Grand Admiral

Nine years, six months, and three days after the Battle of Yavin...

Or the forty-fourth year, six months, and three days after the Great Resynchronization.

Passing customs for a freighter captain who delivers fresh fruits and vegetables to a Republic facility is a matter of a couple of seconds. A familiar customs officer looks you in the face, smiles, knowing that he will get a small share of the cargo during unloading, checks your personal ID, winks, which kind of ambiguously hints that he considers you a buddy, and loses all official interest in you.

That's the power of corruption. And female charms.

Fodeum calmly walked past the counter, glanced around the arrivals hall. Traditionally, it is empty here — freighter captains did not linger in this part of the station, preferring to return to their ships as soon as possible and go to Halm or the shipyards to unload military goods.

In the case of his starship, everything was much simpler - it was only necessary to wait until the customs workers scooped containers of food out of the not-so-large hold of the "Elegant Lady". Considering that on a Golan-type station, with its almost three thousand kilometers in length, there were more than one thousand servicemen, they liked to eat here. But they didn't like to work much. After all, the starships left for repairs drifted near the repair grids and for almost six years since the Battle of Hast they had not progressed in the repair of hulls, they would be stuck here for a long time - the New Republic was in no hurry to spend its credits on badly damaged ships. Therefore, the staff, a significant part of whom were currently hired workers, frankly speaking, did not even strive to maintain at least some respectful attitude towards their work, their employers, or their civic duty. As they say - "The further from the bosses, the easier the service." And the military commandant of the shipyards was anyone, but not a brave boss. Fodeum could say this honestly, putting his hand on his heart. He had the opportunity to communicate with this individual. He left his office upset. Okay, you can come to terms with the fact that the Empire is trying to deceive everywhere and everywhere, but that the valiant guardians and zealots of democracy... Well, yes, yes, it never happened, and suddenly again.

Golan-III type space defense station.

Watching the customs officer smile sweetly at Vex, diligently showering her with compliments and not noticing that her feigned politeness and talkativeness was at its limit, Fodeum chuckled. There were no male beings in this galaxy whom Vex could treat with kindness and without claims arising out of nowhere. However, he knew for sure that his girlfriend would not cross the line and there would be no scandal with the customs officer. This was not part of the tasks set for them by Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Fodeum stealthily exhaled, feeling his palms become sticky with excitement. Breathing exercises did not help calm his nerves.

Every time he returned here, to the station that controlled all the orbital activity of the New Republic in the Hast sector, the young man feared that he would be caught. He was not sure that the "infiltration" of that person, Rederick, had been successful. He had to use the Force, which Fodeum had not done for quite some time. And unfortunately, it is not as easy as learning to ride a gravcycle: if you can do it once, you will not forget it.

You'll forget it for sure.

Fodeum tried to look independent and calm when a patrol of a couple of Republic soldiers passed by him. An ordinary patrol. Nothing remarkable. He is a simple freighter captain, there is nothing to...

The young man mentally cursed. Apparently, he was trying too hard to appear uninvolved in everything that was happening, which raised suspicions. The soldiers were walking in his direction.

— Show me your identification card, — said one of the New Republic soldiers, apparently the senior one in the patrol. He did not introduce himself, did not explain the reason... Democracy as it is.

— Yes, of course, — the captain of the "Elegant Lady" reached into the inner pocket of his vest and pulled out the necessary document. Handing the card to the soldier, he met eyes with Vex, who had passed through customs. The girl, realizing that something out of the ordinary was happening, pretended to be interested in a small cantina outside the customs zone. Where the captains of cargo haulers and the station's resting staff usually liked to relax. Where in ten minutes a meeting with an Imperial intelligence officer should take place.

— Is something wrong, officers? — Fodeum asked, watching as the New Republic soldiers checked his identity card through a portable computer scanner. No, seriously? Don't they have a job to do? Or do they think that intellectually disadvantaged individuals sit at the customs post, unable to use the same devices to check identities? No, this is not serious. There's something else going on here.

— I'm a corporal, — the patrol leader snapped. — Officers prefer to deal with more important things. No, we're just checking documents. We have an order to strengthen security measures.

— Really? — Fodeum continued to play the part of a simple guy. Isn't my voice trembling? Is it? — But they didn't tell me anything at customs. Everything is as usual...

— Well, that's customs, — the second soldier snorted, a private apparently. — Our service is more serious.

— That's right, — the corporal said. He looked Fodeum in the eyes. — And what did you bring?

— Food, — he replied.

— I don't remember you being here before, — the patrol leader replied. — And I've been serving here since our "Death Star" was dismantled at Yavin IV...

Wha-a-a-at, and this is already a familiar "song".

— I've been working here recently, — Fodeum said. — Honestly, it was all by chance. A couple of weeks ago, I was transporting cargo to the Mon Calamari planet. My hyperdrive malfunctioned. My mechanic advised me to get it fixed here. I say to him: "Let's get to Dac and fix it there?", and he started whining, saying that he can't do everything himself, it's better to fly to a shipyard, and the shipyard is military anyway. In general, we flew here to you, fixed it. I didn't have any money, so I paid with the goods, the customer refused it anyway, saying that by the time I arrive, the goods will be spoiled and all that. Well, I gave everything to your commandant - as payment for the repair of the ship. Since then, I've been bringing food here to you — they offered me a part-time job as a regular courier, and who would refuse? Money is dripping in, the work is not hard... But the mechanic, what a bad person! As soon as he found out that you need workers, he immediately ran away from my ship. Now he's somewhere here poking around in the mechanisms. And I have to stand for three hours in repair every trip so that everything is calibrated, the freighter is not in the best condition.

