Inferno

by Troy Denning

  Caedus strengthened his battle meditation until he started to touch individual beings, then tried to imbue his Force presence with confidence and calm. The fleet reflected back only confusion and fear—perhaps because Caedus himself did not understand exactly what he expected to happen.

  An aura of cold loss drew the focus of Caedus’s battle meditation back to the Peacebringer. Giving up on his attempt to improve morale, he touched a pad on the armrest of his chair.

  “Transfer fleet flag to the Trucemaker,” he said. “Inform Admiral Darklighter he is now in command.”

  “You’re relieving Admiral Ratobo?” Krova asked, clearly astonished.

  “Not exactly.”

  As Caedus spoke, a dozen crimson bolts converged in the distance outside his observation bubble, and he felt the familiar Force shudder of thousands of lives ending in a millisecond.

  “Oh!” Krova gasped. “Transferring flag now.”

  It was hardly the smooth transition Caedus had hoped for, and he had to endure several seconds of shock and despair as the Fourth reacted to the loss of its beloved commander. He monitored the comm channels until Gavin Darklighter—newly transferred from the Fifth after his promotion to rear admiral—issued a string of orders and immediately refocused the fleet on the job of destroying the Commenorian defenders.

  Within seconds, the Fourth’s entire starfighter screen began to stream away from the fleet, rushing to swarm the Commenorian capital ships. The maneuver was as bold as it was unconventional, designed to force the enemy Star Destroyers to divert power from their long-range turbolasers to their shields.

  But it also left the Fourth vulnerable to the Commenorian starfighters, basically transforming the battle into a game of high-stakes shock-ball, with daredevil pilots keeping score in capital ships killed. It was exactly the kind of innovative, desperate tactic that just might save Balmorr … and cost the Fourth so many vessels that it would lack the strength to fight at Kuat.

  Caedus touched a control pad on his armrest. “Open a channel to Admiral Darklighter. Urgent priority.”

  Krova acknowledged the order, then reported, “Admiral Darklighter will be available in a moment, Colonel.”

  “A moment?” Caedus fumed. “Did you tell his aide—”

  “Of course,” Krova interrupted. “She said he was aware of the priority.”

  Caedus scowled. “Did she?” He focused his attention on the Trucemaker. “Very well. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  It took only a few moments to pick out Gavin Darklighter, a still, confident presence amid a swirling mass of worried subordinates. Caedus charged his own presence with the irritation he felt at being put off, then began to press down on the admiral through the Force.

  Darklighter seemed more irritated than intimidated, and the comm speaker remained silent.

  Caedus was about to press harder when the Commenorian turbolasers suddenly fell dark. The tiny specks of their capital ships began to drift across Balmorra’s pearly face, tails of blue efflux flickering at their sterns. Rather than gamble with Darklighter—and hope their starfighter complement would be as efficient as the well-trained wings of the Alliance—the Commenorians were retreating.

  Caedus found the retreat doubly surprising. First, it would allow the Fourth Fleet within turbolaser range of the Hutt landing force. Second, he had not sensed it coming. The maneuver had been one of those rare pivotal moves that even the Force could not anticipate, the kind that made fools of tactical planners and Force diviners alike. It was a humbling reminder that battle meditation was not infallible; Caedus could be surprised just like any commander—and the results would be doubly disastrous if he made the mistake of believing otherwise.

  Darklighter’s presence became tinged with smugness, then his voice came over the comm speaker. “Yes, Colonel?”

  Caedus released the pressure he had been applying—and swallowed the irritation he still felt being put off.

  “I just wanted to congratulate you on a brilliant tactic,” he said. “It took even me by surprise.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Darklighter paused, then asked, “Are you telling me you sent an urgent priority summons to congratulate me?”

  “Let’s just say I’m happy with your performance.” Caedus kept his tone light; it had occurred to him that this might be the source of the expectation he had been sensing in the Force: Darklighter’s ascension to command might be the change that was going to turn the tide for the Alliance. “How did you know the Commenorians would retreat?”

