Grand Admiral

— Coruscant! — Han barked into the microphone at his console.

The only response was silence, punctuated by the crackle of static.

— Coruscant! — he repeated, his voice demanding.

But nothing changed.

The former smuggler turned his head toward the communications officer. The man, shoulders hunched guiltily, merely spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

Yeah, kid, it's not your fault. The sole culprit in this mess was one blue-skinned, red-eyed individual who preferred to wear white.

— Keep modulating the frequencies, — Han ordered, his tense gaze fixed on the slowly approaching flotilla of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Ten hours of grueling combat, and all that remained of the New Republic's First Fleet and the Combined Command's operational units were mere scraps.

Ten Mon Calamari star cruisers, of which only Mon Remonda was an MC90, along with up to two dozen strike frigates of both types.

Seventeen Nebulon-B escort frigates and two dozen Corellian corvettes and gunships.

And… that was it.

That was all that remained of four hundred ships near Coruscant after Grand Admiral Thrawn arrived.

And in return? What had they achieved?

The Dominion fleet had lost only half of its initial number… of Strike-class medium cruisers.

Yes, just five ships! FIVE?!?!

— Is this some kind of joke? — Han glared at another officer. — We destroyed five ships?!

— That's what our computer recorded, sir, — the officer replied, blinking rapidly. — Five Strikes.

— I remember we took out a couple when they tried to cut us off, — Han frowned, — but when did we blow up three more?

— Those are the figures from General Antilles' flagship, — the first officer clarified.

— Ohhh, — Han drawled. — The kid's showing off again… Hold on a second, — the Corellian squinted suspiciously at the tactical display. — And what was the rest of our fleet doing all this time?!

— Fighting back, sir, — unlike Han, the first officer had nerves of durasteel and a calm demeanor. Typical Mon Calamari. — The Dominion inflicted heavy losses with their unknown weapon and asteroids… By the time we engaged in close combat, we had no chance. We should have retreated immediately…

"You're so smart, you take command," Han thought without malice.

But the Mon Calamari was right about one thing—they should have retreated, and fast. Right from the moment the ships started exploding due to… something.

— We have updated data, sir, — the first officer reported, handing him a datapad. — General Antilles restored the communications network, so we can now receive data from all fleet ships…

— And what good is that? — Han sighed bitterly, skimming the dry lines of the report. — "Damaged a gunship," "Knocked out a turbolaser battery on a cruiser," "Crippled a corvette's engine"… Were we fighting, or did we show up after midnight at a Nar Shaddaa cantina in flashy outfits just to get our faces bashed in by the locals?!

The quip fell flat.

His subordinates were too exhausted to react to his signature Corellian humor…

Losing a fleet while destroying only five enemy cruisers…

Five enemy ships in exchange for nearly three hundred fifty of their own starships, now either reduced to scrap or…

Han cast a sorrowful glance at the tactical display.

He wasn't mistaken. Dominion landing craft were circling around the damaged New Republic starships left on the battlefield.

Thrawn, in his typical fashion—lose five ships, compensate with a hundred and five… Though the number of damaged ships was far greater…

Never in his life had Han wished so fervently that a starship he was looking at was so damaged it couldn't jump to hyperspace in one piece.

To what shameless thoughts commanding New Republic warships drove him…

Five cruisers… Five starships… Just five!

And it wasn't even as if they were Star Destroyers…

No.

Thrawn still had twenty-two Imperial-class Star Destroyers and eight Victory-class ships at his command.

Han felt his teeth grinding to dust as his eyes caught the markers of a pair of Quasar Fire-class escort carriers, trailing behind Thrawn's fleet alongside three Venator-class Star Destroyers, forming a massive "bowl" as if on parade as they approached Coruscant's orbit…

He knew exactly where those two ships in Thrawn's fleet came from—trophies from the Honoghr campaign. It wasn't clear who he'd taken the three Venators from, but they certainly hadn't come to him willingly. And the six Raider-class corvettes shielding that group of five? Those weren't built by Thrawn either—he'd either bought or stolen them.

First came the Star Destroyers—a mix of Imperial and Victory-class ships.

Behind them, in a wide semicircle across two echelons—above and below the destroyers—moved the heavy Dreadnought-class cruisers, still numbering a hundred… Wait, no, hold on!

Only sixty heavy cruisers!

Where were the other forty?!

Not that relics like Dreadnoughts could be considered a serious threat, but…

Recalling how they'd pummeled the New Republic fleet just hours ago—yes, you realized they were to be feared.

— Request the fleet—does anyone see the other forty Dreadnoughts?

A minute later, a response came.

— One of the gunships reports observing those Dreadnoughts on the battlefield, sir. It seems they're busy boarding our ships…

Of course, Thrawn wasn't foolish enough to leave landing craft without cover. Who knew which Republican might decide to lie in wait and launch a sneak attack?

The enemy's number of corvettes and gunships had also decreased—by a third—and just under a hundred of these ships now strutted before the battered New Republic fleet. Thrawn could easily crush the remaining Republican forces in the system with just his light forces! Why was he showing off?

He was probably trying to intimidate them. Force a surrender—no doubt about it.

Because he knew the Republican fleet was now under the protection of the Golans, and even his armada would take significant losses during an assault.