Yes, Rederick's infiltration legend was not the most perfect. And the chief engineer of the shipyard did not particularly want to accept him into the staff. He had to use mind trick using the Force to "persuade" him. But Fodeum did not know for sure whether it worked or whether they were exposed, and this patrol was a capture group.

However, he has to play his role to the end.

— Consider yourself lucky, buddy, — the corporal smirked. — Your mechanic is, of course, a rare... But you should be happy, because you are being repaired at the military shipyards of the New Republic, and this is a sign of quality! — yeah, such a wonderful quality that at the imperial shipyards you have to redo everything after your incompetent Mon Calamari technicians. After all, it's not for nothing that the proverb was born: "Better a scrotum made of steel than to give your ship for repairs to Mon Calamari." They fix their own designs, of course, "perfectly". But everything that was not created in their sector... — If there were no problems with trucks now, a Hutt would have let you to supply to military shipyards.

— That's right, — the private picked up. — They've recruited everyone here... by the announcement. What if you're an Imperial spy?

— You know, he looks like it, — the corporal squinted. — I have a nose for such people...

"Are you serious?" Fodeum mentally groaned. "An Imperial spy has been working as an engineer at this station for a week, and you decided to "attack" me?"

— Good joke, — smiled the captain of the "Elegant Lady". — But no, you didn't guess. I don't like the Empire and would never work for them... — "if mom didn't say it would be better." — I see you're bored...

— Who isn't bored, — the corporal said insolently. — We've been stuck here for years, without leaving. And these smart guys from Coruscant are only tightening the screws. Then they imagine Imperial spies, then they suddenly decided to continue repairing the ships, saying that we are suffering losses in the war with the Empire.

— And I heard that there is some kind of truce, — Fodeum said. — Like, they don't touch the borders of the New Republic, and we don't press them to the wall yet...

— Aha, listen more to these journalists from "HoloNet News", — the private smirked. — It's war, the most natural. The Imperials attacked us, bombed a couple of bases. Well, it's okay, now that fool Ackbar has been removed from office and Borsk Fey'lya is in charge of the armed forces. He'll bring order. Look how long we've been sitting here after the battle with those Imperials? No training, nothing. It's boring, it's over. Only the shipyards are idle in vain. No money, no spare parts, we're just dismantling Imperial equipment for spare parts.

— No, if the Imperials attacked, they need to be taught a lesson! — Fodeum nodded his head. — They've become completely brazen, the bastards! It was a mistake not to crush them last year! We should have fought with them until the victorious end, like they did with Zhinj!

— So, let's start right now, — yes, he was not mistaken. The guards are frankly bored and have no one to talk to. Since they have been here for more than five years, even the station staff must have become tiresome as conversationalists. — Have you seen the twenty GR-75s circling near the shipyards?

Oh, the guard didn't even suspect what Fodeum had seen, on his third visit to the Hast shipyards.

And two orbital repair shipyards of the first type of Imperial design, and two Imperial Star Destroyers frozen as monuments inside them, and seven Mon Calamari star cruisers of the MC80 type, and five Nebulon-B escort frigates, and two dozen Corellian corvettes of the CR90 type. Two captured Imperial shipyards, packed to the brim with equipment damaged in the battle more than five years ago. And still not put into operation.

However, judging by the fact that twenty medium GR-75 transports produced by the Callofry Shipyards, a shipbuilding company that went bankrupt almost ten years ago, as well as three Mon Calamari star cruisers, not to mention numerous patrol fighters that reinforced the already strong defense of four Golan-type orbital defense platforms of all three common modifications, something was clearly being planned here.

GR-75 medium transport, also known as Gallofree medium transport.

— Nope, — Fodeum said. — I'm not paid to look around at what kind of ships are here. This is your shipyard, I just need to get paid for each transport, and for new orders to come. Well, and to have something to eat in the cantina.

— Well, consider that you have friends here, — the private smiled maliciously. — There will be a lot of caravans soon, like uncut bows. So, maybe you will manage to make one or two trips, and then that's it, you won't be needed. Neither you nor other free traders. In the best case, you will be transferred to other facilities, and that's it. Although no, as I heard, the Bothans want to completely abandon transportation by private individuals hired recently.

— Why is that? — the young man of "Imperial appearance" scratched the back of his head.

— Well, I'm telling you, Councilor Fey'lya has come to power over the armed forces, — the corporal said. — And he doesn't like all this contraband-free rabble that carries our goods now with the submission of Mon Mothma, Ackbar and that Alderaanian princess. Well, like you, only don't be offended, — "Oh, I would offend you," Fodeum thought. — "With a kick in the temple. Until the bones of the skull crunch." — As soon as a Bothan took power, the necessary spare parts, money, resources were immediately found. Soon all these birds that are in the docks will fly. And then the Imperials will have a hard time. Can you imagine what kind of fleet will roll out of here in a month? — the military man's eyes flashed with the arrogant fire of the upcoming bloodshed.

— Oh, so that's good, — Fodeum smiled. — It means that soon they will beat the Imperials' faces! We need to drink to that!

— That's why we came to you, — the corporal grinned brazenly. — Do you have a hundred or two credits to support the military spirit of the glorious warriors of the New Republic?

If Fodeum did not know how to control his emotions, then he would certainly not be able to restrain himself now and would swear at the soldier properly in pure Hutt language. True, he only knew curses from it, but... Who cares? These two clearly approached him not just to chat, but to extort money from the merchant. In full view of the security post. Obviously, the appearance of transport ships with supplies at the almost forgotten Coruscant shipyard and the upcoming restoration work instilled confidence in the soldiers in the future. And since they are from the station's garrison, they will probably have to sit out in the rear when the restored ships begin their attack on the Empire. Most likely, after the repair of these starships, the shipyards will again be almost abandoned and will continue to disassemble the dump of Imperial equipment on the planet. Which means a minimal influx of new beings, gray and dull everyday life. The soldiers decided to profit at someone else's expense. They will probably order some kind of "brave water" from another freighter captain-supplier to while away the gray days.

