Grand Admiral

Nine years, nine months, and twenty-six days after the Battle of Yavin...

Or forty-four years, nine months, and twenty-six days after the Great Resynchronization.

(Five months and twelve days since the arrival).

The Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, before it was christened Skystrike, had an unremarkable career as an Imperial warship.

By now, few among the New Republic's military personnel recalled the circumstances under which this ship fell into the hands of what was then the Rebel Alliance. However, its new life, beginning with the change of crew, was filled with noteworthy events.

As part of General Solo's squadron, Skystrike successfully hunted the fleet of Warlord Zsinj. And it did so with considerable success.

Now, however, the ship served an entirely different role.

The onset of Grand Admiral Thrawn's campaign coincided with the peak of the New Republic's economic instability. The rapid expansion of the young state demanded an ever-growing economic machine. The fastest way to replenish the depleted treasury was to revive the engine of interstellar trade.

And for that, ships were needed.

Many ships.

The larger their cargo holds, the better.

For this reason, nearly all Imperial-class Star Destroyers in the New Republic's possession roamed interstellar space, stripped of most of their artillery, starfighter wings, and crew. At the insistence of the late Admiral Ackbar, turret-mounted artillery had been reinstalled, ensuring these ships were no longer a significant burden to convoy escorts.

Skystrike traveled as part of a formation of five bulk freighters, joined at the last moment by a substantial portion of escort forces before departing from Sluis Van.

Accompanied by a dozen Nebulon-B escort frigates, also laden with goods and understaffed, this group of six transports carried an immense shipment of civilian supplies. Droids, construction materials, refined mineral ingots, food supplies...

Everything that could be successfully sold and purchased in the Core Worlds, traditionally the hub of consumption for any product of value.

The hyperspace jump was interrupted one hundred parsecs from the Alderaan system.

A gravitational distortion, caused by the operation of an Interdictor-class Star Destroyer, pulled the transports and their escorts into realspace.

Before the Republic officers could organize a defense, Skystrike was disabled by a double salvo from an ion cannon.

It became immediately clear to seasoned officers that the Venator-class Star Destroyer, launching multiple TIE fighters and holding position behind the enemy's battle line, posed a far greater threat than current military doctrine suggested.

The enemy deployed formidable forces against the convoy—a Victory I-class Star Destroyer, a dozen CR90 Corellian corvettes.

Positioned behind this force were two Acclamator-class assault ships and the Venator-class Star Destroyer, which, with its second paired salvo, disabled one of the escort frigates, clearly intending to avoid direct engagement.

The Interdictor, it seemed, limited its role to long-range artillery support.

Left without the escort commander stationed on Skystrike, the escort frigates did not falter. Recognizing they faced the rapid-fire ion cannon of Merr-Sonn Munitions, the Republic crews prepared to engage the enemy's flagship—a Victory I-class Star Destroyer.

Standing on the bridge of that ship, Captain Kalian quietly cursed in an Alcasanian dialect, expressing his thoughts on his "military luck."

— If we survive, I'll find that scout who said this convoy would have one destroyer and three escort frigates, — he muttered through gritted teeth to himself.

Turning to the bridge crew of Steel Aurora, he coughed into his fist and barked loudly:

— All hands to stations! Battle stations! Ready the launchers—they'll regret crawling out of their warm beds today!

An hour into the intense battle, having lost all light escort ships and one Acclamator, the damaged Steel Aurora, miraculously avoiding three ramming attempts, calmly observed as droidekas from the remaining Acclamator boarded Skystrike, while TIE Interceptors and their fighter counterparts eagerly finished off the last X-wings.

***

— By accusing me of murdering Coruscant's civilians, the New Republic distorts the facts, — Grand Admiral Thrawn's hologram, as always in such cases, exuded confidence and resolve. — The strike on Coruscant was executed to paralyze the New Republic's leadership, not to destroy civilians. The weapon I used was intended solely to prevent Coruscant's provisional government from lowering the planetary shield. Yet they did so. Despite having full knowledge of the weapon used against them, they failed to take adequate measures to act correctly. Blaming me, the Supreme Commander of the Empire and the Dominion, for striking back at those who chose to attack the Ciutric Hegemony, opening its worlds to pirate raids and plundering, is a typical Republican tactic of distorting facts. By appealing to the emotions of sentients they could neither feed nor protect, Coruscant's provisional government seeks to shirk responsibility for its own actions that led to these losses. I deeply mourn the fallen, but I urge the citizens of the New Republic and the galaxy's populace to consider why the New Republic's government failed to relocate civilians to the bunkers abundant on Coruscant before lifting the blockade...