  “Let’s just say I’m happy with their choice.” Darklighter’s tone was not quite as light as Caedus’s had been. “Will that be all, Colonel? I need to keep an eye on those hotshot squadron leaders.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Caedus started to close the channel, then decided he couldn’t afford to alienate Darklighter. “And, Gavin?”

  “Yes, Colonel?”

  “I apologize for any, um, pressure you may have felt regarding your decision.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Colonel,” Darklighter said. “You’re still young. You’ll learn.”

  He closed the channel and was gone before Caedus could react to the condescension. Clearly, Darklighter—and probably many of the other senior officers who had fought alongside the legendary Han and Leia Solo against the Empire—disapproved of what Caedus was doing to save the Galactic Alliance. Eventually, the officers’ feelings would become known outside military circles, and then his mother—or some other traitor—would reach out to them in an attempt to arrange a countercoup.

  Caedus made a note to add all senior military officers to GAG’s watch-list. It would not do to grow lax now that he was in charge. Even he could be surprised—wasn’t that what Admiral Darklighter had just taught him?

  And Caedus was even more surprised when, an instant later, the Force blossomed with Jedi presence. He felt dozens of them—perhaps as many as a hundred—all somewhere nearby, all strong and clear and resolute. His battle meditation vanished in an eruption of fear and anger, and he Force-leapt from his chair, doing a reverse flip over the seat back, his head passing so close beneath the upper bulkhead that his hair brushed durasteel.

  Caedus came down three meters inside his day cabin, his lightsaber in hand and ignited, his gaze fixed on the still-secure hatch on the wall opposite. There were no Jedi inside the day cabin with him. Nor could he sense any coming through the corridor, creeping through the ventilation ducts overhead, or crawling through the mechanical tunnels beneath the deck.

  But that didn’t mean they weren’t coming for him. If Caedus could hide his presence in the Force, so could the Masters—as Mara had demonstrated when she nearly killed him on Kavan.

  A raspy voice sounded from Caedus’s left. “Has some furniture offended you?”

  “Quiet!” Caedus glanced toward the voice and saw SD-XX, his Tendrando Arms security droid, stepping out of the hidden security station where he kept himself stowed. “They’re here.”

  “Who?” The droid’s photoreceptors darkened as he switched scanning protocols. With thin armor and blue photoreceptors set in a black, skull-like face, he resembled a scaled-down version of a YVH battle droid. “I detect no living beings within thirty meters.”

  “NO?”

  Caedus frowned. The presences of the Jedi were stronger than ever, distinct enough now that he could recognize many of them—Saba Sebatyne, Kyp Durron, Corran Horn, most of the Masters, along with Tesar, Lowbacca, and more Jedi Knights than he could name. Yet when he tried to get a sense of their location, they seemed to be every-where and nowhere, as if they were inside his head—just as they might feel during a Jedi battle-meld.

  The Jedi weren’t hunting him, he realized. They were reaching out to the Anakin Solo, inviting him to join their meld. As confused as he was relieved, Caedus deactivated his lightsaber.

  “Stand down, Double-Ex,” he said. “They’re not here.”

  SD-XX regarded Caedus with a cocked head. “Isn’t that what I just said? Perhaps
it’s time you had yourself degaussed, Colonel. Your circuits are ghost-firing.”

  “I said stand down.” Caedus hung the lightsaber back on his belt. “My circuits are fine.”

  SD-XX continued to scrutinize him. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Caedus pointed toward the droid’s hidden security station. “Go. That’s an order.”

  SD-XX’s voice changed from merely domineering to menacing. “Acknowledged.”

  The droid stalked to his compartment in utter silence and vanished back into the wall. Caedus returned to his bubble, but made no attempt to resume his battle meditation. The technique—at least as Lumiya had taught it to him—was Sith, and he did not want to risk using it while what felt like half the Jedi Order was attempting to draw him into a meld.

  Instead, Caedus unmasked his presence and opened himself to their meld. It was full of half-familiar feelings, of purpose and commitment and hope, of inclusion and fellowship and warmth—none of it directed at him, of course. He was surprised how lonely the exclusion made him feel, and how much he missed the companionship of family and friends. He had thought himself above such sentimental trivialities. But of course, he was not, and never would be.

