Annihilation

by Drew Karpyshyn

  “It seems Gravus is no longer a viable candidate,” Vowrawn said with a coy smile. “Does this mean Karrid is our choice by default?”

  “That question must be answered by the entire Dark Council,” Marr replied, bracing himself for the outrage and protests of the others.

  There was an unexpected silence before the ancient Darth Rictus spoke up.

  “Karrid answered the question for us,” he proclaimed. “She bested her rival with strength, yet was cunning enough to make it appear she was in the right. These are the traits of a true Sith.”

  Darth Marr was left momentarily speechless at the unexpected show of support. Given Rictus’s many years on the Dark Council, his approval would go a long way toward winning the others over.

  “We were willing to give the seat to Gravus if he defeated the Republic at Leritor,” Mortis chimed in. “Since Karrid claimed the victory, she deserves the prize.”

  Marr was even more surprised by Mortis’s support. His Sphere of Influence was Laws and Justice. And even though the Empire’s version of justice could often be summarized as “might makes right,” he had assumed Mortis would be outraged by what Karrid had done.

  “Gravus was your candidate,” he said, looking for clarification. “You don’t want to seek revenge for his death?”

  “I thought Gravus was more powerful than Karrid,” he replied. “But his death proves otherwise. She issued a challenge, and he accepted by firing on her ship … a fatal mistake. It seems I underestimated the Falleen.”

  “She took bold action,” Darth Ravage added. “She saw what she wanted and she seized it. If more of the other Sith Lords beneath us followed her example, the Republic would not have us running like cowards.”

  Their words momentarily caught Marr by surprise. Though Karrid’s actions were perfectly in line with the traditional ways of the Sith, he’d thought it would take longer for the rest of the Dark Council to overcome their inherent prejudice and welcome a member of a lesser species into their ranks.

  However, he understood that their willingness to embrace Karrid was still driven by the one trait they all shared—self-preservation. As Dark Lords of the Sith, they understood the power of Karrid’s ship, and the opportunity she represented. The Spear was vital if they hoped to turn the tide of the galactic war … and down the road Karrid could be a powerful ally to use against not only the Republic, but also the other members of the Dark Council.

  For now they would invite her in with open arms, each publicly voicing support to try to win her over as they bided their time. Waiting patiently, they would play their political games, trying to twist her allegiance so they could use her and her ship to their own advantage, even as they slowly plotted her destruction. In other words, they would see her as they each saw every other member of the Dark Council: simultaneously a potential ally and a potential enemy.

  Marr sighed inwardly. Karrid had not hesitated to wipe out a fellow Dark Lord to advance her own career, even though the loss of Gravus made the Empire more vulnerable to the Republic. He had hoped the Falleen might be more open to his efforts to unify the Sith against a common foe, but she had proven herself to be as much a student of the old ways as all the others.

  Despite his best efforts, the culture of backstabbing and infighting still prevailed. The Emperor had kept it under control by virtue of his own unassailable position and power, but in his absence it was eating away at the core of the Empire. And Marr was starting to doubt if he—or any among the great Sith Lords—would be able to stop it.

  CHAPTER 10

  MARCUS MOVED QUICKLY through the halls of Coruscant’s massive Senate Building, heading for Jace Malcom’s office in the military wing. Forty standard years ago the Senators would have been horrified if a military officer—even the Supreme Commander of all Republic forces—had an office in the same building. Back then, most politicians had openly called for a massive decrease in the size of the Republic fleet and a reduction in the number of soldiers. The idea of a full-scale galactic war seemed preposterous, and the desire to shrink the scope and budget of the armed forces was virtually unanimous.

  Four decades of war against the reemerged Sith Empire had changed things significantly. When the Treaty of Coruscant had been forced on the Republic years ago, some believed a lasting peace with the Empire was possible. But in the last eighteen months the uneasy truce had collapsed, and a return to full-scale hostilities silenced all talk of peace in the halls of the Senate. As the tide of war shifted to the Republic’s favor, the idea of ending the Imperial threat once and for all began to gain support.

