Remnant: Force Heretic I

by Sean Williams

  Jacen fought to maintain calm. For all the Moff’s abhorrence at the idea of Jacen implanting ideas in his head, he seemed to have no problem in practicing a few mind games of his own. The constant use of the word boy was no doubt intended to make Jacen feel small and inadequate. It was lame at best, and served only to further Jacen’s frustration.

  “Moff Flennic,” he started tiredly.

  The Moff raised a hand to silence Jacen. “I know what you’re going to say,” he said. “That you’re not one of my officers—nor would you want to be, I imagine. But I wouldn’t take you even if you wanted me to. And do you know why?”

  “It’s not relevant, sir,” Jacen said, trying to maintain his tone of respect even though all he wanted to do was grab the man by the collar of his uniform and shout at him to just listen.

  The man stopped pacing and turned to face him. “I have no idea why you’re bothering to talk to me, boy. I’m clearly wasting your time. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, sir, I don’t believe for a second that I’m wasting my time,” Jacen said. “If anything, I think you know that what I’m saying makes sense, but you’re just too proud to admit it. You’re desperately trying to convince yourself that I’m wrong.”

  “Really?” The word was more of a challenge than a question.

  “You’re no fool, sir,” Jacen said smoothly. “Convene the other Moffs, if you want to. Tell them what I’ve told you and see what they have to say. I’d be particularly interested in speaking to Moff Crowal of Valc Seven, since she might have access to something I’m looking for.”

  “And what might that be?” asked Flennic.

  Jacen smiled slightly at the suspicion that suddenly pinched the man’s face. “Information, of course,” he said. “Understand, sir, that our time in the Empire is limited; our mission lies elsewhere. When we have what we need, we will be leaving.”

  Flennic’s eyes narrowed. “And you think Valc Seven would be an ideal fallback position for our fleet when we retreat from Yaga Minor?”

  “Actually, that’s the last thing you’d want to do. Valc Seven is on the edge of the Unknown Regions. Fall back that far, and you’ve already lost the Empire. No, my choice of fallback—the place you would do best to lay a trap, if you prefer—would be Borosk.”

  The Moff was silent for a long moment. Jacen knew what he was thinking. Borosk was one of several small, fortified worlds guarding the edge of the Empire. The Moff would be wondering if this was part of some convoluted plot on behalf of the Galactic Alliance to gain territory from an old enemy.

  But Jacen hoped that even Flennic would see that that was just ridiculous. If the Imperial Remnant lost such a stand, Borosk would fall to the Yuuzhan Vong, not the Galactic Alliance. And the Galactic Alliance had more important things to worry about than a small system on the edge of its territory.

  The continuing silence suggested that Flennic was unable, for the moment at least, to fault the plan. Pressing home his advantage, Jacen went on:

  “Moff Flennic, if you move quickly enough, you might save Yaga Minor.”

  This got a reaction. Yaga Minor was the Moff’s personal holding. When it fell—as it surely would, if the fleet stayed where it was—Flennic would have nothing, regardless of what happened to the Empire as a whole.

  “Explain,” Flennic demanded.

  “The Yuuzhan Vong are stretched to the limit right now. Thanks to our hit-and-run campaigns, the forces they’ve assembled to knock out the Empire are badly needed elsewhere. They can’t afford to commit here for too long. Knocking out your fleet quickly is their priority. Wherever it is, they’ll go. Once it’s destroyed, they figure they can wipe out your shipyards at their leisure.”

  “So if we send them packing now,” Flennic put in, “you’re saying they won’t come back?”

  Jacen shook his head. “I can’t guarantee that,” he said. “But if they did come back, it certainly wouldn’t be in such numbers.”

  Flennic was pacing again. “And what makes you so sure staging a counterattack at Borosk will work?” he asked, his attention directed to the floor ahead of him.

  “Two reasons,” Jacen replied. “One, the spies infiltrating your staff will make sure their warmasters know about the move. And two, we’ll teach you how to fight the Yuuzhan Vong more effectively.”

  That pulled the Moff up to a complete halt, swinging his full attention around to Jacen. “In exchange for what?”

  “Nothing, actually. My only interest is in saving lives and maintaining the stability of this region. We can haggle over information with Moff Crowal when this matter is resolved.”

