by Timothy Zahn
Four more guards were standing at attention behind the security post desk, three meters in front of an extra-secure-looking cell door. Seated at the desk, gazing up at Pellaeon with a mixture of uncertainty and surliness in his face, was a young major. He opened his mouth to speak—
“I’m Admiral Pellaeon,” Pellaeon cut him off. “Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Open the door.”
The major’s cheek twitched. “I’m sorry, Admiral, but I have orders that the prisoner is to be kept strictly incommunicado.”
For a few seconds Pellaeon just stared at him, a glare developed and honed and fine-tuned by long decades of Imperial command. “I’m Admiral Pellaeon,” he said at last, biting out each word, his tone the verbal counterpart of that blade-edged glare. He’d been willing to give the guards the benefit of the doubt, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to put up with any nonsense whatsoever. “Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Open the door.”
The major swallowed visibly. His eyes flicked away from Pellaeon to the dozen stormtroopers visible in the corridor behind him, his mind perhaps flicking to the other twelve stormtroopers out of sight around the corner that his guards would have told him about, then came reluctantly back to Pellaeon’s face again. “My orders come from Moff Disra himself, sir,” he said, the words coming out with difficulty.
Beside Pellaeon, the stormtrooper commander stirred. “Moff Disra is a civilian,” Pellaeon reminded the major, giving him one last chance. “And I’m countermanding those orders.”
The major took a careful breath. “Yes, sir,” he said, capitulating at last. Half turning, he nodded to one of the guards.
The guard, who had also been eyeing the stormtroopers and had obviously already done the math, showed no hesitation whatsoever. Stepping quickly to the cell door behind him, he keyed it open and moved smartly aside.
“Wait here,” Pellaeon told the stormtrooper commander, rounding the desk and stepping into the cell, his pulse pounding in his neck. If Disra had somehow managed to get word here through the transmission blockade and ordered all witnesses disposed of …
Seated at a small table, a hand of single sabacc laid out in front of him, Colonel Vermel looked up, his eyes widening in astonishment “Admiral!” he said, clearly not sure he believed it “I—”
Abruptly, he scrambled to his feet “Colonel Meizh Vermel, Admiral,” he said briskly. “Request permission to return to duty, sir.”
“Request granted, Colonel,” Pellaeon said, not bothering to hide his relief. “And may I say how pleased I am to find you looking so well.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Vermel said, heaving a sigh of relief of his own as he stepped around the table. “I hope you didn’t come alone.”
“Don’t worry,” Pellaeon assured him grimly, waving Vermel to the cell door. “I haven’t exactly taken over Rimcee Station; but my men are in position to do so if any of Disra’s people take exception to our leaving.”
“Yes, sir,” Vermel said, throwing an odd look back at him. “Regardless, may I suggest we hurry?”
“My sentiments exactly,” Pellaeon agreed, frowning. There had been something in that look …
They passed the major and the guard station without comment and headed around the corner. The stormtroopers, as per Pellaeon’s earlier instructions, fell into full escort array with twelve each front and rear. “You didn’t sound very confident when I mentioned Disra’s people a minute ago,” Pellaeon commented as they headed down the long corridor.
“It may not be Disra’s authority you’ll have to go up against, Admiral,” Vermel said, moving a bit closer to Pellaeon as if worried about being overheard. “When Captain Dorja brought me aboard after intercepting my ship at Morishim, he said he’d been personally ordered to do so by Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
Pellaeon felt his throat tighten. “Thrawn.”
“Yes, sir,” Vermel said. “I’ve been hoping it was just some trick of Disra’s—I remember you mentioning how totally against these peace talks he was. But Dorja seemed so sure.”
“Yes,” Pellaeon murmured. “I’ve heard some of those rumors myself. He’s allegedly been seen by various people in the New Republic, too.”
Vermel was silent a moment. “But you haven’t actually seen him yourself?”
“No.” Pellaeon braced himself. “But I think it’s time I did,” he said. “If he has indeed returned.”
