— Upper parry! — the commanding and loud voice of the Togruta no longer caught Mara off guard.
The girl obediently deflected her opponent's energy blade, countering the white-blue blade with her crimson one. Immediately after, without warning, a short swing of the shoto aimed at the lower torso followed. Had the red-haired girl not swiftly blocked the strike with her blade, she could have, at best, sustained an injury to her right leg.
In the worst case, her leg would have been severed just above mid-thigh.
Without warning, the girl transitioned into a counterattack.
The Togruta, as if unprepared for such aggression, stepped back, attempting to deflect an upward strike from the purple blade. However, the red-haired girl deftly deactivated her lightsaber, causing her weapon to pass over the emitter without meeting resistance or obstruction.
The Togruta's body lurched forward and to the left. Her arms crossed to block a strike from Jade's right leg. The lightsaber and shoto deactivated at Ahsoka's command. As soon as her ankle was caught in the grip of the alien girl's hands, Mara executed her true plan.
Using the hold as leverage, the girl pushed off the deck with her left foot, leapt, and struck the Togruta's head, directly at the base of Tano's lekku.
The latter, disoriented, fell forward onto the deck, releasing her weapons from her grasp.
Mara triumphantly ignited her lightsaber, pointing its tip directly at the Togruta's face turned toward her. Judging by the slow narrowing of the latter's pupils, Jade had achieved her goal—her "mentor" was incapacitated. Even if she had the resolve to continue the fight, nothing good would come of it.
The Togruta blinked rapidly. Mara sensed her calling on the Force to alleviate her condition.
— Still alive? — Jade deactivated her blade and extended a hand to her defeated "friend," helping her to her feet.
— As if I wouldn't be, — she replied, summoning her weapons to her hands. Attaching the hilts to her belt, the girl inquired:
— Since I got thoroughly whacked on the head, for which you have my special thanks, would you be so kind as to remind me what the point of this training was? — Ahsoka asked.
Mara snorted, pulling her hand from the Togruta's grasp.
— If you're having memory issues, you'd better see a specialist, — she quipped sharply. — Age catching up with you?
— If you were as sharp with a lightsaber as you are with your tongue, I wouldn't be standing here, — Tano retorted, closing her eyes and touching the spot where she'd been struck. — Fine, you've proven you know my people's anatomy. I won't even ask how you know about that nerve cluster—I suspect the answer wouldn't please me.
— Smart move, — Mara smiled, walking over to the lounge's sofa and flopping onto it. — I wouldn't say you're teaching me anything new.
— Eymand didn't warn me you already knew a thing or two, — she said, sounding like she was making excuses. — You don't need training so much as a refresher of your skills. Who trained you?
Jade appraised the girl standing before her, scanning her from head to toe. She considered that her success was largely due to the Togruta's surprise and lack of preparedness for such maneuvers. The girl objectively assessed her fencing skills against a fully trained Jedi. If it came to eliminating her, Thrawn's Hand would have no chance in a direct confrontation.
— Not a Jedi, if that's what you're thinking, — the redhead stated.
— And not Vader, — the girl declared with unwavering certainty.
— How'd you come to that conclusion? — Mara inquired, intrigued by how a woman who had vanished from all scanners could know what Darth Vader might or might not have taught her.
— I was his apprentice, — Tano said quietly, as if the memories weighed on her more heavily than increased gravity. — He didn't favor agility, preferring strength and aggression. — It was hard to argue with that. The image of Vader, in his sleek black armor, leaping across walls and ceilings, breathing heavily with each backflip... Yes, that would be a comical sight. Mara had no doubt she'd burst out laughing if she ever saw such a thing. Though she was well aware it would likely be her last laugh. Darth Vader didn't take kindly to jokes, especially at his expense. And what his life was like before serving the Emperor... Even after the Dark Lord of the Sith's death, Mara preferred not to know. — That was before he fell to the Dark Side.
— Well, isn't that something, — Jade remarked, whistling. As the saying goes, what you run from always catches up. — I thought he was born a Sith.
A small provocation to get her counterpart talking. It wasn't that Mara was so curious about Darth Vader's past that she'd interrogate the first person who, surprise, knew him before his service to the Emperor. No, the jab had another purpose.
