Ten years, two months, and six days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fifth year, two months, and six days after the Great ReSynchronization.
(Eight months and twenty-six days since the incident).
After Han's arguments had gone through their third cycle, General Garm Bel Iblis finally stopped the verbal torrent by raising his hand.
"Yes, I understood your concerns the first time, Han," he remarked, addressing his subordinate. "And yet I'm willing to bet that a preemptive strike won't do us any favors."
"Too bad I don't have any such assumptions," Han growled, glancing at the commander of the Galactic Voyager, who, tired of waiting for the brass to reach an agreement, muttered a curse in Devaronian and left the comm compartment. "Scouts confirm—large Black Sun forces are in the Thanium Worlds. Ten Kaloth-class battlecruisers are no joke. Not to mention three dozen Interceptor IV-class frigates, fighters, landing forces… Sir, that task force is practically equal to everything I've got right now! If they all pile on at once, either we all die here or we bleed out!"
"Yes, it looks that way on the surface," Bel Iblis said thoughtfully, twirling his mustache. "But for some reason I feel there's something else going on."
Han gave his interlocutor a surprised look.
"Then what's a whole pirate fleet doing on our doorstep? Thrawn really thinned out that crowd, and they haven't been gathering in big groups for a couple of months now. At least not in the north and east of the galaxy."
"I don't know what's behind it yet," the general said, frowning. "But let's look at the facts. If the target is Lianna, why hasn't the attack happened? Why wait for Alliance ships to arrive?"
"I could fly over there and ask them," Han said nervously. "I'm sure they'll be eloquent. And more talkative than they were with our scouts—two of whom never came back."
"You shouldn't have sent them there at all," Bel Iblis declared. "That could be taken as provocation."
"Sir," Han gritted his teeth. "My job is to guard these borders. Protect Lianna at any cost. Am I just supposed to sit here and wait for turbolaser rain to pour down on my boys?"
"Mon Mothma is hoping for a diplomatic solution," the Supreme Commander of the Alliance stated. "We've sent a diplomatic note to the government of the Thanium Worlds asking for clarification of what's happening on their territory…"
Han thought he'd misheard.
"Sir, are you serious?" he asked.
"Deadly," Bel Iblis sighed.
"We really sent a note to the Thanium Worlds government asking if they're consolidating pirates, mercenaries, and other scum on their territory?" Han asked, not believing his ears.
"That's the Alliance Leader's decision. Before resorting to force, we must lodge a protest and express our concern."
"Sounds like mockery," Han declared.
"Those are the rules of interplanetary diplomacy."
"Oh, well, if our diplomats line up alongside my fighters, no problem!"
"Han, calm down!"
"We have clear intel that they're planning to seize Lianna and…"
"That intel came from Karrde," Bel Iblis gently pointed out, giving in and switching from formal arguments to something closer to reality.
That was just how Corellians were.
They only started admitting things when it smelled like tibanna trouble.
"As did most of the rest of it," Han reminded him. "And let's not pretend that in the past, it was exactly that intel that let us win and get out of crises. Especially when we split from the New Republic a few months ago."
"The intel needs verification," Bel Iblis said, looking away. "It's dangerous to blindly trust private intelligence."
"Then why do we need it at all if we don't trust it?" Han started to get angry.
"Let's speak plainly, Han," Bel Iblis suggested. "We already have experience blindly trusting Karrde."
"Positive experience…"
"I wouldn't call dozens of camouflaged, explosive-laden asteroids falling on Coruscant's Upper Levels positive experience," the fellow Corellian snorted.
"Oh," Han grimaced. "So that's what this is about. And here I was wondering why we're keeping that guy at arm's length."
"We're just being cautious," Garm Bel Iblis corrected his countryman. "The Alliance's position is still shaky, and we can't afford to make mistakes."
"Just like we can't afford to underestimate a threat!"
"Exactly," Bel Iblis said tiredly, smiling. "The Kessel situation demonstrates that perfectly. We thought that after Thrawn's death, Pellaeon would sit quieter than stellar wind, but it turns out he pulled off a military operation right under our noses to seize a strategic raw material source."
"Shall we send him a protest?" Han snarked. "I'm sure he'll care."
"If the Dominion maintained any contacts with us, maybe we could get through to Pellaeon," Bel Iblis shared some "internal kitchen." "But Moff Hauser, Grand Moff Ferrus's assistant who controls the Dominion's periphery planets, told our representative on Makem Te to get off Dominion territory as fast as possible."
"Oh, so we tried to negotiate with them?" Han asked, surprised.
The Dominion was the same Empire, just served in different colors and with different sauce.
"We're trying to negotiate with all galactic states, including the Dominion."
"And Imperial Space?" Han didn't believe it.
"Them and the Pentastar Alignment—no longer," Bel Iblis said. "As of yesterday."
"Interesting, why's that?" Solo asked, surprised.
"We sent envoys to them," the general admitted reluctantly. "Yesterday morning courier droids delivered their bodies and heads. Separately."
"Well, damn!" Han swore colorfully.
