Caedus stood at the main bridge holochart, meshing what he could physically see with what he could sense. Daala’s fleet seemed to be everywhere like a cloud of insects, but if they all had phase shifters then they weren’t using them. He could sense something else, too: Jedi, but not close, not in the battle, not coming after him.
But I didn’t sense Luke before, did I?
“Identify which of Daala’s ships has it and concentrate fire on them,” Caedus said. “Break off the attack on Fondor. Throw everything we’ve got at Daala. And I mean everything. Even ships responding to distress calls.”
“Sir, we’ve got a lot of damaged ships and even X-wings out there that we need to respond to—”
One of the sensor team looked up from her screen. “Sir, the Loyal Defender has issued an order to abandon ship—they can’t maintain hull integrity. Compass Star is going to her aid.”
And that was his other dilemma: badly damaged ships tied up other assets in rescue operations.
I could leave them—
No, he couldn’t. Nobody would fight on if they thought there’d be no attempt to rescue them. Morale was critical, and not even Caedus could shape the minds of an entire fleet to feel positive about abandoning their comrades.
“This might be a prudent point for a tactical withdrawal to regroup,” said Inondrar. “Reassess the situation.”
Caedus usually heard retreat when someone said withdrawal, but he was now outnumbered, and the addition of Daala’s unorthodox weapons probably amounted to being outgunned, too. Pulling back and gaining some breathing space was suddenly an attractive idea; but he wondered if he was reacting to exhaustion, and maybe an aggressive push now would turn the battle in his favor.
“What shape are we in?”
“Half the fleet has taken some damage, and we’ve lost more than thirty vessels, sir.”
Caedus was losing. If he delayed, he could lose most of the fleet. It was humiliating to run, but it was one battle of many, not the whole war.
It still stuck in his throat. “Commander, identify an assembly area, and order ships that can jump and that aren’t responding to emergency signals to do so. Loyal commanders only, for the time being.” He was now fighting a battle on three fronts—not only the ad hoc coalition ranged against him, but a weapon he wasn’t yet equipped to resist, and a traitor urging his ships to mutiny. “And we’ll see who’s the legitimate voice of the Galactic Alliance …” Two could play that game. If Niathal had any sense, she’d be as reluctant as he was to slug it out over Coruscant. “All ships—this is Colonel Solo. Admiral Niathal is acting illegally, and I call on you to remain loyal to the Galactic Alliance. Signal your intentions and stand by for orders.”
“What are you going to do, sir?” Inondrar asked.
“If they’re loyal, give them a second RV point to jump to,” Caedus said. “Then we’ll see what Niathal’s got left. If we retain fewer than we hoped—it’ll be a good time to withdraw. If we get more—we pull back to Coruscant, and Niathal’s left high and dry. We lose Fondor, but we can still fight that another day.”
“Ships can’t jump until they’ve cleared the orbit of Thanut.”
“Then tell them to move.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And stand by a rescue runner for me.”
“All the Anakin’s are deployed.”
Caedus was about to demand that one be turned back, but he had an alternative that might make extracting Tahiri a little easier. “Get me a med sprinter, then.”
“We’ve got more calls on med evacs than we can—”
“Lieutenant Veila is trapped in Bloodfin, and I won’t leave her. Nobody will fire on a med sprinter. Get me a med sprinter and a corpsman’s uniform.”
Inondrar looked as if he was about to ask how Caedus planned to get on board Bloodfin, but he just mumbled, “Very good, sir,” and commed the hangar deck.
Caedus would work out the details when he reached Bloodfin. There would be an opportunity to remove the wounded, or he would create one.
“Comms how are we doing on responses?” he asked. “How many loyal commanders do we have?”
“About two-thirds now of all GA ships.”
“Good. Send them the RV coordinates.” Caedus could sense Tahiri now: she was in trouble. “Bloodfin. What’s happening there?”
“We’ve lost the comm from the command center, sir, but they were on emergency power anyway.”
“No, something’s happening.”
“No sign of enemy action against her. The Imperial forces seem to have abandoned her since they transferred the flag.”
