The Old Republic Series

by Sean Williams

  “Gorvich didn’t say anything about sending a fresh face on this run,” one of the guards said.

  Theron let out a sigh of relief.

  “He told me we were supposed to dock in C wing,” Theron said, warming up to the part of a small-time thug working for the Old Tion Brotherhood. “Had me worried.”

  “C wing’s reserved for that giant capital ship you saw on your way in. Had to shift some stuff around.”

  “Could’ve given us a heads-up,” Theron said.

  “Told Gorvich,” the guard replied. “Guess he didn’t pass it on.”

  “Guess he wanted to make the new guy sweat,” the other guard said with a laugh.

  “Where’s your friend?” the first one asked. “The one with that sexy voice?”

  “Staying on the shuttle,” Theron said. “Keeping an eye on the cargo.”

  “Yeah? What’s the haul this time? Stims? Spice? Banned holovids?”

  “Is this part of hazing the new guy?” Theron asked. “Gorvich tell you to waste my time with all these questions?”

  “Just trying to be friendly,” one of the guards said. “Maybe you can leave us a little free sample when you go.”

  “I think we’re done here,” Theron said. “We keep chatting and someone’s going to get suspicious.”

  “Fine,” the first guard said, finally taking the hint. “We got other shuttles coming in, anyway.”

  “Just keep your head down and don’t do anything stupid, rookie,” the second warned him. “You get caught, we don’t know you.”

  Theron waited for the guards to leave before returning to the shuttle.

  “Everything’s good,” he said, giving a quick status update. “Sit tight. Everything goes smooth and I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “May the Force be with you, Theron,” Gnost-Dural said.

  “Don’t mess up,” Teff’ith said, offering her own words of support.

  Theron left the shuttle and exited the hangar, making his way onto Reaver Station, marveling at the size and scope.

  The Empire understood the need to let military personnel enjoy a break from their daily routine, but unlike the Republic it was paranoid about soldiers deserting whenever they landed on a world. To offset this, they’d designed Reaver Station to have all the amenities anyone would expect in a planetary port city, giving the soldiers a place to relax, but leaving them no other option but to return to their ship when their leave was over. Spread out over the station’s four levels was a wide assortment of shops, bars, restaurants, holotheaters, casinos, sport courts, and clubs, all packed with men and women eager to cut loose before returning to the drudgery and discipline of their assigned posts on their respective ships.

  Theron’s plan was simple enough—sneak onto the Ascendant Spear while it was docked, slice into the computer systems, and plant the dormant virus. Next, he’d rig up the communications protocols to receive a special Republic transmission that would trigger the virus when the time was right. Then he’d slip off the ship, head back to the shuttle, and get off the station with no one the wiser.

  The fact that Reaver Station was a secure military facility would only make things easier. The only people on board either served in the military or had special authorization to be here. Because of that, security on the ships actually docked at the station was bound to be lax. For a vessel the size of the Spear, there’d be a constant stream of men and women coming and going—heading out into the station for some fun, then stumbling back to their bunks on the ship to rest for a few hours before heading out again. At most, they’d have to flash a boarding ID to the guards stationed at the hangar’s entrance—a nod to the fact that nobody would be able to remember the names and faces of every person who was stationed on the ship.

  All Theron had to do was borrow a boarding ID from someone too drunk or preoccupied to notice it was missing so he could forge a copy. But first he had to figure out where the crew members of the Ascendant Spear were gathered.

  The bonds among those who served together on a ship were strong, and most personnel on leave tended to hang out with the same people they worked beside day after day. They would congregate in the same general area of the station, their sheer numbers driving away most of those on the station who served on smaller vessels.

  He made his way toward an information booth located near the hangar bays.

  “Welcome to Reaver Station, Corporal,” the woman behind the desk said.

  Her voice was chipper and she had a wide smile plastered across her face, but there was something in her eyes that made Theron think her cheerfulness was just a façade—the result of Imperial training to boost the morale of the men and women arriving for a few precious days of R&R.

  “Just got in on a supply run,” Theron said. “First time here. Looking for a good place to grab some grub.”

  “Normally I’d suggest the Golden Galley,” she said. “Great food, good prices, and you can have them take it right off your payroll if you’re a little short of credits. But you don’t want to go there today.”

  “Why not?” Theron asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Had a full capital ship arrive earlier today. They hit that place like a fefze swarm.”

  “I’m not in a rush,” Theron said. “Care to tell me how to get there?”

  Following the woman’s directions eventually brought Theron to his destination. The woman at the information booth’s description of a deadly fefze swarm was accurate—the restaurant and every other establishment around it were overflowing with men and women in uniform. They spilled out into the streets, forming haphazard queues to wait outside the doors of any spot that served food or drink.

  Theron slowly made his way through the crowd, searching for an easy target that could provide him with a boarding ID. Many of the bars he passed were projecting the feed from the official Imperial news holo where the crowd outside could watch as a way to keep the people in line from becoming too impatient and unruly.

  It was hard to hear the newscasters over the din of the crowd, but the sharp trill indicating a breaking story caught Theron’s attention. He stopped and turned his head up to hear the latest Imperial propaganda.