"Completely agree," Bel Iblis nodded. "Brutal and bloody. In the spirit of the old Empire. But at least now we know negotiations won't solve the conflict. It feels like the enemy is certain of victory and has no intention of talking. Most likely because they have Deep Core reserves and Palpatine."
"Maybe," Han agreed. "But that's no reason to ignore rising tension right under our noses. Knowing that old maniac, you'd think he plans to bleed us with someone else's hands before attacking with his own forces."
"Possibly," Bel Iblis nodded. "But diplomacy comes first. The ability to negotiate without rattling sabers is what fundamentally distinguishes us from the Imperials."
"Sir, can we skip the ideological slogans?" Han asked. "I'm not one of those guys who needs motivational speeches. I need more ships and personnel."
"You'll get the Star Destroyers captured at Lantillies," Solo's direct commander reminded him. "In a few hours our haulers with K-wing bombers for your fleet should arrive, and I've separately detached five MC80a star cruisers from my own reserve to reinforce your positions. Sorry, Han, but I have no more ships for you. We'll have to wait."
"I understand," Han persisted. "But the situation is frankly making me nervous. Hitting Lianna before reinforcements arrive is the best option the enemy has."
"I don't need tactical breakdowns either," his countryman shot back. "I know the front-line situation perfectly well. Unfortunately, we're forced to stay on the defensive for now. Once we build up our armed forces, we'll think about eliminating problems before they become big ones."
"Just so it's not too late," Han thought.
"Understood, sir," he sighed, realizing he wouldn't get permission for a preemptive strike. "But if these aren't even pirates but Thanium Worlds forces, then in the upcoming talks with the Tion Hegemony we could gain an extra bargaining chip by disarming Thanium first."
"Or we could strengthen our forces by winning them over to our side and thereby demonstrate goodwill rather than aggression or helplessness," Bel Iblis said. "Mon Mothma is actively pushing the position that the Alliance is not the New Republic. Such theses have brought us plenty of supporters. Perhaps the Thanium Worlds government will also agree to join us voluntarily, despite their past separate secession from the New Republic."
"Big politics pulling passes in front of our faces again," Han said disappointedly. "And the military will still have to clean up afterward."
"That's our lot, Han," Bel Iblis declared. "We have to show the galaxy that our strategy is defense, not attack. And that they can't pin on us what Thrawn pulled under a false flag against the New Republic—organizing attacks on convoys across the galaxy."
"Sometimes I regret that guy wasn't on our side," Han admitted. "I don't know how, but he always managed to stay several steps ahead of all his opponents."
"Which didn't save him from death," Bel Iblis reminded him.
"Yeah," Han agreed. "Any word from Luke, Wedge, and the others?"
"Not a peep," Bel Iblis admitted. "Our allies in the New Republic say the Dominion exchanged the remaining prisoners from the last campaign. But neither Skywalker, nor Antilles, nor Madine, nor any other high-ranking officers who were captured but not executed are among them. They haven't shown up themselves either…"
"Interesting, maybe they managed to escape?"
"Then I think they'd have come to us," Bel Iblis suggested. "Fey'lya has a very negative attitude toward every high-ranking military officer who ended up in captivity. So they definitely wouldn't return to the New Republic voluntarily. I don't think they, like Skywalker, just vanished somewhere. Whether by their own will or not, it's all one big mystery right now."
"The Dominion could clarify the situation," Han sighed.
"Yes," Bel Iblis agreed. "If they wanted to talk to us, they certainly would. Unfortunately, that's far from the case."
"Rumor has it they found common ground with the New Republic," Han recalled one of his conversations with Lando. "Karrde once noted that the New Republic's budget didn't suffer at all from exchanging prisoners with the Dominion. And we all know they didn't return POWs for free."
"If that's a hint at some deal between Pellaeon and Fey'lya, we're leaning toward the same conclusion," Bel Iblis said in a lowered voice. "Unfortunately, we can't get through to either side. And we certainly don't expect anyone to answer our questions."
"Our well-wishers in the New Republic are silent too?" Han asked.
Honestly, he didn't care about any backroom games.
But his experience with the Dominion and the latest news from Kessel told him not to underestimate the late Grand Admiral Thrawn's protégés.
Everything inside him knotted tight.
Some Alliance government members, including Bel Iblis himself, were so afraid of Thrawn that they didn't believe he could have died.
What happened on Kessel only fueled the conspiracy theorists.
Han himself didn't know what to trust more—the absurdity that Thrawn could have cheated death, or that he had competent "heirs" in the Dominion.
You never knew which was scarier.
"So we're waiting again," Solo said dissatisfiedly. "Sitting and waiting for things to get worse."
"Unfortunately. It doesn't give me much joy either to sit under Lantillies and keep fighting off attacks. But a counteroffensive without reserves is death. That's why in D'Astan we stuck to observers only, even though the desire to bring that sector into the Alliance was great. Warming the Dominion's tender spots right in front of the parade is great. But unfortunately, we don't have the resources for it. Stretched communications are death for us and millions of our troops."
"Waiting for Kaine to repair his Reaper and unleash it on us or the Republic—that's death," Han said irritably. "Not just for us, millions of troops, but for the entire Alliance."
