“Oh, I don’t think I’ll show myself quite yet,” Fel replied. “But I’ll send a few friends in, just to assure you I’m quite serious.”
Even as he spoke, several bright flashes of light revealed a number of ships suddenly dropping out of hyperspace, and Daala received her second unpleasant surprise of the day.
Star Destroyers. But no ordinary Star Destroyers, such as the nearly twenty she had at her beck and call. No, while these resembled their traditional Imperial counterparts, they were much more elegant—sleek and needle-like rather than bluntly triangular.
Chiss Star Destroyers.
The three were not alone; they were accompanied by nine heavy escort freighters and a dozen Nssis Clawcraft starfighters, their sleek, almost artistic curves belying how deadly they could be. The ball-shaped fuselage of the craft was still recognizable as the TIE fighter it had once been, but now it resembled a sea beast with long, elegant tentacles.
They held position, quietly. Awaiting orders.
And then, suddenly, Daala understood.
“You’re being granted an honor, Admiral. You’re the first to behold a secret finally come to light,” said Jagged Fel’s voice. “You’re looking at the vanguard of the Empire of the Hand.”
OF COURSE. OF COURSE. DAALA SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED THIS, GIVEN Fel’s closeness with the blue-skinned, red-eyed, xenophobic Chiss. His bodyguard and assistant was even a Chiss. And yet—how could she have known?
“Admiral?” Remal’s voice cut through her galloping thoughts. “Do you think they really are what Fel says they are?”
“It makes perfect sense,” Daala said, recovering. The irony that the Chimaera had once belonged to Admiral Thrawn, for whose “hand” the Empire of the Hand was named, did not escape her. “But he may just have overplayed his hand. Shock value is a very nice thing indeed, but they are grossly outnumbered. Fire when ready.”
For the first time since she had known him, Remal hesitated. “The Chiss Ascendancy—”
“Has nothing to do with those ships out there. They belong to the Empire of the Hand and obviously are Jag’s pets. Now, don’t make me repeat my order.”
“Of course not, Admiral.”
“Target the main Star Destroyer,” she said. “Let’s get their big boys first. Then we can—”
Whatever they could do remained unvoiced as the Chimaera was suddenly rocked by an attack from—
“Behind us!” cried Remal.
“Who the hell?” But of course Daala knew. She didn’t know specifically yet which one of them had suddenly turned tail at the sight of the Chiss vessels, but it had to be one of the Moffs.
Remal knew exactly what she meant and barked, “Getelles!” Even as he issued orders to launch TIE fighters and Daala’s three corvettes to crush the betrayers, Daala watched as the Chiss ships began to attack. The Nssisi Clawcrafts and AirStraekers targeted the TIE fighters while the massive, sleek Star Destroyer fired its masercanons directly at the Chimaera. More than conventional laser weapon technology, the uniquely Chiss masers utilized both laser and kinetic technology to buffet and damage at the same time.
Getelles. Daala swore softly. It all became clear now. “That traitor will be nothing more than messy particles in space by the time we’re done with him. Lecersen!”
“Here, Admiral,” came Lecersen’s oily but welcome voice. “I’ve already begun targeting Getelles. At least now we understand how it was that Jagged Fel managed to escape point-blank assassination.”
Daala felt heat rise in her face. She’d been a fool to trust Getelles. It was a novice’s mistake, to underestimate one’s foe. Getelles was obviously a more intelligent—and more devious—Moff than she had given him credit for. It was all unraveling. First Fel, then the Empire of the Hand, now Getelles.
“Indeed we do,” she said to Lecersen. “Do whatever you like with him. Save the ships if we can, but don’t trouble yourself overmuch with saving his crewmembers.”
“Admiral, I hardly ever distress myself with such things.”
She took a deep breath and asked for a status report. The report was not grim, not yet, but it was unpleasant. Two frigates had taken damage, and one corvette had been destroyed. Several of the starfighters were reporting in with minimal damage. Still, this was only a minor setback when all was said and done. The remaining fighters, and there were still plenty, were holding their own against the Clawcraft fighters.