  “The Empire scored a major victory just hours ago with a surprise assault on the Republic agriworld of Ruan.”

  A cheer rose up from the crowd, but Theron was too shocked to join in. Ruan was a major producer of food for Coruscant and several other ecumenopolis worlds. It was also deep inside Republic space—a planet most considered well beyond the reach of the Empire.

  “Enemy casualties are estimated in the thousands, as an Imperial fleet under the command of Moff Nezzor unleashed an orbital bombardment that devastated production facilities on the surface.”

  And killed thousands of innocent civilians in the process.

  “The Republic fleet in the area was destroyed, with enemy reinforcements arriving too late to affect the outcome of the battle. An official press release from the office of the Minister of War reads as follows:

  “ ‘Moff Nezzor’s resounding victory at Ruan demonstrates the strength of the Empire and exposes the vulnerability of the Republic. Those who say our enemy has gained the upper hand in the galactic war must clearly recognize this day as proof that the Empire is stronger than it has ever been. The Republic is unable to defend its own worlds and her citizens tremble before the might of the Imperial fleet. Their defeat and eventual surrender is inevitable. All hail the Immortal Emperor.’ ”

  Theron turned away from the holo, ignoring the raucous celebrations of those around him. As bad as the attack itself had been, what it represented was far worse. The holo claimed capital ships had been involved in the attack; that meant the orders should have been transmitted using the black cipher. SIS should have known the attack was coming, but somehow the Republic was caught completely unprepared. It didn’t make any sense.

  Unless our cipher isn’t working anymore.

  The realization made Theron feel physically ill. He needed
to speak to the Director. He needed to know what had gone wrong. If there was a leak in SIS analytics, they might have to scrap the entire mission.

  Abandoning the still-cheering crowd around the Golden Galley, he ran back to the hangar where they had docked and scrambled up and into the shuttle.

  “Why you back so soon?” Teff’ith demanded as Theron burst in on them.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said, addressing Gnost-Dural. “I need to speak with the Director. Or Jace. Maybe both of them.”

  “Impossible,” the Jedi said. “We don’t have a secure channel.”

  Theron rushed up to the cockpit. He quickly surveyed the hangar through the window until he spotted a communications terminal in the corner.

  “I can slice into the Imperial comm channels,” he said. “Piggyback our signal on the station’s secure network. Scramble it with a basic SIS encryption and bounce it through half a dozen relays so nobody knows where it’s originating from.

  “Should buy us a minute or two of secure time.”

  “Sounds risky,” Teff’ith said.

  “We don’t have any choice,” Theron insisted, still speaking to Gnost-Dural.

  “Do what you have to do,” the Jedi said.

  Theron exited the shuttle and raced over to the comm terminal, pulling his custom-designed slicer spike from the hip pocket of his uniform. The spike was small, about twice the size and thickness of a pen, with a small interface cable extending several centimeters from the bottom. He plugged the cable into one of the terminal’s access ports and turned the spike on. A second later the spike’s short-range signal synced up with Theron’s cybernetic implants, allowing him to interface directly with Reaver Station’s communications network.

  His fingers flew over the keyboard as the spike relayed streams of data to his implants. It only took a minute for him to burrow his way through the various levels of electronic security and gain unrestricted access to the network’s core operating system. It took several more minutes to set up the encryption and the complicated system of relay jumps, but it was a necessary precaution. He’d use them to buy a few minutes of secure transmission before the station’s automated network systems responded to the unauthorized intrusion and shut them down.

  He raced back over to the shuttle and climbed inside.

  “Got it,” he said as he settled into the pilot’s seat. Gnost-Dural and Teff’ith crowded in on either side of him.

  Theron switched the shuttle’s transmitter on, keying it to the same frequency as the terminal in the hangar. He had to work fast, so he fired off an emergency priority signal to SIS, knowing protocols would relay it immediately to the Director wherever he was.

  A few seconds later the Director’s voice came through the ship’s speaker; adding video to the signal would only have made things more complicated.

  “Theron—what’s wrong?”

  “You heard about the attack on Ruan?”

  “Of course,” the Director said. “I’m in a debriefing with the Supreme Commander right now.”

  “Is everything all right, Theron?” Jace’s voice chimed in. “Where are you calling from?”

  “Reaver Station.”

  “Are you insane?” the Director sputtered.

  “It’s okay. The signal’s secure. For now.”

  “You can’t know that,” the Director insisted. “What if the—”

  “I don’t have much time,” Theron said, cutting him off. “I think the mission’s been compromised.”

  “Why?” Jace demanded.

  “The Empire should have used the black ciphers to transmit the orders to the capital ships. We should have known about the attack.”

  There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Jace said, “We knew.”

  “You … you knew?” Theron said, his mind struggling to grasp what he was hearing. “Why weren’t we better prepared? Why didn’t you do anything?”

  “We sent medical supplies, food, and emergency volunteers,” Jace replied.

  “What about the reinforcements? Why were they too far away to get there in time? We should have scrambled one of our fleets.”

  “We couldn’t,” Jace said. “The risk of tipping off the Empire was too great. If they found a fleet waiting for them on Ruan, they’d know we were intercepting their cipher transmissions.”