Twenty-eight Golan II platforms and two Golan III platforms. A formidable force that the New Republic had invested heavily in (despite their chronic funding shortages). And all that power was ready to unleash a fury on Thrawn's armada, fueled by the rage of sentients who had witnessed the deaths of their comrades…

Han caught himself realizing that there weren't nearly thirty defensive platforms left, as he would have liked…

Two of them—both Golan II models—had been struck by asteroids Thrawn had hurled at the fleet. Not personally, of course, but…

Who knows, maybe he did hurl them himself…

The fact remained—two orbital stations were currently inoperable, struck by cosmic boulders and unable to continue their service.

The crews—or those who survived the impacts—had been evacuated, but that was hardly enough to save lives.

Because the crews of those stations had been evacuated to the fleet's approaching ships, as Coruscant still had its planetary shields raised.

When dealing with Thrawn, there was no guarantee that lowering the capital planet's shields would leave it safe. You could try—especially during fleet engagements—but there was always the chance that Thrawn had another fleet waiting to jump in.

For example, one composed of captured New Republic star cruisers…

And the asteroid attack on the fleet and stations could have been a diversion to trick the Combined Command into lowering the shields…

Or maybe not.

— Sir! — the communications officer shouted joyfully. — Coruscant is on the line!

— You broke through the interference? — Han asked, skeptical.

— Uh… No, — the subordinate admitted. — We aimed a laser at the low-orbit comm station and boosted power by diverting from the shields. The enemy isn't here yet, so…

"Good enough," Han thought, switching the comm channel to himself.

— Coruscant, this is…

— Han! — a painfully familiar and joyful voice burst from the intercom. — Great Force! You're alive!

The embarrassed Corellian plugged his headset into the console, switching the conversation to it. No need for the crew to hear what his dearest wife might say…

***

It's hard to imagine the sigh of relief that swept through the command center when they heard the voices of first one, then the other general.

Solo and Antilles—the last hope of Coruscant in the face of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

But no one was more relieved than Leia herself. If she could, she would have started dancing, overwhelmed by the news that her beloved husband was neither dead nor injured in the slaughter Coruscant had witnessed.

— Han, I…

— My apologies, Princess, — General Bel Iblis, without much reverence but tactfully enough, took the comlink from her hands. — What I need to say to General Solo is critical.

Leia didn't even think to take offense.

— Yes, of course, — she said.

The Corellian took control of the communication device, and she began looking around, trying to spot Mon Mothma. Surely she couldn't hide from her gaze forever?!

Apparently, she could. No matter how hard the princess tried, she couldn't find Mon Mothma or Admiral Drayson. Admitting defeat, she turned her attention back to the conversation between the two Corellian generals.

— General Solo, — the former senator began.

— Just Han will do, — came the reply through the comlink. — Glad to hear you, General Iblis…

— Just Garm, — the former senator replied.

A sound like a satisfied grunt mixed with confusion came through the comlink.

Han was likely experiencing a moment of catharsis. For a Corellian like him, having a legendary former senator from Corellia—despite his death, rank, age, or achievements—allow him to address him by his first name was monumental. To respectable Corellians like Solo, Bel Iblis was practically a legend.

Under his leadership, Corellia had prospered for years, even decades, growing in power, wealth, and economic development.

In other words, it was as if one of the ancient Jedi Masters had told Luke he could just call him, "Hey, old timer!"

— Deal, … Garm, — Han managed, not on the first try. — Got any bright ideas, don't you?

— Precisely, — Bel Iblis said. — Are you and Antilles repositioning your ships between the stations to ensure adequate fire density against the advancing enemy fleet?

A moment of hesitation.

It seemed Han thought no one could predict his brilliant maneuver.

— Alright, I'll admit it, — he didn't hesitate long. — Wedge and I figured they'd support us that way, and we need to cover the stations, help them fend off…

— Pull the ships back, — Bel Iblis declared firmly. — The Golans can withstand far more than you think. Move the ships behind the stations—support them with fire from there. You'll be less of a target for Thrawn. And if we're lucky, we might lure him into range of our planetary ion artillery. Though, ideally, we'd hide the remnants of our fleet under the first shield and evacuate the stations.

Another brief silence.

— Understood, Garm, — Solo replied. — We're pulling the ships back under the protection of the orbital platforms. By the way, any idea where Drayson is? I'd love to give him a piece of my mind for all this…

— We're looking for him ourselves, — Leia explained. — Him and Mon Mothma…

— No need to look for anyone, — a familiar voice sounded behind the Alderaanian princess.

She turned sharply, searching for the source of the voice.

It didn't take long—Mon Mothma herself stood behind her.

Majestic, but visibly saddened.

— Mon, I… — the princess began.

— It's alright, Leia, — the Chandrilan smiled wearily.

— Except for the fact that we're about to be crushed, — General Iblis said unexpectedly, his voice grating, staring directly into the eyes of the red-haired New Republic councilor.

— You think so? — Mon Mothma asked, her voice trembling slightly with tension.

— I'm certain of it, — Bel Iblis said firmly. — Drayson is undoubtedly a talented commander. But talent alone isn't enough to face a Grand Admiral. It's just not enough…

— And you think you can? — Mon Mothma's piercing gaze could cut durasteel cleaner than any laser.

Bel Iblis fell silent, looking away.

— Perhaps, — he answered quietly.

— Mon, — Leia began urgently. — We need to evacuate the Golans immediately and pull the ships behind the first deflector shield. While there's still time…

She suddenly realized the councilor wasn't listening.

The Chandrilan stood facing her old ally, now turned opponent.