— Guys, I love the New Republic, — Fodeum said. — But where do I get two hundred from? I only get five per trip. And the costs for fuel, consumables, customs fees...

— Is that so? — the private was playing hurt. — We, as friends, informed you so that you would not be faced with the fact that you will be fired in a month, and you feel sorry for three hundred credits for friends?

Fodeum was completely breathless from such impudence. Realizing that any of his words would only increase the size of the "voluntary contribution", he unconditionally pulled out the credit chip he received at the cargo terminal from his pocket. All five hundred credits for the completed trip. It is better this way than to drive these fellows to a white heat with refusals, and then end up in the commandant's office. It is useless to seek justice on them — the same customs officer who let him through a few minutes ago was sitting in his booth and silently watching what was happening. What a bastard!

— Here you go, — he smiled tensely, handing the money to the senior patrolman. — You, I'm sorry, if anything. I'm just shocked by what I've heard. Actually, thank you for your words. Now I will be looking for another job, since I will be fired anyway.

Pleased with themselves, a couple of New Republic warriors slowly walked in the direction from where they had come. Fodeum did not fail to notice how they exchanged meaningful glances with the customs officer. And the latter looked extremely pleased. A little more, and his smile could blind objects flying inside a black hole.

Well, now everything is clear. One gang. Probably, the site foreman in the cargo docks, who paid Fodeum for transportation, is also in collusion with them. No, well, what? They paid, found a fool, talked to him, either he will voluntarily give "for needs", or to the commandant's office, and there the money will still disappear during a personal search or some other procedure. Ugh, not fighters for the rights of beings. You look at such individuals and ask yourself the question: "So who is fighting here for all good against all bad?". The Empire, of course, is not a bed of roses either, there corruption also flourished and is flourishing, but you are positioning yourself as something better compared to the New Order! Why imitate them?

Fodeum, realizing that he was already practically late for a meeting with Lieutenant Rederick, slowly headed towards the cantina. Even if he is late, nothing terrible will happen. One way or another, Vex will be there, who will be able to explain the reasons for her captain's delay.

This time, there was no room to move in the cantina.

For all the time that the "Elegant Lady" delivered to the combat station, which the bored commandant's office of the Hast shipyards had turned into a semblance of an entertainment facility for those arriving, he had never seen so many beings here. Literally, every single table was packed with members of the truck crews. The workers waiting for unloading, which could not take place in such a short period of time, were already quite drunk, but behaved reasonably. For now.

Finding Vex with his eyes, who had settled at a table in the corner, Fodeum squeezed through the crowd, trying not to touch any of the drunkards and not get into an unnecessary quarrel. Once next to his friend, the man grimaced, seeing two more Republicans who were making far from the most decent offers to the girl. Shipyard workers, judging by their uniforms. And clearly not higher than average qualification. Simple workers who do all the dirty work. It seems that their shift has ended, and they rushed for a pleasant pastime.

Looking around, Fodeum noticed that there were about a dozen girls and women in the cantina - they were probably members of the crews of medium transports, since they were not wearing military uniforms. So, they have nothing to do with the arrived Mon Calamari star cruisers.

But a couple of technicians have already clearly moved on to the "last arguments". Either they are paid much more than him, or they have already lost all sense of proportion, offering the girl thousands of credits to keep them company alone. Oh, if only you knew, men, on what edge you are walking now. For above all else, the captain's friend of the "Elegant Lady" hated being seen through the prism of mere carnal pleasures. But men can also be understood — the girl is actually quite cute. However, it is definitely necessary to beat the faces of these drunkards.

Fodeum felt a pang of jealousy. It's not that he didn't like Vex before, but he treated her exclusively as a business partner. And now, even knowing that her smile, with which the girl parried the drunkards' offers, doesn't mean anything good and a wave of rage is boiling inside her, the man still felt discomfort from the fact that some oafs were so unceremoniously "hitting on" his partner.

— Honey, — he said loudly, walking up to the girl and kissing her on the cheek. — There you are. And I've been looking for you all over the station. Did you buy baby formula?

— Wh-what? — the Twi'lek's pupils widened so much that an Imperial Star Superdestroyer could be hidden from detection in them. And most likely, not one. — W-what kind of formula?

— Baby formula, — the smile on Fodeum's lips faded. He looked at the technicians who had become silent from his words. — No, not you again?! Again? I let you go to the station to buy food for the children, since you don't breastfeed them! And you're hitting on men again here?!

— Uh... buddy, you should go... — one of the technicians began. — This is our...

— Oh, guys, I don't advise it, — Fodeum grimaced. — Don't look at her face. I've been with her for ten years. After the birth of her fourth child, she has become completely lazy. I understand that her face is beautiful, but believe me, someone who sees her without clothes - everything is so bad there, as if a rancor clawed her. She doesn't want to give birth herself, they take it out of her, cutting her stomach. Everything is in such scars there, as if she was under a combine harvester collecting crops from the fields. Not to mention the fact that she has children from different fathers, and she has tried almost all the Lower Levels of Coruscant, so there is as much infection inside as there is cuteness on her face. And her breasts, her breasts in general, hang like a bow of ears... — With a crash, pushing the chairs away, the pair of technicians, as well as the closest neighbors, hurried to get lost in the crowd.

Smiling, Fodeum sat down opposite the girl. Her glazed look clearly hinted that she was about to explode. And the shock wave could destroy not only her captain, the cantina, the station, the star system, but also several nearby sectors.

