The TZ-15 shuttle began its descent, dropping through the cloud cover that enveloped Etti IV.
The TZ-15 shuttle.
Designed to transport prisoners or particularly important members of the "Zann Consortium," this type of ship, despite its unimpressive armament—just a couple of laser cannons—possessed protection, both armor and deflector shields, on par with a Corellian corvette.
And now, this ship was fulfilling its direct purpose—it was delivering one of the most important members of the organization created by Tyber Zann to the planet, to one specific location.
Jerid Sykes looked out the viewport, indifferently watching the veil of clouds drift by.
Jerid Sykes.
In the past, he had been a former officer of the Republic Navy, recognized in hundreds of battles across the galaxy.
He was a veteran of the Clone Wars who had deserted after the proclamation of the New Order.
Not because he was a proponent of democracy and considered Palpatine a usurper who had merely lingered in power longer than usual.
Not because he fervently supported the Jedi or was an opponent of totalitarianism.
On the contrary.
Jerid was someone who warmly approved of consolidation and the tightening of power in one set of hands.
The problem was, those hands belonged to Palpatine.
What Jerid could not accept was changing the signboards in the hope that the internal content would improve for the better.
He was not fanatical, not foolish, and had enough life and military experience to understand that whether it was the Republic or the Empire, nothing would change for the better.
The same people would remain in power.
Only now they would have far more power and far fewer problems dictating their will to others.
And not for the sake of the galaxy or the glory of the Empire—for that, it would have been worth becoming part of the great war machine.
No, Jerid understood that all these Jedi purges, reorganizations of the state structure, transformations in the armed forces—all of it was done solely to satisfy the desires of one man.
Personal desires.
Not state ones.
That's why he left.
And, it must be said, he didn't regret it.
No one in the "Zann Consortium" knew the circumstances under which Sykes became part of the organization.
No one, except the person he was currently heading to.
The shuttle pierced the cloud cover, emerging a couple of kilometers from its target on the summit of a high mountain.
Jerid had been here thousands of times, but he never ceased to admire the beauty of this place.
Everything here was beautiful—the picturesque landscapes, the neat and technologically unobtrusive execution of the architecture...
It was practically a work of modern art, created to satisfy the personal whims of one man.
One shouldn't forget that.
"Landing in two minutes, Admiral," informed him "Vulture," who had emerged from the cockpit.
The layout of the TZ-15 was practically the same as the Imperial Lambda, but this starship was better.
"Understood, pilot," for the commander of the "Consortium's" combat wing, not only the ship but also the pilots were the best of the best.
Jerid glanced at the complex of buildings, shrouded in the shadows of sunset, named the Imperial Palace by its builders.
The Imperial Palace on the planet Etti IV of the Corporate Sector.
Despite the fact that not all external structures had been completed by the builders, what he saw was merely the tip of the iceberg.
The Emperor never left his most treasured possessions in plain sight, hiding everything in dreams inaccessible to the eyes.
Thus, this Palace was built into the thickness of the rock, not on its summit.
When the ship hovered on the landing pad, and Sykes himself found himself under the arches of the residence, he brushed a few melted snowflakes, carried by the wind, from his tunic.
The atmospheric shield could save the residents from oxygen loss, but not from the elements.
Jerid unerveilably charted his course into the depths of the Palace, noting that behind him, at a respectful distance, moved a detachment of "Vultures"—an honorary escort, guard, and bodyguards all in one.
Their role didn't particularly concern him.
It was enough that he had no malicious intent whatsoever to earn a shot from a disintegrator from these fighters.
His path ended before a massive gate—about twenty meters high—into which a Corellian corvette, piloted by a first-year student, could easily fly.
Grandeur, pomposity, the satisfaction of one's ego.
What was one supposed to comprehend from all this if one had to visit the Emperor's throne room in this palace?
The doors opened silently.
Almost immediately, warmth and the low hum of a working environment washed over him.
If the Emperor had intended for gatherings to take place in this place, and the spacious hall with sides half a kilometer long was meant for receiving guests, then Tyber Zann had done everything differently.
Hundreds of workstations, holoterminals, tactical installations, communication and encryption devices.
Never ceasing their work for a second—hundreds, if not thousands, of operators who were only distracted from their tasks to respectfully nod to the commander as he passed them on his way to the far end of the "Zann Consortium's" brain center.
There, on a stepped pedestal, precisely stood the massive Emperor's throne, from which he was supposed to look down upon all those who came to him for an audience.
Now, this throne was surrounded by workstations and monitors, and the man sitting in it, with ash-white hair, was examining notations on a holographic galactic map.
Tyber Zann.
And on his face, across which two crooked scars stretched, a smirk was frozen.
"Tell me something I don't know, Jerid," proposed the head of the "Zann Consortium."
"The twenty-seventh convoy has not made contact," stated the commander of the combat wing.
"So, they've resumed their attacks?" Zann squinted.
"Both yes and no," Jerid informed him. "They decisively intercepted the convoy and its escort. That's a fact. But the strange thing is—the ships and the 'beacons' on them stopped responding almost immediately after marking their unscheduled exit from hyperspace. The 'Indomitable,' which followed them, arrived in the system an hour and a half later. And contact with it was lost immediately."