  The Republic’s growing military resolve was championed by the newly elected Chancellor Saresh. The former governor of Taris, few had seen her as a candidate for the Republic’s highest political position, but she swept to power on a wave of aggressive anti-Imperial sentiment. Unlike others vying to succeed Chancellor Janarus, she hadn’t promised to bring the Republic peace; she promised victory.

  Within days of her election she enacted all thirty-six wartime provisions listed in the Galactic Constitution, greatly expanding the powers and responsibilities of her office and allowing her to make major political appointments without Senate approval. There had been some behind-the-scenes grumbling at the sudden increase in executive power, but Saresh quickly quieted the dissenters by appointing the wildly popular Jace Malcom as the new Supreme Commander.

  The Director had studied Saresh’s rapid rise to power carefully; it was impossible not to be impressed by her ambition and her political brilliance. Tapping Jace for Supreme Commander had been a particularly astute move. Nobody would speak out against such a long-serving Republic hero; his selection legitimized every appointment that came after. Saresh had found the perfect candidate to solidify her support, and she’d put the military under the charge of a man who was as eager to wipe out the Republic’s Imperial foes as she was.

  Not that the Director minded. He also believed crushing the Empire was key to securing the Republic, and he was ready to show how valuable SIS would be to that cause. Operation Transom hadn’t ended as planned; Operation End Game was his chance to make up for it.

  As he approached Jace’s office, Marcus allowed himself a hint of a smile. They’d presented the Supreme Commander with a basic outline of Operation End Game just yesterday, and Jace had already scheduled a meeting to discuss it in more detail. Clearly he’d been impressed.

  The Director was more than a little impressed himself. The analytics team had gone above and beyond for this project. They’d managed to pull everything together in just over a week, thanks largely to Theron’s contributions.

  Marcus had been worried about Theron’s potentially disruptive impact when he’d assigned him to the team, though he’d hoped the nature of their research might make the transition from fieldwork easier. Much to the Director’s relief, as soon as Theron realized analytics was working on a way to put an end to Darth Mekhis’s legacy once and for all, he’d thrown himself into the work.

  Maybe he’s maturing, Marcus thought.

  The Director wasn’t normally an optimistic man, but he couldn’t help but wonder if things were looking up. If Theron learned to stay out of trouble and Jace could secure SIS’s future long-term funding, maybe he wouldn’t wake up every morning with a crippling migraine.

  “Welcome back, Director,” the receptionist greeted him, her features breaking into a smile.

  “Did you miss me?” he asked, responding with a grin of his own.

  “I count every second of every day that you’re not here,” she replied, even as she buzzed him in.

  As before, Jace Malcom was sitting behind his desk when the Director entered his office.

  “I’ve already started pulling together the resources you requested for Operation End Game,” the Supreme Commander told him, jumping right to the point. “You’ll have everything you need.”

  “I’ll pass your appreciation on to the analytics team,” Marcus replied. “They were pulling double shi
fts all week to get this done. The overtime took a big chunk out of our budget, but we figured this was worth it.”

  “I can take a hint,” Jace said with a smile, indicating for the Director to take a seat in the chair across from him. “I’ll make sure your department gets all the credits you need going forward.”

  Marcus nodded in thanks as he sat down.

  “I was glad to see you calling out the need for the Jedi to be involved in your report,” Jace said. “I know some folks don’t like working with them.”

  “They’re a valuable resource for the Republic,” the Director replied. “We just have to learn to use them properly.”

  “They offered to have Master Gnost-Dural join our team.”

  “A good choice,” the Director said, recalling the files the Order had sent over to the SIS. “Darth Karrid was Gnost-Dural’s apprentice before she decided to study under Malgus.”

  “I don’t think they’d phrase it like that,” Jace told him with a wry smile. “They’d probably say she fell to the temptations of the dark side.”