  The Sith way was one of deep sacrifice, and only now was Caedus coming to understand that he had not sacrificed the ability to love—only the ability to be loved in return. Time after time, he would be forced to betray his family and friends for the good of the galaxy, and time after time they would hate him for it. Yet he could never shrink from making those sacrifices. To do so was to sow the seeds of selfishness within himself, and down that path lay the greed and power lust that had corrupted Palpatine—and so many Sith before him.

  So Caedus would continue to do what was necessary. At the moment, that meant accepting the revulsion, malice, and even pity that flooded the meld as the Jedi detected his presence. He returned their feelings with nothing more than curiosity.

  Once the meld had adjusted to his arrival, Caedus began to get a clearer picture of the Jedi purpose. They were here with what seemed to be a whole wing of StealthXs—over seventy craft, if the techs had managed to put all of them into action—and they seemed ready to fight. To his relief, the mental images he kept glimpsing were the sterns of Imperial-class Star Destroyers and Empire-era cruisers.

  The Jedi were targeting Commenorian capital ships.

  Caedus could not quite keep a smug feeling of triumph from seeping into the meld. The occupation of the academy was working even better than expected. He projected his pleasure into the meld, simultaneously welcoming the Jedi to the battle and inviting them to open fire.

  The only response was stony displeasure, and no shadow bombs erupted in the sterns of the Commenorian capital ships. A sense of expectation filled the meld—the same sense of expectation he had been experiencing since the battle opened—and he had the sinking feeling that he finally understood its meaning.

  Caedus punched a control pad on his armrest. “Open a channel to Admiral Darklighter, urgent priority. And don’t let his aide put you off this time. It’s important.”

  Krova acknowledged the order, leaving Caedus to pound his armrest in frustration. Anyone could be surprised. He had learned that from Darklighter, and still he had advanced straight into a trap. Now the Fourth Fleet was committed to a costly attack that only the Jedi could turn into success, and Caedus had no doubt they would demand a very steep price indeed for their cooperation.

  Darklighter’s voice came over the speaker a moment later. “Yes, Colonel?” In the background, Caedus could hear the rumble of discharging turbolaser batteries and the crackle of shields dissipating excess energy. “We’re pretty busy right now, so I hope this isn’t another message of congratulations.”

  “It isn’t,” Caedus replied. “I wanted—I needed—to advise you that—”

  “That help is on the way,” interrupted a familiar voice behind Caedus. “Be ready to exploit.”

  “Is that who I think it is?” Darklighter gasped.

  “Yes,” Luke’s voice replied. “Carry on, Gavin.”

  Caedus was already spinning his meditation chair around, but the motor was far too slow for his comfort. As soon as he had a clear path into his day cabin, he dived over the armrest and rolled to his feet, lightsaber in hand. Luke stood about a meter away, dressed in a StealthX flight suit and staring at the weapon in Caedus’s grasp with a bemused, slightly sad scowl.

  “Is it still that bad between us?” he asked.

  “You tell me.” Caedus continued to hold the lightsaber. “It wasn’t the Force urging me to press the attack, it was you.”

  “And you think that was a setup?” Luke asked.

  “I know it was.” Caedus allowed a bit of animosity to creep into his voice. “You tricked me into committing the Fourth Fleet to a dangerous attack, and only you can keep it from turning into a disaster. What is it you want in return?”

  Instead of looking smug, Luke’s face fell. “Nothing, Jacen. We didn’t set you up.” He reached into the battle-meld and urged the Jedi to attack. “I just wanted you to know we could have.”

  Caedus didn’t know whether Luke was ordering the Jedi to attack the Commenorians—or him. Then the Force shuddered with the stunned anguish of thousands of beings perishing in a surprise attack, and Caedus half expected to feel the Anakin Solo bucking and twisting beneath his feet.

  But the deck remained reassuringly steady, and no damage sirens sounded, and Caedus finally began to understand that the Jedi threat had been an empty one. Their trick had been little more than a halfhearted attempt to intimidate him, to remind him they possessed both the courage and the means to destroy him—and the Alliance. But the very fact that they had warned instead of acting betrayed their bluff. As long as GAG controlled the academy grounds, they would never risk an assassination or treason. They were too frightened of his ruthlessness—of his brutality.