Mara never liked sentients who vanished into "nowhere" and appeared from "nothing." For one simple reason—as the Emperor's Hand, she had used that trick countless times. So learning more about her "partner" was an essential part of her job.
— He was once just a boy, like any other, — the Togruta said with a heavy sigh. — Born on Tatooine, but he joined the Jedi Order too late. He had his own opinion on everything, which often didn't sit well with the Order or the High Council. I joined him during the Clone Wars—they practically forced me on him, and he did everything he could to avoid taking responsibility...
"I'm about to cry," Jade thought. "Never heard such a tearjerker. A Jedi who was 'not like the others.' Can you tell me two more like that? I might even shed a tear!"
Ceasing her mental exercise in mocking her counterpart, the girl asked:
— So why aren't you with the Order?
— I was accused of committing a terrorist act in the Jedi Temple, — the girl sighed. — Many innocent sentients died.
— And naturally, you were completely innocent, — Mara teased.
— Only in my stupidity and naivety at that point in my life, — the Togruta replied with an unexpected smile. — I was framed by a Jedi, a friend. Or at least, I thought she was. The Order turned against me, expelled me to avoid tarnishing their reputation by association. That's when I realized I was gravely mistaken about that organization. No one cared about the investigation—except my master. He uncovered the real culprit.
— They could've offered you a chance to return, — Mara said. — Since they were wrong.
— They did, — Ahsoka confirmed. — I refused. The Order I thought I served turned out to be nothing like the reality. What else can you expect from a teenager raised among dogmatic temple-dwellers?
— You're really laying into your former comrades, — Mara laughed. Hearing this brief confession, she understood why she felt mixed, mostly contradictory and unfriendly, feelings toward the non-human girl. Their stories were similar. Gifted upbringing, training, ideological indoctrination, assurances of serving a higher purpose... only to end in betrayal. Though it was unlikely Ahsoka was hunted by her former Jedi Order masters. With such similar fates, one might think they'd bond, "kindred spirits" and all. But Mara had learned one thing over the years—trust no one. Even Thrawn, whom she believed in, didn't have her full trust... and she was certain she hadn't earned his either.
— There were many good sentients among them, — she said, her voice tinged with sorrow. — Unfortunately, they all perished during the purge ordered by Palpatine and Vader, and those who joined them.
— And you didn't even try to fight the Empire? — Mara asked, surprised. It was practically a fixation for all rogue Jedi—organize a rebellion, harm the Empire, stage sabotages, or something similar. That's how the Inquisitors, ISB, Vader, and many other Emperor's servants caught them.
— I could've hated them all for what they did to me, — the girl admitted. — For their hypocrisy and lack of faith in me, despite not being the worst Jedi of my time. Impulsive, sharp-tongued, yes. But I believed in the Republic's cause until the very end—that's what the Order taught us. Left without support, resources, or any understanding of life's realities, I wandered the Outer Rim worlds for a long time, seeing the galaxy's underbelly...
— The whole underbelly? — Mara smirked.
— You love contradicting just for the sake of it, don't you? — Tano sighed, leaning back blissfully on the sofa opposite Jade's spot. — I think I saw enough to realize the Confederacy's cause was partly just. But only in their slogans, not their actions. They hid behind grand words but did little to fix the galaxy's problems. Sure, you can argue that Jedi are peacekeepers, not warriors, that there aren't enough of them to maintain order, but you know... That's what those who never lived in the Temple say. — The young woman grew serious. — I was just a kid back then, but I remember clearly that even before the Clone Wars, many Jedi spent their time in the Temple meditating and contemplating. If they wanted to solve lawlessness, they would've done it, one way or another. There's a saying: "If you want to do something, you'll do it. If not, you'll find an excuse."
"She's got some issues with critical thinking," Mara thought. "Another whiny Jedi. They'd break her and send her to the Inquisitorius."
— So when I got the chance, I decided to fight injustice, — the girl continued. — I gathered resources, reclaimed the weapons I was used to... A lot happened. But the worst was when Tyber Zann took over the criminal underworld. In my time, even Jabba and the Pykes were more merciful and less cruel to sentients. I realized my duty was to protect those who couldn't stand up for themselves.