"So, Pellaeon decided to roll out his precious 'Venators' with ion cannons against the 'Consortium's' convoys," a crooked smirk appeared on Zann's lips. "I came to the same conclusion," Jerid agreed.
"What's the news from the fifth convoy?" Zann asked a new question.
"They are continuing their movement," said Sikes. "They have approached the central systems of the Karthakk sector. The final destination is presumably the Karthakk system."
"Where the system of the same name suddenly became inaccessible, and our intelligence on Maramere stopped supplying stygium?" Tyber chuckled. "Pellaeon has gotten quite good under Thrawn's tutelage—he's figured out my plan," the organization's head glanced at the transparisteel panel fixed to the wall to the right of his throne. "But, obviously, he still hasn't understood that we are perfectly aware of their base in the system. He won't be able to lure us into the path of his pocket fleet of star cruisers. Divert the ships—if we can't attack them at their berth, we won't stick our heads into a rancor's maw either. When the Dominion falls—Karthakk will surrender on its own. I'm sure Thrawn hid a lot of interesting things there. I don't want to spoil his treasure trove prematurely."
"As you wish," Jerid, without wasting time, used his personal datapad and issued an order. "The pursuers will leave the sector in two days—navigation difficulties, after all."
"Yes, this is an interesting game," Tyber beamed, looking again at the transparisteel decoration of his workspace. "I thought it would be much simpler and more boring. But Pellaeon didn't disappoint."
"Pellaeon is merely a figurehead," Jerid stated. "He just gives orders. He's not Thrawn—he lacks strategic genius. All operations against us are actually the mastery of the unit commanders. They are the real threat."
"And they are among them," Zann agreed. "But don't underestimate Pellaeon. The situation with the last convoy shows this—instead of unleashing his rarities on us, they sent a 'Venator' with an ion cannon. Considering we haven't seen them anywhere since Sluis Van, one can assume that Pellaeon is keeping this 'superweapon' in reserve."
"It's not surprising, considering it can disable ships in a couple of shots," the Admiral replied calmly.
"Yes," Zann grinned again. "The Dominion is not the 'Veiled Woman Society,' Jerid."
The Veiled Woman Society operated in the Outer Rim territories during the final years of the Galactic Republic and the Imperial period. The organization was led by a Pirate Queen, who was elected from a council of captains and advisors consisting solely of women. The Queen kept her identity secret and wore a complex mask in public. If the Queen was killed, another was chosen, and the mask was passed to her successor, so most of the Veiled Woman Society ignored the transfer of power, making the Queen immortal. The veiled female society also maintained a degree of anonymity, avoiding attracting the attention of the authorities by attacking, essentially, only other criminal groups.
In the year Tyber Zann returned from imprisonment on Kessel and began to revive the "Consortium," the third (since its creation) Pirate Queen decided to destroy the organization at its roots.
It all ended in the same year with a battle between the two organizations in space near Ord Mantell.
The Pirate Queen was destroyed, her organization was crushed, and her ships and remaining armed forces surrendered to the mercy of the "Zann Consortium."
Some are still alive and happy to serve the organization.
However, when your brain is so washed that you don't even remember your own name and past, what else can you do, being a "Vulture"?
It was the destruction of the "Veiled Woman Society" group that led to women being recruited into the "Vultures."
The organization's scientists discovered much new information about the female body when they conducted brutal torture on prisoners in search of new interrogation and information-gathering methods.
"How long will our puppets in the D'Astan sector hold out?" Zann inquired.
Jerid knew perfectly well that the boss had full information about everything within the territory controlled by the organization.
But he wanted to talk to the Admiral personally.
One could consider this a display of weakness—the head of the "Consortium" felt lonely because his right-hand man and friend, Urai Fen, had disappeared without a trace.
And, knowing a Chiss—he had surely perished rather than be captured.
Jerid was one of the few high-ranking officers in the organization who knew Zann before he entered the Imperial Military Academy.
It was with Jerid's help that Tyber organized the first contraband shipments.
During the Old Republic, this was much easier—the absence of a state ideology and ideals didn't inspire any patriotic fervor in the citizens.
Everyone earned as they could.
That's why many perceived the Empire's arrival as a blessing, expecting profound changes that, in fact, turned out to be nothing more than a facade for the continuation of the same processes that had been ongoing before.
"Another couple of months—no more," the Admiral expressed his opinion. "Without our advisors and supplies, they are worth nothing. The Dominion's active participation in the disputes shortens the rebellion's lifespan."
"Well," Zann concluded. "Pellaeon is doing exactly what I expected. While he's solving the emerging problems, our agents in the Dominion will prepare the necessary ground for a crushing blow. What about the group in the Tamarin sector?"
"The unification with Tavira's subordinates did not happen—Mon Calamari star cruisers destroyed the pirate base."
"Just as it was done in the Thanium Worlds," Zann squinted.
"Let me remind you that the rear Imperial Space group was also dealt with by Mon Calamari cruisers."