— It was the best way to get rid of them, — he said, however, not really hoping that this would save him from the wrath of his assistant.

Judging by her clenched teeth and pursed lips, you need to look for a bigger ship. Because Vex knows the internal arrangement of the compartments of the "Elegant Lady" very well, and it will be not just difficult to hide there, it is impossible.

— Good performance, — Lieutenant Rederek said just as quietly, sitting down at their table. — The seats are taken, do you mind if I sit down?

He did not speak in a full voice, but enough to be heard by those around him. Considering that his colleagues could be nearby, who surely knew that in the past they were members of the same crew. And therefore, now you need to listen carefully — the lieutenant will probably try to give some instructions verbally.

— Even though you left us in trouble, we are not like that, — Fodeum said, feeling that Vex's gaze was focused on him like two laser sights. — Well, what do you say? Do you like it?

— Everything is as I wanted, — aha... That means... Something means. — There are a lot of ships here that need repairs, there is a lot of work, and therefore salaries. Over there, on the captured destroyers, they finished installing the engines, launched the reactors. In three weeks, turbolasers and towers will arrive, so they will be like candy, — Rederick smiled. — Oh, I should have joined the New Republic earlier. They pay well — one and a half thousand credits a week. Not what you were giving me. It's a pity that there's nowhere to spend money and they give it in cash. Well, in the best case, we'll have fun once a week for a hundred or two credits, and the rest has to be stored in the cabin.

— Oh, what a boaster, — Fodeum grimaced, pretending that he was hurt by the comparison in financial terms. He himself was trying to understand what exactly the Imperial intelligence officer was hinting at. Maybe that the staff has cash that they don't have time to spend? If so, and even salaries are paid in cash, then the commandant should have a supply for such a case. No one will work without money. — When they repair all the ships here, may the boss kick your ass!

— Ha, — Rederick saluted a glass of lumin-ale to some of his acquaintances in the crowd. — Yes, it will take three weeks just to get the ships running and restore the integrity of the hulls. And then another week to install the weapons — at least a week.

— Fast, — Fodeum assessed, glancing at the drinks brought to him and Vex. — However, at the Republican shipyards, everything is always on top. Service speed...

— Yeah, no, — Rederick waved his hand. — There is an hourly payment here, so no one is in a hurry. It's just that in three weeks the crews and weapons will arrive here, and all the hired workers will be fired. But during this time, I will raise about five thousand on a standard weekly salary, and they promise about the same at the end of the work. From then on, only the military will work here, they say they will bring some Bothans, some of their brothers are now in the top. So, we are all worried here, right guys? — he literally shouted the last, which caused the crowd in the cantina to literally roar in an approving exclamation. — In short, we think that they will cheat us out of money here. They have already said that if we don't get the ships running in three weeks, we won't get bonuses. And no one knows where to look for work afterwards. We were sitting here, slowly messing with the equipment.

— It's because you didn't fix anything, that's why they are kicking you out, — Vex snorted.

— Hey, — Rederick was offended. — Don't start trouble here, tail-head. Everyone works fine here, I've met everyone in both shipyards. They just don't pay properly, they are constantly delayed. That's why no one is eager to work overtime. Well, except for the Mon Calamari at our shipyard, but they couldn't assemble their star cruisers until a caravan with spare parts arrived today. I thought, Fodeum, — he looked at the former Jensaraai, who was still trying to figure out what the Imperial was trying to tell him. It seems that there are beings in these shipyards who are ready to work not only for the New Republic for a good price. — You travel here every week, right?

— Well, yes, — confirmed the captain of the "Elegant Lady". — I bring them national food from the Mon Calamari homeworld...

— I'm thinking, maybe you'll fly in in three weeks, when we finish everything here, hand over all the ships to the Bothan authorities, so that they make sure that all the starships are in good condition?

— If there is a flight, I will fly in, — Fodeum said.

— Ah, — Rederick waved his hand. — Even if there isn't, fly in. Guys! — he turned to the crowd again. — Let's chip in to my former captain so that he can take us out of here to a better place?

— Let's chip in!

— Just don't overprice it!

— And let him bring girls!

— In short, everyone will get their own ticket from here, — Rederick said. — There are about half of the contingent of workers here, about four or five thousand, like me. We have already been told that the New Republic transport will take us to Dac, and from there we will have to fly on our own. You understand that this is an additional expense...

— Yeah, — Fodeum was indignant. — If they let me in here again! They didn't tell me at all that there would be more flights, they told me to wait...

— We'll find out now, — Rederick winked. He looked for someone in the crowd for a moment, then yelled, deafening the beings sitting nearby and shouting over the general noise. — Trevor! You fish-butt! Will private freighters still fly here?

The Mon Calamari, who was standing at the bar, choked on his drink, then turned his head towards their table. Fodeum barely refrained from laughing. This race already has problems with facial expressions due to their huge eyes, and here there is also complete confusion and offended piety on his face.

— Well, what are you silent for?! — Rederick shouted demandingly. — Will they be or not?

— This is confidential information! — the Mon Calamari barked in an unexpectedly low voice.

— Enough sulking! — the Imperial agent grinned. — Your contract ends in three weeks, so you also need to get out of here somehow. Here, my former captain can give us a ride, if it makes sense for him to get here.

— And what does this have to do with me? — the Mon Calamari wrinkled his smooth face. — This is confidential informati...

— Oh, you scales on your ass! — the technician standing next to him roared. — When we cover for you in front of the bosses because you are lying drunk, you run to us, engineer, but when we need help - it's "confidential information" right away?