Leia shook her head.

— Han, please turn it off, — she requested.

The Corellian, seated on the couch in front of the holoviewer, didn't argue.

Switching off the device, he stood and approached his wife, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

— Don't take it to heart, — he advised, kissing the top of her head.

— I can't help it, — Leia admitted. — Madine reports that Thrawn's rebuttal is resonating far more effectively with the populace than our statement. Do you understand? They believe the enemy, not us!

— Well, not everyone, — Han tightened his embrace.

— Coruscant is experiencing a population exodus, — Leia said. — For the first time in my memory... The destruction is so severe that sentients find it easier to abandon their businesses, homes, and livelihoods to flee the capital.

— From what I've heard, most are fleeing to Republic worlds, — the Corellian recalled. — That means they trust us more than the Dominion's propaganda.

The princess turned to face her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck.

It felt so good to just stand close and...

— We're not publicizing this, but several companies have pulled their assets and left Coruscant, — she said, burying her face in his chest.

— Well, that's not the end of the world, — Solo replied. — It happens...

— They've gone to the Dominion, Han, — Leia added quietly.

— Now that's unpleasant, — her husband acknowledged.

— And tens of millions of Coruscant's residents, too, — the Alderaanian princess sighed.

Han snorted.

— That just shows they're not right in the head, — he remarked. — How can you run to someone who's dropping space rocks on your head?

— The logic is simple, — Leia explained. — They believe that since we're on the defensive and unable to strike the Dominion, they'll live safer under Thrawn's protection. They don't care that they're essentially returning to the Empire's fold voluntarily! And this after we freed them from tyranny!

— Well... I read the Dominion's program, — Han said. — On paper, it looks decent. A strong public-private industrial cluster, a growing economy, social guarantees, elected local governance... Not as rosy as democracy, but some folks will do fine there.

She looked into her husband's eyes.

His face bore his signature lopsided grin.

— That's a terrible joke, — the former princess said coldly.

— Sorry, — he immediately grew serious. — I get that Thrawn's not the best neighbor, especially with his habit of throwing rocks at people's heads, but... Isn't democracy about giving citizens the right to self-determination?

— Yes, of course, — Leia winced. — It's just... What were all those sacrifices for? Why did our soldiers die fighting for freedom from tyranny if the populace just up and switches to the Dominion? Why can't they be grateful for our liberation? We need to unite against a common enemy, defeat it together, and...

— Easy, easy, easy, — Solo interrupted. — You've spent too much time with the Ewoks. I get that those furry guys are warlike, but belligerent rhetoric doesn't suit a diplomat like you.

Leia raised an eyebrow.

— Since when did you start having such profound thoughts?

— Looked in a dictionary, — Han grinned, sensing his wife was moving past her personal crisis. — Sweetheart, we can't force sentients to do what we want. We're for democracy, aren't we? If they want to live in the Dominion, let them go. When Thrawn puts them all under arms to fight his next enemies, we'll stand aside and prepare filtration camps for prisoners of war.

— If he stops attacking them, — Leia sighed. — In the past week, he's hit twenty major caravans and a dozen high-security prisons. He's freed up to half a million Imperial troops we planned to recruit eventually. Those who aren't loyal to the Empire but aren't ready to swear allegiance to us either...

— Not to mention he's stolen a fair number of our ships, — Han added his five decicreds.

— It's almost laughable, but, — Leia gave a bitter smile, — at this morning's meeting, Mon Mothma dropped a bombshell... Can you believe it? The fact that peripheral sectors are breaking away is actually benefiting the New Republic.

— How's that? — her husband asked, surprised.

— They reassessed the budget, — the young woman explained. — The lion's share we spent on supporting the outskirts is now freed up. And... it's not a bad thing, actually. We no longer have to send massive caravans across the galaxy to supply remote sectors. Our logistics chains are becoming more flexible. We need fewer ships... and we can increase the number of escort ships.

— Hah, — Solo chuckled. — So Thrawn's doing us a favor while starving himself of his own feeding ground?

— In a way, — Leia admitted. — But now we have the funds to modernize our existing fleet and finish building ships already laid down by year's end. In a month or two, we'll have forces strong enough to take on Thrawn easily.

