regarding Octavian Grant's transfer to the Reaper. We've been alone too long. I suspect the Ubiqtorate's agents on your flagship are already getting anxious. And we still need to discuss details, including the prisoner transfer. I don't think we should hide that from our adversaries—it would raise too many suspicions.

— With what relish I'll slit their throats when I can do so without major consequences, — Kaine said grimly, disabling the device interfering with electronics.

— I won't dissuade you, — I admitted, dialing the comlink frequency. — A small request, Grand Moff. Could you assemble a "welcoming committee" in the Reaper's main hangar? I want to hand over the traitor and receive my ships as quickly as possible. I have matters to attend to…

***

Every crew member in the Reaper's main hangar remained stoic.

But within them burned a fire of joy—ever since the Lambda-class shuttle's landing struts touched the super star destroyer's deck.

The most notorious traitor to the Empire after Darth Vader, Grand Admiral Octavian Grant, had finally been found and delivered into the hands of those who would execute his sentence.

The harshest punishment would rain upon this fool, whose weak character and egoism caused the deaths of so many Imperials…

The prisoner, clad in a bright orange prison jumpsuit, was escorted by two stormtroopers. Though, what kind of stormtroopers were these? Their gait was stiff, movements jerky, with no coordination… Clearly, hastily trained civilians trying to appear confident and polished. It was a pathetic display.

— I thought prisoners were supposed to be in cuffs, — Grand Moff Kaine remarked irritably to Grand Admiral Thrawn, standing alongside two Imperial Guards, a major, and a gray-skinned alien.

The Supreme Commander of the Empire glanced at his interlocutor.

They spoke quietly, but the Reaper's senior officers nearby could hear everything.

— He has nowhere to run on this ship, — Thrawn said calmly. — After the handover, you can do as you please. I'm only interested in the ships and money promised for his exchange.

— Right, what else would concern you, — Ardus Kaine scoffed. His face showed no emotion beyond indifference, but his voice carried irritation.

— And I'm accused of treason, — the approaching Grant snorted. — What, Thrawn, couldn't use me?

— On the contrary, — the Grand Admiral said, surprised. — You're fetching me the resources I need. You'll face trial.

— I'll happily find a villa on some tropical planet, — Grant chuckled. — People like me aren't killed by people like you, — he sneered, eyeing the Grand Moff and Grand Admiral with contempt. — A coward and an alien. The perfect pair.

— Say what you want, Octavian, — Kaine's voice dripped with anger. — Until you're executed. But first, I'll have your tongue cut out.

A shadow crossed Grant's face.

— You wouldn't dare, — he said, paling. — I'm too valuable to you…

— Your treason reduced your value to zero, — Kaine said irritably. — Your place is on the gallows. Escort! — A squad of stormtroopers (real ones, not the fakes Thrawn uses) in pristine white armor stepped forward from the guard company. — Take this renegade scum to a cell… Lock him up and ensure no one speaks to him until we hand him to the Emperor.

Oh yes… The Reaper's crew, as the elite of the Pentastar Alignment, had been privy to the secret of the Galactic Emperor's imminent return. They skillfully hid this from those not trusted with such vital information.

— No, Ardus, no! — Grant cried out. The traitor had clearly realized the Grand Moff's words about his final destination were no joke. — Don't hand me over to him! I… I know a lot! I know things about Thrawn! He has secrets!

— We all have secrets, — Kaine shrugged. — As you can see, the Grand Admiral stands beside me. You stand opposite. We serve the same master. And you…

— NO-O-O! — Grant screamed.

What followed only confirmed the ineptitude of Grand Admiral Thrawn's forces.

The uncuffed prisoner, due to the negligence of his escorts, shoved one of Thrawn's "fake stormtroopers" aside. Snatching the E-11 blaster rifle from his hands, Octavian Grant looked around, cornered.

— I won't surrender, — he declared firmly. — No! Listen to me! I was at Thrawn's secret base, there—

A burst of blaster fire cut off the traitor's screams and life.

The second "useless" stormtrooper, riddling the traitor's body with shots, managed to scorch the shuttle and the hangar's polished deck.

The Grand Moff cursed, rushing to the traitor's collapsed body. He checked for a pulse, but it was pointless—a near-through hole gaped where one of Octavian Grant's eyes had been.

— Thrawn! — Kaine roared. — What was that?

The Grand Admiral stood impassive, showing no emotion. He didn't answer, only glanced at the visors of both incompetent stormtroopers' helmets.

— Who ordered you to open fire? — he asked.

— Thrawn! — Kaine raged. — Thrawn!

— Sir, I… — the stormtrooper who killed the prisoner stammered. — I… panicked… He was armed and… disarmed my comrade… He could've harmed you…

If this man was trying to express regret for his recklessness, the helmet's vocoder stripped his voice of nuance, making it sound like a droid's monotone chatter.

— How long have you been in service? — Thrawn asked both hapless escorts.

— A month, sir, — they replied almost in unison.

— Thrawn! — Kaine bellowed.

— One moment, Grand Moff, — the Grand Admiral gestured to the gray-skinned humanoid accompanying him. — You've failed me for the first and last time. Your service is over.

Judging by the stormtroopers' attempts to speak and their gesticulations, they understood what was coming.

Black blades flashed in the hands of the Grand Admiral's bodyguard.

In the next instant, each protruded from the eye sockets of the collapsing stormtroopers. Only the crackle and sparks of short-circuiting helmet electronics indicated any activity within. Unfortunately, it wasn't cognitive activity in the stormtroopers' heads. They paid the price for that.

— Remove the bodies, — Thrawn said to the guards behind him.

The two efficiently dragged the corpses onto the shuttle.

— You'll answer for this, Thrawn! — Kaine said, seething with rage. — Before the Emperor himself!

— Indeed, — the Grand Admiral confirmed. — I'm sure retribution won't be long. I sincerely regret this incident. I assure you, in future cooperation…

— To the Hutts with you, filthy alien! — Kaine snarled, clenching his teeth and fists. — Off my ship! And don't let your stench near my borders!

— Agreed, — Thrawn replied softly. — There's nothing more for me here. Farewell, Grand Moff.

With a slow, deliberate stride, clearly striving to preserve his remaining dignity, the supposedly most brilliant Grand Admiral boarded his shuttle and soon departed the Reaper.

Leaving behind the promised ships, the aurodium, and hundreds of thousands of witnesses to his mistake—one that none would forgive.