Dark Tide 1: Onslaught

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Borsk Fey’lya shook his head and smoothed the cream-colored fur at the back of his neck. “We do nothing of the sort. We acknowledge the sacrifices of Colonel Darklighter’s command. We have directed a unit commendation for the Dantooine and Dubrillion actions be added to the unit history.”

  Gavin glanced at Admiral Kre’fey and caught the all-but-imperceptible nod that was his signal. Raising his head slowly, twisting his ring unconsciously, Gavin stared straight into Fey’lya’s eyes. Almost two decades ago you drove my Bothan lover, Asyr Sei’lar, to distraction, and that distraction got her killed. It’s an old debt you owe me, and that debt gets paid back now, in full.

  “If you value our effort, Chief Fey’lya, then I have to wonder why you are working so hard to deceive me, to deceive the rest of the New Republic’s military.”

  Fey’lya blinked, and the fur on the back of his neck rose. “You will be forgiven that insubordinate outburst, Colonel. You are clearly overwrought.”

  Gavin stood slowly, letting his body uncurl into its full height. His contracted his hands into fists and let the muscles of his arms strain the seams of his jacket. He wanted them to see he was physically powerful, not just someone who sat in a seat and pulled a trigger. I want them to know I am something they could never be.

  He kept his voice even, despite the anger and disgust boiling inside of him. “Chief Fey’lya, in here we know the truth. The only reason the Corusca Fire was at Agamar is because Captain Rimsen is from Agamar and he diverted from his assigned patrol. He was suspicious of the fact the patrol route had been changed to prevent him from heading to Dubrillion and past Belkadan. In speaking to his family on Agamar, he learned of Leia’s visit there. He returned home to assess the situation and was able to travel with Admiral Kre’fey to save us. If he had not been there, none of us would be here.”

  “You have misinterpreted—”

  Gavin cut him off with the sharp chop of a hand through the air. “I’m not finished.”

  “Your career most assuredly can be, Colonel.” Fey’lya’s ears flattened back against his skull. “Are you resigning, effective immediately?”

  Admiral Kre’fey snapped off a quick comment in Bothan that brought Fey’lya’s head around as if he’d been punched. The chief of state clawed curls of wood from the table. He snarled a comment in return.

  Admiral Kre’fey came smoothly to his feet. “Oh, I dare, cousin, speak to you in that manner because you have grossly overstepped your bounds in this. Did you expect we would not know of Bimmiel? Did you expect we did not know of the sightings of Yuuzhan Vong on Garqi? How many other worlds that the Yuuzhan Vong have attacked did you expect us to remain ignorant of?”

  The Sullustan looked aghast. “How could you know—?”

  The admiral slowly shook his head. “There are a million ways to know. Commodities found on these worlds are being bid up in the futures markets. Communications companies that service these worlds are reporting outages and reduced earnings from these sectors. Recruiting numbers for our military from these worlds are down sharply. While you might have been able to shut off the flow of real news to various outlets, doubtless to prevent a panic, you have forgotten that information that doesn’t get through is just as valuable as that which does.”

  The members of the advisory council looked shocked. They murmured among themselves, then turned to Borsk Fey’lya. To his credit, the Bothan snorted as if what he had been told was inconsequential. “Even if these worlds are involved with the Yuuzhan Vong invasion—and you have no proof they are—the prosecution of the war against the Yuuzhan Vong is a matter for us to determine.”

  Gavin shook his head. “Not when it is our lives on the line.”

  “Again, Colonel Darklighter, are you quoting from a resignation letter?” Fey’lya sneered at him. “You Rogues quit the New Republic once before and we survived.”

  Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I am resigning, Chief Fey’lya.”

  Traest Kre’fey stepped forward between Gavin and Elegos. “Beware accepting his resignation, cousin, because if he goes, so do I. So will the New Republic’s military.”

  “You’re talking mutiny.”