  Moff Flennic grunted. “ ‘This matter’?” he echoed incredulously. “You make it sound like we’re in the middle of a minor squabble over an asteroid!”

  “Please don’t take offense, sir, but from the point of view of the galaxy, that’s more or less what this is. The Empire has dominion over a few thousand systems out of hundreds of thousands of millions. Yes, you have tactical significance, and no, I do not like to see lives wasted unnecessarily; but your failure to survive will make little difference in the greater scheme of things.”

  Flennic’s face filled with blood. His jowls quivered from the rage building up inside him. Jacen had gotten the reaction he’d hoped for. Through the Force he could feel the pressure rising like stresses in a neutron star. Any moment now, something would give. The question was: would he explode or implode?

  The answer never came. The comm on Flennic’s desk buzzed and the Moff vented his anger on it.

  “I told you, no interruptions!” he bellowed into the comm unit.

  “But, sir, there’s an incoming call from—”

  “I don’t care who it’s from, you fool. Get rid of them now, or so help me I’ll have you ejected into space without—”

  He stopped short when another voice issued from the comm unit. “That’s hardly the way to speak to a subordinate officer,” the voice said. “Especially when you’re on my ship.”

  Flennic’s features went from startlingly purple to deathly white in the time it would have taken light to cross the room.

  “Grand Admiral?” he said unbelievingly. “You’re—alive?”

  “Of course I’m alive,” Pellaeon said, his voice oddly muffled but clear. “It will take more than a bunch of overeager Yuuzhan Vong to put me out of the picture.”

  “But—”

  “What’s the matter, Kurlen? You don’t sound as overjoyed to hear my voice as I’d thought you might.”

  “No, that’s not it at all. It’s just—that is, I’m—” The man stammered awkwardly for a moment, then straightened and returned his glare to Jacen. “How do I know this isn’t one of your mind tricks, Jedi?”

  It was Pellaeon who answered. “Just take a look at him, Kurlen. He’s as surprised about this as you are.”

  That was true. The last thing Jacen had expected was assistance from the man he had last seen unconscious in a bacta tank, looking as though death was but a few short breaths away. It also confirmed something he had been wondering: that Pellaeon had access to more than just audio via his comlink, but was hiding his own visuals.

  “It’s nice to hear your voice, Grand Admiral Pellaeon,” Jacen said with absolute honesty.

  “Under better circumstances, Jacen Solo, I would say the same.” There was the hint of a smile in the man’s voice. “Thank you for your help at Bastion. I owe the Jedi my life, and I never forget my debts. You can safely assume I shall listen to your thoughts on the Yuuzhan Vong with far more interest than some of my colleagues.”

  “It would be my pleasure to discuss them with you, sir,” Jacen said, mindful to keep any conceit from his tone. Even though he would be dealing with Grand Admiral Pellaeon, he still didn’t want to get on Flennic’s bad side. The future was full of unseen waters; it was important to leave as many means of crossing those waters open to him as possible.

  “Another time, perhaps,” the Grand Admiral sai
d. “I’ve been a little out of touch these past couple of days, and right now I have a strategic withdrawal to discuss with Moff Flennic.”

  “We were just discussing that very thing,” the Moff said, licking his lips nervously.

  “Were you, indeed?” Pellaeon asked. “And have you issued directives to the surviving officers?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Assessed possible locations for a more substantial regroup?”

  “Borosk was one location that came to mind,” Flennic said, shooting Jacen a warning look.

  “A good choice, Kurlen. I suggest you get onto it straight away. The longer we sit here, the more stupid we’ll look when the next wave arrives. Capital ships should start moving within the hour, leaving a small defense force behind. I trust I can leave the arrangements in your hands? I have business elsewhere that needs attending.”

  “Uh, Grand Admiral—”

  “Yes, Kurlen?”

  “Don’t you think this deserves a little more discussion?”

  There was a long silence. Jacen maintained an expression of serene patience while Moff Flennic looked increasingly nervous.

  When Pellaeon spoke again, it was in a voice with all the cold clarity of a hydrogen bath.