“Vansyn, Trevin—move in to assist with my starfighters,” she snapped. “Let’s take down these Chiss ships. We’ll show Jagged Fel just what the true Empire thinks of his little Empire of the Hand.”
“Of course, Admiral!” Vansyn’s voice was higher than normal and he sounded slightly worried, but one of the screens showed that several of his starfighters and four corvettes were already turning to obey her orders. Trevin’s vessels, on her other side, also moved into position.
Daala folded her arms and nodded, green eyes narrowing both against the brightness and in satisfaction as one Chiss starfighter exploded right before her eyes. Wherever Jagged Fel was right at the moment, she hoped he was watching it, too.
And then, on the edge of the screen’s image, there were more bright flashes of light, and Daala beheld a ghost from the past.
The vessel, at the head of at least another dozen ships, was another Star Destroyer, but smaller, and faster than many of the big capital ships. It immediately set to work targeting Vansyn’s ships, drawing their fire away from Getelles. Other vessels materialized, as well, and joined in the fray, but Daala couldn’t take her eyes off this one. She knew it … and felt a sudden strange pang as she recalled both the name of the ship and who had last commanded it.
The beasts for which the Star Destroyer had been named were semi-aquatic predators that could be trained as formidable mounts. They fought on after their riders were dead—as did this vessel.
“The Bloodfin,” she murmured. And, to herself, Pellaeon.
“This is Admiral Vitor Reige,” came a strong male voice. For a moment, in her dazed state, Daala thought it even sounded like a younger Gilad Pellaeon. “Admiral Daala—I am commander of the Bloodfin and of this Imperial strike force, led by the true Head of State, Jagged Fel. Your claim to that title is that of a usurper’s. Even so, Fel has instructed me to accept your surrender, with no further loss of life on either side. You have fifteen seconds to accept.”
What was happening? How was Fel managing to pull this off? Daala steadied herself, realizing that half of the battle that now raged around her was psychological—and that her realization meant that Fel had just lost his advantage. Fel was deft, she had to give him that. Coming back from the dead in so dramatic a fashion, producing the Empire of the Hand, and now sending the Bloodfin, surely hand-picked to rattle her.
And it had. All of it.
Her jaw set. Well, she wouldn’t let him rattle her an instant longer. The numbers against her seemed to be increasing with each passing minute, but even so, she would still win.
Nonetheless—
“Send a message to Moffs Wolbam, Calron the Younger, and Malvek,” she told the Sullustan communications officer. “Tell them to divert at once from the original rendezvous point and direct reinforcements here as soon as possible. The first Moff to arrive will receive my special thanks.” She hoped they would not be needed, but even so, it would be worth it to show Jagged Fel just what he was up against.
“Your time is up,” came the oddly Pellaeon sounding voice, and the viewport was filled once again with red and green streaks of laser fire as fighting began on a third front.
“Moff Trevin reports in that his flagship has taken damage, and he’s lost half of his fleet,” Remal said.
“Tell him to evacuate and head for the Chimaera,” Daala said. She was not close to the man, but his flagship was burning beneath his feet because of his decision to fight for her and against Fel. She would not throw him to the boarwolves.
Fel … Where was he? Something wasn’t right here. She had
assumed he hadn’t shown himself initially because he wanted to show off the Empire of the Hand. But after that … why wasn’t he on the Bloodfin? Why was Reige commanding it?
The Chimaera rocked as one of the Chiss Star Destroyers got in a good solid shot. “Shield deflectors have taken damage, but should hold for a while,” Remal said.
For a while. Daala drew her thoughts back to Fel. Why was he not here, overseeing his victory? Where—
“Remal,” she snapped. “Scan Exodo II and Boreleo. Thoroughly.”
He turned to her, confusion plain on his patrician face. “Admiral? We’re in the middle of a battle on three fronts. We’re taking damage.”
“Do it now!”
His face darkening with displeasure, Remal nonetheless obliged.
“And Remal—look for anything that could hide a Star Destroyer.”
“What?” Remal now looked as if he was moments away from deducing that his commanding officer was stark-raving mad.