Maybe the mutineers had taken the ship. There had to be casualties. There was no sign of an opposed boarding. Either way, he had to make his move.
“Commander, you have the ship,” he said to Inondrar. “I’ll notify you of my location when I’ve extracted Lieutenant Veila. Withdraw the fleet to Coruscant, and if Niathal attempts to return with her traitors—repel them.”
GA WARSHIP OCEAN, FONDORIAN SPACE
“Stang.”
Several heads turned, even in the middle of a battle. Niathal never cursed aloud—hardly ever, anyway—and for the crew it was an indicator of very bad news.
“My apologies,” she said, fuming inside. “Some of our comrades have decided to leave the party early.”
On the holochart, ships’ icons winked out of existence, and every sensor, tracking screen, and holocam view showed the fleets thinning out. Some vessels that had been under Jacen’s command were still there, along with rescue and med evac tenders. Daala’s fleet cruised among the dwindling number of ships like firaxa sharks let loose in a shoal of matshi, and the garbled comms that she was picking up showed that even the so-called Maw Irregulars were having trouble working out who was on Jacen’s side. The Imperial ships were easier to identify and were taking much of the fire, some conventional ion cannon and turbolaser, some phase shifter.
If the phrase fog of war applied to any moment, then this was it.
“I think this might well be called a mixed blessing,” Niathal said. “But for the time being, I’ll concentrate on the fact that Daala’s saved our necks.”
Niathal was now in the bizarre position of having beaten back Jacen’s combined fleet, but losing her hold on power. She stared in dismay at the modest tally of ships loyal to her on the screen, with Makin leaning over her shoulder.
“I really thought that he’d bitten off more than he could chew this time,” she said. “How has he managed to hold so many ships?”
“Charisma, terror, and the natural tendency of beings in uniform to follow procedure.” Makin shook his head. “Asking crews to choose between two joint leaders is going to end in a split one way or another. Anyway, what are we going to do? Chase him? Fight him for control of Coruscant? Because we’d need Daala and some additional hulls to make that happen, and invading the capital with another planet’s forces would be a step too far politically, I think—even if we could pull it off militarily.”
Niathal berated herself for not thinking that through, but would it have made any difference? The moment Jacen refused to honor the surrender, Niathal’s course of action was decided for her. She couldn’t stand back and let that happen: if she’d followed him meekly, she’d have lost a lot more than a job.
“No, I’ll give him a headache instead,” she said at last. “We’ll withdraw to another base, and set up a GA government in exile. Provide a rallying point for his enemies, and we know he’s got a growing collection. That’ll split the GA, unfortunately, and perhaps we’ll end up with some unappetizing bedfellows, but it beats playing Jacen’s game.”
There was still the Jedi Council, of course, but Niathal had to keep her distance. It was a case of mutual interests, but she couldn’t commit her forces to Luke Skywalker’s control, and she doubted if he’d give his Jedi pilots to her command.
And where were they? The StealthXs were around—Jacen’s undignified and narrow escape was proof of that—b
ut working out what they were up to was another matter.
Jacen was pulling back. She’d risk opening comlinks and see if any Jedi answered.
“Ocean to any StealthX, please respond …”
She waited. Come on, Luke, I know you’re out there …
“StealthX Five-Five to Ocean.”
“Master Skywalker … you’re not in our way, so I won’t get in yours, but a heads-up would be appreciated.”
“Understood, Ocean. We were keeping Jacen’s ships off the backs of Fondorian emergency responders, but they seem to have somewhere more interesting to go now.”
“Mind if I ask if you had anything to do with the concealment of the Fondorian fleet?”
“We did our best to protect unarmed civilians working in the orbital yards.”
“That’s … borderline when it comes to Jedi ethics, is it not?”
“Our objective is to stop Jacen with minimal loss of life.” Luke swallowed audibly, as if framing something he found difficult to say. “I very much regret what happened to the minelayer crews. I thought Fondor might tackle the threat differently.”
And this man flies a fighter. He’s fought real battles. He destroyed the Death Star. I’ll never understand the Jedi … and this is all my fault anyway, for spying for him.