  “Understand this, Kurlen: what I just gave you was an order, not an invitation. While I command the Imperial Navy, you will do as I say, regardless of whether or not you agree with those orders. Otherwise—and believe me when I say this—if I have to secede from the Empire in order to ensure this navy’s survival, then I shall do so without hesitation—and I guarantee that we won’t be back to pick up the pieces of your shipyards afterward.”

  “I understand, Grand Admiral,” the Moff stammered.

  “Good,” Pellaeon returned crisply. “But I’m not finished. This is just the beginning. You will also issue orders to allow Jade Shadow free access to this system, and any system within the Empire. The Moff Council has gravely underestimated the threat of the Yuuzhan Vong against my advice one too many times, and it won’t happen again. I won’t let it happen again. The time has come to take what few assets we have left and ensure that nothing like this ever recurs. If we survive Borosk, the Galactic Alliance and the Jedi will be our best hope of long-term survival, and I intend to take advantage of them while the Empire still exists. Is that understood?”

  The large but temporarily cowed man just nodded.

  “The connection must be poor, Kurlen, because I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

  “I understand perfectly, Grand Admiral Pellaeon.”

  “Excellent. Now, send our young friend back to Widowmaker. I want to pick his brain about the Yuuzhan Vong while I still have the opportunity to do so.”

  Flennic didn’t look at Jacen as he pushed a button for the door to open. It did so with a faint hiss. Jacen bowed in farewell, but the Moff turned away as though he wasn’t even there.

  Hiding his relief to be out of the man’s presence, Jacen walked rapidly down to the docks where the Lambda-class shuttle waited to take him back.

  * * *

  Jaina took her time prepping for launch, hoping to catch Jag when he arrived. But a suspicious-looking scuff mark on the Falcon held him up on the surface and she couldn’t delay forever. As soon as she and her two wing-mates were kitted up and had clearance authorization from Pride of Selonia, she launched her X-wing and powered away from Galantos.

  The sight of two clawcraft shadowing her was still a little unnerving. It wasn’t all that long ago that craft with similar cockpits—TIE fighters—had represented fear and hostility for those who had survived the Rebellion and the tumultuous years that had followed. She was too young herself to have any firsthand memories of that time, but Jaina had heard enough stories and seen sufficient footage to have had the same instinct instilled in her. She didn’t know how many times the Empire had tried to kill her parents in all, but she was sure it was in double figures, at least.

  At the same time, though, the clawcraft’s four sweeping weapon arms resembled an X-wing’s S-foils. Sometimes she wondered if the Chiss hadn’t deliberately designed their fighters to unsettle and reassure both New Republic and Empire. It was like sitting on the fence, giving the impression that they might have allegiance to either power.

  “Locking on to your navicomputer,” Jocell said. A brisk, efficient woman from Csilla, homeworld of the Chiss, she was easy to work with. Miza was the better pilot of the two, but less reliable, as far as Jaina was concerned.

  “Last one there’s a flat-lined drebin,” came Miza over the comm unit.

  The decidedly non-Chiss phrase immediately caught Jaina’s attention. “Jump laid in,” she replied, figuring she knew where the pilot had picked it up. The frigate accompanying the mission was staffed by navy personnel from all across the galaxy; when Twin Suns Squadron wasn’t on patrol, there was plenty of time for socializing in the mess and picking up on some of the native lingo.

  “Be on your guard for when we arrive,” she said. “I’m bringing us in at the edge of the system, but you never know what might be waiting for us. Even if the Yevetha have embraced the idea of peaceful coexistence with their neighbors, they’re not likely to welcome someone barging in through their shipping lanes.”

  “Understood,” Jocell said.

  “Discretion is my middle name,” Miza added.

  “Ready, Cappie?” Jaina asked. Her R2 unit whistled cheerfully as her forward view swung around to face the bright cloud of the Koornacht Cluster. “Then into the Multitude we go.”

  Stars suddenly extended into streaks of light as she and her wingmates blasted into hyperspace. From there on it would be up to her navicomputer and R2 unit to ensure that the three vessels reached their destination safely, leaving her with nothing more to do in the cramped cockpit than sit and wait and think …

  Tahiri’s frailty worried her more than she was prepared to admit—at least to others. Back on Mon Calamari, the girl had called her that one time before collapsing, but since then she’d barely said a word to her when Jaina had visited her in Master Cilghal’s infirmary. Tahiri had been glad to see her, there was no question about that, but she had been uneasy and troubled at the same time—and maybe even a little embarrassed.