— Surprising you didn't join the Rebel Alliance with those views, — Mara said. Come on, what's your next story?
— I tried, — the girl admitted. — I saw the same Confederacy. Words, grand promises, noble intentions, and terrorist tactics. Like everywhere else, of course. I visited many groups, saw what they aimed for. Restoring the Old Republic, but in a way that would bring back those restricted by the Empire? No thanks, I'd rather keep fighting the Zann Consortium and pirates on my own.
— Really? — Mara said, surprised. — Then forgive me, I still don't get what you want from us. As far as I know, my commander isn't at war with the Consortium...
— Is that so? — Ahsoka smirked. — What about Leonia Tavira? Or are you saying it wasn't you who smashed her fleet at Rugosa? Besides her Star Destroyer, there were a couple of bands actively used by the Zann Consortium as slaver hunters—specifically targeting Wookiees...
— Trandoshans?! — Jade narrowed her eyes.
— You're well-informed, — Tano grinned. — Yes, they had an old Venator they'd somehow captured. I'd been tracking their group for a while and was pleasantly surprised by what happened.
— And what happened? — Mara tensed.
— Oddly enough, your Imperial faction didn't kill them, enslave them, or do anything else Imperials typically do to Wookiees, — Tano continued. — I'm not denying you have good counterintelligence, but I've been in this game for over twenty years, so I have friends even among Imperials. I know Wookiees serve on your starships.
— How convenient, — Jade grimaced. — When it suits you, poof, informants appear. Can you teach me that trick?
— If you're willing to learn instead of fight, sure, — Ahsoka smirked. — You know the rest. Captain Nym and his Lok Revenants—another blow to the Consortium's allies. I started thinking the galaxy had gone mad and Imperials were showing nobility. I approve of fighting piracy, of course. The Zann Consortium can't be allowed to rise again. I recall Imperials helped destroy it in the past. So why not try again while they're still weak? Especially since they're already sharpening their teeth against you. That's why I changed my mind about which Imperials I'd work with.
— Were there other options besides our faction? — Mara asked.
— Believe it or not, — the Togruta said. — I considered approaching Grand Moff Kaine. He impressed me with his treatment of non-human species. Plus, he was one of those who helped finish off the Zann Consortium after Endor.
— You know Kaine? — Mara asked, though she already knew the answer.
— Very indirectly, — the Togruta replied. — But he doesn't know I'm a Jedi.
— Let me guess the foolish thing you were about to do, — Jade said. — Go to Kaine, spill everything, and introduce yourself properly?
— Something like that. Not quite so directly...
— And your head would've ended up on the Inquisitorius' trophy wall, which currently works for Kaine, — Jade explained. — If there's anything the Grand Moff fears and hates more than Palpatine, it's Jedi.
— Ouch, — Tano said. — Looks like I made the right call listening to Eymand and the Force and coming to you.
— That at least saved your life, — Mara confirmed.
The amount of information she'd gleaned from this former Jedi was impressive. And intriguing. She'd need to report this to Thrawn. But later, after he dealt with matters in the Ciutric Hegemony and she handled the search for the super star destroyer at Vohai.
A loud, grating signal sounded from the cockpit.
— Five minutes until we exit hyperspace, — the Togruta noted. — We should get ready, don't you think?
— You're here to train me, — Mara reminded her. — My assignments don't concern you.
— And I'm not meddling, — the Togruta replied. — Do what you do, and I'll have your back.
— Why would you do that? — Mara asked, barely stopping herself from saying she worked alone and didn't need a sidekick.
— Simple, — Tano smiled. — After talking to you, I realized teaching you Jedi tricks and refreshing your existing skills won't be enough to convince your command to rid a few planets of the Zann Consortium's influence and end its existence. But helping you on a mission—an assignment your Imperial commander sent a woman trained almost like a Jedi, a rarity in these times—would be a much better bargaining chip for negotiations and cooperation.
"If only I don't find a way to extract everything you know and dump you somewhere in a trash compactor, sliced into unidentifiable pieces," Mara thought.