— Trevor, you're not a Gamorrean! — another voice was heard. — Well, tell me, will this freighter be here or not? We are already working for three, so at least don't skin us alive for leaving this place.

The Mon Calamari, apparently the shift engineer of the workers, looked around in a hunted manner.

— How am I supposed to know when deliveries will stop? — he said. — I don't work in dispatch...

— We know that you are spawning caviar with the head of procurement! — Rederick laughed. And the crowd liked this joke. — Well, be a friend, tell me! He, by the way, brings food from Dac for Mon Calamari!

— Ah-ah! — the engineer instantly became kinder, looking at Fodeum with different eyes. — Then that's another matter. Yes, free traders, as well as specialists, work until the end of the fourth week of this month. Then all the freighters will be released. The military command has decided so...

— Well, that's it, guys! — Rederick yelled. — Let's drink less, save more! My captain will take us all from here to a warm place!

The crowd roared approvingly. The clanging of glass mugs was heard...

— Well, the drinking has begun, — Rederick said in a completely sober voice, but continuing to behave as if he was drunk, sitting down in his seat. — So, on the last day of the fourth week of this month, the twentieth, you must be here. This is the deadline when you will be needed here. With your, — he emphasized the last word, — ships.

— I only have the "Elegant Lady", — Fodeum was surprised. — Not even a couple of dozen beings will fit in there...

— And you can rent ships from our old blue Duro friend with black hair, — Rederick said in a syrupy voice. — He will be happy to get rich from transportation. And if he also brings entertainment with him, that will be great. The guys have a lot of money here. They say they will pay everyone personally. I don't even know what kind of ship with cash they will bring here — there are fifteen thousand beings working here. Not to mention those who are dealing with Imperial garbage on the planet.

— Oh! — Fodeum exclaimed, realizing that the lieutenant, with such simple-minded bragging, had just told him valuable information about the arrival of a starship with money. Well, he perfectly understood the hint about the "Duro with black hair". — Listen, are there Imperial ships on the surface here? Maybe we'll buy a couple, huh?

— Scrap metal, — Rederek stated authoritatively. — Everything of value has already been dismantled and removed. I think, of course, if you spend time, you can find something useful, they say, there was a whole fleet of Imperial shuttles, but I don't know if that's true. But I definitely saw a couple of TIE-avengers there - our cover pilots fly here, even though the machines are battered and restored somehow. In short, I don't think they will sell them to us. Although... — the lieutenant pretended to be thinking. Then, looking for the Mon Calamari with his eyes, he shouted:

— Trevor!

— Damn you! — the Mon Calamari roared, spilling his drink again. — Rederek, I haven't lost to you so much in sabacc that you should yell at me like that here! What do you need?!

— Are there Imperial shuttles on the planet? — the scout asked.

— Well, there were some, — the engineer replied. — There is only scrap metal there. Everything that cannot be restored. Disassembled into spare parts for the equipment that is in service with the New Republic. And why do you need it?

— I was thinking, maybe I'll chip in with the captain and buy myself one, — Rederick said, giggling drunkenly. — No, well, what? Repair a few of them, and use them as trucks for transportation. The weapons have all been removed anyway...

— There are only rusty skeletons and pierced hulls on the planet, — the Mon Calamari waved his fin-like hand. — When the Empire attacked after Endor, there was quite a bit that could be repaired. Those idiots destroyed everything, including the shipyard on the planet. So, the only thing that is suitable for operation is the spare parts in the warehouse on the "Golan-II".

— Too bad, — Rederick portrayed offense and disappointment on his face. Plopping down at the table, he downed a mug in one gulp. — Okay, we've agreed on the departure, I'm going, captain, — the man got to his feet, swaying slightly. Reaching into the pocket of his jumpsuit, he scooped out several rectangular metal plates - cash of the republican sample. After sorting the money on his hand, the lieutenant threw a couple of plates on the table. — Consider that I have paid, captain.

— I have money myself, — Fodeum squinted. — Take your... I hate cash.

— And it is a waste, — Rederick hiccuped drunkenly. — Because cash is the essence of my work here. I will rise because of it when I return from here... By the way, — he pointed to the plates, — this is the first money I earned here. I keep them for memory, — well, why are you saying all this? — They bring me good luck. And they will be able to do a lot of good for my family...

— So why are you paying with your talismans? — Vex asked unexpectedly.

— I'm showing you how rich I am, — Rederick stared intently into the eyes of the captain of the "Elegant Lady". — Suddenly, you will listen to me and also want to have this cash. Show our Duro friend so that he praises me for working harder than before...

Fodeum almost slapped himself in the face with his hand. No, seriously, enough of this spy language! He should have just said that there was something important in this money!

The young man grabbed the cash from the table, casually (or so it should seem from the outside) put it in his pocket, then took out the chip and clicked it on the reader in the tabletop.

— You are a conceited type, — he said, getting to his feet. Vex followed his example. — You really want to be praised.

— That's why I work, — Rederick grinned. After that, the lieutenant, staggering, headed for the exit.

Fodeum and Vex followed him. But in the corridor, the scout was no longer found. And what's the point of running after him? He has already said everything he needed to. Don't forget...

They were silent all the way to the docking airlock, pretending to be an offended couple. And only after the hatch was battened down, the "Elegant Lady" was searched inside for bugs, and the Imperial-installed shell control system reported the absence of additional parts on the smooth curves of the hull, the freighter left the Republican system. They had to get to the meeting point and from there, on another ship, arrive for a report to the Grand Admiral. I wonder if he will understand why these two metal plates are so important?

Small money, called a credit, presented in cash (one of the options).

***

After Thiers finished reading the report, silence fell in my cabin.

Well... Admiral Delak Krennel. An interesting officer.