She stared at the man who had defied her will years ago, leading his own successful rebellion against the Empire—so successful that for years, no one even knew he had survived.

Bel Iblis, upon returning from Thrawn's captivity, had shown Mon his support, helping to avert a critical situation and allowing her, the wisest of the living, to remain in her post. Otherwise, a political crisis could have erupted, threatening the New Republic with, if not civil war, then a schism.

He had swallowed his pride and ego, deciding that the best he could do for democracy and the war against the Empire was to trade his remaining influence for the position of commander of the state's defense forces, a state built through Mon Mothma's tireless work.

— We can't delay a moment longer… — Leia started to say. — Mon, please, transfer command from Drayson to General Iblis. We must save at least some of those on orbit. Thrawn won't hold back—he's already dealt significant damage to our defenses with his asteroid strikes. Who knows how many more of those cosmic boulders he has…

But it was as if no one heard her.

The Corellian and the Chandrilan continued to stare at each other with profoundly distrustful gazes. The chemistry that could only exist between old friends was long gone. Now, they were two complete strangers…

Whose mutual understanding now determined the survival of Coruscant's last defenders.

And not only that…

— Mon, I beg you, — Leia's voice trembled. — I'm pleading! There are hundreds of thousands of our soldiers up there. Our ships, which we'll need for the fight ahead. There, — she nearly sobbed. — Mon, Han is there, Wedge…

A sorrowful sigh came from the Corellian.

— Leia, you still don't understand, — Bel Iblis' voice was low, strained, carrying a pain the princess couldn't fathom. — When your father died, when I left, the only person whose will was strong enough to keep the Rebel Alliance from collapsing was Mon Mothma…

The Chandrilan continued to look at him with the same distant, distrustful gaze…

— So many years have passed, so much blood has been spilled, — the Corellian shook his head. — And only now do I understand why she does what she does. Old fool, — he admitted bitterly. — I thought Mon Mothma was consolidating more and more power in her hands to replace the late Emperor at the head of the New Republic… But it's something else entirely. Something completely different…

Leia remained silent, but she noticed a flicker of interest in Mon Mothma's gaze.

— When she was left alone, it was she who had to make the decisions that determined the life and death of those who followed her, who followed the Alliance, — the general said quietly. — Even the thought of delegating such decisions terrifies her. It's not power Mon Mothma refuses to share—it's responsibility. Not despotism, but sacrifice—that's what she's doing, — he concluded. — Every mistake, every error, every loss—she takes it upon herself. Because to her, I'm a stranger now. I'm not Ackbar, not Drayson, not even Antilles. I'm the man who abandoned her in her darkest hour, leaving her to face the problems alone. Ackbar, Rieekan, Drayson, and the others—they're the sentients she's been able to trust, at least partially. I suspect it wasn't a quick process… But I'm not part of the circle of those who can and should be trusted.

Leia wanted to object…

But any words contradicting him instantly vanished from her mind.

The events of recent years fell into place like pieces of a mosaic.

Mon Mothma never gave her breaks or time off, constantly sending her on one diplomatic mission after another, even at the cost of Leia's chance to study the Jedi arts.

The small circle of trusted individuals Mon had gathered in Coruscant's provisional government (surely even Fey'lya enjoyed some form of trust—or at least secured a place in the government through the Bothans' relentless complaints about their sacrifices for the Rebellion). The way she hesitated to appoint new members to replace Leia when she went missing…

Bel Iblis was right.

Mon Mothma refused to burden anyone she didn't fully trust with the immense responsibility she placed on the shoulders of an ever-smaller group of sentients. She wasn't certain of those she didn't trust completely, unsure they would do everything as needed.

Leia saw no confirmation on Mon Mothma's face, but the Force told her that everything said was true.

— After I left, essentially fleeing, she no longer trusts me, — Bel Iblis broke the prolonged silence. — And she knows perfectly well she can't overcome that or grant me any significant authority in the New Republic. She simply can't trust me implicitly, unable to share that responsibility. She'll constantly look over my shoulder—did I make a mistake? And she knows I won't have the patience to endure that adaptation process, and she has no other way to admit sentients to a position where she can place responsibility and trust them completely. She's wise enough to understand—I won't change my ways, and she won't change hers. Without Bail Organa, there's no one to melt her ice or temper my fire. And Mon was the first to realize that I would be the first to break under such an approach. Everything she's doing now, keeping me from commanding anything above a single unit, is to give me the chance to fight for democracy at a level where I can act independently. And if my temper flares up again, my departure won't trigger the crisis she's already endured.

Leia stood, mouth agape.

To be honest, she was used to treating Corellians with their characteristic spontaneity and impulsiveness. Hearing such a deep personal analysis from the general was… new.

— When she's ready to trust me, — Bel Iblis added, still looking into the eyes of the red-haired councilor, — I'll be ready to take command. Until then, it's better for everyone if I stay on the sidelines.

— Except for those dying up there right now, — Leia growled irritably. — Garm, Mon! While you two figure out who can trust whom, everyone defending us up there is about to die! Mon, I beg you, appoint General Iblis to the post and…

Bel Iblis interrupted her, shaking his head.

— Persuasion isn't a decision made independently, Leia, — he stated. — You can convince Mon to do what's needed. But until she voices that decision herself, she won't be able to accept it or live with its consequences.

In holochess, such a position on the board is called a stalemate.

And the former Alderaanian princess didn't know what to say or how to react to avoid worsening the situation.