"By the time it's out of repair, we'll already have first-class reserves," Bel Iblis declared. "Han, I'd gladly chat more, but duty calls."
"Yeah, I get it," Solo said, spreading his hands. "I'll go attend to my general duties. Sit in the big chair with a view of space and wait."
Bel Iblis smirked.
"We all hope Leia can do what none of us managed," he voiced the Alliance government's hopes.
"As always—our family's on the front lines, deciding the fates of opponents of governmental excess and lawlessness," Han summed up. "Well, glad we talked, sir."
"As am I, Han."
When the holoprojector winked out, the Corellian dropped his face into his hands folded on the terminal and sat in complete silence for several seconds, trying to gather his storming thoughts.
Finding no common denominator for them, Han abruptly stood and headed out of the comm compartment.
He wandered down the corridor toward the hangar, absentmindedly greeting crew members who saluted him due to his rank and position.
In the hangar he spotted Chewbacca making final preparations on the Millennium Falcon before launch.
Warmly greeting his friend, Han listened to his low growl.
"Yeah, Chewie," he said disappointedly. "Of course no one listened to me. Karrde was right—they don't trust him. They'll double-check his intel until they're blue in the face. Just so it's not too late by then."
The Wookiee growled another angry phrase.
"I know, buddy," Han smiled through the strain. "I trust you'll do everything to protect Leia and Lando. If it weren't for you two, I wouldn't have sent her to the Tion Hegemony."
Aboard his ship, increasingly turning from a simple freighter into a mobile headquarters for solving all the galaxy's problems, Han found his wife in the lounge, once again reviewing data crystals.
"If you keep staring at that deck so intently, one day it'll say, 'These aren't the droids you're looking for!'" he joked, sitting beside his wife and hugging her.
Leia, appreciating the altered Obi-Wan Kenobi line from her brother's story about leaving Tatooine before they met Han himself, smiled and kissed him.
"I just can't shake the worry," she admitted. "Nerves before negotiations are normal. But something tells me everything will go wrong, not as planned."
"You, Chewie, and Lando have emergency beacons," Han reminded his wife, hugging her tighter. "Any one of them goes off, and I'll be in the Tion Hegemony with my whole arsenal."
"Bel Iblis didn't want to listen to Karrde's arguments, I take it?" Leia asked.
"From talking to him, I got that after Coruscant, Bel Iblis doesn't want to take him at his word," Han complained. "They check and double-check everything he brings the Alliance on a silver platter. Plus we simply don't have the reserves to hit the pirates and keep Lianna protected. Maybe once the captured destroyers arrive, I'll still manage a courtesy call and pin them down."
"It won't happen," Leia sighed doomfully.
"The Force telling you that?" Han tensed.
He'd long since learned to trust his Force-sensitive wife's premonitions and didn't try to argue that she, unlike her brother, wasn't a trained sensitive.
"Experience," his wife dispelled the assumption. "And the Force is also saying something's wrong. Mon Mothma values her 'Alliance-is-not-the-New-Republic' position so much she'll squeeze everything she can out of this case. I think you can draw your own conclusions."
"Yeah," Han nodded. "And I don't like them."
"No one does," Leia admitted. "I don't like the negotiations with the Tion Hegemony either."
"Then cancel them," Han declared. "Tell Mon Mothma—let her find someone else."
"Unfortunately, that won't work," his wife said. "We don't have that many diplomats, and the workload isn't decreasing."
Han remembered Bel Iblis's words about the executed envoys and decided to keep quiet.
"I agree we should strengthen our territories," he said. "The Empire, the Pentastar Alignment… And somewhere out there Palpatine in the Deep Core. Not the neighbors I wanted to live next to."
"What scares me most is Luke's disappearance," Leia whispered. "He wouldn't just vanish on his own without telling anyone."
"Cold-blooded murder isn't the kind of experience you want to share with loved ones," Han tried to rationalize. "I think the kid will stay quiet for a while, think things over, and come back."
"I'm afraid Thrawn's words about Palpatine wanting to capture Luke might turn out to be true," Leia declared. "As well as his other warnings."
"Even if so, your brother's tougher than quadanium steel," Solo assured her, pulling her close. "Whatever Palpatine has cooked up, if he's got Luke, he won't get what he wants."
"If Luke's with him, he clearly intends to turn him to the dark side of the Force," Leia said confidently. "I think the events of recent months might have shaken his confidence."
"No," Han said firmly. "Luke went one-on-one with the Death Star. He fought Ssi-ruuk, Noghri, and Tofs, a bunch of Palpatine's minions. He fought your father and didn't give in to Palpatine. If he really is captive, he definitely won't surrender to the Emperor."
"Yes, probably," Leia whispered.
"Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Han pulled back from his wife to look her in the eyes. "We have to believe we'll win like always. Being a pessimist these days is wrong."
"And being a realist is dangerous for your mental health," Leia smiled. "Yes, you're right. We need to believe in our victory."
Han hugged his wife without saying anything in response.
Because there was nothing to say.
Faith in their own strength was all they had left.
And that's how they'd win…
They sat like that until the Falcon departed.
Watching through the atmospheric field as his ship jumped to hyperspace, heading for the negotiations, Han heard someone call his name.