— And here I was wondering why Bel Iblis snapped out of his depression, — Han smirked.

— What do you mean? — Leia asked, surprised.

— Well, you're not the only one with morning meetings, — her husband reminded her. — Garm ordered me to head to Sluis Van and oversee repair and restoration work. Wedge and I will ensure the disarmed Imperial ships are brought back to fighting shape at Sluis Van and Sullust, respectively, while Foerost handles repairs for the First Fleet's starships.

— Yes, I heard about that, — the young woman nodded. — I didn't think they'd assign it to you, but...

— That's the job, sweetheart, — Han said. — I'd invite you along, but...

— I have plenty of work here, — she replied wistfully. — You know I'd love to escape somewhere...

— No big deal, — Solo assured her. — I'm a big boy; I'll manage. Besides, Lando will be at Sluis Van. We'll find ways to pass the time while preparing the ships for a counteroffensive against the Dominion.

— Just promise you won't gamble the Falcon with Calrissian again, — Leia said with a smile. Then, realizing something, she looked at her husband with concern.

— Counteroffensive? — she asked cautiously.

— Yep, — Han nodded. — We'll restore the Imperial ships and use them to fight the Dominion. Since our logistics and economy are sorting themselves out, why not tickle Thrawn's nerves? He wanted us to bring him Imperial starships, didn't he? Well, we'll deliver. In his favorite style—striking his peripheral allies first. Lianna, for starters.

— I suppose...

— Exactly, — Han grinned. — There's probably three to five hundred destroyers, cruisers, and other goodies out there. Let Thrawn chew his elbows when we grant his wish.

— I was thinking of suggesting we drop asteroids on his planets, — Leia said sheepishly.

Han coughed.

— Darling, — he said, — I know your dad wasn't the friendliest guy, and our first meeting didn't go so well, but... maybe take after your brother instead of your father?

— Just thinking out loud, — Leia said innocently, looking away.

— Sure, — Han's voice sounded less than convinced. — Sure...

***

— This is all insanely weird, — Corran muttered, approaching his TIE Defender.

Twirling the black pilot's helmet in his hands, he glanced at his companion.

— Agreed, — Tycho Celchu confirmed, following behind. — Something's going on...

— And I've got a bad feeling about it, — Corran murmured, casting a glance at the flight deck.

In the bowels of the Imperial, serving as Ennix Devian's flagship, life was bustling.

And it didn't resemble the activity on New Republic warships before a battle.

The fact that they were heading directly into combat was evident from recent events.

As soon as they arrived at Ennix Devian's base, the scale of the operation became clear.

Hundreds of starships of various classes crowded a small, unnamed star system within the Ghost Nebula. The distinctive features of the surrounding space confirmed they were indeed inside this astronomical phenomenon. Once you've seen a nebula like this, you'd never mistake it for anything else.

It seemed all attempts by the Third Fleet to catch Devian had failed.

If he felt so at ease, he clearly wasn't afraid of anyone or anything attacking or harming his forces.

Corran realized he had no idea what to do as soon as their freighter dropped into realspace.

With a short squeal, like a dying womp rat, the Rogues' comlinks reported that communication channels were being jammed. Thus, the plan to inform the New Republic of Devian's location and his massive fleet turned from a simple task into a complex one.

If communications were being suppressed, direction finders were likely active too. Attempting to bypass electronic warfare systems and find unblocked frequencies (which surely existed, as the base had to communicate with its agents somehow) would immediately draw the attention of local security.

There was, however, another option.

Almost immediately, the Rogues and a couple of pilots in TIE Avengers were sent to Devian's flagship.

Here, all six assigned squadrons were fully equipped with these two types of fighters, indicating the enemy had the resources to acquire and maintain such valuable machines.

This was already evident after the Rogues caught sight of a massive metallic sphere orbiting an unknown planet in the system.

At first glance, it resembled the infamous Death Star, but upon closer inspection, it was clear this was merely another inhabited sphere. The Empire had passed off a similar object as a Death Star copy after the Battle of Endor, and the Rebel Alliance destroyed it without hesitation or questions.

But persistent rumors suggested there was another.

Now it was clear who had it and where to look.

But the worst part was something else.

Yes, this structure lacked a superlaser dish or significant weaponry.

But it was undeniably a military installation.