If her adoptive father, Bail Organa, were here, he could have come up with something, but not her…

Right now, the only thing Leia could do was remain a bystander and hope the situation would resolve itself.

Because the Force whispered subtly that the former princess must not interfere, allowing the two sentients to sort out what was happening between them.

But she couldn't—wouldn't—leave Coruscant's last defenders to their fate!

— Mon Mothma… — she began. All thoughts fled her mind, as if the Force itself held her back from an impulsive step. — I…

— It's alright, Leia, — Mon Mothma nodded. Her words were a quiet whisper, but loud enough for those who needed to hear them. — General Bel Iblis…

The named man stood at attention, a glimmer of hope in his eyes…

— Yes, Madam Councilor…?

Mon Mothma visibly struggled to compose herself.

— We could talk about our differences for a long time, — she began. — Much time has passed. I believe, — she faltered but quickly recovered. — I propose we set aside old grievances and work together to protect the New Republic and the ideals we fought for and continue to fight for…

Leia could almost hear in Mon Mothma's voice how much it cost her to take the first step toward someone who had once turned away from her, abandoning their life's work. The councilor was humbling herself, crushed, admitting to the Corellian that she needed him. Bel Iblis' words, his reasoning, were merely a pretext, a sign he was open to negotiation. But if he did nothing now, once the command center doors opened again and the thousands of sentients returned to their routine tasks, word of this conversation would spread.

And then, Mon Mothma's authority would be lost.

Forever.

Every recent event would be held against her. And she, with her sacrificial nature, would quietly take the blow, after which one of the New Republic's pillars would fall.

And in her place, no doubt, would come a certain furry, cunning, and self-indulgent individual.

The New Republic would collapse…

All because Grand Admiral Thrawn kept his promise.

He came to Coruscant.

And there wasn't a single sentient on the planet or in its orbit who didn't regret that the Grand Admiral had a habit of keeping his word.

To Leia's astonishment, Bel Iblis suddenly spoke:

— Councilor Mon Mothma, — he addressed the nearly broken woman in a formal tone. — Given the extraordinary circumstances and the need to preserve the lives of our military personnel and save Coruscant, I request your permission to assume command of Coruscant's defense forces.

The wrinkles around Mon Mothma's eyes softened, her features sharpened. An impenetrable mask of emotions settled on her face, and Leia felt the Force roil with emotions…

— No, — the Chandrilan's voice was confident, loud, meant for all to hear. — Command of Coruscant's defense forces is already assigned to General Rieekan.

A shadow crossed Bel Iblis' face.

After everything said, Mon Mothma's refusal sounded like an insult.

Could Leia have misjudged her, and the Chandrilan was settling old scores with the one who could save…

— Given the catastrophic situation, — Mon Mothma continued in the same tone, — General Bel Iblis, I appoint you acting commander-in-chief of the New Republic Defense Forces.

The Corellian stood as if struck by lightning.

The silence that had filled the command center erupted into a roar of applause.

A benevolent smile appeared on Mon Mothma's face.

— I trust you, Garm, — she said. — And I always will.

— Thank you, — tears glistened in the general's eyes. — I… I won't let you down!

— I know, — Mon stepped closer, taking her old friend's hand and shaking it warmly. — And I always have. I'm glad we finally talked.

— As am I, — Bel Iblis' voice trembled.

— Now, — Mon turned to the still-stunned Leia. — Garm, I ask you to save our people from Grand Admiral Thrawn and his band of cold-blooded killers.

***

Two Corellian frigates darted past the bow of Chimaera, grazing its forward deflectors with a laser salvo. They didn't get far, as Lieutenant Jainer's Grey Wing squadron joined the chase.

TIE Interceptors easily caught up to the two offenders and, with impeccable precision, began shredding the ships' sterns, knocking out deflectors and then gutting the engines meant to carry the nimble vessels away from the Star Destroyers they'd attacked.

It didn't work—one ship exploded due to the interceptors' excessive zeal, while the other, as it turned out, wasn't faster than the anti-ship missile launched by Crusader.

Captain I-Gor, as always, was on point, and his crew was ruthlessly accurate.

— Grey Leader, you don't need to destroy light ships, — Captain Pellaeon said into the comlink. — They might still be useful to us.

— My apologies, sir, — Lieutenant Jainer's voice replied through the intercom. — Trigger got stuck.

Sure, of course.

— They're taking their time, — Grand Admiral Thrawn remarked, squinting slightly as he observed the unfolding scene.

The enemy starships maneuvered, firing from maximum range at the Grand Admiral's fleet, which was in no hurry to approach the range of the defensive platforms and planetary artillery.

— They're abandoning their battle stations, — Pellaeon noted. — Pulling their ships behind the shield…

— And along with them, evacuating the crews from the orbital platforms, — Thrawn observed.

— Sir? — Pellaeon frowned, staring intently, trying to understand what the commander meant but seeing nothing. Just the glow of the Golans' engines…

— Are you joking? — he blurted out as realization hit. — They're dragging the orbital platforms into the outer shield sectors?

— At least they're hoping to, — Thrawn nodded, looking pleased. — I'd say they initially planned to evacuate the crews with whatever means available and retreat with only the ships. Their new command understands it's better to save personnel than stations. But they delayed the evacuation order too long, so the only way to save the maximum number of their troops is to evacuate the platforms. That's why the Golans are shifting orbits—they're descending.