Turning, Solo was even surprised to see the commander of the Galactic Voyager hurrying toward him.
"Sir," the sentient said excitedly. "You asked to be informed when the haulers with the bombers arrive."
So he and Leia had been sitting here for hours.
"Yes. What's wrong?" The flagship commander wouldn't come looking for him personally over trifles. "Running late?"
"The transports have arrived, sir," the officer licked his dry lips. "Six are missing. Contact lost."
"And here I was wondering why fate hadn't kicked me in the gut for a while," Han muttered, glancing at the spot where the Falcon had jumped. "Turns out she was just taking a break."
All that remained was to hope the missing bomber haulers had nothing to do with Leia's mission.
***
"Sir, all ships are at battle stations," the watch officer reported to Kalian.
The commander of the Steel Aurora nodded affirmatively.
"Begin," Kalian said, pulling a personal comlink from his pocket. "Comm, hail Captain Fulik on the Binder."
"Right away, Captain."
The Binder was an Interdictor-class Star Destroyer assigned to the "Victory" division, which the young commander of the Steel Aurora had been tasked to lead.
The unit included, besides his own ship, the Bellicose, Retribution, and Aspiration.
All were veteran ships of the Dominion's regular fleet in one way or another.
Experienced crews had been through countless battles and proven their combat cohesion.
No wonder Grand Admiral Thrawn had sent them to the rear of territories now controlled by the Alliance.
Even though the crews, diluted with fresh blood from the metropolitan defense forces, had to be drilled hard with training alerts while traveling here by roundabout routes, Kalian was confident in his unit's effectiveness.
As he was that he hadn't been randomly chosen by Thrawn to command these five ships while Counter-Admiral I-Gor was busy with something else after that memorable meeting aboard the Chimaera.
Perhaps this was a second chance to prove Kalian's suitability to command something bigger than a single Victory III-class ship—his Steel Aurora.
To his right, a new white-and-blue hologram appeared above the projector plate.
"At your service, Commander."
Kalian looked at the stout man pretending his pride wasn't suffering at all.
In Imperial times, any ship based on an Imperial-class Star Destroyer would become the squadron flagship compared to a Victory.
Now it was the exact opposite.
An Interdictor subordinate to a Victory.
Especially since Fulik had more seniority than Kalian.
But if the young officer understood anything about Grand Admiral Thrawn's actions, it was that age and authority meant nothing to him.
Only real combat experience.
And among all the unit's commanders, that belonged primarily to the captain of the Steel Aurora.
It surely irritated Fulik.
But to the Binder commander's credit, he never voiced anything beyond the need to intensify military action to crush the New Republic.
His urges were understandable—his friend, Commander Darran, had died in the Battle of Sluis Van.
Revanchism fueled all fighters from the Ciutric Hegemony.
Darran had been loved and enjoyed well-deserved authority among his countrymen.
So today, thankfully, intelligence had done an excellent job, and they'd have a chance for revenge.
"Deploy gravity well generators along the designated vectors, Captain," he said. "Sector of fire—vector five-six. We'll cover the rest."
"The Binder's crew has been ready for a long time, Captain. They're just waiting for orders," Fulik said, glancing at someone off-camera. "Activate gravity trawl."
The next instant, four red cones appeared on the tactical terminal, indicating the deployment of artificial gravity zones projected by the Binder.
Now a "shadow" had appeared in hyperspace along the Parlemian Trade Route, roughly equivalent to that cast by a decent-sized planet.
Any ship traveling through this zone would automatically drop into realspace to avoid smearing itself across the astronomical object casting that "shadow."
Hyperdrive safeties would kick in, and the target would pop into realspace.
And five Dominion ships would be waiting.
Kalian had positioned the Steel Aurora and Bellicose in one group, with Retribution and Aspiration opposite.
The Binder, living up to its name, was placed off to their side.
If an observer had been in this cosmic void and taken position ten to twenty echelons above the five destroyers, they could have noted that Captain Kalian had arranged his ships like a two-pronged fork, with the lone Interdictor acting as the "handle."
And the four Victory IIIs, lined up perpendicular to the Binder's bow projection, bows facing each other, were the "tines" within which the trawler's vectors were deployed.
Well, today the Binder would fulfill both roles assigned by military doctrine to ships equipped with gravity well generators.
Prevent the enemy from escaping into hyperspace.
And yank them out of it.
But in reverse order.
And the "tines," plus the Binder's guns, would grind up everything caught in this trap.
"Prepare missiles for launch," Kalian ordered his battle group ships. "Target turbolasers on the fire zone per vector distribution. Scanners!"
"Yes, sir!" the relevant officer replied.
"Watch the readings carefully! I want to know those ships' identifiers! Record all transponder codes!"
Not him, but the Grand Admiral.
Kalian himself wanted to know why his unit had been sitting in interstellar void in comm silence until Thrawn contacted them a day ago and gave the go order.
And judging by the number of holograms at that "conference," it seemed the entire regular fleet was out "hunting."
If only he knew why…
"Sir," he heard Captain Fulik's voice. "May I activate the long-range comm jammer?"