The massive hangar bays carved into its surface concealed dozens of warships—not just corvettes or frigates, but Star Destroyers!

Venators, Victories, Imperials, even a couple of Gladiators...

Not to mention hundreds of smaller ships or Acclamators lingering near the station, converted into a shipyard.

An ocean of debris, resembling the remains of Star Destroyers scavenged from battlefields, drifted beside the giant sphere. Apparently, Devian spent his free time collecting destroyed Imperial ships like puzzle pieces.

Fortunately, the docks within his inhabited world weren't large enough to accommodate a Super Star Destroyer, or Devian might have built one. That would have been highly unpleasant.

After being delivered to the base, nothing happened as the Rogues had expected.

No interrogations, no filtration measures... Not even surveillance was established on Devian's flagship destroyer. That alone was strange. An Imperial who had evaded the New Republic's attention for so long couldn't possibly be this careless now.

Either he'd grown brazen, ready for bold action with his undeniably massive fleet, or something else was afoot—something the Rogues didn't know about.

Either way, they were now traveling through hyperspace to... somewhere.

No one briefed the pilots or informed them of their destination. It was as if they didn't need to prepare for an upcoming battle.

Illogical. If they weren't heading to a combat mission (doubtful, given that Warlord Devian took a significant portion of his fleet), but rather a routine operation, maneuvers, or a show of force...

This made the Rogues increasingly uneasy.

But what worried them most was that the odd pair—an Imperial lieutenant and his Twi'lek companion—had been assigned to their squadron, along with two other TIE Defender pilots.

Taciturn and focused, the Imperials were so irritating by their mere presence that the Rogues developed a habit of lingering in their cockpits until they were alone on the flight deck, supposedly checking their ships' systems.

Some pilots on the destroyer seemed decent enough to Horn.

But they were a minority—most were zealous devotees of the New Order, fervently believing Ennix Devian was leading them on a crusade against the rebels. Yet, they conveniently overlooked that Devian himself was a rogue warlord.

The hangar's siren wailed, shifting in volume and pitch; yellow lights flashed above the doors. The standard "yellow alert" signal, requiring the ship's crew, including pilots, to take their stations per the battle roster.

Pilots ran up boarding ramps to dive into their cockpits and await further orders.

Only the Rogues held back, lingering by their Defenders, awaiting Celchu's command.

— Any guesses about what's happening? — Tycho asked quietly.

Corran took a deep breath, reaching out to the Force.

The general mood of the surrounding sentients was one of impatience, anticipation, and eagerness for a fight...

But nothing specific.

He reported as much to the Alderaanian.

— So, a battle's coming, — the Rogue Squadron commander concluded.

— Seems that way, — Corran nodded. — Think Devian's planning to attack someone in the New Republic?

— I can't rule it out, — Tycho said. — Thrawn's hit us hard lately... including the attack on Coruscant.

They learned of it from holonet broadcasts—projected from every holoprojector on the ship. But the connection was one-way; using the terminals to access the HoloNet was impossible.

— If the Imps are fighting their own, we should help them kill as many of each other as possible, — Corran said decisively.

— If Devian's targeting the New Republic, we'll do everything to stop him, — Celchu declared.

— What about Isard's plan? — Horn asked.

— I don't think it includes our survival, — Tycho shook his head. — We know the coordinates of Devian's base. If we can take him out too, the mission's complete.

— And leave Thrawn alive? — Corran gritted his teeth.

— I don't want to follow Isard's plan any longer than we have to, — the Alderaanian said firmly. — She's deceiving us anyway, pursuing her own goals. Without contact with the New Republic, her words are just words.

— Tycho, — Corran said firmly, — I have my own score to settle with Thrawn. For six months, I've had no word on my wife or father-in-law while that blue-skinned bastard tears apart everything I've dedicated years of my life to. If I get the chance to take him out, I'll do it without hesitation!

The Alderaanian shook his head.

— Are you sure that's what Mirax would want? — he asked. — It could cost you your life.

For a moment, Horn hesitated.

— Mirax, maybe not, — the Corellian admitted. — But Booster would go to the grave to get revenge.

— You're treading a dangerous path, — Tycho warned. — You said you feel like Mirax and Terrik are alive...

— And I feel it now, — Corran confirmed. — But the delay is killing me. After the bombardment of Coruscant with cloaked asteroids, Thrawn must answer for everything!