  Caedus returned his lightsaber to his belt, then gestured to the small tactical holodisplay in the corner of his day cabin. “Shall we see how the battle is progressing?”

  “Be my guest,” Luke responded. As Caedus crossed the cabin, Luke turned to watch, but did not follow. “I think you’ll be impressed, Jacen.”

  When Caedus activated the holodisplay, he was impressed. Most of the identifier codes for the Commenorian capital ships were blinking in distress, their colors ranging from amber—for battle-impaired—to deep red for totally crippled. And Gavin Darklighter was taking full advantage. The forward elements of the Fourth Fleet were already moving through the enemy lines. Knowing that they stood no chance against Alliance Star Destroyers, the Hutt marauders and corvettes abandoned their landing force and started to withdraw.

  As the battle continued to unfold, Luke kept his distance from Caedus, watching the holodisplay from over near the observation bubble. Caedus was just as happy to have the extra space between them; he remained suspicious of Luke’s presence and was glad for the reaction time.

  After a minute, the Fourth reached turbolaser range and opened fire, targeting not the Hutts’ fleeing capital ships but the assault shuttles still dropping toward Balmorra’s surface.

  Caedus punched a comm pad on the holodisplay’s console. “Open a channel to Admiral Darklighter—”

  “Urgent priority,” Krova finished. “Right away, Colonel.”

  A moment later, Darklighter asked, “What is it, Colonel?”

  “Redirect your fire and pursue,” Caedus ordered. “Our first priority is the destruction of the Hutt fleet, not the landing force.”

  “With all due respect, Colonel,” Darklighter said in a tone completely devoid of it, “we can’t abandon the Balmorrans to a Hutt occupation, and it’s a lot easier to destroy those shuttles now than to fight their passengers dirtside.”

  “The Balmorrans will have to handle the occupation themselves,” Caedus said. “I want those capital ships destroyed—better to trap the Hutts on one world than let them occupy a dozen.”

 
Darklighter remained silent, and over the comm channel Caedus could almost feel him struggling with his decision.

  “That’s an order, Admiral,” Caedus said. “I know it seems wrong, but we’re not going to defeat the Confederation by blowing up shuttles. We need to kill the big ships.”

  Darklighter remained silent a moment longer, then sighed. “Very well, Colonel. Redirecting fire and pursuing.”

  Caedus watched as the Fourth Fleet accelerated after the Hutt capital ships and began to hammer their sterns. When the first marauder designator turned red and faded into destruction, Luke’s voice sounded from where he had remained standing.

  “You planned this. You sacrificed a whole planet—”

  “I foresaw it,” Caedus interrupted, turning back to his uncle. “All I did was take advantage … of …”

  He let the sentence trail off as he realized Luke was no longer standing there. Caedus frowned and extended his Force-awareness first to his entire day cabin, then to the entire Anakin Solo. He felt no sign of his uncle’s presence anywhere.

  “Luke?”

  SD-XX emerged from his security station and ran his electronic gaze around the perimeter of the cabin, then reported, “There’s no one here, Colonel.”

  “What about Luke Skywalker?” Caedus asked. “I was just talking to him.”

  SD-XX fixed his blue photoreceptors on Caedus’s face. “You were talking,” he said. “But there was no one here. I assumed your circuits were misfiring again.”

  Caedus considered this, wondering whether his anxiety over being discovered might be making him imagine things. Then he remembered that Gavin Darklighter had not only spoken to Luke, but also reacted to his instructions.

  “No, he was here.” Caedus opened himself to the battle-meld again and felt his uncle among the other Jedi, his presence filled with sadness and disapproval … and admonition. “I don’t know how, but he was here.”

  nine

  The target sat alone in his study, turned toward a transparisteel wall where the twinkling spires of the Senate District skytowers poked through a blanket of night clouds. An aura of bitterness and regret made the room feel chill and heavy in the Force, but Ben could not be sure whether the feelings were his own or Omas’s. Sitting slumped in his big chair, with disheveled hair and purple bags hanging low beneath his eyes, the disgraced chief certainly did not look like a man who was plotting a return to power.