Doubly interesting, considering the fact that he once served under the command of the real Thrawn in the Unknown Regions. But he was returned to the Empire by him.

A very interesting fact. Does the Prince-Admiral know the coordinates of the Empire of the Hand? He surely knows - at least several of its planets on which the Grand Admiral operated before my appearance here. And since that's the case... We need to figure out how to get this invaluable information from him. Without raising suspicion.

— Very vague information, Major, — I commented. — We only know that the Prince-Admiral has worked hard over the past five years on the defense of his Sluis Van Hegemony, and also that he commands an Imperial-II class Imperial Star Destroyer called "Reckoning". And the "Binder" interdictor cruiser. The wording "ten or so ships of the line class, including the mentioned ones" does not suit me at all.

— Krennel does not advertise his forces, — the Imperial Guardsman noted. — It is not easy to obtain information about his available forces without direct espionage.

And I don't know.

— But it should be done, — I said. Until now, I did not have any significant plans for Krennel. But the more I learned about him, the stronger my determination grew.

The murder of Sate Pestage, the Supreme Vizier of the Empire... Okay, this still fits into the context of the fight against treason, after all, Pestage intended to give secret information to the enemy. The seizure of the Vizier's property - okay, acceptable, considered as "war trophies". But the murder of all members of the Vizier's family...

I don't understand this. I hate it when civilians suffer. One thing is the employees of bases, contract employees, or military personnel of the enemy - this is the enemy. Even the crews of supply ships that resist boarding - this is the enemy. Smugglers are the enemy. Pirates are the enemy.

But the family of a man who betrayed... Provided that there is no mention that they are in any way involved or possessed information about Pestage's actions, this is already too much.

This person relies only on tactics, benefits, and brute military force.

Therefore - he does not stop before achieving his goals. And what could be the goals of a person who believes that he is cooperating with Ysanne Isard? That's right. Whatever they are, the Icequeen will use him.

But how to legalize the information that the director of Imperial Intelligence is not dead, but is now peacefully located at an Imperial base and is hatching insidious plans to seize the very thing that Palpatine gave to her, but which she shamelessly and stupidly lost. And now, knowing about his return, she intends to return "Lusankya". I am sure that her plans are already being implemented, but... I would also like to know who is involved in them... As long as this lady with multi-colored eyes is alive, you can never be sure that you will not be stabbed in the back. And - at least twice.

And I also have an unfounded, but quite logical suspicion that Emperor Palpatine's mistress, knowing about the latter's imminent emergence from the shadows, clearly possesses information about how to get to the planet Byss. She could not have planned the theft of "Lusankya" for handing it over to Palpatine without having data on where it should be delivered?

But even that is not the most "spicy" thing. For a long time, the twin super-destroyer of the "Executor" was both a laboratory and a prison for Isard's prisoners. Corran Horn went through her brain grinder but was able to remain human. But the thousands of rebels who were kept in the spacious hold of "Lusankya" could not always boast of the same steadfastness.

If I remember correctly the plot of the "X-wing" book series, the capture of "Lusankya" in orbit of the planet Thyferra marked only the end of the Bacta War and the overthrow of Isard's regime over the planet, the only producer of healing substance in the galaxy. But the Republicans did not find any traces of prisoners either on the planet or in the holds of the ship. Not because Isard killed them. No. In the book "Isard's Revenge", there was a mention that the Snow Queen delivered the captured rebels and New Republicans to a prison in the Sluis Van Hegemony, leaving them under the protection of the Prince-Admiral, who at that time was already her ally. So the Republicans needed a whole special operation to destroy Delak Krennel's regime in the Hegemony in order to free the prisoners.

And all this - in order to divert the attention of Coruscant from her plan to seize "Lusankya". All this happened after the defeat of the original Thrawn and the capture of the Bilbringi shipyards. Where, almost immediately, the New Republic transferred the super star destroyer for repairs.

Hmm... an interesting plan. Simple, and most importantly - successfully working in the realities of the Far-Far galaxy. Distract the enemy's attention to strike in another place. Sacrifice the small to get the bigger.

And yet... How do I legalize the information that Ysanne Isard is alive? So that people believe it, and don't think I have a problem with my sanity.

— I will do it, sir, — Grodin said. — I will monitor Krennel's repair facilities, production, and fleet. Your negotiations with the Prince-Admiral will be a great excuse to be on Sluis Van IV and loosen a couple of tongues.

— No, Major, — I cut him off. — Let's not imitate a typical Imperial officer. Krennel is by no means a fool and will expect such a step from us. We will act more subtly. Much more subtly. At the moment, he is our supplier of equipment. And until we find another one, we cannot spoil relations with him. Not to mention the fact that he has excellent repair and production facilities at his disposal.

— And a whole squadron of warships led by an Imperial Star Destroyer "Mark Two", — my adjutant grumbled. — This slug, a former toy of Isard, could show more respect for the Grand Admiral. He only needs his "Reckoning" to inspire strength in his citizens. While he himself does not represent any strength. Sir, I would suggest conquering him. The resources of the Sluis Van Hegemony would be much more useful to us than to this idiot.

The Chiss mind is a biological computer that never stops working. And if you think carefully about the solution to the problem, you can...

Tangrene and the Morshdine sector are located in tactical square O-4. The Sluis Van Hegemony is mostly in square N-5. You also need to remember the fact that when dividing the legacy of the warlord Zhinj, Krennel grabbed himself a good piece, it becomes clear that there are certain claims against him. But again - are they worth starting a war against each other? Imperials, after all. Moreover, Krennel is one of the suppliers, the largest one at that, of TIE-type equipment, which is used throughout the Empire. If I attack him, what is the likelihood that other Imperial Remnants will not come to the rescue? Too high.