— But that's a huge risk, — Pellaeon pointed out. — The lower shield runs along the upper edge of the atmosphere, where gravitational forces are strongest. Keeping stations in the stratosphere will be incredibly difficult.

— Yes, but they want to deny us the pleasure of destroying them, — Thrawn said. — The enemy commander's problem is that he's operating based on what he knows. But judging by how he countermanded the previous commander's orders, first pulling the starships behind the stations and now behind the shield entirely, he understands anything could happen. Likely, he's drawing conclusions from what he's seen in this battle.

— Probably, — Pellaeon agreed. — Do you know who we're up against now?

— General Bel Iblis, — Thrawn stated. — Remember his trick at Peregrine's Nest? He offered us a choice—take him prisoner and lose a ship, or chase a cruiser squadron. He's doing the same now—pulling back ships to clear space at the shield. Now he's moving the defensive platforms. He's offering us a choice—charge forward and enter the range of planetary guns. And he's evacuating his personnel. It's essentially the same thing we've seen before. Our Corellian adversary has a trait—he's willing to make smaller sacrifices to save more of his people. That's why corvettes and gunships, supported by the remaining fighters, are attacking us. They're diverting our attention to fighting a maneuverable enemy so we'll allow the evacuation to proceed.

— And will we? — Pellaeon asked.

— At the very least, the first station needs to enter the open shield segment, — Thrawn declared. — Let's not be discourteous—let them taste success. Bel Iblis, albeit late, has pulled his heavy ships out of the kill zone, clearing the orbit of debris for us. Very well, we'll let him take one defensive platform behind the deflectors—by then, they'll be in a better position to watch the final act unfold.

— And then…? — Pellaeon asked meaningfully.

— Then we'll knock that taste out of them along with their teeth, — Thrawn replied calmly. — But first, we'll thoroughly trample their arrogance. Contact Red Dragon and all the interdictor cruisers—Constrainer, Sentinel, and Detainer—I need them. It's time to begin the siege of Coruscant.

***

— Excellent, — Bel Iblis said with a relieved sigh. — The first Golan II has entered the shield segment and will pass through in moments. Tell General Solo to have the cruisers use tractor beams to adjust the platforms' orbits under the first shield.

Leia watched, mesmerized, as the defensive platform's crew, using only maneuvering thrusters, skillfully guided the massive structure through…

Balancing on the edge of weightlessness and planetary gravity, the station glided across the sky like a colossal shadow, undoubtedly drawing the gaze of every curious onlooker.

The skill required to…

Suddenly, without any apparent reason, the station halted its maneuver. Its transponder went dark, as if shut off, and the massive durasteel hull, bristling with turbolasers, proton torpedo launchers, and anti-ship missile batteries, began an uncontrolled descent, sparking confusion and horror in the command center.

— What the Hutt?! — General Rieekan looked up at Bel Iblis. — What's happening, Garm?

— I don't understand, — the Corellian general admitted. — The calculations were perfect. The station was supposed to pass along the upper atmosphere, in a low-gravity zone, and…

— Great Force! — Leia exclaimed, watching gravity prevail.

The two-kilometer Golan II plummeted uncontrollably.

Starships scattered to avoid it. A pair of strike frigates tried to slip beneath another station, but it too began to drop sharply…

Then another, and another, and another…

Within thirty-five seconds, five defensive platforms—the ones Rieekan had risked opening the outer shield segments for—crashed into the lower shield.

Their mass dragged down two strike frigates and one cruiser caught beneath them.

— Close the shield gates! — Rieekan ordered immediately as a young aide handed him a datapad with a report.

— General, you can't! — Leia protested. — There are still tens of thousands of our soldiers and officers out there!

— I'm sorry, Princess, — pain flashed across her compatriot's face, the kind shown by those forced to do what they dread. — New data indicates the Grand Admiral used an unknown superweapon that disabled our defensive stations while they were in the outer shield gates. To keep risking it, knowing that… — At that moment, five gray dots vanished from the holographic tactical display.

No need to guess who or what had happened—five Golan II platforms, taken out by some unknown means. Those on Coruscant's surface could likely see the crimson streaks of detonations lighting up the evening sky…

In the command center, those present had to settle for the dry data from observation systems and the holographic schematic in the lower level of the Imperial Palace.

— I don't understand, — Leia said. — How did he do it?

— Looks like Krennel did have a Death Star, — Admiral Drayson said grimly. — I'm ordering the evacuation of the remaining platforms using available transports. General Iblis, I hope the fleet units will assist, before something truly irreparable happens…

For a few seconds, the Corellian studied the holographic map.

Until another platform, this one next in line at the now-closed outer shield gate, blinked out.

— It's not a superweapon, — Bel Iblis said confidently. — No Death Star. The platforms aren't being destroyed—they're being disabled.

— Then what? — Leia asked.

— I don't know how he did it, but Thrawn has deployed a rapid-fire ion cannon in space, — Bel Iblis declared.

— Like the v-150 Planet Defender we had on Hoth, — Rieekan confirmed, pointing to the datapad just handed to him by a subordinate. — Orbital mirrors confirm it—shots from an ion cannon. Two shots per platform. That's our Hoth-era tactic.

— Our own weapon used against us? — Leia said, shocked.