“He’s got to be here, somewhere. Hiding on that cursed ship of his.” Daala could not bring herself to speak the name of the vessel.
“How could he possibly hide an entire Star Destroyer?”
And then she got it. “The mining on Boreleo,” she said, putting the pieces together as she spoke. “The moon’s interior is riddled with tunnels and caves. And that recent debris we noticed—just hot enough to throw off a cursory scan.” Which ours had been.
Comprehension and worry flitted simultaneously across Remal’s face. He turned back at once to the scan, but it was unnecessary. As if Fel had somehow overheard her, or more likely simply decided it was time to unsettle her fleet with another display, the Gilad Pellaeon, mammoth and intimidating, emerged from the dark side of the moon.
That trick can work only so many times, Fel, Daala thought.
“Lecersen?” she said. “I direct your attention to Boreleo.”
“I—I’m watching. That’s not what I think it is … or who I think it is—is it?”
“It’s your lucky day, Drikl,” Daala said. Her glee was brittle and bitter, but fierce. “I believe you had a few special things you’d been saving for Jagged Fel?”
“Indeed I did—and do,” he said, his old confidence creeping back into his voice.
“Let him have it.”
“With pleasure.”
Natasi Daala stood on the bridge of the Chimaera, barely blinking, her heart beating rapidly in anticipation. Jagged Fel had more than earned this. He’d had the audacity to name his flagship after a man she had admired and been fond of. He had taken that man’s own ship and commandeered it for himself. He was corrupting, twisting, and mocking everything the Empire had stood for, even debasing it by allying with another so-called “Empire.”
And at last, he was going to pay.
Her lips curled in the slightest of smiles three heartbeats later when the dark gray surface of the huge vessel suddenly blossomed with no fewer than four massive balls of deadly fire. Stories-high flame, fueled by the ship’s own atmosphere, licked hungrily at the gaping holes, and black smoke billowed. Bodies, pieces of bulkheads, and other debris spilled forth, almost like a stream of blood from a wound.
Finally.
Ashik had disapproved of Jag’s idea of several different stages for the battle. The Chiss’s plan, sensible and sound but unimaginative, had been to simply amass every vessel Fel had at his disposal, have them all emerge together, and cripple Daala’s fleet as quickly as possible.
Jag had disagreed. “I need to break her,” he said, “and her Moffs, as well. Put her off balance. I need to humiliate her in front of them. We’ve got many things that will surprise her when she sees them, and possibly shock more Moffs than Getelles to join against her once they materialize.”
“Psychological warfare,” Tahiri had said, listening. “Smart. Intimidate them enough fast enough, and you won’t have to kill as many of them. Not even Daala. Which is the whole point.”
“Exactly.”
“I do not trust Getelles,” Ashik had said, frowning.
“I don’t actually trust him either, per se,” Jag had said. “But he knows wisdom when he sees it. And he certainly has motivation.”
It had worked beautifully, at first. The Empire of the Hand, Getelles’s betrayal, the Bloodfin, and now Jag himself emerging, ready for battle. And then the baradium missiles had all hit home.
Now the Gilad Pellaeon was nothing more than a deathtrap. The Empire Maker had been identified as Drikl Lecersen’s ship, and obviously he knew what he was doing. The missiles had struck exactly where they would cause the most damage, and everyone was scrambling for the starfighters, corvettes, and freighters, as well as the escape pods. The ships that could fight, would. Others would be picked up by the Bloodfin, still engaged with Daala’s forces.
Jag, Tahiri, and Ashik raced toward one of the hangars. Smoke had already clouded the air, and an alarm whooped at an eardrum-shattering timber. All three of them had managed to grab air masks, pressing them tightly over their faces as their booted feet rang on the metal plating of the Pellaeon. Many of the ships had already departed, but several yet remained. Those who did not make it onto a ship would use escape pods. Ruthless as Daala was, Jag could not imagine her destroying those. For one thing, it would be a waste of firepower, as they had no weapons.
There were eleven TIE Defenders remaining. “That’s our best bet,” Ashik said. Jag nodded. The things were older, but they were fast, maneuverable, and could handle fire from multiple enemies. Too, each ship could carry only one being. More targets made it more likely that they would all survive to rendezvous.