  Horror slowly dawned on Theron as he realized what Jace was saying.

  “You knew the Empire would wipe out our ships at Ruan. You knew they’d bombard the planet. Thousands of civilians are dead, and you did nothing to help them!”

  “I had no choice,” Jace said, his voice cold. “If we don’t stop the Ascendant Spear, we don’t stop this war. You’re worried about thousands of innocent lives, but I’m worried about millions.”

  Theron didn’t say anything. He sat in the pilot’s chair, speechless as Satele’s warning ran through his mind:

  Jace fights this war out of revenge. It clouds his judgment. It can make him do terrible things if he believes they are necessary to save the Republic.

  “Theron?” Jace said from the other end of the transmission. “Theron, are you still there?”

  “We’re here,” Gnost-Dural spoke up.

  “You have to see the big picture, Theron,” Jace said, “We have to wait for our chance to stop the Spear. No matter how horrific these attacks may be.”

  “Attacks?” Theron said, snapping out of his daze. “Ruan wasn’t the only one?”

  “Theron,” the Director’s voice snapped. “Your job is to get on board the Spear! This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Where will they strike next?” Theron demanded, ignoring the Director. “Jace—where?”

  “Duro,” the Supreme Commander said with a heavy sigh. “They’re going to hit the shipyards in thirty-six standard hours.”

  Duro was a heavily industrialized and densely populated world. Though the planet itself was too polluted to support life, billions lived in the orbital cities above it. An Imperial attack on Duro would have minimal long-term strategic value for the Empire, but the casualties for the Republic were almost too catastrophic to fathom.

  “You have to stop them,” Theron said. “Set an ambush. Take out the Imperial fleet the second they enter the system.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Jace told him. “The Spear isn’t going to be involved in the attack.”

  “We’re increasing Republic patrols in the sector,” the Director added, “but if we scale them up too fast the Empire will grow suspicious.”

  “Theron, sometimes sacrifices have to be made,” Jace said.

  “But you have to draw the line somewhere!”

  “The Empire won’t. So neither can we.”

  Satele was right about you, Theron thought, remembering her final argument: Hate will transform you into the very evil that you are fighting so hard against.

  “There’s nothing you can do to stop this, Theron,” the Director told him. “So do your duty. Complete your mission. The Republic is counting on you.”

  The transmission abruptly ended, though Theron wasn’t sure if they had cut him off or if the Reaver’s automated security systems had finally unraveled his tricks and disconnected the signal.

  CHAPTER 23

  THERON STOOD UP from the pilot’s seat slowly, his body and mind numb.

  “Theron,” Gnost-Dural asked, “are you okay?”

  “The Director was right,” Theron replied. “There’s nothing we can do. An Imperial fleet is going to hit Duro, and we can’t stop it.”

  “Call back,” Teff’ith suggested. “Tell them you quit.”

  “There may be another way,” Gnost-Dural said. “If the Spear was part of the Imperial fleet attacking Duro, Jace would be willing to set up an ambush.”

  “But it’s not,” Theron said, his mind unable to follow where the Jedi was heading. “The Spear will still be here when Duro is attacked.”

  “Maybe not. Can you send off another message?”

 
Theron shook his head. “Used every trick in my bag to pull that off. The network security programs automatically adjust and adapt to slicer attacks. They’ll be able to lock me out almost instantly if I try it again. Probably even trace the location to this hangar.”

  “Then we need someone to deliver it.” Gnost-Dural turned to Teff’ith. “We need your help.”

  “Not trying anything to get us killed,” she warned.

  “All you have to do is deliver a message,” he told her. “Tell Jace Malcom that the Ascendant Spear will be at Duro.”

  “She’ll never be able to get a message to the Republic Supreme Commander,” Theron said, suddenly understanding where Gnost-Dural was headed. “But I know who can—Satele!”

  “I should have thought of her myself,” the Jedi agreed.

  “Go to the Jedi enclave on Coruscant,” he said to Teff’ith, speaking quickly. “Ask for Grand Master Satele Shan. Tell her everything that happened here.”

  “We fly Imperial shuttle to Coruscant, we get blown from the sky!” Teff’ith protested.

  “Go back to Jigani Port and take my shuttle,” Gnost-Dural said. “It’s faster anyway.”

  “We leave, you two going to be stuck on Reaver Station,” Teff’ith reminded them.

  From her tone Theron wasn’t sure if she was worried about them, or sarcastically pointing out something obvious she thought they were foolishly forgetting.

  “Theron and I can look after ourselves,” the Jedi assured her.

  “Tell the authorities that I sent you,” Theron said. “Grand Master Shan will listen if you mention my name.”

  “Grand Master Shan,” Teff’ith said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she put two and two together. “Theron Shan. You related?”

  “She’s my mother,” Theron said, the situation too urgent for him to even care whether Gnost-Dural already knew.

  He expected Teff’ith to make some kind of comment, maybe ask why he wasn’t a Jedi. But all she said was, “What’s in it for us?”

  “Another ten thousand credits,” Theron promised. “And a get-out-of-jail-free card if you’re ever arrested in Republic space.”