— Not ours, — Rieekan said firmly. — Planet Defenders and their analogs are relatively cheap, but for that kind of firing rate, you'd need an insane amount of power. I can't even imagine how he managed it…

— Solar ionization reactor, — Bel Iblis said, rejoining the conversation after briefly speaking with several officers. — Thrawn powered the ion cannon with one. Like we did on Hoth… It's possible that after capturing Echo Base, the enemy got hold of that data. And Thrawn used it.

— Impossible, — Rieekan said. — We drew so much power from the reactor for two shots that any Star Destroyer equipped with such a weapon would be inoperable and without power for a time.

— Maybe that's why he needs a whole fleet, huh? — Bel Iblis suggested. — To cover the Star Destroyer with the ion cannon. The double shield prevents us from pinpointing which ship it's on—the shots are coming from the center of their formation. It seems Thrawn's playing mind games again—he disables the platforms and crashes them into the shield. Yes, it weakens the shield segment's power, but not enough to breach it. I've ordered the evacuation and preliminary sealing of the platforms to prevent decompression during cannon fire—that would cause more casualties. We'll use all available transports from Coruscant, including gunships and corvettes, to evacuate crews and deliver repair equipment to the platforms. We'll have to push hard, setting up a barrage with ion cannons.

— I'll do everything I can, General, — Rieekan said responsibly. — But most generators are powering the shields directly. The ion cannons won't achieve high firing rates.

— We don't need much, — Bel Iblis said. — Just enough to keep them away from the platforms so they don't shoot down the evacuation transports. I've ordered fleet teams to covertly repair the platforms. It's not much work—an hour or two at most. Restart the reactors with gradual power increases to avoid detonation from energy surges. Then, we'll simulate stopping the ion cannon fire to lure him into close range. After that, we'll accelerate the platforms and send them toward the enemy by inertia. They'll provide cover for the ships following them for a time. Then, a counterattack with the stations suddenly brought back online, combined with a breakout attempt by our fastest ships.

Leia looked at the acting commander-in-chief of the New Republic Defense Forces, uncomprehending.

— But we'll lose the platform crews and ships… — she stammered.

— Only volunteers will remain on the stations, — Bel Iblis said firmly. — No unnecessary casualties. But we can't just let things stand. Since we can't contact the First Fleet remnants through the comm station, we'll have to send a messenger. We can't break the siege alone, so we'll have to improvise a breakout. The only suitable jump vector for quick reinforcements is blocked by Thrawn's ships. Messengers can't jump to hyperspace while Thrawn's fleet maintains its blocking formation. His ships, with interdictors, not only prevent hyperspace jumps but even with a reduced artificial gravity anomaly, you can't jump if an enemy ship is in your path—the navicomputer sees it as an obstacle. By "pushing" a line of orbital defense platforms toward them, we'll not only force his fleet to scatter but also open a wide enough "window" for our messengers to escape the artificial gravity zone, currently held by just one Interdictor-class Star Destroyer. A counterattack with our remaining ships would be suicidal, so they'll stay under the planetary shields. And we need to do this before his Immobilizer 418s and Interdictors take new positions and lock down the system completely. Which, I suspect, they're doing right now on the Grand Admiral's orders.

Explaining hyperspace travel intricacies to her wasn't really necessary—after years of active adventures, Leia could pilot the Millennium Falcon blindfolded.

And she'd done so a couple of times…

Good thing Han hadn't noticed the new dents on his beloved ship.

***

— The interdictor cruisers and Interdictors have spread out to the designated positions, Grand Admiral, — Captain Pellaeon reported.

— Excellent, — Thrawn replied, stroking the ysalamiri on his shoulder. — Is the evacuation of the targeted platforms proceeding as planned?

— Yes, sir, — Gilad answered. — But they're doing it… extremely inefficiently.

— Really? — Thrawn raised an eyebrow. — Explain.

— For starters, they're firing planetary guns that aren't harming us at all, — Pellaeon said. — It's endangering their own ships conducting the evacuation.

— Not at all, — Thrawn countered. — The ion cannon fire vectors are coordinated from the surface, as is the evacuation. Danger only arises if the executor—the ship's pilot—lacks the skill or understanding of orders.

— That's the issue, sir, — Pellaeon said. — They're evacuating the platform garrisons to prevent suffocation from inoperative systems on the Golans, right?

— The most viable hypothesis, — the Grand Admiral confirmed.

— In that case, they should be evacuating the crews as quickly as possible, — Gilad continued. — Their current method—picking up a group of sentients from a platform and delivering them to the surface, repeating until the platform is empty—is too slow. They have an entire squadron between the shields. It would be more logical to evacuate the platform crews to those ships first, then to the surface. Coruscant has plenty of suborbital-capable transports that could do what I described…

— Of course they could, — Thrawn smirked. — If their sole goal was to evacuate the stations to save lives, that's exactly what they'd do.

— There's a hidden motive behind their movements? — Gilad asked.

— Naturally, — Thrawn confirmed. — Look at the stations, Captain. Their formation, for example.

— A line, — Gilad answered instantly.

— Doesn't it strike you as odd that this line is positioned directly opposite our formation? — the Grand Admiral asked.

— That's how they aligned before evacuating through the shield gates…

— That's how they can evacuate crews from the stations and deliver equipment for covert repairs of the damage, — Thrawn said.

— What's the point? — Pellaeon asked, surprised, choosing to accept the Grand Admiral's words as truth. — As soon as they reactivate them, Red Dragon will disable them again in short order.

— Correct, — Thrawn confirmed. — Because the distance is too great. But what happens if that distance changes?