“We all have our regrets in war,” she said. “And what looks like today’s merciful solution turns into tomorrow’s suffering, Master Skywalker. We’re all part of that web of events.”
“Indeed …”
“My intention now is to set up a GA government in exile, because we can’t beat Jacen on Coruscant, not without outside aid, and I’m not sure that’s prudent right now.”
“Ocean, where will you go? Where can you go?”
It was an excellent question. The nearest GA Fleet base—or at least a base that wasn’t hostile to the GA—was Nallastia.
“Nallastia.”
“Not ideal.”
“Fondor would have been handy, but we appear to have worn out our welcome …”
“Commit some rescue teams to the planet, and I’ll see what I can arrange with President Vadde. Stopping Jacen ignoring the surrender might have bought you some points with him. And you’re no longer the official GA.”
War could suspend all logic and common sense. It wouldn’t have been the first time in history that enemies had found common cause midstream and become allies. Niathal grasped at the straw that would give her crews the best chance of survival.
“I’m very grateful for your assistance, Master Skywalker,” she said.
“I’m sure you’d do the same for me, Admiral …”
And look where it got me.
One day, Niathal knew, she would be unable to keep it to herself any longer, and she’d have to unburden herself to someone about leaking the minelayers’ movements.
And you, Luke Skywalker. How will you square it with your conscience?
Now wasn’t the time to ask him.
She’d left port as the joint Chief of State and now she couldn’t go home—not until or unless Jacen Solo was deposed. For some reason, the hundred minelayer crew weighed more heavily on her than the thousands lost in this battle.
“Resilient reports that they’ve recovered Captain Nevil, by the way, ma’am,” said the comm officer. “He asks if he can join Ocean.”
Nevil, one saved out of so many lost.
“Tell him, permission granted.”
Nevil’s wife didn’t have to lose both a son and a husband within weeks of each other. Niathal grasped it as one bright moment in a day of dark.
MED EVAC SPEEDER, APPROACHING BLOODFIN
The battlefield was a scrap yard of debris from a hundred ships and more.
Caedus picked his way between slowly tumbling chunks of ship ranging from hatches and torn sheets of plastoid panels to whole sections bigger than his own vessel. The battle was over, leaving desolation in its wake.
But Tahiri was alive; he could feel her.
And he could feel Jaina.
Of all the people he’d lost—in the sense that they were monochrome images from another life, that they would be vividly relevant and full-color again if he could only change back into the person he’d been—Jaina was the one that troubled him most. He had been certain that it would have been Allana; he made a conscious effort not to think of his daughter, and it worked—mostly. But it was his twin who haunted his thoughts, and that perhaps was inevitable.
So she’d come after him, too, to finish what Luke had started. Yun-Harla: the Trickster goddess of the Yuuzhan Vong, who would have derived satisfaction from seeing the two battling twins of their religion made flesh. He reached out in the Force to locate Jaina, the only way he could detect the location of her StealthX. She would never feel him now that he was hidden in the Force; and she would never open fire on a med evac vessel. But he stayed alert.
Bloodfin drifted, apparently intact, ringed by debris that wasn’t her own. Two Imperial cruisers circled her at a distance, almost the last of the Remnant’s fleet to leave the area. The med sprinter’s comlink burst into life.
“Med Evac, this is Gold Fortress. We have a security situation in Bloodfin. Please keep clear.”
Ceadus eased slowly toward Bloodfin’s stern. “This is Med Evac Ten-Fourteen from Colonel Solo’s Galactic Alliance Fourth Fleet, offering assistance. We’re aware of your problem.”
“Where’s your boss, Ten-Fourteen? Banged out in a hurry, didn’t he?”
“Give me time to talk to Bloodfin and persuade them to let me take off any wounded.” In a corpsman’s uniform, Caedus was pretty anonymous. Even if folks knew a face, they tended to be poor at recognizing it out of context. A little mind influence, a little push here and there, and he could walk in. “I’m a med evac, for goodness’ sake. They’re not savages, mutiny or no mutiny. Have you still got comm contact?”