  Marcus frowned. “You think the Jedi are sending Gnost-Dural so he can try to redeem her?”

  “Gnost-Dural’s a pragmatist,” Jace assured him. “Well, as much as any Jedi can be. He won’t do anything that might endanger the mission.”

  When Marcus didn’t reply right away, Jace asked, “Is this going to be a problem for your people?”

  “No, sir. Every name on that list I gave you is a professional. Whichever one of my agents you select for the mission will work alongside Gnost-Dural without complaint.”

  “Actually,” Jace said. “I wanted to talk to you about that list.”

  For some reason, the hairs on the back of Marcus’s neck stood up.

  “The files were all very impressive. But why wasn’t Theron Shan among them?”

  For a moment, the Director was too stunned to reply. SIS kept the identities of their field agents under close wraps. For security reasons, only a handful of people had access to department personnel records, and the Supreme Commander wasn’t one of them. The Director had given him a list of six agents who might be suitable for Operation End Game, but that list didn’t include Theron.

  “You know Theron?” he asked, wondering where the Supreme Commander had come up with the name.

  “Only from the analytics report,” Jace admitted. “He was listed as the agent who uncovered Darth Mekhis’s research.”

  The Director shook his head, confused. He’d reviewed the report before it was sent to Jace. Theron’s name had been redacted from the files—he was certain of it. Someone in analytics must have altered the final report before forwarding it to Jace … and Marcus had a pretty good idea who the culprit was.

  No wonder Theron was so happy to be working on this report, the Director thought, gritting his teeth as he felt one of his migraines threatening to come on.

  Jace picked up on the Director’s discomfort.

  “Is something wrong? Is Theron Shan no longer with SIS?”

  Marcus thought about lying, but he didn’t want to risk damaging his relationship with the Supreme Commander if the truth ever came to light. “Theron’s still with us.”

  “Is he a good agent?”

  “One of our best,” the Director admitted. “But every agent on the list I gave you is just as capable.”

  “If Theron Shan started this, don’t you think he’s earned the right to see it through?”

  “Theron may not be the best candidate for this particular mission,” Marcus replied. “This is a joint operation with the Jedi. He works best on his own.”

  “The report says he was working with a Jedi when he went after Darth Mekhis. Someone named Ngani Zho.”

  “That was a unique situation.”

  Jace arched the eyebrow on the good side of his face in surprise. “You don’t think Operation End Game is a unique situation?”

  “Theron’s methods can sometimes be a bit too … stylish,” Marcus explained, choosing his words carefully.

  “Stylish?”

  “He prefers to go through the window instead of a perfectly good door.”

  “I know the type,” Jace said, nodding. “More than a few of them in the military. Get addicted to the adrenaline rush. Always looking for action. Makes them trigger-happy. They get too fond of killing and bloodshed.”

  “Theron’s not like that,” the Director assured him, unwilling to sully his agent’s reputation, even if he did feel like tossing Theron into a trash compactor at the moment.

  “You’re obviously concerned about something,” Jace continued. “Are you worried he might betray us?”

  “His loyalty to the Republic is absolute,” the Director said emphatically. “He’s just … unfocused. He sees something that doesn’t sit right with him and he has to get involved, even if it’s not part of the mission. He likes to improvise instead of sticking to plans.”

  “Sounds to me like he’s just going above and beyond,” the Supreme Commander said. “We could use someone like that for this mission.”

  Realizing the argument was already lost, the Director held back a sigh as he asked, “Do you want me to send over his file?”

  “I doubt there’s anything in there you can’t tell me now.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “His name is Shan. Any relation to the Jedi Grand Master?”

  “Shan is a very common name. Probably ten million of them on Coruscant alone.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Jace said, fixing Marcus with a piercing stare.

  “Theron’s her son,” Marcus admitted.

  Jace blinked in surprise. “Satele Shan … had a son?”

  “Only a handful of people know,” Marcus explained. “Obviously this is something we want to keep under wraps. The Jedi aren’t supposed to have children.”