  “I’m talking the only thing that makes sense. You, you’re all politicians. Your focus is on acquiring power. Why? So you can make lives better for some people. This is a laudable goal, but your efforts collapse when a true crisis arises. An earthquake shakes a continent and kills thousands. You take the blame even though it was not your fault. Why? Because you had too few regulations about how the buildings were to be maintained, or your rescue operations were too slow, your food supplies were too low, your payments to the uninsured are lower than they imagined they would get. There are hundreds and thousands of reasons you take the blame, and with each bit of blame you lose some power.”

  Kre’fey tapped himself on his chest. “My mandate is to keep people safe, and the Yuuzhan Vong are a direct threat to their safety. Let us assume, to be charitable, that you did not believe Princess Leia when she explained the problem of the Yuuzhan Vong to you. Let us assume you thought they truly were finished. Your lack of response to that threat could be explained as naive, perhaps, but a lack of response now would be criminal.

  “So, would I take the New Republic’s military and draw it off into, say, the Unknown Regions and carve out my own little empire? Yes. I would prepare it as a haven for those who flee the New Republic as it falls to the Yuuzhan Vong.”

  Pwoe’s nostrils flared. “If you feel this way, Admiral, would you not be better off staging a revolt and unseating us?”

  “No, because I am not a politician. I can’t fight a war and administer worlds.” He shook his head. “I cannot say I would not back someone else in toppling an ineffective government, however.”

  Kre’fey twisted to his left and waved a hand at Leia.

  She sat forward and let a feral grin blossom on her face.

  Fey’lya stood and folded his arms across his chest. “So, this is it, then, Leia? You so hate being out of power that you have seduced Admiral Kre’fey into backing you in a revolt? Do you wish to establish a Jedi hegemony to rule the New Republic? Will your children inherit your position after you?”

  Leia laughed quickly and politely, then came up out of her chair with a fluid grace that reminded Gavin of a teopari stretching languidly. “Is that what you want, Chief Fey’lya? Do you want to be humiliated? Do you want to be remembered as the one who led the New Republic to such ruin that I had to rescue it again?”

  Her voice came low enough that even Gavin had to strain to hear her. As her words poured into his ears, Fey’lya’s facial expression changed. It went from a look of triumph to one of sour disappointment, then resignation. He leaned forward, posting himself up on his arms.

  “How is it that you wish to play this, then?”

  Leia smiled carefully. “First, you will cede control of military operations to the military. There will be no political micromanagement of the war. What they want, they get.”

  “Of course.”

  “Second, you will coordinate relief supplies and matériel to handle the incoming refugees. Agamar is already overstressed, and people will be fleeing further Coreward as the Yuuzhan Vong advance.”

  Fey’lya glanced at Pwoe. “You can handle all that.”

  “Lastly, you will allow Senator A’Kla to make his report to the full senate, with complete coverage of it to go out over the media.”

  Fey’lya barked a sharp laugh. “So he can put the blame for this squarely on my shoulders? Never.”

  Kre’fey glanced at Gavin. “In my empire, would you like a world for each of your children, or will they need whole systems to rule?”

  Fey’lya’s violet eyes flashed with fire. “We will work up the text of the report together, yes?”

  Elegos nodded. “I find that acceptable.”

  “Good.” Leia stepped forward and offered Fey’lya her hand. “I’d forgotten what it was like to work with you.”

 
“Be assured, I had not.”

  Fey’lya shook Leia’s hand, but the guarded expression on her face confirmed that she was thinking what Gavin could feel in his bones: Fey’lya’s compliance now was not guaranteed to continue in the future. In the short term we get what we need, but that won’t always be so. If he can take advantage, he will.

  Leia bowed her head to the council. “Thank you for your cooperation. It is for the best, and that, after all, is what we all desire, isn’t it?”

  “Most assuredly, Leia.” Borsk Fey’lya gave them all a predatory grin. “We shall put the New Republic above all petty, personal concerns. For the best.”

