Baron D'asta sat in reflective silence.
We were seated in a lavishly decorated office, having just wrapped up another seemingly aimless conversation that covered everything and nothing simultaneously. Yet, this discussion only reinforced the Baron's previously stated intentions to support my vision for the ongoing conflict between the two galactic superpowers. Throughout our exchange, the Baron subtly employed "control questions"—a method to verify consistency. The technique is deceptively simple: ask a direct question, receive an answer, then later in the conversation, pose the same question again, but heavily rephrased. The core meaning remains unchanged. If the answers differ, it's a clear sign of insincerity.
When someone speaks the truth, it's effortless to repeat it—whether in an hour, two hours, or even a year later. But when fabricating a lie on the spot, recalling it later becomes challenging, requiring more focus on the deception than the conversation itself. This often leads to discrepancies, and many operatives have been tripped up by this straightforward test.
In this instance, however, I had nothing to conceal. I genuinely believe a truce should be reached, but only when the New Republic and the Empire are on equal footing for negotiations. Otherwise... complications are inevitable. And with an entire hostile civilization likely to emerge in the galaxy's foreseeable future... No, I have no desire to live, let alone govern, in a state that cannot adequately defend itself.
"I believe we can assist you, Grand Admiral," Baron D'asta said thoughtfully.
"This action will not go unnoticed," I replied.
"At present, my resources are somewhat... limited," the Baron admitted, a polite way of saying, "Not all at once." He hadn't promised a "merger of capital" just because our philosophical views aligned. "However, I can provide you with, say, ten CR90 Corvettes. Not the newest models, of course, but I cannot compromise my sector's defense capabilities at this time. The New Republic base is not far. Currently, they fear me, but if they discover I've withdrawn a significant portion of my fleet, they might take a chance and attack. This already happened after we lost the cruisers during the assault on the Hast shipyards—a battle group of five Mon Calamari star cruisers was sent to my sector, not including escort ships. It was... a challenging defense."
"I am grateful for that as well," I replied, aware that even this modest contribution provided more than I could manage through mere financial means.
"But that's not all," the Baron continued. "As far as I'm aware, the Imperial Ruling Council cannot sufficiently fund your campaign."
"The reduction of Imperial Space territories has led to several issues," I acknowledged. "One being decreased tax revenues. A lack of financial resources is a natural consequence of our current policies. It's not surprising."
"My financiers will transfer two hundred and fifty million to your accounts," the Baron announced, watching my reaction closely. But I gave none. Yes, it's a vast sum for the average galactic citizen, but it won't fully fund a victorious campaign. However, it's still a substantial amount. If spent wisely and with careful planning, this financial boost could sustain my fleet's combat readiness for a considerable time. Yet, judging by the Baron's expression, his support didn't end there. And such a generous gesture was undoubtedly calculated—after all, that kind of money could build several Victory-class Star Destroyers at Imperial shipyards. "Unfortunately, I'm also somewhat financially constrained—maintaining a combat-ready fleet and paying salaries requires significant funds. However, my sector can offer you non-monetary, but material, assistance."
"Oh?" I leaned forward, intrigued.
"We are a self-sustaining sector," Baron D'asta explained. "In the Celanon system, there's a factory that can provide your soldiers with uniforms—though I must clarify, we're only talking about fabric uniforms." I had vaguely hinted at increasing personnel during our lunch conversation. The Baron rightly inferred I was referring to a volunteer call. I didn't correct him because, in many ways, he was correct. "Unfortunately, we cannot produce assault armor. We source our regular army's uniforms from within Imperial space."
This was both good and bad news. On the one hand, we wouldn't have to worry about outfitting the clones and reinforcing civilian personnel. On the other, we wouldn't be able to easily arm an entire army of clone stormtroopers.
"The gas giant Isen in the system of the same name supplies us with Tibanna gas reserves, but the quantities are limited," the Baron added. "You understand the needs of your fleet."
"Of course," I said. "I was informed that you possess the technology to produce small TIE-type aircraft. Can I count on replenishing my losses at your factories?"
The Baron shook his head regretfully.
"I'm sorry, Grand Admiral," he said. "I sold the production lines two years ago to the Ciutric Hegemony, to Prince Admiral Delak Krennel. My fleet is transitioning to fighters of our own production due to the difficulty in obtaining affordable raw materials for TIE equipment."
"However, you likely still have some fighters and small aircraft of this type, if not in active service, then in storage?" I speculated. It wasn't an outlandish assumption—even the Empire had needed years to fully upgrade to more modern weapons. The D'asta sector might be prosperous, but not wealthy enough for mass rearmament.
"Yes, we do," the Baron confirmed. "We sell them in small quantities to the Imperial Remnants."
"Could I be added to your list of regular customers?" I asked. The Baron's affirmative nod indicated he was well aware of my needs. And I certainly didn't intend to miss the chance to secure my investments one way or another. His business acumen was sharp. Friendship was one thing, but profit was another. He had provided financial backing and given me ten Corellian Corvettes, but he clearly wasn't inclined to deplete his assets without a return. TIE technology was now a premium commodity in the worlds of Imperial Space. Therefore, this was a profitable venture for the Baron: on one hand, his financial support demonstrated his desire to align with my successes, and on the other, official trade relations between us would absolve him of any suspicion of duplicity. Not to mention that regardless of my success, he would profit either way. I had no doubt that if necessary, he could recover these funds through simple means, likely with the help of his daughter.