— We're not planning to attack them now, are we? — Gilad clarified.

— Not at all, — Thrawn assured him. — But General Iblis didn't ask our permission for his attack. He doesn't realize it, but he's repeating the same tactic from the battle at Peregrine's Nest. Just serving it to us with a different "sauce."

— Then what's the purpose? — Pellaeon pressed. — They'll restore the Golans, send them all at us. We'll either suppress them with firepower or disable them with Red Dragon's ion cannon.

— Precisely, — the Grand Admiral confirmed. — Moreover, that's exactly why the Golans will be sent as the front line to break our formation. Their main goal is to allow a ship—hidden aboard or behind a platform's hull—to launch while our fleet is disorganized by the ramming stations.

— That's madness, — Pellaeon shrugged. — Don't they care about losing the Golans?

— Not when it comes to us, — Thrawn confirmed. — Bel Iblis doesn't have suitable asteroids at hand. Using the stations is quite reasonable in this situation. He's a fascinating and cunning opponent. But unfortunately for him, he's only now realizing who he's up against. This tactic won't go unpunished.

— Should I order Red Dragon to resume firing? — Pellaeon asked.

— Why? — Thrawn seemed genuinely surprised. — Don't interfere with the Republicans repairing stations that will be useful to us. Two and a half dozen Golans don't just lie around. You have to acquire them. Why not take them back to the Dominion? We have a vast territory to protect. Extra Golans won't hurt.

Gilad nearly choked.

Just like that?

— What about hyperdrives? — he asked. — We didn't bring conversion kits…

— But behind us is a massive ship graveyard, where we'll undoubtedly find spare Class 6 hyperdrives from MC90 star cruisers and Class 9 from MC80s.

— But the sizes… — Pellaeon persisted. — Each Golan is at least twice the size of any New Republic star cruiser. We conducted similar experiments with a Golan from the Dufilvian sector—parts of the structure were lost during the hyperspace jump.

— True, — the Grand Admiral agreed. — Yet these are twenty-five defensive platforms. Golan II and III models. Even if we lose some in the process, even if they reach Oplovis half-destroyed, as happened last time—we'll still have orbital defense stations.

— Last time, it took a month to restore just one platform, — Gilad reminded him.

— And we had only one shipyard, — Thrawn agreed. — Now we have far more. Along with skilled personnel, resources, and rearmament capabilities. Besides, if you recall, the transfer of orbital platforms from Hast's shipyards succeeded because we used a hyperdrive meant for a larger starship. But it was below Class 2. Why not conduct an experiment to see what affects the structural deformation of such a large object in hyperspace—the hyperdrive class and travel speed, or simply the station's size?

Arguing with Thrawn was pointless, but…

Why argue when he was right?

Yes, the Dominion had no major financial issues—at least for now. They could buy as many Golan IIIs as they wanted; they only cost forty million credits and could be ready in a month—Golan Arms builds them faster than you'd think. Though larger than a Star Destroyer, they're far easier to assemble.

Because they're built in massive blocks.

Pellaeon had once seen a Golan II delivered to its assembly site. About ten bulk freighters brought components, which were then assembled on location.

After all, such stations aren't designed to be fitted with hyperdrives. It's too expensive—it multiplies the cost.

But here were essentially free platforms, whose repair and retrofitting would cost far less than building one at a Golan Arms factory. Though, what factory… They surely have stockpile reserves, from which a station could be quickly assembled on-site with a good enough payment.

One question remained.

— Sir, if we show the enemy we've captured their stations and then have them jump to hyperspace, won't that give them an advantage?

— Of course it will, — Thrawn confirmed. — That's why the fleet is preparing to avoid colliding with the enemy's stations, then catch up to them—repaired and operational—move them beyond the enemy's scanner range, and complete the necessary jump preparations there. By then, we'll have finished organizing the siege of Coruscant and can leave. We've already wasted half a day on this Coruscant…

— What do we do with the ships they're sending after the stations? — Pellaeon asked.

— The messengers? — Thrawn raised an eyebrow. — Nothing. What does it matter who they call for help from Coruscant, when ships from their nearest base will reach the capital ten hours after we've left and are on our way to new targets? Believe me, Captain—none at all. But it'll give us plenty of pleasant moments watching HoloNet news, where the Republicans will boast about lifting the siege of Coruscant and driving off our fleet. One last thing, Captain. Ensure our first of the three remaining large asteroids hits the orbital mirror. It houses hypersensitive scanners, and the Republicans will know exactly what's besieging them.

— Yes, of course, sir, but… why?

— Because, dear Captain, sometimes we must spell out for those whose neurons are too modest to form synapses what kind of threat they face. I fear the fleet's defeat and asteroid attacks weren't enough for them to grasp the depth of the rancor pit they've foolishly fallen into.

One thing was certain: Thrawn knew how to jest.

The trick was distinguishing his jokes from when he spoke in deadly earnest.

But how does one master that art?

***

— General Bel Iblis? — an officer at one of the terminals called out. — The stations have closed to forty units from the enemy…

— Are Thrawn's ships still inactive? — Garm asked.

— Yes, sir. Nothing but a web of artificial gravity vectors detected. Even their fighters have been recalled.

— They're not firing on the stations either, — Leia noted. — Maybe they're planning to jump to hyperspace? The shift in artificial gravity vectors would allow it…

— In that case, they'd be leaving Coruscant, — Garm remarked. — I don't quite believe that… Though, in ten units, the stations will block most of his fleet's path to a jump. He won't be able to turn or maneuver in time, so…

— Sir! Thrawn's fleet has vanished! — the same officer said, sounding stunned.

