Annihilation

by Drew Karpyshyn

  Even using the lowest estimates of Republic resources, the truth was inescapable. The tide had turned against the Empire, and if something didn’t radically change over the next few years their defeat was inevitable. It was simple math.

  The minister finished up his final review of the data, gathered his report, and stood from his desk, stretching to loosen his cramped and tired muscles. He’d been huddled over the chair for nearly twelve hours, but Darth Marr had presented him with a question, and Davidge needed to be sure of the answer before he replied.

  Confident in his analysis, he turned and headed to the locked durasteel door in the back of his office. He punched in the sixteen-digit code to unlock it, stepped inside, and sealed the door behind him. He moved quickly over to the communications console in the center of the room and activated the black cipher to send out an encrypted message to Darth Marr.

  The Sith Lord answered immediately; clearly he’d been waiting for Davidge’s call.

  “My Lord,” the minister said. “I’ve reviewed the situation in the Boranall system as you commanded.”

  “I assumed as much when I saw your call,” Marr answered, his voice calm and cold as the grave.

  Davidge suppressed an urge to shudder. He didn’t like dealing with the Dark Council—the Sith Lords were strange creatures beyond his comprehension. They were driven by emotion and passion rather than logic and careful analysis. They often relied on visions and prophecy gleaned through the Force, allowing some mystical, unquantifiable power to guide their actions rather than the undeniable truth of numbers. And sometimes they stubbornly refused to believe what he tried to tell them—especially when he delivered news they didn’t want to hear.

  Marr was better than some of the others; he didn’t rage and scream at Davidge when he didn’t get the answer he sought, like Ravage, and he didn’t seem to be eviscerating the minister with his eyes like Mortis. Most important, Marr understood that the minister’s projections were not guarantees. Unforeseen variables could alter the equation, rendering the minister’s numbers obsolete. But there was still something unsettling about the icy calm with which Marr always addressed him.

  “What is your analysis?” Marr pressed, and Davidge realized the Sith had been waiting for him to give his report.

  “Uh … given the estimated level of Republic-backed resistance and the growing tide of anti-Imperial sentiment among the native population, we should abandon our campaign in the Boranall system.”

  “There are three habitable worlds in that system,” Marr said. “Nearly twenty billion people.”

  “Y-yes, my Lord. But none of the planets has the abundance of resources necessary to offset the losses we will inevitably sustain if we try to keep the population under Imperial control.”

  “What’s the loss ratio?”

  “Extrapolated over six months, there is a net point two percent reduction in total Imperial output if we let the system go.”

  “And if we try to hold it?”

  “Conservative estimates put the loss at point four percent.” After a moment he hastily added, “In the worst-case scenario, losses could hit point seven percent.”

  To some the numbers might sound small, but Davidge knew Marr was wise enough to understand the incredible scope of even two one-hundredths of a percent of the Empire’s total resources.

  “The cost is high,” Marr acknowledged, but then he added, “but the Boranall system is not the only place in the Empire threatening to break away from our control. Crushing this uprising will send a message to other systems.”

  “Of course, my Lord,” Davidge said, though silently he sighed.

  He understood Marr’s reasoning—expend extra resources on the Boranall system in the hope that it would offset future losses. But in the minister’s experience, such a plan rarely worked. Anti-Imperial sentiment would still rise up in other systems, fed and fueled by the Republic and their promises of liberation.

  They would never recoup the extra few tenths of a percent it would cost them to hold the system. In Davidge’s mind, this is how the Empire would fall—not in some epic battle, but by tiny margins bleeding away. A death of a million microscopic cuts. But he dared not argue with Darth Marr.

  “I will arrange to have one of our nearby fleets send reinforcements to the system,” the minister said.

  “I believe Darth Karrid is still in that sector,” Marr said. “The Ascendant Spear’s arrival should put a quick end to the uprising.”

  The minister fought back another sigh. He was all too familiar with Darth Karrid and her methods. Whenever the Ascendant Spear was brought into a conflict, casualties and collateral damage increased exponentially. There was no doubt in his mind that the loss ratio would now push toward the highest of his estimates.

  Against his better judgment, the minister decided to speak up.

  “I’m still trying to absorb the cost of Darth Karrid’s intervention at Leritor. The loss of Gravus’s fleet has negatively impacted our projections. In this case, it might be better if you ordered someone else to go.”

  “Darth Karrid is a member of the Dark Council now,” Marr reminded him. “She does not take orders from me. Or from you.”

  “Forgive me, my Lord. I meant no offense.”

  “Choose your words more carefully when you contact Darth Karrid to request her assistance in this matter.”

  Davidge understood numbers better than people, but it was obvious what Marr was hoping to accomplish. It was well known that he had supported the Falleen’s candidacy from the beginning, and having the Minister of Logistics personally petition Darth Karrid for aid in the Boranall system would further legitimize her new position. And persuading her to undertake a mission in a remote system would keep her and the Ascendant Spear away from the machinations of any other members of the Dark Council who might be looking to recruit her allegiance, at least for a while. It wasn’t the first time the minister had been forced to bow to the politics of the Dark Council. At least this time the cost to the Empire was less than it had been on other occasions.