***
— Black Wing Squadron, your assignment has changed, — the comm in Lieutenant Creb's helmet announced. The interceptor pilot, currently paired with his wingman tearing apart a Republic wishbone, wasn't particularly surprised.
This was the sixth change to the original order for free hunting within the outer defense perimeter of the Chimaera in the past six hours. Well, a combat pilot's life wasn't meant for complaints.
— Black Leader, copy, — he said, gutting the enemy's underbelly with a short burst. While the enemy starfighter's gunner tried to evade Black Two's attack from the upper hemisphere, Creb struck from the opposite direction. A textbook tactic, the simplest when dealing with a wingman fresh on the wing.
The enemy ship predictably erupted into a white-orange fireball and shattered into debris. The lieutenant quickly switched to the channel with his wingman.
— Next one's yours, — no need to repeat that he'd cover the girl. In combat, Black Two was sharp... Sharper... No, just "sharp"—in battle, there were only call signs, no names.
— Black Wing is ordered to return to the Chimaera for escort duty, — the dispatcher said. Why does it take you so long to spit it out? They'd hire ensigns for officer roles, and you'd wait for them to get to the point. Dispatch officers should be trained like pilots—otherwise, you lose the time advantage between receiving and executing an order. — Confirm recei...
— Order received, — Creb replied swiftly, switching the comlink to the squadron's frequency. — Black Wing, this is Leader. Cancel, return to the Chimaera. Now.
Eleven clicks in his headset confirmed the pilots' acknowledgment. That was enough.
Leading a dozen interceptors, the lieutenant chose a trajectory with the least expected resistance. The "Blacks," without slowing, reduced three X-wings that crossed their path to dust. Mysteriously, they lacked the ubiquitous deflectors that many Imperial pilots had grown tired of.
Only when he spotted two pairs of TIE interceptors to the left and above did the lieutenant realize his pilots had taken out targets hunted by their comrades from Gray Wing. Visually identifying the ships was impossible, but he knew his former wingman's flying style well. "Sorry, old friend. When this is over, I promise to make it up with a round of drinks," he thought.
As Black Wing approached the Chimaera's main hangar bay, TIE bombers were already launching.
Led by the Scimitar—the machine of the flagship's wing commander, Captain Bren.
— Black Leader, this is Yatagan Leader, — Tomax's voice crackled in the headset. — You go first, target Mon Adapyne. Escort and cover.
— Copy, understood, — now that's more like it—speaking with a colleague in familiar, clear slang was always a pleasure.
The enemy flagship was having a rough day.
From its rear hemisphere, the Chimaera's turbolasers and ion cannons pounded it. The Steel Aurora attacked from the starboard traverse, the Crusader from the port. The Victories were practically skewering the enemy with endless anti-ship torpedoes that slipped under the starship's shields. Turbolaser and ion fire spread across the sturdy shields of the MC80b. Creb had never seen such robust energy shielding on New Republic starships. Clearly, the Mon Calamari's vaunted deflector-boosting technology was at work.
The ship's hull was impressively durable, too. Where a salvo from a first-series Victory would've stripped the hull plating from the enemy's underside (assuming the attack targeted the upper hemisphere), the Mon Adapyne held firm. Its armor didn't give way even after the third salvo. Sure, it was scorched by explosions and impacts, with visible breaches and massive cracks in the plating, but there was no spectacular rupture, no geysers of vented atmosphere or tornadoes of debris.
Upon closer approach to the enemy ship, Black Leader realized why it behaved this way. He'd been fighting on the Chimaera's outer defense perimeter and hadn't gotten near the enemy flagship until now. But now he could see the enemy's turbolasers and ion cannons firing with remarkable speed and accuracy.
There were no explosions for a simple reason—too few kinetic projectiles slipped through the deflector field to reach the starship's surface. Whatever the enemy was using at their combat stations for such impressive shooting, it worked.
Black Wing's course was blocked by an X-wing squadron, whose aggressive salvoes from all guns made it clear they were in a foul mood. And the Republicans had a burning desire to ruin not just their own day.
After that thought, the lieutenant decided he shouldn't listen to his wingman's colorful jargon anymore. Otherwise, he'd end up with a Ryloth accent.