“I’d better see you on the Bloodfin, Tahiri,” Jag said as he climbed up into the ball cockpit of the Defender. “You’ve still got a trial to attend. I won’t take coming under fire by Daala as an excuse for you to miss your court date.”
The blond woman flashed him a quick grin. “I know my parole rules,” she said.
“Sir,” said Ashik. There was a tone in his voice that made Jag’s head whip around to regard his bodyguard and friend intently. “Remember … these ships have a hyperdrive.”
Jag knew what Ashik meant—that if it looked as if Jag wasn’t going to be able to fight his way to safety, he should drop out of the battle. Jag nodded, conveying his understanding—but not his agreement—with Ashik’s unspoken suggestion. This was his battle, his place. He was not about to run.
A SCANT SEVEN MINUTES LATER, JAG’S THREE-WINGED TIE DESTROYER was under fire by no fewer than three vessels. Briefly he wondered if they somehow knew it was he, but then he saw that the rest of the ships fleeing from the Pellaeon were being swarmed, as well. From this distance, Jag could see the gaping holes and ravenous flames in the Pellaeon, but there was no time to mourn the dead—not if he wasn’t willing to join them.
The Novaldex deflector-shield generators, nearly as powerful on the Defenders as on capital ships, held as he fired the L-s9.3 laser cannons mounted on the two lower quadanium steel wings. He got a clean shot on one of the TIE fighters, watching in satisfaction but not pleasure as it instantly exploded. Jag pushed forward into a dive away from the hurtling pieces of debris and swooped under two other fighters. He glanced at the stream of information coming in on his computer. The Bloodfin and safety were still too far away for comfort.
The other four closed in on him, flying in what appeared to be an erratic pattern behind him. Jag, however, knew exactly what they were doing. The Defender had one very nasty flaw—an aft blind spot. Jag’s pursuers, also well acquainted with Imperial TIE designs, were obviously aware of that and were trying to fall into position for a clear shot.
Jag transferred power to the rear projecting deflector shields, then pulled back and soared almost vertically upward, continuing to pull hard into a loop that ended with him behind both fighters. He made short work of them, using not just the laser cannons but the two NK-3 ion cannons mounted on the upper wing. One of his pursuers exploded immediately, the force slamming debris
into its companion and completely shearing off one wing; the hapless pilot went tumbling off.
The Bloodfin was on his screen now. Jag punched a button. “Little Boy Blue to Red Rider, my bearing is alpha seven mark two, heading your way as fast as possible.”
Reige’s voice replied, “We see you, Little Boy Blue, and are moving to rendezvous. We suggest you hurry.”
“Any word on Ash and Dust?”
“Ash has arrived, still awaiting Dust.”
The code name Little Boy Blue had been suggested by Ashik in one of his rare playful moments. Jag was, by both human and Chiss standards, rather short, and he was one of the very few beings the xenophobic Chiss regarded as akin to themselves. The code name was therefore both a jab and an honor in one. In the same lighthearted vein, Jag suggested Dust for Tahiri, who had grown up on Tatooine, and Ash for—well, Ashik. He was relieved to hear that Ashik had made it, but pressed down his concern for Tahiri. His … bodyguard? charge? … would make it, or she would not, and nothing Jag could do would change the outcome.
Two Clawcraft, gleaming and white and welcome, surged up to serve as escort just in time to attack one of the Moff’s escort cruisers. They fairly danced around it, blasting it away, while Jag concentrated on his approach to the Bloodfin, now visible to his naked eye.
And then suddenly, not understanding what had happened, he was spiraling wildly out of control, as helpless to correct himself as a bird caught in a tornado. Huge chunks of debris, some of them as large as an entire Star Destroyer, tumbled past. Jag, still turning over and over and frantically trying to regain control of his fighter, spared only the most cursory of glances toward the debris—but it was enough for him to recognize that he wasn’t looking at what was left of spacefaring vessels. A smaller chunk of the debris slammed into one of his wings and sent him hurtling off in another direction.
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension Page 34