  Gavin wanted nothing more than to head home to his wife, but he knew he was going to be poor company. Too many people had died, and when he was in a mourning mood, it tended to remind his sister that her husband had died fighting the Yevetha. She had come with her children to live with Gavin at that point, just to get back on her feet, but she’d remained since. From time to time she’d get to thinking of herself and her kids as a burden on Gavin, and that was something he just couldn’t deal with at the moment.

  He made his way back to Rogue Squadron headquarters and stalked through darkened hallways. He really didn’t mind the building being deserted; it was very early in the morning. Admiral Kre’fey agreed that no alert would go out until noon the next day, allowing the warriors who would be on the front lines a lazy morning before they committed their lives to the bloody grind of war.

  The only real bright spot in the whole disaster of the retreat from Dubrillion had been Jaina Solo’s joining the squadron. Gavin had asked Leia if her daughter might stay on with the unit, and permission had been granted cautiously. When he saw the joy on Jaina’s face at the decision, Gavin suspected Leia had agreed just because she didn’t want to have to deal with Jaina if she’d said no. Jaina immediately moved into the squadron barracks, taking up a room with Anni Capstan, her wingman, and settling in as if she’d belonged there all along.

  And flying the way she does, there’s little doubt she will remain with us for a long time.

  It surprised Gavin to find a trooper with a blaster rifle standing in front of his office door. The trooper was little more than a kid—barely older than I was when I joined the squadron. “Is there a problem here, Private?”

  The youth swallowed hard. “Sir, I tried to stop them, sir, but they said it would be okay to enter your office. They said you wouldn’t mind.”

  Gavin blinked with astonishment. “Did they? And did they say who they were?”

  The trooper shook his head. “Just some old guys, sir.”

  “And you let them in there? Why didn’t you stop them?”

  The soldier winced. “I tried, but they took my blaster away from me.” He turned the weapon enough to let Gavin see that it had no power pack.

  The colonel nodded. “And your comlink?”

  “They took that, too. They told me to wait here for you, otherwise I’d be guilty of abandoning a post, sir.”

  “Yes, do that, wait right there.” Gavin steered the youth to the side and opened the door to his office. He knew walking in there was foolish, but he dismissed the possibility that his visitors were assassins. The Yuuzhan Vong didn’t seem to operate that way. Besides, dying now might just be easier than fighting a war.

  The two visitors looked up from where they had seated themselves in the easy chairs. On the table before them sat three tumblers, two of which had been filled from the decanter of Corellian whiskey Gavin kept hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk. The two men smiled at him, and he began to laugh.

  The trooper glanced into the room. “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Yes, Private, you’re dismissed.”

  “Here,” one of the visitors said, and lofted the soldier the clip and comlink that had been appropriated from him.

  Gavin closed the door behind the trooper, then shook his head. “He described you as ‘two old guys.’ ”

  “No respect among the young anymore, is there, Tycho?”

  “None, Wedge, none at all. Probably the fault of the command staff.”

  Gavin poured himself a glass of whiskey. “What are you two doing here?”

  “We heard from various sources that you’re going to be going to war.” Wedge Antilles raised his glass. “We’re too old to fly, but not to help out. You need us, you’ve got us.”

  “You may want to reconsider that offer. This isn’t going to be pretty at all.”

  Tycho Celchu shook his head. “War never is, Gavin. Let’s just hope, together, we can make it very short.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Jacen Solo turned from where he had been leaning on the balcony railing and faced his little brother. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Anakin shook his head as he emerged on the Solos’ balcony. “Nightmares.”

  “Of?”

  “Dantooine.” Anakin rubbed sleep sand from his eyes. “I keep having this dream where I’m cutting down reptoids right and left, but it’s never enough. They still overrun the refugee camp. When we get there—’cuz you’re in the dream, too—we find a lot of dead people. Chewie and Dad and Mom are among them.”

  Jacen sighed. “That’s a nasty one.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  The older brother shook his head and turned to lean on the balcony railing. “After my experience on Belkadan, I’ve given up trying to figure out what dreams mean. Yours could mean anything. You’re still dealing with Chewie’s death. By the same token, since Mara wasn’t among the dead, could be you’re congratulating yourself over having saved her. I don’t know.”