  “I understand, my Lord. I will contact her at once.”

  “Try to be convincing when you ask for her help,” Marr warned before disconnecting the signal.

  From his reports, the minister knew every potentially significant detail about Boranall and the other worlds in the system: their geography and climate; their citizens and culture; their resources and industry. And he knew exactly how he would present this proposal to Darth Karrid.

  He composed a brief message summarizing the situation, running it through the cipher before transmitting it to the Ascendant Spear with a highest priority ranking. Despite this, it took almost thirty minutes before he received her reply. The delay was troubling; it hinted that the Falleen, like so many other of the high-ranking Sith Lords, had little regard for the crucial role the Minister of Logistics played in the ongoing galactic war.

  Pushing his fears aside, Minister Davidge answered the incoming holo. Darth Karrid’s face materialized before him. Each time he saw her, Davidge couldn’t help but notice her marred beauty. Her perfect skin had been disfigured by the tattoos on her face that represented her devotion to the ways of the Sith; the cybernetic implants dominating her left side transformed her features into a grotesque mix of flesh and steel.

  “I received your message, Minister Davidge,” Darth Karrid said, her tone somewhere between annoyance and contempt. “Is this foolishness on Boranall really worthy of the Ascendant Spear?”

  No, it’s not, Davidge thought. But Marr wants you there.

  Out loud he said, “We have reports of a steady buildup of Republic ships in the region in conjunction with numerous accounts of growing anti-Imperial sentiment among the locals. My projections show that if this potential uprising is not dealt with swiftly, it could have a ripple effect throughout the Empire.”

  She twisted her face up in a sneer.

  “And what made you think this insignificant system was important enough to troub
le a member of the Dark Council?”

  Knowing Marr would be displeased if Karrid discovered his involvement, the minister instead went with a carefully fabricated justification for contacting her.

  “There is a hypermatter research station on Boranall,” Davidge told her.

  There was some truth to his statement: there was an old hypermatter research station on Boranall, the largest and most heavily populated planet in the similarly named system. But he omitted the fact that it was a useless government boondoggle put in place generations ago by corrupt politicians taking payouts from the wealthy family that owned the research company. The archaic equipment had fallen into disrepair, and the technicians supposedly working there were mostly relatives of influential nobles with no proper training.

  “Since you are now overseeing the Technology Sphere of Influence,” Davidge continued, blatantly appealing to her ego, “I thought you might want to handle this personally. We can’t let the research station fall under Republic control.”

  Karrid favored him with a coy smile—an expression that at the height of her beauty would have made Davidge’s knees buckle with yearning and desire. Now, however, her gruesome visage merely churned his stomach.

  “Perhaps Marr is right about you,” she purred. “Maybe you are of some use to the Empire after all.”

  Davidge remained silent.

  “You’re in luck, Minister,” she said after a brief moment of contemplation. “I will set a course for the Boranall system and put an end to the flickers of rebellion.”

  “I thank you on behalf of the Empire,” Davidge replied.

  Karrid didn’t bother to reply as she terminated the call. Relieved, the minister turned off the cipher, rose from his seat, and walked out of the communications room. He closed the durasteel door behind him, waiting for the single beep that confirmed it was locked and the cipher beyond was secure. Then he returned to his desk and went back to studying his tables, charts, and graphs.

  CHAPTER 12

  THERON HAD NO INTENTION of showing up late for his briefing with the Supreme Commander. The Director was already furious with him for slipping his name into the summary report for Operation End Game; no sense adding fuel to the fire. As a result, he arrived at Jace’s office twenty minutes early.

  “Take a seat,” the receptionist instructed, pointing to one of several chairs against the wall. “The Supreme Commander will see you once everyone is here.”

  There was nothing in her tone to indicate this was anything but standard protocol, but Theron couldn’t help but wonder if the Director had given explicit instructions not to let him in to speak with Jace Malcom unescorted. However, looking at the young woman’s bearing—professional, but in no way wary or guarded—convinced him he was just being paranoid. He smiled to himself as he sat down, glad to see his survival skills were operating at full throttle once again. For a field agent, a little paranoia was a good thing: sometimes they really were out to get you.

  The Director arrived about fifteen minutes later. He gave a perfunctory nod to Theron, then a warm smile and wink to the receptionist. The young woman blushed and smiled herself as she pretended not to have seen the gesture.

  Looks like the Director’s looking for wife number three, Theron thought to himself.

  “Any advice for this meeting?” Theron asked quietly as his boss took a seat beside him to wait.

  “Since when does anything I ever tell you matter?” he replied in a sharp whisper, just low enough to keep the receptionist from hearing. “You just do whatever you want anyway.”

  “But I get results,” Theron reminded him. “That’s why you keep me around.”

  The Director didn’t reply, and Theron could tell he was biting his tongue to keep from unleashing a full-blown rant in front of the receptionist.

  “Jace is a military man,” the Director finally said after regaining his composure. “He likes discipline and order. Pull one of your typical reckless stunts while he’s calling the shots and he’ll crush you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Theron promised.