At least for the reason that, transferring power over the existing forces to me, as well as providing support, the governments of the Remnants demanded from me consent to the absence of claims to the integrity of the Empire as a state, as well as non-interference in the political process. An attack on Krennel will be a reason to attack me. The secret of the Katana Fleet did not remain so for long. Therefore, my opponents from among the Imperials are well aware of what my armed forces are. And to my misfortune, if I am equal to them in number, then certainly not in the quality or serviceability of the starships.

It turns out that it is necessary to cooperate with Krennel. Extremely carefully, so that he does not have a reason to be wary of me. Considering that he already has Republican prisoners, he may agree to accept those who are located at the base on Tangren. In principle, he should - he likes to feel his power over the enemy. But he will certainly demand something in return from me. I am sure that he is clearly not satisfied with almost two hundred million credits, which he received as payment for the supply of a huge amount of TIE-type equipment...

Hmm... Officially, my visit is recorded as a desire to inquire about the execution of the order. Unofficially - to unload the prisoners to Krennel, so that none of them could observe the starships of my fleet in orbit of the planet during the dark Tangren nights and clear days. Even in the most clogged herd there will be a cheerful sheep that will start counting the ships. And make conclusions. No, I don't need that.

But now... Recalling the presence of prisoners from "Lusankya" in Krennel's possession, I thought that he might not agree. Or he will break the price for his services so much that it will be easier for me to throw all the prisoners of war into the airlock.

So... you need to give him what he wants, but is afraid to ask. And what does such a person want, who owns a powerful cluster and his own territory? A state that he captured, executing his predecessor... At the same time, Krennel has an incomparably small fleet among the Imperial Remnants...

Looking at the chronometer, I made sure that there were only three hours and seven minutes left until the exit from hyperspace. Just enough time to calculate all the details. Oh... I will have to make adjustments to the main plan again. Like weaving a pigtail from a million hairs, each of which must be intertwined with each other. Hmm... But does the braid itself only become stronger?

I wonder how scared the Prince-Admiral can get?

— I will consider your proposal, Major, — I say this phrase with a slight smile on my face. — In three hours we will arrive on Sluis Van IV. Make sure that your ceremonial uniform is in proper condition.

— Yes, sir, — Tierce straightened up. And even though he didn't want to, he's more suitable for this role than anyone else. Although, to be honest, I would prefer Rukh to cover my back. But that's the problem - the Noghri is still in a medicated coma.

I have to go to the snake's den with an Imperial Guardsman, whom I don't particularly trust, behind my back... Should I also take stormtroopers with me?

***

The crowd in front of the magistrate of the capital, New Cov, was not just big, it was huge. No, during the time he spent here, Torin, like any other fighter from his group, knew that a considerable number of beings lived on the planet. But now, sitting on the roof, even he was amazed at how many people had gathered in the square. It was impossible to squeeze through below. It felt as if the New Republic delegation had brought a couple of thousand beings with them to ensure the mass nature of the event.

— Commander? — Torin's voice sounded in his left ear from a tiny transmitter.

— Broadcast, — ordered the Imperial agent commanding the unit.

— It seems they are ready to start.

— Good, — the agent replied, adjusting the microphone so that it was closer to his mouth. — We are too.

He had a military comlink, removed from the helmet of a stormtrooper kit, if Torin, or someone from his group is caught with it, there could be a lot of problems. But this type of comlink was much more convenient to wear in the context of a tactical operation than the cylindrical civilian model, its real-time decryption was much faster, and the hands, which is very important, remained free. A small arc over the head, a microphone... An excellent combination of purchased black armor and standard Imperial equipment.

— What kind of people have gathered?

— Everyone they could pull from the surrounding area, — replied the operative, located on the other side of the square. — A bunch of space pilots and dockers of all kinds, they were recruited in the port, but there are also enough merchants and their clients. All races - from humans to Mon Calamari, with Gran, Bith, and Rodians.

— A little more and they will gather the Senate, — Torin Imek grinned crookedly.

Imperial agent Torin Imek.

— The delegation has appeared on the stand, — the operative reported.

— We're starting, — Torin replied dryly, looking at the fighters located next to him. — Is everyone ready?

It is not necessary to voice the answer. It is enough just to stroke the bed of the "Night Sting" sniper rifle. A rifle developed by the Empire, which, unlike other types of blaster weapons, fires transparent energy charges, invisible in the normal color spectrum. A good thing. But expensive... And the gas cartridge is used up very, very quickly.

— We'll start as soon as the governor finishes his traitorous speech.

Colonel Himron ordered them to investigate the role of the planet's governor in the attack of six heavy Dreadnought-class cruisers on a ship carrying biomolecular mass for the Empire. In accordance with the previous agreement.

They didn't even have to look for long - the next day a Bothan appeared on the planet, according to the archives - close to Councilor Borsk Fey'lya, one of the councilors on the Provisional Council of the New Republic. Well, obtaining recordings of negotiations between these two is not a problem at all. When Imperial intelligence sets "bugs" in your office and tells you about it, think about what they didn't tell you. For example, about your home. Or a favorite cantina. Or a brothel where you are a regular. And yes, by the way. A Bothan in a human brothel is disgusting.

Using an optical probe, Torin could personally observe everything that was happening.

Yes... Everything turned out to be much worse than he had expected. The crowd was not just big, it was huge and filled the entire street. The mass of the most diverse people irresistibly filled and continued to arrive at the square in front of the magistrate. So, and here on the stage, built for the sake of this performance, the huge governor appeared. And after him, the Bothans. They approached the stationary microphones, and the lenses of the holocameras captured them in close-up, so that those present could see both with the help of a huge screen located behind the backs of the representatives of power. Well, yes, of course. Ordinary plebs should be aware of everything that the ruler says.