  “Who’s the father? Another Jedi?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think even Theron knows.”

  The Supreme Commander was quiet for a few moments. “I’m guessing Theron isn’t attuned to the Force,” he said at last. “Otherwise he’d be in the Order instead of SIS.”

  “True.”

  “But this could still be good for the mission,” Jace said, speaking quickly. “Working with Jedi isn’t easy. His relationship with Satele might make it easier to coordinate our efforts with the Order.”

  “Theron doesn’t really have a relationship with Satele,” the Director cautioned. “She gave him up at birth. I don’t even know if they’ve ever met.”

  “I see,” Jace said, furrowing his brow. “Seems odd he wouldn’t want to get to know her, given that they both serve the Republic.”

  “Theron’s relationship with the Jedi is complicated,” the Director explained. “He was raised in secret by Master Ngani Zho, Satele’s mentor. Taught him everything the young Padawans learn at the academy—mental discipline, Jedi philosophy. I guess Zho just assumed he would follow in Satele’s footsteps when he got older. But the Jedi refused to take him. Turns out he wasn’t sensitive to the Force.”

  “He took after his father,” Jace muttered.

  “Probably,” Marcus agreed. “Kind of made Theron rethink all those lessons he’d learned as a kid.”

  “Do you think he harbors any resentment toward the Jedi because they rejected him?”

  “He respects what the Jedi do for the Republic,” Marcus replied. “But he’s seen firsthand that they’re not perfect. Made him a bit cynical when it comes to some of their more strongly held beliefs.”

  There was a long silence as the Supreme Commander weighed this new information.

  “I want him for this mission,” Jace suddenly declared, thumping his hand on the top of his desk for emphasis. “I served with Satele Shan during the war. If Theron has any of his mother in him, he’s the perfect man for this job.”

  “Theron’s good,” the Director said, making a final halfhearted effort to change the Supreme Chancellor’s mind, “but I really thin
k we’d be better off going with one of the agents from my original list.”

  Jace shook his head. “Theron’s the one.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Director replied, though his response lacked any real enthusiasm. “I’ll send his file so you can look it over, and I’ll let Theron know.”

  “Don’t be so glum, Marcus,” Jace said with a grin. “I’ve got a gut feeling about this kid, and I’ve learned to trust my gut.”

  CHAPTER 11

  MINISTER DAVIDGE, the Imperial Minister of Logistics, tapped at the console of his computer, flipping through screen after screen of numbers arranged in columns, tables, graphs, and charts.

  The entirety of the Empire was represented in those numbers: every citizen, every soldier, every subjugate, and every slave on every world. Every ship in every fleet, as well as all the resources produced across all the systems and sectors under Imperial control, was accounted for in mind-numbing detail and accuracy. The totalitarian rule of the Emperor had led to a very efficient and organized system of inventories and censuses that measured everything under his control. And though he was gone—much to Minister Davidge’s relief—the bureaucratic network he’d installed still remained.

  The screens and screens of numbers were the lifeblood Davidge needed; without accurate, up-to-date data he couldn’t do his job—and in his mind, it was clearly the most important job in the Empire. Logistics, on a meta scale, were the be-all and end-all of the Empire’s survival. Resources and manpower dictated supplies and labor, which dictated the potential production and expected consumption of everything.

  Without him, the Empire had no plan to guide its course. Without him, the Minister of War wouldn’t know how many ships or troops to send to each sector, or which worlds were worth fighting for and which weren’t worth the resources to defend. Even the Dark Council’s members relied on him to give them a sense of the relative strength of the Empire compared to the Republic.

  Unfortunately, the minister lacked hard numbers on the Republic. Ever since the collapse of Imperial Intelligence, data on the enemy had come from estimates, assumptions, and guesswork. It added variance to his equations, and Minister Davidge hated variance. It required him to provide predictions for both high and low ends of the spectrum, doubling his workload as he offered up predictive models tracking the ebb and flow of the galactic war.