  Anakin joined his brother at the railing and stared out at the lights moving through the Coruscant cityscape. It was hard to believe a month had passed since he had left for Dantooine with Mara. “Mine is clearly a dream. Yours could have been a vision. Uncle Luke thinks it was.”

  “Right, but the future changed, so I got drowned and tortured.” He half smiled at his brother. “And since we left Belkadan to come save you, it was probably you that set the future in motion that got me.”

  “So I could be dead and you’d be happy?”

  “Not what I said, Anakin.” Jacen caught a quick flash of sadness from his younger brother. “And Dad wouldn’t be happy if you were dead, either.”

  Anakin snorted. “Have you seen him yet?”

  “No, you?”

  “No. Threepio thinks he’s ‘inspecting’ cantinas here. Inspecting the bottom of glasses, more like.”

  Jacen sighed. “I’m not sure I don’t envy him.”

  “What?”

  “I’m having nightmares, too, Anakin. Nightmares of Dantooine.”

  “Like mine?”

  “Sort of.” Jacen scratched at the back of his neck with his right hand. “I’m there, like you, killing and killing and killing. I’m a gatekeeper. The reptoids really need to get to the other side of the gate, and I’m only letting them through in pieces.”

  “That’s what you had to do.”

  “Did I?” Jacen ducked back as an inebriated swoop jockey buzzed them. “What we did wasn’t noble, it was just butchery. While the control vehicle had them under its sway, they marched forward like droids and we just took them apart. Then, when Uncle Luke destroyed the control vehicle, they went berserk. They were beasts and we just slaughtered them.”

  Anakin grabbed hold of Jacen’s left wrist. “But you had no choice. If you didn’t kill them, they would have killed lots more refugees.”

  “Yes, I know that. I acknowledge it. I take responsibility for it, but I still have to ask myself what does doing that have to do with becoming a Jedi Knight?” He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “How did that bring me closer to understanding the Force? How am I now a better Jedi Knight than I was before?”

  Anakin’s hand slipped from Jacen’s wrist. “But the job of a Jedi is to safeguard people. There’s no more noble a reason to do anything. You risked your life to save others.”


  “Did I? Do you honestly believe any of those reptoids could have seriously hurt us? Over half of Colonel Bril’nilim’s soldiers survived that assault. They aren’t Jedi. We didn’t need to be using lightsabers there, Anakin. We could have been using vibroblades or simple clubs.”

  He turned and opened his arms. “And was saving those refugees all that special? We stopped them from dying, but to what end? Does this make them better people than those who died? Are they more noble? Will they learn from this experience and make the universe a better place?”

  “I don’t know, Jacen. That’s the future—”

  “Which is always in motion.”

  “Right. What I do know is that we kept some of them alive. That’s enough for me.”

  Jacen nodded slowly. “I know it is, Anakin. I wish it was enough for me, too.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know.” Jacen lowered his voice to a whisper as anguish poured off Anakin. “Look, Anakin, you did wonderfully on Dantooine. You learned a lot. You took good care of Mara. You kept her alive under very difficult circumstances. You really are a hero because of all that and everything you did to fend off the reptoids. I’m not trying to take anything away from you or what you did. I want you to understand that.”

  “Okay.” Anakin folded his arms across his chest. “What about you?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples. “I thought that going off on my own would be the key to getting closer to the Force; but then I saw the slaves and had to act. The Force sends me a vision and I act on it, only to have things go wrong. But, from that wrong came the right of saving you and Mara on Dantooine, and being there to help hold off the reptoids. It’s as if I’m walking around in a circle, circling around the goal I want. Sometimes it seems as if I need to be alone, and others I’m thrust into the heroic mold that has shaped and consumed Uncle Luke. I know there are other approaches, but I don’t know if they are right for me.”

  Anakin frowned for a moment. “Sounds like you’re trying to plot a course without knowing what your final destination is.”