Kalian closed his eyes for a second, mentally cursing his oversight, then pulled himself together and looked at the hologram.
"Thank you for the reminder, Captain Fulik. Do so."
Throughout the last Grand Admiral Thrawn campaign, the regular fleet had only one ship capable of jamming long-range comms.
The Eternal Wrath, sister ship to the Binder.
With an old but heavily modernized jammer installed, that Interdictor could completely block data transmission beyond an average star system.
Now such equipment, surely bought on the galactic black market, had been installed on every active Interdictor in the regular fleet.
And it had surely cost a fortune.
"Comms jammed," Fulik reported.
"Five targets inbound!" the graviacoustic officer announced.
"All hands to stations!" Kalian barked. "Prepare for battle!"
Their prey emerged right in the trap.
The enemy group consisted of five MC80a star cruisers.
And credit where due—the enemy quickly realized their situation stank of big trouble.
Five ships, each capable of fighting an Imperial-class Star Destroyer on equal terms.
Enough to guarantee destruction of a Victory I or II as well.
The only difference was that now they faced four Victory IIIs, each equal to an Imperial Star Destroyer.
And thanks to missile launchers—superior.
"Range to target—forty units!"
"Target locked into warheads!"
"Launchers twenty-one through forty—fire!" Kalian ordered.
Twenty anti-ship missiles, guided to their victim by homing programs, streaked toward the closest Alliance star cruiser from the Steel Aurora.
The enemy responded with a turbolaser salvo.
The Dominion warship's mighty deflectors easily absorbed the streams of destructive energy.
"Begin maneuvering!" Kalian ordered, seeing the empty launchers cycling for reload. "Right—ninety."
Remaining in place, the Steel Aurora and the other three Victory IIIs began turning right, firing bow launchers at their white-and-brown opponents.
Tactics honed since the Battle of Hast.
While bow launchers reload, a stationary Victory-class Star Destroyer turns its hull and sends missiles from broadside tubes.
"Tubes forty-one through sixty locked on target!"
Kalian watched the first salvo tear into the star cruiser's hull, gifting it breaches, firebursts, and fireworks at impact points.
Not all projectiles hit—the enemy was firing interdiction, joined by pilots who'd managed to launch as the fight began.
"Salvo!"
"Salvo away!"
"Left ninety!"
Now the ship was restoring its original orientation—bow to enemy broadside.
"Bow tubes reloaded and ready!"
"Target coordinates entered!"
The eight-gun turbolaser batteries mounted on Victory IIIs unleashed a green storm of deadly fire straight at the enemy.
The Binder, holding the enemy in its invisible gravity nets, was also trading shots with the Alliance star cruiser attacking it.
"Bow salvo!"
And again twenty halos of missile engines lit the Steel Aurora's bow.
"Enemy fighters approaching Aurora's far defense perimeter!"
"Launch our interceptors!" Kalian ordered immediately. "Left ninety!"
Again exposing broadside to the enemy for a missile salvo.
The Mon Calamari star cruiser had already turned its bow toward them and was pushing forward with all its might, pouring turbolaser hell onto the Steel Aurora.
Kalian's gunners targeted the enemy, concentrating all starboard firepower on the narrow "fore" section.
Heavy turbolasers punched through the bow deflector shields and scorched long black streaks across the armor.
By this point the Steel Aurora had fired its fifth salvo, restoring original orientation in space.
And the damage inflicted on the enemy starship was visible to the naked eye.
Through hull breaches, along with superheated air, small debris and bodies were sucked out.
His ship's gunners had focused fire on the bridge and upper deck, turning the star cruiser's bow into a shapeless pile of expensive scrap metal.
When the fifth salvo, backed by full turbolaser broadside from the Steel Aurora, reached the target, Kalian's opponent went from a warship with a brave crew to a drifting dead hulk trailing molten metal shards.
The sixth salvo simply tore off the ship's bow section up to the "fins"—call it decapitation.
The shapeless metal heap drifted on inertia, individual weapon blisters still trying to fire.
Well, credit to the Mon Calamari—they knew how to build ships.
Energy redundancy, based on numerous generators under the armor, let them keep fighting even with the main power plant knocked out.
But now it wasn't even funny.
"Turbolasers—fire on the remains," Kalian ordered. "Missile tubes—fire on nearest enemy."
There were only two left.
The star cruiser attacking the Binder and its brother engaging the Bellicose.
The latter was still resisting the Victory III's fire but now started receiving additional anti-ship missiles the size of starfighters.
Deflectors, and with them the hull, collapsed in seconds, unable to take it, and another star cruiser became piles of dead metal.
Watching his first victim detonate, Kalian shifted his gaze to the Binder.
The enemy was desperately maneuvering and still holding together relatively well.
Logical, considering any single Victory in the fight outgunned the Interdictor in weight of fire.
"Bellicose—support Retribution and Aspiration," Kalian ordered.
"Message sent, sir!"
"Set course for the Binder," the Steel Aurora's commander ordered.
He had nothing against Fulik finishing the enemy himself, but operating in the enemy's rear made prolonged fighting dangerous.
At minimum because extended gravity well operation could eventually pull completely unwanted "guests" from hyperspace.