— I'm no Jedi, — Tycho reminded him, — but that doesn't sound like their way...

— Neither am I a Jedi, — Corran snorted. — That blue-skinned creep's words mean nothing. One moment he promises to target only military objectives, the next he's dropping explosive asteroids on civilians' heads...

— There's some logic to his words, — Celchu noted. — The provisional government should've ensured civilians were fed. And lowering the entire shield... Those were our government's missteps, Horn. He's just exploiting them effectively. You can't blame him for us being too foolish to anticipate his every move.

— You sound like an Imp, — Corran said with frustration. He glanced at the pair—the human and Twi'lek climbing into their Avengers' cockpits.

Both briefly glanced at the Rogues, but Corran distinctly sensed the man's hostility and even disappointment. Something was off about that lieutenant.

If only he knew what...

— Hey, you two! — the flight deck controller barked. — Get to your ships, now!

— No need to draw attention, — Tycho advised.

— Who's drawing attention? — Corran snapped irritably, heading to his ship.

Settling into the cockpit and sealing the hatch, he checked all systems when the holoprojector on his panel flickered to life.

White-blue beams of light wove together, forming the face of Warlord Ennix Devian.

Warlord Ennix Devian.

His face, adorned with numerous scars yet unmistakably Imperial, broke into a satisfied smile:

— Valiant defenders of the Empire! Today, we will partake in a battle that will turn the galaxy upside down. A rare opportunity has presented itself to gain the trust of rebels masquerading under the Imperial flag and strike, eliminating the leadership of two factions in one blow. I am confident each of you will display valor on the battlefield, and we will return victorious. Today, we destroy our enemies, and tomorrow, we reclaim the Imperial Center!

Corran shook his head with undisguised skepticism.

Devian might have been counting on something, but one particular Corellian had very different thoughts on the matter.

***

The planet Mustafar, even from a distance, resembled a massive molten lump of slag.

Fans of Master Tolkien, seeing such a world in reality, would insist it looked exactly like Middle-earth if Sauron had conquered it.

Though, comparing Tolkien's orcs to Mustafar's current inhabitants, the difference was minimal.

At the moment, however, this fact concerned me the least.

Against the crimson disk of Mustafar, enemy ships were arrayed in a broad formation. Six Imperial-class Star Destroyers and several light escort ships—Lancer-class pursuit craft. Numerous transport starships were engaged in loading and unloading.

The Dominion's fleet emerged from hyperspace, reforming for a blockade and preparing to attack.

Our number of Star Destroyers matched theirs, but I had brought to Mustafar forty Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, two Immobilizer 418-class interdictor cruisers, and fifty Corellian corvettes. Not to mention four Acclamator-class assault ships with troops and another Red Dragon equipped with an ion cannon.

This battle required no more ships—scouts sent earlier to the system and nearby space detected no forces X1 could use for an ambush. Given that he was unaware of the attack's timing, which had been changed multiple times to reveal potential reinforcements, it was unlikely any backup would arrive in time, even if it existed.

While Gilad relayed fleet orders to adjust our disposition for rear and flank security, I observed with a slight squint how calmly and nonchalantly the enemy behaved.

The six Star Destroyers, spread out in a frontal formation, hadn't even attempted to launch starfighters from their hangars or raise deflector shields.

It was clear that at a distance of a hundred units, no turbolaser could hit its target. Thus, I could calmly analyze and note small details.

And they didn't sit well with me.

The enemy's excessive, ostentatious calm couldn't be explained solely by faith in the Dark Side of the Force or X1's own arrogance.

There was something else, still unrevealed.

If I could figure out what it was and where the strike would come from, it would simplify things greatly.

— Sir, — Gilad addressed me. — The comm station is picking up an incoming holographic message from one of the enemy's destroyers. They're requesting to speak with you.

— As expected, — I nodded. — Connect them. And sound battle stations across the fleet. Prepare the Scimitar for launch. Deploy the starfighters from the hangars. Maximum alertness across the fleet—we've walked into a trap that's about to snap shut. Order Red Dragon-V to begin charging energy for firing. Other ships, commence launching fighters per the Vanguard plan using tractor beams—we need maximum acceleration deploying the fighter wing from the hangars.

Traveling with a fully charged energy buffer (implemented after the battle at Hast's shipyards) was dangerous, so we had to buy time for the reactor to build up energy.