— Blacks Seven through Twelve, break off, engage, — he ordered on the joint squadron channel. The escorted units needed to know their cover was halved.
— Cancel that order, — Captain Bren's voice cut in unexpectedly. — Continue the flight.
The lieutenant didn't have time to be surprised before the individual channel clicked on.
— Black Leader, — the captain said. — Prepare to split the squadron on my command. Half right, half left.
— Copy, — Creb instructed his pilots. The order's purpose wasn't clear, but he was duty-bound to follow it. Bren was an excellent commander—if he gave an order, there was a reason.
Before Grand Admiral Thrawn's campaign, Creb had quietly admired Rogue Squadron, even holding similar exercises in his unit, hoping to understand the enemy he longed to face.
It didn't help a bit. But Thrawn's victorious campaign gave him confidence in his own abilities without copying a luckier foe.
After Captain Bren's appointment as the Chimaera's wing commander, Lieutenant Creb found the right figure to admire.
Though a bomber pilot, Captain Tomax Bren had a deep understanding of fighter and interceptor tactics. His valuable advice, tested on simulators, revealed minor flaws in interceptor tactics. In short, an ace with a capital A—just less famous than Shy Hablin or Baron Soontir Fel.
But those two weren't here. Bren was. And at twenty units from the enemy fighters and forty from their flagship, he ordered the squadron to split.
The first six interceptors veered left, the rest right, leaving the dozen bombers exposed to enemy fire...
Both sides opened fire simultaneously.
But the TIE bombers fired a fraction sooner, launching cumulative missiles from their bomb bays, equipped with homing warheads, judging by the countermeasures. Then eleven ships broke off, evading the enemy fighters' strikes, but the twelfth...
The Scimitar vanished into the vacuum and, seconds later, reappeared above the Mon Adapyne's hull, firing proton torpedoes from both bomb bays.
— Black Leader, hunt the stragglers, — Captain Bren ordered. Creb couldn't believe his eyes, watching the wing commander's ship already near the enemy cruiser's bow, climbing in a jagged spiral that shielded it from anti-air fire. — And cover my guys.
Behind the bomber, dozens of flame tongues erupted along the enemy flagship's "spine," accompanied by the expected hull breaches.
— Hunt and cover, — Creb ordered, steering his interceptor back toward the enemy fighters. But the X-wings had other plans.
Four battered machines, some smoking like steam engines, others with wrecked engines and missing wings.
Having lost two-thirds of their comrades, the enemy pilots retreated, hoping to escape.
— Pairs Two through Six, cover the bombers, — Creb ordered. — Black Two, with me for the kill.
Five minutes later, after catching the crippled ships and unloading their cannons, both interceptors returned to the Chimaera to rejoin their squadron.
Lieutenant Creb wasn't surprised to see the Scimitar leading the other bombers into the destroyer's hangar bay.
Reforming and receiving clearance for continued free hunting, Black Wing's leader grimly noted the smoking ion cannon emplacements on the enemy flagship, marking the strike points.
Judging by the anti-ship torpedoes hitting those hull sections moments later, one Scimitar had turned the tide of the prolonged battle.
***
— Disable every single gun emplacement, — the commander's hologram ordered.
— The enemy has lost sixty percent of their port-side artillery, Grand Admiral, — Captain Kalian reported.
— Seventy percent on the starboard, — Captain I-Gor's hologram added. — We're clearing the hull. Estimated time: ten minutes to complete suppression. Fighters are holding the enemy's air wing.
This was the work of three units—four TIE interceptor squadrons from both Victories and five from the Chimaera. Periodically, the flagship's bombers disrupted the defenders, mowing down Republic fighters in droves. Homing missiles were quite the annihilation tool. Who better than the Victory commanders to know that?
— Excellent, captains, — Grand Admiral Thrawn said. — Continue striking and prepare boarding parties.
— Yes, sir, — Captain Kalian saluted.
— It will be done, Grand Admiral, — Captain I-Gor said emotionlessly.
Thrawn lingered on him for a moment before his hologram vanished.
— This battle drained half my forward missile bays and starboard, — Captain Kalian lamented, briefing his more experienced colleague. The Crusader's commander nodded understandingly.