The first salvo of anti-ship missiles melted the enemy ship's engine cluster.
Detonation collapsed the aft deflectors.
Next, Captain Kalian's destroyer sent a barrage of ion and turbolaser shots after the now-crippled ship.
The star cruiser's rear hemisphere drowned in fire flashes.
The follow-up salvo charred the stern and burned out the engines, leaving the enemy a helpless cripple drifting forward on inertia.
The Binder increased pressure, pouring artillery fire across the enemy's entire forward hemisphere.
Shields collapsed, all electronics went dark, escape pods flew in all directions.
Kalian smirked.
Three out of five in twenty minutes—pretty fast.
"Fourth enemy star cruiser destroyed!" the watch officer reported.
"Change of orders," Kalian said into the comlink, addressing all ship commanders. "Interceptors—attack enemy small craft. Not one leaves here. Send recovery shuttles to capture enemy escape pods and downed pilots. No witnesses of our presence must remain on the field."
The last enemy ship did manage to hit the Aspiration—one fighter destroyed the starboard deflector generator dome atop the superstructure.
Well, unfortunate—the ship lost equipment.
But not shields.
Now the enemy had a unique chance to see that Dominion ships were significantly different from Imperial ones.
In the latter, the two "spheres" atop the superstructure housed not only deflector generators but also long-range comms, sensors, various antennas.
Damage to such a "sphere" threatened shield loss.
But not on the "threes," where those relics of the past were nothing more than mounting points for first-priority equipment.
Deflector generators had long been moved under armor, like on Mon Calamari ships.
Along with MC80a-style deflector pump generators installed on Victory IIIs.
The Aspiration's protection was unaffected.
Only scanning systems.
And the enemy realized that very quickly.
But it wouldn't save them.
"Captain Kalian to all ships—destroy."
The Steel Aurora's turbolasers, along with those of five other ships and eighty anti-ship missiles, merged into a single storm of death crashing onto the last star cruiser.
White-green all-destroying energy chewed holes in the enemy hull.
Armor plates, heated by incandescent plasma, bubbled, tore apart like an overripe boil, decorating space with myriads of debris and dead bodies.
Guns kept chewing through bulkhead after bulkhead, compartment after compartment, when the anti-ship missiles made contact.
Remaining ribs, bulkheads, and decks were scattered by a chain of explosions merging into sequential detonations.
The starship was torn apart and deformed like crumpled paper.
Baradium warheads detonated, vaporizing metal and flesh, disfiguring and destroying everything in their path.
The mauling of the fifth Mon Calamari star cruiser stopped only when a fiery flash formed in its place, vaporizing the crew's remains and the hulk.
"Execute last orders," Kalian said. "Save survivors, destroy those trying to escape."
He was silent a second, then remembered.
"Did we get their identifiers?"
"Yes, sir," comms and crypto assured him. "All ships identified, transponder signals recorded in repeat cycle."
Excellent.
"Good work," he praised the crew. "Combat watch remain at stations, shift to yellow alert. The rest—off watch. Rest. Captain Fulik," he looked at the Binder's commander. "Gravity well generators—deactivate."
"Yes, sir," the Ciutric native replied eagerly. "Thank you for the assist. My boys have plenty of motivation, but we're light on guns. Can't wait to hit the yards and become a Dominant. Then the fun will really start…"
"I'm sure it will," Kalian nodded, not wanting to discuss every Interdictor commander's dream—upgrading their ships to Victory III standard.
Half an hour of combat had thoroughly drained him morally.
And praise artillery and missiles—it was already over.
He had no doubt everything would go perfectly and all traces cleaned up.
Only one thing remained.
The Steel Aurora's commander approached the holographic projector and manually entered the encryption channel.
It took time to establish a secure connection.
"Grand Admiral," he saluted at the sight of Thrawn's hologram. "The unit entrusted to me has accomplished its task. Five Lantillies star cruisers intercepted and destroyed. Their identification data recorded and recognized. The data transmitted by agent Bravo-Three proved fully accurate."
"Excellent work, Captain," Thrawn said.
The holoprojector blinked with a received file indicator.
"You have been sent coordinates of a temporary rear basing point behind enemy lines," the Supreme Commander reported. "You and your men need rest before the next assignment. Use the time profitably."
"Yes, sir," Kalian saluted the fading hologram.
Pulling up the received data on screen, the young Star Destroyer commander frowned.
"What the hell is planet Horrn?" he voiced his genuine bewilderment aloud, but in a half-whisper so the crew wouldn't hear and ask unnecessary questions. "And since when do we have a garrison, production bases, and basing point there?"
All that remained was to hope the base commandant would clarify these questions.
Though…
Knowing Thrawn—that was unlikely.
***
Moff Nivers's face was contorted with rage.
"Captain," he hissed venomously. "I think it's time I contacted your command."
"Your prerogative," Shtebens shrugged. "You're entitled to appeal any actions you deem contestable through administrative procedure…"
Nivers practically exploded, starkly contrasting the operative's calm.
"I am a moff!"
"Thank you for the reminder, but I hadn't forgotten your position…"
"I govern the Korva sector!"
"That I remember too."