— How so? — Garm pointed to the markers on the tactical hologram. — The Interdictors and interdictor cruisers…

— The fleet's back! — the new report sounded like a joke. — Thrawn's ships emerged along the artificial gravity deployment vectors near the interdictor cruisers across Coruscant's hemisphere, sir…

— A microjump, — Leia realized.

— Looks like it, — Bel Iblis muttered. — I'd love to know where he finds navigators like that. A jump like that inside a system is harder than calculating reactor output in your head…

— Either way, our stations are rapidly moving deeper into the system, away from our scanners, and the messenger ships are undamaged, — General Rieekan said. — Once we pass the Eternal Wrath Star Destroyer, they can jump.

— On the contrary, — Garm ordered, — the station crews, before stopping them, will engage Eternal Wrath and…

— Sixty Dominion corvettes just emerged from hyperspace behind the stations!

— Those are the light forces that just jumped from the Grand Admiral's fleet position!

— More of those microjumps! — Bel Iblis clenched his fists. — Are the stations still in range of our transmitters?

— Yes, sir!

— Order them to attack Eternal Wrath! Concentrated fire will destroy it. Then, have them evacuate via escape pods—the stations are lost.

— Eternal Wrath just made a hyperspace jump and emerged near Thrawn's fleet…

— The station crews have their orders, — nothing in Bel Iblis' face betrayed frustration. — The messengers will break through…

Nearly a dozen Republican ships jumped to hyperspace, no longer held back by artificial gravity.

— The Dominion corvettes are pursuing our stations… Sir, they're boarding them!

Bel Iblis' face darkened.

— Sir! We're getting strange telemetry from the flight decks of the Interdictors and interdictor cruisers…

— What's that about? — Leia asked, noting how stoically Bel Iblis took the news that the Grand Admiral had outmaneuvered him. No one would blame him—the plan was solid.

Thrawn was just craftier…

— We're detecting reverse tractor beam activity on those ships and…

— They're launching fighters, — Bel Iblis concluded.

— That's the problem, sir, — the officer said, voice trembling. — We're not detecting any fighters…

— Cloaked ships, — Bel Iblis gasped. — We need to fire on the launch vectors immediately…

— Bring the fleet out from under the outer shield? — Rieekan asked.

Before he could finish, a tiny flash appeared on the holographic projection. The orbital mirror, which, along with others, projected the star's natural radiation onto Coruscant's surface, was gone. And something continued its journey…

— An asteroid?! — someone shouted.

But no one could answer—a forty-meter cosmic boulder shattered into pieces without any external influence from the Republicans or the Dominion fleet.

— Those aren't ships, — Bel Iblis said. — Start precise tracking of the launch vectors. Thrawn isn't using cloaked starships.

— They're besieging us with cloaked asteroids, — Leia's eyes widened in horror.

— I'm afraid so, — the Corellian said grimly. — And I'm doubly afraid I'm right, but now I know what superweapon Thrawn used to destroy the First Fleet's core. The conclusion is grim—we're in deep trouble.

Leia saw him clench his fists white.

Rieekan stared grimly at the holographic map, where computers traced the paths of hundreds of launches… And with eerie precision, those paths spiraled under Coruscant's gravity, laying invisible siege weapons onto the outer planetary shield of the capital world.

— And this is just an approximate model, — Bel Iblis said. — Thousands of factors could cause the asteroids to deviate from their targets…

Leia understood too…

Thrawn had outplayed them.

Nothing remained in Coruscant's orbit that could remotely resemble an armed ship capable of firing and targeting the "invisibles."

The fleet remnants were under the outer shield. Lowering it would hypothetically allow the cloaked asteroids to hit the inner shield. And if something went wrong, a fiery hail of stone bombardment would rain on the galactic city.

Thrawn hadn't just crushed the First Fleet.

He was also besieging Coruscant with the Republicans' own forces.

Great Force, how much cunning did this sentient have in him?!

***

— Well, we're done here, — Thrawn said with clear satisfaction. — Quite enough.

Was that a joke? Five ships lost and nearly a hundred trophies? Not to mention the stations…

— Total number of launches from the Interdictors and interdictor cruisers? — the Grand Admiral asked.

— Four hundred seventeen, sir, — the duty officer reported. — The launch systems on the ships are starting to overheat.

— Yes, they're not designed for such intensive launches, especially dummy ones, — Thrawn noted. — Cease the simulated launches. How many real launches were made?

— Three large and the rest small asteroids, — Pellaeon answered. — The entire fifth wave, sir. No more asteroids. One large asteroid, as you ordered, was sent to the orbital mirror. We've detected changes in the angles of nearby mirrors—they definitely noticed that asteroid. But there's a chance not all reached their orbits…

— The orbits don't concern me, Captain, — Thrawn assured him. — The fact is, the asteroids are near Coruscant. Gravity and the Republicans' panic will do the rest. It's time to return to our stations and help move them out of the system.

Pellaeon smiled into his mustache.

— After sending the stations to the Dominion, we leave, sir?

— After sending the stations to their future deployment sites, Captain, we continue executing planned tactical operations to reclaim Imperial property for its rightful owners, — Thrawn replied. — Fortunately, Coruscant is in no condition to wage war right now.