"Your soldiers are equipped with Imperial-standard blasters," I remarked. "Are these locally produced, or are they imported?"
"The former," the Baron replied. "We have a small arms factory. I am prepared to supply you with both blasters and explosives. However, I must mention that we use maranium as the explosive material, which doesn't quite meet Imperial specifications."
"That won't be a problem," I assured him. "Would it also be possible to arrange for food supplies from Nez Peron for my forces?"
"Certainly," the Baron agreed without hesitation.
After hashing out the finer details and discussing the terms of the financial support, a silence fell between us once more. The Baron lit a cigar, his eyes drifting over the shelves of his extensive library, lined with rows of data crystals that spanned the room.
"Your assistance will significantly impact the success of our plan," I observed. "When the time comes, your contribution will not go unacknowledged."
"I sincerely hope so, Grand Admiral," the Baron replied, exhaling a puff of smoke. While he might appear to be an idealist in matters of foreign policy, our in-depth discussion regarding the scale of his support left no doubt that he is determined to keep the Republic at bay. He is well aware that it's far more economical to back my struggle than to continue expanding his own fleet. Deep down, he knows that there will come a time when he simply won't be able to maintain it at the required level of combat readiness. The New Republic could very well grow hostile if they perceive the bolstering of military forces in a pro-Imperial sector.
Throughout our conversation, the Baron repeatedly alluded to the challenges posed by his strategic position. It was nearly a direct hint—likely a test of the preliminary understanding we had reached. During our walk, I emphasized that our collaboration under this new order should be mutually beneficial. Undoubtedly, the Baron is eager to see if my words hold true in practice. I have no doubt that his reference to the Battle of Hast—where the Empire launched an attack on the Rebel Alliance's shipyards—was not made lightly.
"How much did you lose at the Battle of Hast?" I inquired.
"My entire strike force, which had been requisitioned by the Imperial Admiral," the Baron responded, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "That defeat severely damaged my business connections and led to massive financial losses. Some of my clients simply stopped using our transport services, believing that the loss of our cruisers compromised our ability to ensure their cargoes' safe passage. More than a hundred major clients abandoned us in favor of the Pentastar Alignment's transport companies. This, in turn, has adversely affected both the profits and the standing of the D'asta family and the entire sector. I could have redirected the lost billions of credits..." He paused, as if deep in thought. "Toward more productive endeavors."
There was no need for further explanation. It was a clear signal directed at me: you help me, and I help you. This was the condition under which I had been willing to cooperate with the Ubiqtorate, even on far less favorable terms. Now, I was essentially being offered a "generous advance."
No exaggeration, the Baron's offer—considering the financial aid, the ships, and the material supplies—is truly significant. Such actions are often referred to as a "royal gift." Of course, some of it will require substantial expenditures on my part, but the benefits far outweigh the costs.
And he clearly expects a return favor. His subtle hint suggested that strengthening our bond of trust would lead to even greater support in the future. If we're talking about billions... then it's definitely worth it. With one and a half to two billion credits, you could build an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer—a true game-changer for the realization of my own plans.
"But if you were to demonstrate a forceful, albeit delayed, response, it could mitigate the negative consequences," I proposed.
"Indeed," the Baron admitted candidly.
"Given the scale of the losses and the time that has passed, the response must take the form of a large-scale punitive operation," I continued. D'asta gave a slight nod in agreement.
"As your ally, I cannot stand idly by," I declared, understanding that my own plans might need to be adjusted. "The target is the New Republic's shipyards and space base in the Hast system?"
"The very place where our ships met their disgrace," D'asta confirmed. He reached under the table and retrieved a small data chip from a drawer. "This contains all the intelligence I've managed to gather over the past few years since stepping down from my position on the Imperial Ruling Council. It's up-to-date as of six months ago."
"Intelligence can always be refreshed," I commented philosophically, pocketing the crystal. "I cannot promise immediate retaliation, but once a suitable plan is in place, it will be carried out."
"I am not pressuring you for immediate action, Grand Admiral," the Baron said calmly. "However, I would appreciate it if the matter of restoring my family's reputation is resolved before the Imperial Ruling Council holds its tender for selecting a carrier across Imperial Space. Losing these contracts would put tens of thousands of capable workers in my sector out of a job, and the financial loss would amount to ten billion Imperial credits."
The sum, in my estimation, is astronomical. Considering the scale of the projects I have in mind, even a tenth of that amount would be sufficient to move forward without any setbacks. On the contrary, by dedicating time to addressing the Baron's issue, I would not only solidify our alliance but also accelerate the progress of my own plans by increasing the available funding.
Thus, our alliance was formed...
"If you have no objections, Baron," I said, rising from my chair and giving him a respectful nod, "I must return to the fleet to begin planning the operation at Hast."
"I wouldn't dream of delaying you, Grand Admiral," the Baron replied serenely, handing me another data chip. "This one contains the details of the account where the funds have been transferred. The ten corvettes are ready for deployment—all they need are crews."
"I'm certain that won't be an issue," I responded confidently, accepting the second chip and making my way out of the office.
In Imperial circles, farewells are often unnecessary.