"Then what the hell are you doing?!" Nivers roared.
"Working," Shtebens said calmly.
So far he'd enjoyed working for counterintelligence.
But dealing with officials from a position of ordinary interaction—might as well hang yourself.
Still, it was part of the job.
You had to take it stoically.
"Then kindly explain what the hell the Dominion Security Bureau is doing blocking access to several systems in the sector!"
The moff's indignation was understandable, natural.
"Classified information," Shtebens said, knowing full well this argument wouldn't work with this particular person in this particular situation.
But he kept using it.
That was the job.
"What the hell kind of 'classified information'?! You've blocked several trade routes!"
"Interesting, can a bureaucrat actually choke on his own saliva?" Shtebens thought, watching the man spray the aforementioned fluid.
There were plenty of ways Nivers could die without outside help.
The question was only which would be faster—heart attack, stroke, choking, or his eyes bursting from blood pressure?
"Don't exaggerate, Moff," Shtebens advised. "Counterintelligence isn't touching your precious trade routes."
"Is that so, you bastard?!" Nivers flared.
"I give you my word—no pickets or customs," the counterintelligence officer smiled friendly.
"Mocking me?"
"Wouldn't dream of it," the operative lied.
"I'll call the grand moff right now and we'll see you sing, formalist!" Nivers threatened, reaching for the holoprojector. "You're completely out of hand! Scoundrels! How am I supposed to move goods and equipment through the sector if you block planets?!"
"You might want to decide who you're complaining to," Shtebens suggested. "Grand Moff Ferrus is of course a key figure in the Triumvirate, but he's not my boss. He's just a civilian administrator. You may have forgotten, but I report to Colonel Astarion…"
The Triumvirate—so called the three most influential sentients running the Dominion after Grand Admiral Thrawn's death.
The aforementioned Grand Moff Ferrus handled internal politics and civilian administration.
Colonel Astarion—law enforcement and counterintelligence.
Vice Admiral Pellaeon—the Armed Forces, intelligence, and foreign relations, remaining the Dominion's mouthpiece on the galactic stage.
And Nivers couldn't not know that in practice Ferrus couldn't do anything to Shtebens except wag a finger.
Astarion could.
Wag a finger, slap him across the face, demote, fire, even send him into the first assault wave.
In a case of subordinate overreach, the colonel could use any of the above legal or illegal methods.
But there was a nuance.
The colonel was in the loop.
And Nivers couldn't not understand that a simple operative wouldn't take such bold actions as banning visits to a star system without clearing it with higher command.
So the moff preferred only to threaten, roar, and spray saliva, but knew his own superiors wouldn't interfere.
Because counterintelligence matters were not under the for the grand moff.
And with very high probability Felix Ferrus knew why the ban was in place.
And the presence of a couple of Interdictor cruisers and several Marauder-class corvettes (old but not useless) hinted that counterintelligence actions were coordinated with Dominion Armed Forces headquarters.
"You bastard," Nivers slumped into his chair, slamming the desktop with all his might. "Acting worse than pirates!"
"Maybe, sir," the captain agreed diplomatically. "But duty requires it. Access to the Galaanus system will not be opened. Until orders come from above."
"And what am I supposed to do?" Nivers began to calm down. "Your trawlers are yanking every ship traveling past out of hyperspace! Inspections, searches, crew interrogations for two days! This is outright tyranny! Private contractors refuse the route after the first run!"
"Then abandon it," Shtebens shrugged.
"That route is twice as short as all the others!" Nivers went at it again. "The shortest path in this part of the sector!"
"Leading to the north-eastern borders of the sector and the metropole," the operative thought automatically.
"I can't help you, Moff," he spread his hands. "Service interests require keeping that system away from prying eyes."
"You could have warned me in advance!" Nivers growled aggressively. "I was just starting to set up sector logistics, linking planets together, and you dump sweetener in my tank. Right behind my back!"
"Again, I can only apologize," Shtebens said calmly. "We didn't expect the fringe systems to attract your attention. That's why counterintelligence chose them."
"Not just chose," Nivers hissed. "You classified all data on planets in the Galaanus system."
"That's true," Shtebens didn't argue with facts.
"Why the hell couldn't you tell me in advance?!" Nivers flared again, jumping up.
"Security regime."
"To hell with your security regime!" the moff roared. "We're doing the same job! Turning this dead-end region into a thriving province. Settling! Building! Bringing order!"
"I understand," Shtebens said. "But our jobs are different. Yours—make the sector better. Mine—safer."
"And keep secrets," Nivers growled.
"Among other things," the operative nodded.
"Do you realize how many logistics routes I'll have to recalculate?" the moff asked. "How much shipping will cost? I'll have to revise the sector budget, allocate more money because freight rates will skyrocket!"
"I understand."
"If you understood you'd have told me in advance where not to stick my nose and lay routes!" Nivers barked. "Even now we've run into one problem. And I wouldn't be surprised if you have several more systems in the sector that became 'visit only with special permission.'"
"Maybe," Shtebens shrugged.
"Can you at least tell me if there are any more such systems in the sector?"
"Classified information."
