Grain (III)

The shimmering lines of hyperspace converged into pinpoints as the Crusader returned to normal space.

"Jump complete, Captain," the senior officer reported. "The Crusader... intact."

I-Gor almost chuckled at the last remark.

"So, the fact that three of our armor plates were torn off and the refrigerated storeroom on the second deck was depressurized is no longer a concern?" he asked with a wry smile.

"After the chaos at Rugosa, these are minor issues, Captain," the first mate replied sheepishly, glancing downward. "Besides, we didn't really need those storerooms."

"Do you recall that Corellian smuggler we intercepted near Duro when I first took command of the Crusader?" I-Gor asked.

"The one who was fond of stashing contraband below deck?" the first mate clarified. When I-Gor nodded, he continued, "Yes, sir. We seized fifty thousand credits' worth of spice from his rusted hulk. Although I'm certain there was more—we might have found it if his crew hadn't opened fire after we captured his partner."

"Spice wasn't the only thing that smuggler was hiding," I-Gor revealed. "He also had a small cache in the stern. Remember how I personally oversaw the search in the engine room while you handled the interrogation?"

"Of course, sir," the senior mate responded, his posture slightly stiffening.

"I had encountered this type of smuggling trick before—they create a secret compartment inside the fuel tank to store extra cargo. That smuggler was transporting four cases of elite single malt Corellian whiskey—fifteen hundred credits a bottle. I've kept them all this time in the refrigerated storage on the second deck."

"That's quite a revelation, sir," the senior mate admitted, surprised by I-Gor's openness.

"I was hoping that, after the Emperor's demise, we might find a fitting occasion to share this nectar with the crew," I-Gor explained. "The Grand Admiral's second major triumph in a row certainly qualifies. Every battle has been a resounding success for us. Look," he gestured towards the Bellicose and Death's Head, which were now frozen in parade formation. Like sentinels, their engines idling, they positioned themselves perpendicular to the Grand Admiral's battered yet victorious fleet, saluting with volleys from their turbolaser batteries. "A triumphal arch. This custom is over three thousand standard years old. I can't even recall the last time it was used. It's a mark of respect for all the victors—both the survivors and the fallen. This is the Grand Admiral's triumph. A turning point, after which, if the Imperial Ruling Council doesn't begin to support us properly, they truly are nothing more than a bunch of power-hungry fools. Just like the Ubiqtorate, who fled with their tails between their legs. Imagine what Thrawn could achieve if he had command of all fifteen Ubiqtorate destroyers, instead of just our old Victory. It's a shame that compartment was lost in hyperspace. The celebration would have been far more enjoyable..."

"I agree, it's a shame, sir," the senior mate concurred. "Do you believe our victories are just the beginning?"

"I'm certain of it," I-Gor affirmed confidently. "The Empire hasn't seen such victories in a long time, and certainly not in such quick succession. Thrawn is the future—at least, the immediate one. If we stay loyal to him, we'll witness the Empire rise to new heights of power and glory."

"You've just voiced the sentiments of the entire crew," the senior mate said with a satisfied chuckle. "But... don't you think that, given the ships captured by the Grand Admiral, the Ubiqtorate might recall us, or that the bureaucrats on Orinda might pull back any of the Star Destroyers under Thrawn's command?"

"If they do, it will only prove their shortsightedness," the Crusader's commander replied. "While they sit in the Imperial Remnants, fretting over the loss of sectors and ships, Thrawn strikes at the enemy where they least expect it. The return of three Imperial II-class Star Destroyers to the Empire's command is a resounding success. This momentum should be built upon, not squandered as reactor fuel. I don't know if it will happen, but if the Ubiqtorate attempts to recall us, I will refuse to comply. And I trust that you and the crew will stand with me."

"Intelligence might view that as treason," the senior mate cautioned.

"We serve under the command of the Supreme Commander of the Empire," Captain I-Gor reminded him. "If that's considered treason, then I want nothing to do with those who hold such views."

The senior mate pondered this for a few moments. Then, looking back at I-Gor, he said:

"Sir, I must confess something."

"Oh? And what might that be?" I-Gor asked, intrigued.

"We do have something to celebrate our victory with," the senior mate admitted, glancing away. "That Duro smuggler had another stash under the cockpit floor... We've got ten more cases."

Laughing heartily, I-Gor clasped his subordinate's hand with genuine warmth, catching sight, out of the corner of his eye, of tugs heading towards the damaged ships of Thrawn's fleet to guide the starships into the berths of the orbital workshop.