If Pellaeon was surprised, he didn't show it, focusing instead on executing orders.

A moment later, above my armrest appeared...

Not a miniature figure a third of its actual height.

Before me materialized a head, roughly sixty centimeters in diameter.

Even in the low-resolution white-blue glow, X1 looked grotesque.

His bald head, covered in intricate, incomprehensible tattoos, revealed a network of dark veins beneath the skin, even in such conditions.

Deep-set eyes with prominent dark circles beneath them.

A large forehead looming over the rest of his face. Disgusting folds of wrinkles, more like traces of molten metal cooled in place...

I had never seen this creature before, not even in my past life when I briefly studied its history.

But now, I formed a definitive opinion of this being.

And not only of him.

Those who seek power for its own sake are mad by definition.

Palpatine could claim all he wanted that his usurpation of power and galactic militarization were primarily to protect the galaxy from the Yuuzhan Vong invasion. Perhaps that was true—until he faced Master Windu in his office.

His subsequent actions, I can only describe as consolidating power and prolonging his own life. I may be wrong, but that's my view.

Based on what we know of X1's motivations, he's a pitiful parody of Palpatine. Driven by a lust for absolute power, including through mastering the Dark Side's secrets.

But to what end?

To conquer the galaxy to stroke his ego and prove his might?

Six Star Destroyers and a handful of troops, not to mention a factory-planet base, aren't the most promising start. Conquering the galaxy with such resources could take a lifetime.

Then again, for some, the journey itself is the goal.

— Grand Admiral Thrawn, — X1's voice was a grating mix between a mute's rasp and metal scraped across glass. — So, you've come. As I predicted.

Does the Dark Side follow a single playbook?

— From what I understand, boasting about predicting the future and its outcome is a common delusion among Dark Side adepts, — I remarked. — The last sentient who claimed as much met his end in the shaft of the second Death Star, not far from here.

— Arrogance, — X1 sneered. — I am no longer an acolyte. I am a Sith Lord! And with me is all the might of the Dark Side.

— My congratulations, — my response seemed to briefly unsettle the malevolent clone of Jedi Falon Grey. — And what now?

— You will swear loyalty to me, — his confidence was unshakable. Well, let's continue the conversation—it might yield more information. — And become my general. Under my command, you will conquer the galaxy for me.

— Thank you for the offer, but I have other plans for today, — my objection elicited a vile smirk on his face.

— Proud fool, — X1 scoffed. — You will serve me once you witness my power. Kneel before me now, and I will allow you—

My garage neighbor once claimed he was the mightiest man in the district. Of course, he'd downed a couple of bottles of "liquid courage" before trying to prove to the cooperative's transformer that it was stealing electricity. I hadn't seen such a spectacular way to cut power to the garage cooperative—or singe off one's hair—until that moment. Did I blame myself for not taking the metal vacuum pipe from the drunk as he battered the transformer? Of course not.

Everyone chooses their own path to a Darwin Award. The key is not to interfere with their pursuit of that coveted goal.

Explaining anything to this sentient was pointless.

But there was an option to use deception for tactical advantage.

I signaled Pellaeon to open wide-band transmission to the enemy ships. If we could demoralize them, it would give us an edge.

— I'm afraid your actions, as well as poaching Imperial personnel, contradict the stance of Emperor Palpatine, reborn in the Deep Core on Byss, — if X1 reacted to my words, it escaped me.

The Sith clone merely smirked arrogantly.

— Well said, — he remarked. — Now I understand what drove Maul to betray me. A coward to the end, especially when groveling before the powerful. Palpatine neither concerns nor frightens me. I was on Vjun, — now that was an interesting tidbit. — I saw how weakened the Dark Side has become in the galaxy...

— My sincere sympathies, — I said.

Self-absorbed egomaniacs can't fathom that someone might not admire their greatness.

X1 clearly had issues with his sense of self-worth. His wounded pride, stung by his lack of originality, his secondary nature, and the small scale of his achievements—failures in the Nidjun and Kvelii sectors—couldn't keep him calm or clear-headed, as his existence was rooted in emotion.

Thus, provoking him into revealing more would be relatively easy.

Simply imply his actions are insignificant to me, and to bolster his position, he'll undoubtedly say more than intended.

He may be Force-sensitive, unlike me, but he's far from a schemer or master manipulator like Palpatine.