“Negative, Med Evac. We’re waiting. They’ve rigged the ship to blow if anyone tries to board her.”
“Let me try.”
The comlink fell silent for a few moments as if Gold Fortress was considering the proposal.
“Okay, Med Evac, we’ve sent a signal indicating that you’re standing by, but we don’t know if anyone’s receiving. Last we heard, troopers were holding the hangar area. So you take your chances. You’re obviously not a boarding party, but they might shoot first and worry about ID later.”
“I do this all the time,” Caedus said soothingly. “I can calm people down.”
Or make them want to fight to the last trooper. But you don’t need to know that right now.
“Your best bet is to dock with the emergency access on the upper hull aft of the tower, and hope common sense prevails. Make sure you’re all lit up, Doc …”
A shattered X-wing rolled slowly across his bow as he moved closer to Bloodfin; and a slab-sided vessel of a type he’d never seen before drifted without power on the port side of the Destroyer. Caedus picked up a waft of life and anxiety in the Force. One of Daala’s museum collection, no doubt, but where had she hidden all this when the Maw Installation was cleared out? He’d have to locate that little sarlacc of nasty surprises sooner rather than later.
Tahiri, I’m here. Help me out. Concentrate.
She was alive, but under stress. He could almost feel her heart beating out of her chest. She was under attack.
Caedus aligned the med speeder with the rescue access hatch, yellow and red chevrons glowing in his landing lights.
chapter seventeen
This will be a difficult matter for me to square with others, but I would be prepared to offer Admiral Niathal’s fleet safe haven. At a time like this, when Colonel Solo clearly represents the greatest threat to Fondor and the rest of the galaxy, uniting against him is the most important thing. He may well be back to finish the job he started, and if he doesn’t, then I would like to commit the forces we have left to finishing him.
—Shas Vadde, President of Fondor, to Luke Skywalker
IM
PERIAL STAR DESTROYER BLOODFIN
“Mand’alor, we’ve got company.”
Fett paused to adjust the audio in his helmet comlink with an eye-blink. Blasterfire spat around the compartment, cracking the air apart. “Can you deal with it, Orade?”
The Tra’kad was the right vessel at the right time; even without manual systems, it was ideal for playing dead. “Med sprinter docking, top rescue hatch.”
“How caring.” Fett was getting tired of waiting for the Moffs and the platoon of shock troopers defending the next compartment to give up and die. “Clear!” He lobbed in a small stun grenade—no dets, keep the place in one piece if we can—and instinctively flinched at the stupefying blaze of light and noise, even though his helmet buffered it. Then he hosed the space with blasterfire. “Courageous medic, or some scumbag abusing the noncombatant flag?”
“They’d better be medics, or they might end up in need of surgery themselves. Leave it to me and Ram.”
Mirta backed along the bulkhead, blaster raised, and stepped past Fett to check the compartment. The ship’s defended heart was like a nest of boxes. That was great—as long as you weren’t trying to get out. Somewhere aft of them, they could feel sporadic thumps through the ship as troopers tried to smash their way into the center section.
“Did you fry the locks on the hatches to the hangar deck?” Fett asked.
“Yes.” Mirta listened at the next barricaded hatch to the Moffs’ last stand. “I hate being interrupted when I’m working. We can crack it later if they still want a fight.”
Carid and Vevut unrolled a strip of detonite to make a frame charge. “You reckon they’ll cave in when we de-Moff this crate?”
“Maybe.” Fett calculated for a moment: twenty Mandos in Bloodfin, about thirty standing by to follow them and take the troopers trying to batter their way into the engineering area. The Imperials might have had a lot more troops, but that counted for little in a confined space where they couldn’t actually use them. “They’re logjammed.”
Carid and Vevut waved him back, and he took cover with Mirta. The whump of the exploding charge left the hatch hanging open; Vevut ripped it to one side with a crushgaunted hand, and fire spat out the hatchway. If Daala hadn’t wanted the ship largely intact, this could have been over by now. A volley of bolts struck Carid in his beskar chest plate and smacked him against the bulkhead. He made an animal grunt of annoyance.
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