“You might be in trouble with him for pulling me out,” Vermel pointed out reluctantly, glancing back over his shoulder. “Perhaps it would be better if I went back.”
“No,” Pellaeon said firmly. “Thrawn never punished his officers for doing what they sincerely thought was right. Especially when he hadn’t given them orders or the necessary information to understand otherwise.”
They reached the end of the corridor and turned into the main guard nexus. The guards and officers were still sitting where Pellaeon had left them, glowering under the silently watchful eye of yet another contingent of the Chimaera’s stormtroopers. “No, we’re going to go back to Bastion and see what Moff Disra has to say about all this,” he continued as they passed through the nexus and headed toward the landing bay where their shuttles were berthed. “If the rumors are false, then we should have no further trouble with Moff Disra. Commander Dreyf and I have obtained a set of datacards—in Disra’s personal encrypt, no less—that lays out his entire operation: names, places, and deals, including all his links to the Cavrilhu Pirates and various shady financiers on both sides of the border.”
He felt his face harden. “And including the details of his efforts to incite civil war within the New Republic. That alone should be worth a great deal to us in any future negotiations with Coruscant. It will certainly put Disra away for a long time.”
“Yes, sir,” Vermel murmured. “And if the rumors are true?”
Pellaeon swallowed. “If the rumors are true, we’ll deal with them then.”
Vermel nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“In the meantime,” Pellaeon went on conversationally, “your last report is far overdue. I’d like to hear exactly what happened at Morishim.”
CHAPTER
31
The preparations had taken six hours: six hours of frantic work as every flight-worthy spaceship on Exocron was hurriedly fitted out for battle. It took another hour to get the whole ensemble into space, and one more to arrange them into something resembling a combat perimeter. And with that, their estimated eight-hour grace period was over.
And now, with the entire Rei’Kas pirate gang on its way, the most pitiful defense fleet Shada had ever seen stood by in trembling readiness to defend its world or die trying.
Most likely, to die trying.
“Report from ground, Adm’ral David,” Chin reported from the Wild Karrde’s bridge comm station, looking over at the helm. “Supreme Adm’ral Darr says we all in good position. Also says Airfleet ships ready if pirates get past.”
Looming over Dankin, his hands clasped stiffly behind his back, Admiral Trey David nodded. “Very good,” he said, his formal tone nevertheless hinting at a great deal of energy below the surface. “Signal the rest of the fleet to be ready. They could be here at any moment.”
“Oh, my,” Threepio said miserably from beside Shada at the spotting station. “I do so hate space combat.”
“I can’t argue with you on this one,” Shada agreed, looking over her status board. She had wondered at first—wondered with a great deal of suspicion, actually—why Admiral David would ask to direct the battle from the Wild Karrde instead of one of Exocron’s own combat ships. But her subsequent assessment of those ships and their capabilities had unfortunately provided her with the answer.
Eight hours ago, she had snidely suggested to Entoo Nee that the Exocron space force might find anything more formidable than an occasional smuggler beyond its strength. Never before in her life had one of her offhanded comments nailed the truth so accurately.
There was a brush of
air beside her. “It becomes a waiting game now,” Karrde said, kneeling down beside her seat. “What do you think?”
“We haven’t got a chance,” Shada told him bluntly. “Not unless Rei’Kas doesn’t bother to send anything bigger than the Corsairs he hit us with at Dayark.”
She thought she’d spoken quietly enough for only Karrde to hear. David apparently had good ears. “No, he’ll bring everything he has,” the admiral assured her. “His full armada, with himself at the head of it. He’s wanted to get his hands on Exocron’s wealth for a long time.”
He smiled tightly. “Besides which, I understand from Entoo Nee that you gave him something of a bruised eye at Dayark. For the revenge part alone he’d be sure to be here.”
Shada felt Karrde’s silent sigh as a breath of warm air on her cheek. “Which may ultimately give us our only real chance,” he said. “If we can pretend to start running, we may be able to draw enough of them away for your forces to deal with the rest.”