— Same with my forward and port bays, — he said. — Order the transfer of missiles from the aft and side bays to balance them out.
— Move anti-ship missiles through the destroyer's corridors? — Kalian's eyes widened.
— Not during combat, — a faint smile appeared on the stern captain's lips. — Use the technical corridors and repulsor carts. Same as loading from the cargo bay, just through technical corridors.
— Why not the main ones? — Kalian asked, always eager for his mentor's advice.
— Your stormtrooper party will be moving through them soon for the boarding, — I-Gor reminded him. — And returning with wounded and prisoners. Plus, if a missile detonates in a technical corridor, you'll lose a compartment or two on the outer hull. Inside the ship, it's harder to fight for survivability.
Kalian swallowed hard.
Useful advice. And from the tone, it was clear this knowledge didn't come from Academy instructors. They didn't teach such practical lessons.
***
Directed explosives blew open the Mon Calamari ship's airlock, and the explosion's smoke was filled with blaster fire from the depths of the Mon Adapyne.
No return fire came, but thermal detonators flew in. Several explosions echoed, followed by a stream of flame from TNH-0333's flamethrower.
After unleashing a long jet of incinerating flame, less intense than before, the clone ducked behind the bulkhead, pressing against it to avoid stray shots.
Seizing the moment, a pair of stormtrooper gunners finished off the survivors with short bursts, and the Fourth Squad continued its penetration of the enemy starship.
As always, they operated independently from other units boarding the New Republic starship from various angles. Some entered through the hangar with standard landing craft, others used boarding pods to cut through the battered hull or blast open docking ports.
The Fourth Squad moved toward the enemy starship's bridge.
Boarding through the emergency airlock closest to the command center was the Fourth Squad's signature, born from meticulous preparation between battles for assaults on various starship types. A stormtrooper must be effective—relentless training between fights ensured they wouldn't falter in combat.
— Prot... blup... hr-hr...! — a hysterical scream came from a Bothan in a fleet uniform, blaster in hand, emerging from a corridor intersection. It was a surprise to him, but not to the stormtroopers—Sergeant TNH-0297 shot the non-human through the throat with a precise blaster rifle shot, ending his existence.
— Move, — the sergeant ordered.
Time was slipping away, and the squad was a second behind schedule—the second spent killing the unfortunate crew member.
The nine clones broke into a run, unconcerned about being heard or seen—after such a loud "knock," stealth was out of the question. Like a nine-headed predator, they saw everything, crushed any resistance, and moved toward their target. With fire, tibanna, and hand-to-hand techniques, they ground down a considerable number of those who tried to resist into bloody, sometimes charred, pulp.
The Mon Adapyne's counter-boarding team, encountered two compartments from the bridge, was incinerated by TNH-0333's flamethrower, which he wielded with virtuosic skill. Today, they tested a new fuel mix—more volatile, highly flammable. It ignited but didn't fully burn—perfect against enemy infantry, too honorable to be incinerated by the rare, costly mix used by past "incinerator" stormtroopers and assault commandos.
Watching the flaming figures of the Republic flagship's crew writhe in the corridor, Sergeant TNH-0297 ordered them finished off with blasters. No time to wait for the fuel to burn out. It was enough that they no longer posed a threat to the Fourth Squad's advance. The rising corridor temperature was no issue—stormtrooper armor handled that. The smell of burnt Bothan fur and scorched flesh... well, helmet filters existed for that.
In the next corridor, they advanced under the cover of two heavy repeaters wielded by two of the squad's nine troopers. Suppressing the enemy, forcing them to retreat and cease fire, the stormtroopers closed the distance with quick dashes and coldly gunned them down with blaster rifles.
Stepping over the cooling bodies, the nine stormtroopers continued their victorious march through the Mon Adapyne's decks.
The bridge was in sight, and precise shots took out the guards.
Raising his fist, TNH-0297 ordered the squad to halt.
On both sides of the corridor to the bridge were sealed metal hatches leading to adjacent or isolated rooms—perfect for an ambush and crossfire.
With gestures, the sergeant split the squad in two, moving along opposite corridor walls. This allowed them to spot opening hatches on the opposite side and fire to suppress resistance, giving others a chance to press the enemy.