  Tahiri had always been so fiery and independent, defying conventional sensibilities in numerous ways, from insisting on bare feet to disobeying direct orders. Showing off for Anakin had been part of the latter, Jaina was sure, but if the impulse hadn’t been there in the first place, then her little brother would never have had such a willing sidekick.

  No, Jaina thought. Not sidekick. She really had to dispel the image of Anakin and Tahiri as perfectly matched pals getting into harmless scrapes. Those “scrapes” they’d been involved in could hardly be regarded as harmless. If anything, some of them, such as their adventure with Corran Horn at Yag’Dhul, had been outright dangerous. And their last one together had been fatal, culminating in Anakin’s death …

  No, Anakin and Tahiri had definitely been more than just kids, and their relationship had been advancing toward something more than just friends near the end, too. The grief that Tahiri had been suffering was not for the loss of a friend, but for the loss of a loved one. Even if that love never had a chance to fully blossom, it didn’t diminish Tahiri’s pain. The potential for a relationship had been there, and it was for this that Tahiri grieved—a love not fully realized. Jaina imagined that the grief Tahiri suffered was on a par with her own, but at least she had the benefit of being able to focus her grief on what had been lost; Tahiri’s grief was for something that could never be. It was, and might forever be, completely intangible.

  Jaina wondered if her mother’s decision to invite Tahiri along on the mission had been entirely sensible. Yes, the girl would do better kept busy rather than lying around in an infirmary, alone and dwelling on her grief. But was being surrounded by the Solo family the right thing for her? If Jag died, Jaina was certain she wouldn’t want to be stuck in the company of Gene
ral Baron Soontir Fel and Syal Antilles for too long. They would only serve as reminders of what she’d lost.

  The image of Tahiri unconscious on Galantos, as pale and thin as she’d been on Mon Calamari, made Jaina’s heart ache. After several awkward visits to the infirmary and a number of silences during the mission so far, Jaina still had no idea what it was Tahiri had wanted when she’d called her that day after Uncle Luke’s meeting of the Jedi. To say she was sorry? To blame Jaina for letting Anakin die? She didn’t know. The black tide of grief made people do crazy things. She knew that firsthand, and so did her parents. But if there was anything she could do to make life easier for Tahiri, she would do it in an instant. The problem was that she doubted even Tahiri herself knew what that might be. All they could do was hope that they could work it out before something else happened …

  Too many hours, two system checks, a detailed scan of her R2’s files regarding the N’zoth system, and a halfhearted attempt to learn some words in the fiendishly difficult Chiss native tongue later, her navicomputer bleeped to warn her that they were about to emerge from hyperspace.

  “Heads up,” she said to her wingmates. “We’re there. And remember, this is just a surveillance sweep, so don’t provoke anything unless you absolutely have to. Is that clear?”

  “Understood, Colonel,” Jocell said. “Preparing to disengage navigational lock.”

  “I don’t know about you,” Miza said, “but I’m becoming a little sluggish from all this rest we’re supposed to be enjoying. I’ll almost be glad if we could find something to shoot at.”

  “I know what you mean,” Jaina said. “But I don’t want you using so much as a hard stare without my direct authority, Miza. Clear?”

  Miza chuckled. “I’ll keep my hands safely in my lap.”

  “You do that.” Her R2 unit bleeped again; Jaina glanced at the translator to learn they had five seconds before arrival. “Okay, guys, here we go.”

  The first thing that struck her as her X-wing rattled back into realspace was the brightness of the sky. She’d been in close clusters before, but it was easy to forget just how much of a difference it made when a large number of hot, young stars clustered so closely together—especially after spending so much time at the edges of the galaxy, avoiding the Yuuzhan Vong. Because she had brought them in at the outskirts of the system, N’zoth’s primary was hidden in the radiance from the many other suns, and it took her some moments to actually locate it. Bright and blue-tinged, it burned at her with an almost forbidding glare.