“Possibly,” David agreed. “Not that that would do us personally much good, of course.”
“It’s my fault he’s here,” Karrde reminded him. “It’s not too late for you to transfer to one of the other ships—”
At the sensor station, H’sishi suddenly snarled. [They come,] she announced. [Three Sienar Marauder-class Corvettes, four Duapherm Discril-class Attack Cruisers, four combat-modified CSA Etti Lighter freighters, and eighteen Corsair-class attack vessels.]
“Confirmed,” Shada said, running her eyes over her spotting displays, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The Wild Karrde could take any one of those ships or give any two of them a decent fight. But all of them together …
“Stand by turbolasers,” Karrde said, rising to his feet beside her.
“Turbolasers standing by,” Shada confirmed, keying targeting information over to the three weapons stations. Just because it was hopeless didn’t mean they shouldn’t do their best. “Looks like the Corsairs are forming up a screen around the bigger ships.”
“Cap’t?” Chin called from the comm. “We getting call from one of the Marauders. You want make him an answer?”
Shada could feel Karrde tense. “Yes, go ahead,” he said.
Chin keyed the comm—“Hey, there, Karrde,” a familiar gloating voice boomed from the bridge speaker. “I told you you’d see me again before you died, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Xern, you did,” Karrde agreed, his voice betraying none of the tension Shada knew he was feeling. “I’m surprised you’re still alive after that fiasco at Dayark. Rei’Kas must be going soft in his old age.”
From the background came a distant flurry of Rodian invective. “Rei’Kas says he’ll maybe save you for last for that one,” Xern said. “You like that, huh?”
Across the bridge, David cleared his throat. “Rei’Kas, this is Admiral Trey David of the Exocron Combined Air-Space Fleet,” he said.
“Oh, an admiral, huh?” Xern said sarcastically. “You mean this collection of scrap rates a whole admiral?”
“You’re in violation of Exocron space,” David said calmly, ignoring the insult. “This is your last chance to withdraw peaceably.”
Xern laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. That’s really rich. We definitely got to save you for last. Then we can gut you all and feed you to the scavengers.”
There was another burst of Rodian. “Hey, we got to go, Karrde—time to make the big scrap into lots of little scrap. See you later, Admiral.”
The comm keyed off. “They’re sure well stocked in the confidence department, aren’t they?” Shada murmured.
“Yes,” Karrde said. His hand brushed past her shoulder, hesitated, then came back almost reluctantly to rest there. “I’m sorry, Shada,” he said, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. “I should never have brought you into this.”
“It’s all right,” Shada said. So this was it: the end of the long journey. Back at the Orowood Tower, facing the Noghri and their blasters, she had been ready to die. Had almost hoped they would overreact and kill her, in fact. The easy way out, she had thought then.
Now, facing the incoming pirates, she realized that there were no easy ways out. No way of dying that didn’t involve abandoning a responsibility, or leaving necessary work undone—
She glanced up at Karrde, gazing out the viewport, his face set in hard lines. Or, indeed, of leaving friends behind.
Distantly, she wondered when in all of this she had started to think of Karrde as a friend.
She didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was doing their best to clean up the mess they’d created here. Shifting her attention back to her displays, she began tagging primary and secondary targets. The leading ships were almost in range …
“Signal to all ships,” Admiral David announced. “Pull back. Repeat: pull back.”
Shada flashed him a frown. “What?”
“I said pull back,” David repeated, flashing an almost curious look at her in return. “Which part didn’t you understand?”
Shada started to say something blistering; choked it back as Karrde squeezed her shoulder warningly. “She was thinking about the fact that the Wild Karrde isn’t as maneuverable close in to a gravitational field as it is in open space,” he told David. “Neither are most of the ships in your fleet.”
“Understood,” David said. “The order remains. Pull back.”
“Chief?” Dankin asked.
Shada glanced up again. Karrde was looking at David, measuring the man with his eyes. “Transmit the order, Chin,” he said, his tone suddenly thoughtful. “Dankin, go ahead and retreat, but keep us in formation with the other ships. Shada, have the gunners lay down covering fire.”