— Citizens of New Cov, — the governor's voice came from the speakers hanging on the square itself. It seems to be strong, it seems to be courageous, but so fragile, like a bass in a teenager during puberty. — I respectfully urge you to remain calm... Our friends from the New Republic have arrived to...

The front rows had already reached the fence in front of the tribune, the rear rows pushed them forward, actively shoved each other and spread to the sides. Guards from the local law enforcement organization are clearly not able to cope with the crowd, so they are not here. Only Bothans, armed with blasters and shock batons, and dressed in some kind of intricate uniforms... clearly not a military type of the New Republic. Well, yes, as expected, all this is nothing more than a showy trick of one particular Bothan.

Adjusting the butt of the blaster on his shoulder more comfortably, agent Imek looked through the optical sight, moving the barrel. It's almost time...

Torin moved the scope higher, adjusted the focus...

Oh yes, and here is his operative. He is making his way to the operator's booth. In front of him are two Bothan guards. They react to the armor hidden under his baggy cloak. Well, where are you, hairy ones, reaching for weapons?!

The crowd was buzzing, and over the city, making turns, taxi aircars were rushing, agitated by the orders falling on them. The Empire knew how to create the necessary atmosphere for its operations. The hum of engines is a great way to mask the albeit muffled sound of a rifle shot.

The agent smoothly pulled the trigger twice. There was no blinding scarlet or blue flash - the "Night Sting" worked as it should have been by the manufacturer. Only the sound, lost in the hum of scurrying cars... Everything is just right.

The Bothans collapsed like they were cut down, struck in the head by invisible blaster charges.

The operative reached the broadcast control panel - turning off the local technician was a simple entertainment. A short fuss at the control panel and...

—... Today! On this very day, when our planet has been freed from the scourge of the dirty Imperials, — so, uncle, would you choose your words?! Unlike you, we wash twice a day, as befits self-respecting people living in society! — At this very hour, our Bothan friends have arrived to...

The image behind the governor froze. The sound coming from the speakers disappeared. This continued for a couple of moments, while the playback computer processed the new information chip.

Then a picture appeared on the screen. The governor, frightened to death, standing in his own office. A group of fighters in black suits.

— Biomolecular mass, — Coordinator Sergius' voice poured from the speaker, on whose behalf the broadcast was being made. — How much do you produce?

Torin saw how the governor fussed. How the Bothan's face froze in hesitation. How guards from among the local law enforcement officers appeared... They are running towards the hardware room, but the Imperial operative is no longer there. The door is securely locked, and the agents from Torin's group are already having fun shooting the enemy with their "Night Stings". They have a few more minutes before the taxi drivers realize that each of their calls is just a deception designed to make them fly near the central square. After all, they are just a cover for an operation to shoot extra beings at the upcoming "celebration of life".

There is no pity for these blockheads from the local "law enforcement forces". All of them are corrupt - Imek and his people had time to figure out what was happening on the planet. They couldn't just sit here for so long and wait for the weather by the sea, could they? No, in addition to the main task, there are also a number of others. Judging by the context, the Grand Admiral planned to annex this planet to his possessions, but something went wrong... Although, what is there to be surprised about? Thrawn, if he knew what kind of scum had seized power here, would not be sentimental and would burn the planet with turbolaser fire. The locals are not much different from the "security forces".

— Baptism by blood, dear governor, — the coordinator's speech continued to be heard over the crowd. What on the recording, that in reality now this person - If you want to cooperate and receive money from us - you must stain your hands with blood. Kill him.

The coordinator pointed to one of the governor's defenders. The one who "died the death of the brave, repelling the enemy's attack." Oh, how excited the crowd is. At first they were almost dragged here by the local law enforcement officers to create an entourage for the upcoming ceremony, and now such "revelations"...

— Come on, governor, — the coordinator's voice said from the screen. — Either you, or our millions will flow into the pockets of other officials!

It only took a second after a scarlet beam from a blaster in the governor's hands pierced the guard's armor. The crowd, seeing the picture of the massacre and deception, roared like a herd of hungry rancors. The Bothan delegation, without losing face, began to talk about something, hastily retreating. Clean people. Well, what's wrong with you? Where are you going? After all, you like to rake in the heat with someone else's hands! Stand still, I'm telling you!

An invisible blaster beam was supposed to smash the Bothan's head, but at the last moment he jerked his head. And then he rolled off the stand altogether.

Torin sighed. Well, a shot-off ear is also a result.

The crowd instantly came into motion, as if on command. They stormed the flimsy barriers behind which the confused Bothan guards were. They didn't understand why they weren't receiving orders, and who was jamming all the communication channels. Well, yeah, you flea boys. Stealing someone else's secrets under the noses of simpletons is not the same as fighting on equal terms with Imperial Intelligence.

There was only enough gas left in the cartridge for one shot. Torin, having taken aim, drove it into the locking device of the fence, creating a breach in the protection of the tribune. The crowd, having pushed one leaf of the plastic barriers with mass, poured into it with an inexhaustible stream.

The fighters of his squad repeated the operation synchronously. The barrier collapsed. The crowd rushed forward, not distinguishing between friends and foes.

Torin silently nodded to one of his fighters. The latter, aiming from his rifle, blew a massive red lantern above the roof of one of the buildings to smithereens. The lighting device choked and went out. Well, that's it, the signal to retreat was given. The scrambler, which blocks communication, is still working and will be a good obstacle in the way of centralized resistance.

And now it's time to move to the port - there are the ships of the Bothans and their allies, among which there was the Corellian Irenez... A tasty trophy.