"Burn in the Abyss, Shtebens!" the Korva sector moff pleaded. "You can't do this! You could just tell me which systems to avoid sending ships and planning planets for?"
"No, I can't."
"We're supposed to work together!"
"We are working together!"
"What the hell are you going to do?!" Nivers threw up his hands. "Why in every other sector counterintelligence works openly with moffs, but here you've set up Imperial Palace-level secrets?"
"That's the job," Shtebens shrugged. "And if it's not classified, in which sectors did counterintelligence meet moffs halfway and reveal the existence of 'forbidden systems'?"
"In Mierru'kar, for example," Nivers tossed out. "I spoke with Brincan this morning. He advised me to contact the local DSB office to clarify the situation."
"How interesting," Shtebens narrowed his eyes. "Looks like I have colleagues who can't keep their mouths shut."
"No, you have colleagues who understand that with limited budgets and sector development policies we need to work together instead of wasting resources traveling days to remote systems only to find angry fleet personnel unhappy about serving in the middle of nowhere and catching their own citizens earning a living hauling freight!"
It sounded extremely convincing.
But in practice…
"So Moff Brincan is aware of 'forbidden worlds' in his territory?" Shtebens clarified.
"His DSB branch made no secret of it," Nivers declared. "Just advised not to poke around a couple of systems. Hinted they were guarding fleet secrets and that was it! That's how you do joint work!"
"More like digging a hole," Shtebens thought.
"…See, even now we've run into one problem. For a canceled run I have to pay full freight! It's in the contracts! 'Termination of carriage due to circumstances beyond the freighter crew's control!'"
"I understand your pain and budget woes, Moff, but I can't help," Shtebens declared. "Security regime…"
"Hell, I'm not asking you to reveal what you're doing there!" the moff said placatingly. "Just tell me which route is off-limits and that's it. I'll save money and time, and your picket squads won't be bothered over nothing. Don't you want to drop your work, fly to me, and listen to me yelling across the residence? On top of that, with your secret secrets you're violating your own secrecy! You think crews can be forced to stay silent and not blab about being intercepted by fleet ships somewhere and interrogated for two days? Like hell! I've already been told a couple of crews are wagging tongues. Good thing the governors at my request shut their mouths, throwing them in the brig until they sober up! See what happens when work isn't coordinated on the same territory?!"
Shtebens put on a thoughtful expression.
"Well-l-l…" he drew out. "There is a certain logic to that, of course. Nobody needs extra work…"
"Of course!"
"And we didn't account for detained ship crews talking," Shtebens sighed. "We assumed no one in their right mind would go there."
"That's how it always turns out," Nivers said conspiratorially. "I too sent caravans and scouts with the best intentions. Thought I'd find new deposits, start mining, etc. But it turns out I ruined your secrecy and still have to pay budget money for unperformed work!"
"Yes, I overdid it," Shtebens admitted. "Well, I think there'll be no great harm if I tell you…"
Interest flashed in Nivers's eyes.
"I think you'll only have to change this one route," he smiled. "The rest of the sector is free for transit."
"Phew," Nivers wiped sweat droplets from his forehead in relief. "Consider myself lucky. One planet, then?"
"One system," the operative clarified. "Two planets there."
"Did you scan them?" Nivers asked with interest. "Anything valuable? I could start mining under your protection. It would only benefit the whole sector!"
"Nothing of economic interest," Shtebens stated. "Otherwise we'd have chosen a different system. The military are very particular—they don't want planets that hold any interest for civilians or civilian authorities."
"Shame," the moff sighed. "Well, thanks anyway."
"No need for thanks," Shtebens smiled.
"Thought I'd optimize work somewhere. But," he spread his hands, "nothing to be done. Military affairs take priority. Let them do whatever they're doing, I'll remove the route from the lists," the moff continued thinking aloud. "And it promised to be profitable and efficient. Wait a second," the moff frowned. "Better to completely isolate the route from shipping or just the part leading to Galaanus? I just don't want fleet personnel crossing paths with my haulers at all. Otherwise they'll see a couple of destroyers on course correction and the talk will start. In Imperial times you know how many secret bases the Rebels found that way? Though how would you know. You're so young…"
Shtebens mentally laughed.
"Better to remove it completely," he recommended. "Equipment and troop transport uses exactly that route. We try to keep them from crossing paths."
"I'll handle it," Nivers promised. "Military affairs take priority. Let them fly and not worry—there won't be any civilian ships there anymore. Not one."
"Thank you for the help, Moff."
"Should've done it right away," Nivers grumbled. "Just let me know if you decide to change location. The route's attractive, so if you don't need it I'll gladly open it to civilian traffic."
"Afraid not in our lifetime, Moff," Shtebens said. "As long as we need ships, armor, soldiers, and weapons—the base stays."
The moff sighed doomfully.
"You guys clearly aren't planning to make my life easier," he said. "Well, we'll work with what we have. Good day, Captain."
Closing the moff's office door behind him, Shtebens walked toward the exit with an impenetrable mask instead of a face.
He needed to urgently contact the colonel and report everything heard and said in advance.
No one liked chatty counterintelligence officers on principle, but the worst was finding out about their loose tongues completely by accident.