The tactic worked at the first hatch. As the stormtroopers along the right wall neared it, a hatch on the left slid open...
Blaster muzzles appeared...
And thermal detonators flew in from the stormtroopers pressed against the hatch's wall.
The detonations hurled mangled Bothan corpses, scorched and shredded by shrapnel, from the room. Two more hatches on the left opened—and met the same fate.
Except one room was drenched in flame by TNH-0333's flamethrower.
By the time the corridor ended, the screams of the dying—burning humans and non-humans—had ceased.
Pointing a stormtrooper with technical gear to the universal port of the armored door, TNH-0297 ordered the squad to check their weapons. A minute later, as the universal slicer completed the hack and the armored doors slid apart, the Fourth Squad was ready for the final phase of their assault.
Flash-bang grenades flew onto the Mon Calamari starship's bridge first. After a blinding white flash and clouds of acrid gray smoke poured from the doorway, the stormtroopers charged.
Instead of red blaster bolts, white-blue stun rings mowed down coughing and crawling Mon Calamari, Bothans, and other sentients.
The stormtroopers immobilized everyone—counterintelligence would sort out who was who later. The Fourth Squad had a different task.
The command center—the bridge's far end—met them with bristling Bothan blasters, behind which stood the one ordered to be taken alive.
— Fire! — Sergeant TNH-0297 commanded.
And TNH-0333 pulled the trigger, sweeping a fiery stream across the front rows of Bothan bodyguards, instantly igniting their fur, forcing them from cover to become prey for the stormtroopers' now-lethal blaster rifles.
The E-11 never failed anyone who knew how to use it.
Sergeant TNH-0297 led the charge. For him, it was a chance to prove to his comrades that after his injury on the Crimson Dawn, he'd regained his physical form and effectiveness.
He punched a charging, flaming-backed Bothan in the face, breaking its jaw, and shoved it aside. The next enemy he shot point-blank. The third, also ablaze, he let pass—engaging would risk the fire spreading to him, a 501st Legion trooper.
The fourth enemy died from a combat knife to the neck, and TNH-0297 realized he'd broken through the guard ring.
He came face-to-face with a Bothan dressed in richly embroidered garments. Fear swam in his eyes.
— You... you... — the Bothan, identified as New Republic Counselor Borsk Fey'lya, stammered, trying to press metal credit chips into TNH-0297's hands. — T-take the money, get me out of here...
He didn't finish—TNH-0297 knocked him out with a fist to the temple.
Checking the unconscious enemy's pulse to confirm he was alive, the sergeant said:
— Stormtroopers don't take money.
Switching his helmet's comlink to the command frequency, the sergeant reported mission completion.
***
— It's all over, Captain, — I said as Gilad informed me that resistance on the Mon Adapyne had been crushed by the 501st Legion's boarding parties and support regiments from the Crusader and Steel Aurora. — The New Republic's Fourth Fleet is destroyed.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon said with satisfaction. — Fey'lya is captured.
— Don't make a big deal out of it, Captain, — I replied. — We already hold an Alderaanian princess, a dozen high-ranking New Republic army and navy officers, the renowned Targeter, the galaxy's best ship thief, a Wookiee Rebel Alliance hero who helped destroy the first Death Star, leaders of several pirate groups, a traitor Grand Admiral, a traitor Moff... A scheming Bothan pales in comparison. Especially after so ineptly losing this battle.
— Sir, — Pellaeon said after a pause. — What now?
— Move all captured ships away from the minefield, which Mr. Ghent is still working to control, — I pointed to the slicer, who seemed to have lost touch with reality. — The Reckoning and Krennel's surrendered starships, reclaimed by our forces, are lawful trophies. As are all other Republic fleet starships.
— Understood, sir, — the Chimaera's commander nodded. — But... what next? Krennel effectively destroyed all the TIE interceptors he built for us. Part of his fleet survived, Ciutric IV is still under an active planetary shield, orbital stations are targeting us... One wrong move, and a new skirmish could erupt.