  They passed the next few minutes in uncomfortable silence until Master Gnost-Dural, their Jedi liaison, arrived. The Kel Dor was slightly taller than Theron, though he appeared thinner—possibly because of his loose-fitting Jedi robe. His rough, ridged skin was a faded hue of yellow-brown. Like all Kel Dor who ventured from the helium-rich atmosphere of their homeworld, his eyes were protected by formfitting goggles and the lower half of his face was partially obscured by a steel breathing mask. The mask covered the fleshy chasm that Kel Dor possessed in place of a nose and mouth, though it left his ten-centimeter-long, downward-protruding tusks exposed.

  Given his complexion, the mask, the tusks, and the odd-shaped cranium typical of the species, Master Gnost-Dural’s appearance was intimidating and unsettling. But Theron knew the Jedi was one of the most respected and honored Masters in the Order.

  He was the Republic’s foremost expert on the Sith; he had studied them in detail for many years in his role as keeper of the Jedi Archives. Having reviewed the file the Jedi sent over, however, Theron knew he was more than a mere historian. Gnost-Dural was also an accomplished warrior; he’d been battling the Sith ever since their startling reemergence on the galactic stage, longer than Theron had even been alive.

  Theron wondered what the Kel Dor thought of Grand Master Satele Shan. Though there were no records of them serving directly together, he surely knew the head of the Jedi Order personally. He also wondered if Gnost-Dural knew Satele was his mother. Not that Theron really cared either way. Satele’s connection to him was purely biological. His lineage had no bearing on who he was or what he had become; the only real parent he’d had was Master Zho.

  “Greetings, Director,” the alien said, his voice deep and resonant even through his mask. “And to you, Agent Shan.”

  “Call me Theron.”

  “As you wish. I knew Master Zho; he spoke of you often. I grieved when I heard of his loss, though I take solace knowing he became one with the Force.”

  Theron was familiar enough with Jedi philosophy not to take offense at the well-intentioned words. He also made note of the fact that Gnost-Dural mentioned Zho, but not Satele … though he might just have been exercising discretion.

  “The Supreme Commander will see you now,” the young woman said, pressing a button behind her desk that caused the door to swing open. The three men rose as one and entered the room where Jace was waiting. The Supreme Commander sprang to his feet as they entered, coming over quickly to close the door behind them.

  “Director. Master Gnost-Dural,” he said, nodding at each of them in turn. “Good to finally meet you, Theron.”

  His words came quickly, as if he was nervous. Theron chalked it up to excitement over the mission.

  “I want everyone to speak freely,” Malcom continued. “Rank means nothing here—we’re all equals in this meeting. If you have something to say, just say it.”

  “Think you can handle that, Theron?” the Director asked sarcastically.

  “I’ll try to get over my natural shyness.”

  “Perhaps we should bring each other up to speed,” Master Gnost-Dural suggested. “You can tell me more about Operation End Game, and I can tell you about the Ascendant Spear’s commander. She was once my Padawan, though she went by the name of Kana Terrid back then.”

  “I helped put together the analytics report,” Theron reminded them. “I’ve studied everything that was in the files in detail. I’m more interested in what wasn’t in the files.”

  The Jedi nodded. “Kana showed great promise during her training, though I was always wary of her ambition. She rarely limited herself to the tasks I set her to; she liked to go off on her own. Take risks. Always looking for the next new challenge.”

  “Sounds familiar,” the Director mumbled, but Theron ignored him.

  “Instead of trying to change her nature, I sought to guide and direct her natural curiosity. I encouraged her to exp
lore and branch out.”

  “That doesn’t sound familiar,” Theron interjected, arching an eyebrow in his boss’s direction.

  “It may be my fault that she fell to the dark side,” Gnost-Dural admitted. “I thought her training had given her the discipline to keep her safe, but perhaps giving her so much freedom was a mistake.”

  Theron chimed in before the Director could say anything. “Some people are just drawn to the dark side. Forcing her to follow a rigid set of rules might have made her abandon the Jedi Order even sooner.”

  “She didn’t abandon the Jedi Order,” Gnost-Dural replied. “Not as you think. I wanted to get one of my people into the Sith; someone to help bring them down from the inside. I was the one who sent her to study under Darth Malgus. I knew it was a risk. If she was discovered she would suffer untold tortures and a gruesome, painful death. Even worse, I knew the temptation of the dark side would test her: Malgus was both powerful and charismatic.”

  Theron wasn’t entirely sure the risk of falling to the dark side was worse than torture and death, but he managed to keep his mouth shut.

  “For several years she worked undercover, studying at Malgus’s feet while secretly relaying information back to me. Much of what we know about the Ascendant Spear came from her initial reports, and her information led to several key Republic victories.”

  “Let me guess what happened next,” Theron said. “The intel kept flowing, but it became less valuable. The information was still accurate, but it wasn’t as strategically important.”

  “She became a double agent,” the Kel Dor confirmed. “She was feeding us insignificant scraps on the Empire’s plans while relaying critical Republic intel to Darth Malgus.