Anyone can call themselves a Sith Lord. The Zabrak named Maul considers himself a Darth—one of the two leaders of Darth Bane's Sith Order.

You don't argue with psychopaths, as it can lead to unpredictable consequences.

With true Sith Lords like Darth Vader, I wouldn't attempt such a stunt either. They're experienced enough to control their emotions and behavior.

But an emotionally unstable clone of a Jedi, created on Kamino before the Clone Wars, clearly lacks psychological stability. The galaxy likely didn't know about using ysalamiri during cloning until my experiments on Wayland.

— You'd make a worthy Sith apprentice if you held any significance to me in terms of the Force, — X1 declared, chuckling. Hysterically chuckling.

I was on the right track.

The key was not to overdo it.

— I've watched you from the shadows, — X1 continued his banal tale of his own greatness. — You're a capable commander, worthy of serving me. Too selective and overly humane. Thus, I'll spare your life. You'll witness me destroy your fleet with a weapon you overlooked on Vjun...

Internally, I tensed.

Externally, I avoided sending such signals into the void.

Even if the trap was far more serious than I'd anticipated, I'd need to maneuver carefully to emerge victorious.

But my thoughts raced like roaches in a speed-driven sport.

A weapon on Vjun? What was he talking about?! We scoured that planet top to bottom and found nothing.

— Your pet beasts will never grasp the Dark Side's greatness until I show them, — X1 continued. — With your narrow understanding of this universe's metaphysics, you've still had to recruit Force-sensitive allies. Thank you for delivering the traitor Maul and the Emperor's Hand to me. They, like you, will form the foundation of my clone army. Since the Zabrak failed to secure Nightsisters for me, you'll replace them in the incubators. And when I have hundreds of commanders like you for my fleet, I'll subjugate your Dominion first, then the entire galaxy. With such power, Palpatine will hold no sway over me. Though, — X1's head bared crooked teeth in a grin, — I'm curious to learn what he used to survive.

Well, now.

Troubling conclusions.

First, his madness was clearly progressing.

I don't know what X1 imagined about my abilities, but the fact remains—he won't have me.

Second, it's now clear what Maul was collecting for X1 on Dathomir. Genetic material for cloning Force-sensitive individuals.

X1 didn't let Maul in on the details of his plan, claiming he'd brief him upon returning to Mustafar. But it's obvious no one was meant to be "brought into the fold."

In his naive simplicity, Maul intended to use X1 to restore his own greatness, while X1 planned to use him to gather "meat" for cloning. Afterward, Maul would likely have vanished for good.

It's a repeat of Reynar Obscuro's story, where my interference saved the Inquisitor from becoming part of the Disciples of Ragnos or dying by their blades.

Likewise, Maul was meant to die for X1's plans.

However, had I not intervened in history, Darth Maul's fate might have taken a different path.

But it's too late to dwell on that now.

We must prevent the unthinkable—creating an army of cloned Force adepts.

I swore against it myself and won't allow anyone else to engage in such a vile act that threatens the Dominion and my plans.

Speculation is endless, but my gut tells me it's no coincidence that Mara Jade and Ahsoka Tano stumbled upon these shipments. Not a coincidence at all.

Was it the Force's will or Jedi intuition? It matters little now.

The priority is to stop it.

One mad, Force-sensitive clone nearly built a Super Star Destroyer and amassed a sizable fleet, army, and resources.

What would ten such clones achieve? A hundred? A thousand?

Clearly, he's not entirely mad, as he avoids cloning himself. He likely knows a clone of a clone would have diminished vitality and a shorter lifespan.

From his speech's implications, there was indeed a trap. Our forces had closed enough to begin a firefight, but we'd delay its start to avoid disrupting the attack plan.

Let's lock in the thought.

X1 intends to create a clone army.

Including using me, Mara Jade, and Maul as donors.

First question—where did he get cloning cylinders? It's unlikely he's referring to my own facility. It's split across several ships to use Acclamator power plants with minimal modifications for cloning.

Those ships are under constant monitoring and heavily guarded. X1 couldn't have learned of them, accidentally or otherwise, no matter how much he wanted to.

Thus, the mad clone has his own laboratory.

On one hand, that's good—extra cloning cylinders, whatever they are, wouldn't hurt.

On the other, I need to eliminate the psychopath first to deal with his assets.

Second point—the weapon supposedly found on Vjun.

What was he even talking about?