— Not on your watch, Captain Pellaeon, — I said. — Before addressing the Ciutric Hegemony, first move our trophies out of Ciutric IV's space forces' strike zones—I have no desire for them to be damaged or destroyed. Also, request reports on ship malfunctions and repair timelines. Deploy Viper probe droids to Hegemony systems attacked by pirates, and contact our agents—I want to know what's happening there. Reach out to the Hegemony's defense fleet and inquire if they need assistance. In short, we're Imperials on Imperial territory—we're at home.
— Sir, — the watch officer approached. — The Fourth Squad has delivered the prisoner to the bridge.
— Bring him here, — I ordered, turning my chair to face the central platform, its back to the bridge's viewport.
The spectacle was worth savoring.
Barely alive and clearly broken, the stormtroopers dragged the scheming Bothan by the armpits.
Once delivered, they dropped him onto the deck without delay.
Rukh, nearby, swiftly and expertly searched the prisoner.
— Greetings, Counselor Fey'lya, — I addressed the Bothan, who was scraping himself off the deck to at least sit up. — I believe during our last holocomm you promised me some sort of retribution. May I inquire—what exactly, and in which part of your precious hide are you hiding it?
The guardsman behind me, holding the holorecording equipment, let out a short chuckle. Oh yes, today it was the original Tierce.
— So, Counselor, — I reminded the Bothan, wiping blood and snot from his face. — I'm waiting.
— What? — the Bothan glared venomously. — That I'll grovel at your polished boots and beg for mercy?
— Certainly not, — I cautioned. — Polishing my boots takes a droid-valet fifteen minutes of fine work each morning by ship's time. I'm afraid if you grovel at my feet, it'll devalue the droid's work. That outcome doesn't suit me. I'm waiting for you to agree to surrender.
Fire blazed in the Bothan's eyes.
— Have you lost your mind, Thrawn? — he snarled contemptuously. And the next moment, he was desperately trying to peel his face off the Chimaera's polished deck. Say what you will, Rukh's reflexes are quick, and his hand is heavy. — Beating a prisoner while you have the upper hand?
— I'm demonstrating exactly what you did to the Ciutric Hegemony, — I replied. — Because of your attack, three Hegemony star systems are currently under pirate assault, robbing, raping, and killing locals. The stability and prosperity you promise to systems joining the New Republic are vividly displayed here and now. I hope the galaxy's peoples see the duplicity of the regime you represent, Counselor. But that's not the point now. You committed an act of aggression against a sovereign state, and I demand the Ciutric Hegemony be compensated for all damages incurred in rebuilding and for the families of the dead and wounded. Since you refuse to surrender, you'll be placed in a prisoner-of-war camp on general terms. I want to know who will bear the cost of your aggression—the New Republic government or the Bothan Sector government. In simpler terms, given your shocked state, who's behind your aggressive actions, Counselor?
— You'll get nothing, — Fey'lya replied, attempting regal dignity in his posture. — No answers, no reparations. Do whatever you want with me.
— Is that your final decision? — I asked.
— Yes, — the Bothan said firmly. — And there won't be another.
— Very well, — I concluded. — Official claims will be sent to the Bothan and New Republic governments regarding this incident. If neither wishes to negotiate peace and atone for their actions, I'll continue restoring justice my way, bringing the New Republic to its knees and taking what rightfully belongs to the Empire—from military equipment to territories.
— I don't care, — Fey'lya snorted. — Do whatever you want.
— No one asked your permission, Counselor, — I clarified. — I merely informed you. Basic courtesy, nothing more. Take the prisoner away.
Watching the stormtroopers drag the Bothan off the bridge, I turned to Captain Pellaeon.
— I need the requested fleet ship status reports within two days, which we'll spend in this system, — I explained. — Ensure the Hegemony's repair facilities can restore our fleet's combat readiness and...
— Grand Admiral, sir! — the watch officer's voice rang out. — Five warships have entered the system. Identified as Ciutric Hegemony vessels: the Star Destroyers Direction, Emperor's Wisdom, Aspiration, and two Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers in Imperial configuration. — Meaning reduced to five thousand crew and a pair of squadrons. — They request a conversation with the fleet commander and an explanation of the current situation.
— Contact their commander and invite them aboard the Chimaera, — I said. — Captain Pellaeon, arrange a compartment for my meeting with this officer.