“Right.” Shada keyed her intercom, her eyes searching the displays as she tried to figure out what was going on. The usual tactical reason for pulling back toward a planetary surface was to lure an enemy within range of either ground-based weapons or a surface-launched ambush. But every ship Exocron had was already up here, and H’sishi’s sensor probes would certainly have picked up any ground weaponry powerful enough to reach this far into space.
The fleet was beginning to move now, backing toward Exocron as ordered. Some of the armed civilian ships were already firing uselessly at the Corsairs arrowing silently in at them, wasting energy on out-of-range targets. Shada looked at David, but either he hadn’t noticed or didn’t especially care what they did. Were the civilians nothing but sacrificial lures to him? “Keep retreating,” he said instead. “All ships.”
The Corsairs were nearly in range, the larger warships formed up behind them now in a straightforward assault line. Little wonder; considering the opposition, there was no need for them to try anything fancy. A straight slice through the ships arrayed against them, then probably a low strafing loop over Exocron’s major population centers, taking out Supreme Admiral Darr’s pitiful Airfleet along the way …
“Keep retreating,” David said again. “Tactical display, please.”
H’sishi hissed acknowledgment and the tactical overlay came up. The defenders were all well within Exocron’s gravity field now, far too late for any of them to change their minds and try to escape to hyperspace. Was that what David was going for? Shada wondered. Putting them in a position where they had no choice but to fight to the death?
Even as that disturbing thought occurred to her, the last of the pirates passed within that invisible boundary, as well. They were all totally committed to this battle now. Neither the attackers nor the defenders would be leaving Exocron until one side or the other had been destroyed.
“Here they come,” David murmured.
Shada looked at him, a bitter retort bubbling in her throat. Of course they were coming—
And abruptly, H’sishi snarled in disbelief.
Shada snapped her attention back to the viewport. The pirates were still there, still coming.
But they weren’t the ones David had been referring to. Behind the pirates’ line, something else
had appeared.
It was a spaceship, of course. But it was a ship like nothing Shada had ever seen. Roughly ovoid, half again as big as the Marauders, it was covered with thick hull plates that gave it the appearance of some sort of armored sea creature. Conical projections, possibly exhaust ports or thruster pods, jutted out from the hull with no symmetry or pattern that Shada could spot. A magnified image popped up on one of the displays, showing an intricate array of symbols and alien glyphs covering the hull. At close range, the hull itself looked disturbingly like something alive …
Someone on the bridge swore, very quietly. Shada looked at the viewport again, just in time to see three more of the ships wink into existence. Not jump in, with the characteristic flicker of pseudomotion of a normal hyperspace jump, but simply appear.
And then, almost casually, the first alien ship drove up behind one of Rei’Kas’s Marauders; and with a glittering, filigreed sheet of blue-green energy discharge sliced it in half.
H’sishi snarled. [What are these?] she demanded.
“They’re called the Aing-Tii monks,” David said, his tone a strange mixture of satisfaction and awe. “Alien beings who spend most of their lives near the Kathol Rift. There’s not a lot we know about them.”
“Yet they’re coming to your aid,” Karrde pointed out. “More significantly, you knew they would.”
“They hate slavers,” David said. “Rei’Kas is a slaver. It’s very simple.”
A second Marauder flashed with fire and streaming air as one of the other Aing-Tii ships sent another of the strange flower-blossoms of energy through its side. Ahead of the wrecked ships, the confident battle line collapsed as the remaining attackers swung around to face this new threat that had appeared so unexpectedly behind them. But to no avail. The Aing-Tii ships shrugged off the frantic turbolaser fire with ease as they systematically drove through the attackers’ ranks, cutting up the larger ships and crushing the smaller ones against their own hulls.
“I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple, Admiral,” Karrde said to David. “According to Bombaasa, Rei’Kas has been setting up in this area for the past year. Why did your Aing-Tii wait this long to move against them?”