Without overthinking, I asked X1 directly.

— You'll find out soon, — he chuckled. — Once you face my forces and allies, who will soon serve only me. But I must thank you. Had you not visited Vjun before me and scoured it clean, I'd never have been so diligent in seeking the ultimate weapon. I found it—Darth Vader's weapon, kept secret from all others.

X1 laughed, looking at me mockingly.

An ominous portent.

And it was clearly meant to disorient me.

Hutt's blood, those buffers on Sunburn! Why so slow?!

— And, — he continued, — as you've likely guessed, broadcasting openly to my ships was a waste of time. Everyone in my personal fleet would sooner die than betray me. Unlike the rabble heading here to settle scores with you...

The subtext—reinforcements were approaching.

And if so...

— Sir! — Pellaeon pointed to numerous ship signatures appearing behind our reserve detachment.

A few seconds were enough to realize—I'd been outplayed.

Fifty ships—Venators, Acclamators, a dozen Imperials—emerged from hyperspace behind my interdictor cruisers and assault ships. The Dreadnought-class heavy cruiser escorts began to react, slowly turning to face the advancing enemy.

Now it was clear who helped him restore wrecked starships. They were likely from the same stock as Devian's.

Seconds were ticking.

I understood my mistake.

You can't fight multiple strong opponents at once.

I'd tugged the tails of several snakes, unaware they'd already coiled into one knot against my efforts.

I'd been outmaneuvered.

A costly error. I could already write off part of the squadron. And I knew which part.

It stung, but it had to be done.

X1 intended to use me for his goals.

Well, he'd have to work hard for it, because I wasn't surrendering without a fight.

— Full speed ahead, — I ordered. — Engage the enemy with shipboard artillery. Rear detachment, maximum alertness...

— Now you'll witness my power, Thrawn, — the head ominously promised. — First, Devian and I will crush your ships. Then, I'll break his forces, bending them to my will! But first, enjoy the sight of your ships being destroyed! Maul thought he could destroy me with your help, but he didn't realize I'm two steps ahead of you all! Because I am the true Sith Lord!

X1's demand was sinister, promising, and clearly the signal to begin the operation.

Concentrated fire turned a Dominion Acclamator that failed to react into a pile of scrap.

— Red Dragon-V, fire on the enemy flagship, — I ordered, watching the ship broadcasting X1's transmission.

Something odd was happening to its bow. As if it were disintegrating at the center and...

Cold sweat rolled down my spine.

— Fire! — I commanded.

A single shot from Red Dragon-V coincided with a thin green beam of energy that sliced through our formation, grazing Bellicose's superstructure and reducing Red Dragon-V to a flash of light.

An ion charge raced across the surface of the Star Destroyer equipped with a superlaser.

But one shot wasn't enough to destroy it.

And we had no second shot—the enemy flagship was turning for another strike.

We had no time to destroy it from this distance.

My own tactics were used against me, significantly improved.

— Sir, Bellicose has lost control! — Pellaeon rasped, watching the Star Destroyer break formation, drifting into the lower echelon.

It was out of the fight for now.

And I was certain X1 wasn't aiming to destroy my ships—he'd disable them for capture.

— Initiate Vanguard, — I ordered, eyes fixed on the enemy flagship. Despite the damage from our turbolasers, it fired again—decapitating Death's Head. — Captain Bren, strike the enemy flagship.

— Destroy the bridge or...? — Pellaeon asked nervously, watching a third shot from X1's ship vaporize a heavy cruiser that blocked the laser's path to Doria's ship.

— Did you not understand, Captain? — I clarified. — X1's fleet is staffed with his puppets. If we don't eliminate them all, — on the tactical display, both Immobilizer 418 cruisers vanished, surrounded by swarms of enemy fighters, — they'll attack us elsewhere. They just killed Captain Harbid and Captain Aban. Our friends' deaths must not be in vain. Destroy them all—every soul on X1's flagship. The wreckage will suffice as trophies. We can't let them keep destroying our starships.

— Yes, sir! — Gilad responded.

Seconds later, as the signal reached the comlinks of TIE Interceptors and bombers launched via tractor beam slingshots, the vacuum between my fleet and the mad clone's ships lit up with hundreds of ion engines.

Then, six bomber squadrons, now in close proximity to the enemy destroyers, unleashed their deadly payload...

The Battle of Mustafar had begun.