"Yes, Pellaeon's attempt to pass off his operations with captured starships as the activation of the Alliance and the New Republic is not bad," Zann chuckled. "Our representatives have already approached the government of the Thanium Worlds with an offer to protect their systems."
"They will undoubtedly demand a counter-strike against the Alliance," Jared remarked.
"That's the plan," Zann chuckled. "Lord Bonteri will make the Alliance an offer they can't refuse. This puppet will pay back all our investments in the Tion Hegemony. And soon all the sectors there will be under our control—thanks to the rebels. We need to intensify our efforts to pit the Dominion against the eastern faction," Sykes proposed.
"They are already doing it," Zann chuckled. "Do you think that's why the twenty-seventh convoy was captured? They need a fire ship to clear the minefield."
The Admiral paused for a moment.
"Slow speed, but excellent protection and survivability," he said. "You deliberately sent the 'Indomitables' into the second echelon of the escort so they could use it for infiltration."
"It seems nothing complicated, but Pellaeon wouldn't have figured this out without my hints," Tyber Zann smiled triumphantly.
"But they still reached our base on Smarck," Jerid reminded him. "And devastated it."
"Did our observers tell you that?" Zann clarified.
"Yes," the Admiral replied. "Dominion reconnaissance groups are still waiting for our reaction on Smarck, not understanding that the local population is our eyes and ears on Smarck."
"Clones, clones, clones," Tyber said with a smile. "While Pellaeon thinks that the 'Black Sun' has lost its cloning cylinders and is eager to use them to replenish its Armed Forces, we will wait until they connect them to the ones they already have. And we will take everything."
"In the event that they only have cloning cylinders," the Admiral warned Zann.
"They undoubtedly have them," the head of the organization assured him, grinning. "Otherwise, Thrawn wouldn't have been so zealous in exporting ysalamiri from Myrkr for the past six months. What's the situation in the Chiloon Rift?"
"Moff Harsh is furious and wants to counter-attack the Dominion forces in the Bosph sector," Jerid said.
"If he interferes, get rid of him," Zann warned. "I don't need a hysterical person at our rear base. Building ships is difficult enough, and if an avaricious psychopath is in charge, it's doubly difficult. Especially since we will soon strike at the northern territories of the Dominion, and our campaign will end very quickly. The cozy fortress that Thrawn created will become entirely ours."
"I'll inform him to stop his hysterics," Jerid promised. "But..."
"But?" Zann raised an eyebrow.
"There is discontent among our fighters that we allow the enemy to destroy our bases and seize property without retaliating," Sykes said. "Especially since the 'beacons' on the trophies at Smarck have not yet been discovered by the enemy. There are commanders who are unhappy that we have effectively handed over our trophies to the enemy instead of using them ourselves. These are excellent ships, which we don't even have that many of in our combat wing right now."
"Tell them to shut up," Zann ordered. "Their whining doesn't interest me. If they don't listen, send them for a walk through the airlock. I won't allow all my decade's worth of work to go to waste because of hysterical gizkas."
"It will be done," Jerid obediently agreed, making a note on his datapad.
Rely on memory, but it's best to keep records.
"As soon as everything is ready—we will deliver a retaliatory strike, without getting bogged down in trifles," Tyber declared. "I'm not interested in immediate responses to Pellaeon—they will only distract him from carrying out the strike against the eastern faction. We will strike only when he has exhausted his forces in the confrontation in the east of the galaxy, clearing the way for us."
"As you wish," Jerid replied diplomatically.
"Much more at the moment interests me what is happening in the Allied Tion," Zann admitted. "It seems our puppet has been exposed. Mi-Ha reported that additional forces have arrived in the sector—fifty-one legions of stormtroopers."
"Too many for us to gain control so easily," Jerid worried. "This shouldn't have happened."
"But it did," Zann stated. "It seems that one way or another, the main plan didn't work. Well, we'll use the backup—we'll pit the Alliance against them with Bonteri's help. One burning sector more, one less—what's the difference? I need their industry and resources, not the crap they're doing there, playing at independence. Not so much has been done to get stuck or turn back overnight. Let them weaken each other while we solve the problem with competitors. And then—we'll just reach out and take what's ours. Thrawn is dead, and the other warlords and politicians are by no means equal rivals to you and me, Jerid."
Tyber Zann cast a triumphant glance at the transparisteel panel.
"The old enemy has been bothering me and messing up my plans for quite a long time," he said. "It's a shame you couldn't outplay death. It would have been interesting to fight him not in backroom games, but on the battlefield. Now that I've become smarter, stronger, and more far-sighted..."
An awkward silence followed, during which Sykes tried not to look at the transparisteel panel.
Even if he is on Zann's side, it's because Zann is at least honest and doesn't hide his intentions.
But this showboating...
"Continue your work, Jerid," Tyber ordered. "Prepare the fleet for an attack on the Korva and Mieru'kar sectors. Soon Pellaeon will make his move, and he will have to get drawn into a war in the east. And we will be ready to strike where they weaken their vigilance."
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan