Star Wars: I, Jedi

by Michael A. Stackpole

  We poured out of the Invidious and saw an old Kaloth-class battlecruiser in orbit around Kerilt. The IFF transponder indicated it was called Harmzuay, and I’d known of that ship from back in my CorSec days. It belonged to a group of Thalassian slavers who, even for slavers, had a pretty unsavory reputation—they culled the best and brightest of their victims and killed the rest, guaranteeing a diminished supply which hiked their prices.

  “Bolts, on me. We have their skulls. Burn ’em, don’t shock. Rock, Slash, head down and ground attack Thalassian ships. Use ion cannons—I don’t want slave ships being blown up with slaves inside.” Timmser and Wallon acknowledged my orders and headed to atmosphere while the rest of us came around to port and drove straight at the two dozen Z-95 Headhunters the Thalassians used—fairly stock models with two triple-blasters and a concussion missile launcher.

  The Thalassian pilots were not bad, but we were just better—a lot better. I nailed my first one in a head-to-head pass. I fired first, splashing his forward shield with laser light. He shied a bit and shot a concussion missile at me, but it jetted past harmlessly. My next two bolts punched through his shield. One drilled into the cockpit and the second melted part of the port engine. Bits and pieces of it broke loose, exploding out through the housing, then the S-foil itself tore off and whirled away into space. The skull proceeded into a flat spin, and the pilot, if he still lived, was unable to do anything about it.

  The next pilot hit me once with red bursts from his triple blasters, but my shields held. I shot back, hitting him with a dual-fire pair of laser blasts. He rolled to starboard to get away from me, so I rolled to port to drop in on his tail. I triggered another burst of fire that nibbled away at his aft shield, then inverted and climbed into his continued loop. He tried to roll to port and climb away from me, but a quick push of the stick forward and a touch of rudder brought me back on him. My last shots pierced his shields and, were he flying an X-wing, would have decapitated his astromech. As it was, in a skull, I took off his cockpit canopy and the top ten centimeters of his helmet.

  Red blaster bolts shot past me off the starboard side. I popped my throttle offline and went bow down for two seconds, then throttled up again and ruddered to starboard. The skull that had been trying to slip in on my tail overshot me, giving me her belly as a clean target. I pumped two sets of bolts into it, collapsing the forward shield and taking the first third of the craft off. Unless the pilot was really good, all she’d be able to do was fly straight and level. That worked out, though, because down would bring her back to the dogfight, and up would carry her into the battle between the Harmzuay and Invidious.

  But not for long.

  The Kaloth battlecruiser had once been considered a very powerful ship, and this one had been modified enough to be able to fight any Nebulon-B Frigate to a standstill. In the hands of slavers it made for a most potent weapon and, under normal circumstances, would have been a welcome addition to the Invid fleet. However, the Thalassian slavers had tried to poach what Admiral Tavira saw as her property, and the price to be paid for that affront was very high.

  And even watching various sensor feeds well after the battle, I found it truly difficult to comprehend the vast, destructive capabilities of the Invidious. While I knew how many guns the ship had and could easily describe the relative effects of each, watching them employed in so efficient and lethal a manner left me emotionally numb.

  The Harmzuay got off the first salvo, spraying laser cannon and turbolaser fire over the length of the Invidious. A few shots made it through the Star Destroyer’s shields to boil off hull armor, but I’d seen nastier damage done by an X-wing strafing run. The Harmzuay’s gunners didn’t concentrate their fire to compound the damage being done. Their tactics might have worked in the past to frighten off a ship with which they were more evenly matched, but not the Invidious.

  And not with Admiral Tavira commanding.

  The Invidious’ return barrage devastated the ship that was one fifth of the Star Destroyer’s size. The heavy turbolaser batteries concentrated their fire on the aft end of the battlecruiser, punching through the shields as if they were mere holograms, then boiling great holes through the hull. Atmosphere vented, carrying with it debris and bodies, then subsidiary explosions rocketed more shrapnel and parts into space. The Invidious’ emerald heavy turbolaser cannon shots raked the battle-cruiser’s starboard flank, drilling through shields and burning off the Harmzuay’s weaponry.

  With no shields and no weapons, the battlecruiser’s commander did the only thing left open to him—he rolled his ship to present the belly shields and tried to pull away and run. In his case, however, there was no try, and there was no do. There was only die, and the battlecruiser died spectacularly.

  As the aft came around, the Invidious hit it with everything. The Harmzuay’s aft looked like a black hole sucking in every green energy shaft the Invidious’ guns spat out. The battlecruiser’s engines exploded immediately, shredding the last third of the ship. The roiling golden ball of incandescent gas actually pushed the Harmzuay further on the captain’s intended course, but by then it was only the spasmodic jerking of a corpse.

  The Invidious’ guns cored through the battlecruiser’s hulk, melting everything. Molten durasteel congealed into long, twisted threads that trailed from the wreck like the roots of a nebula orchid. I actually thought I saw, and confirmed by later sensor data review, turbolaser bolts burning through the battlecruiser’s nose. More metal tendrils bled out from the ship’s bow, then the hollowed hull sagged in on itself. What was once the Harmzuay hung there in space like the carcass of some odd metallic animal.

  I rolled the clutch and streaked back into the dogfight, but the Thalassians were broken. Half their fighters had already been destroyed, and watching the death of the Harmzuay had taken the fight out of the rest of them. The trio whose skulls could jump peeled off into an exit vector, while the rest of them headed out toward Algara 2. Why they thought they would find sanctuary there I had no idea, but whatever they would face there likely beat the death we’d give them.

  “Let them run, Bolts. We’re going atmosphere and see if there is anything to do down there.”

  My clutch broke through the planet’s cloud cover first, giving me a good view of the planet’s verdant jungles. From several points to the north I could see smoke and orbiting clutches that occasionally swooped and fired. I punched up Rock Squadron’s tactical frequency on the comm.

  “This is Bolt Leader. Rock Lead report.”

  “Rock Lead here. Little bit of ground fire. We have a shocked shuttle. Slaves have escaped into the jungle and we’re driving the Thalassians away from them.”

  “Good work, Timmser.” I raised Slash Squadron and got a similar report. I brought my clutch around on a southern heading and did a flyby on the main Morymento district that included the spaceport, but saw no ships and encountered no fire. I switched back to Bolt Squadron’s tactical frequency. “Three flight, land here. Two flight, combat aerospace patrol. One flight, on me, sensors in ground search mode.”

  I worked my sensor controls over into ground search mode, which painted a grid on my monitor, superimposed a topographical map of the terrain, and started to fill in data on structures, energy flow patterns, lifeform readings, movement and anything else the programmers had thought important. I fed the resulting data over to my comm unit and shot it up to the Invidious.

  A red light on the comm unit burned to life beside the fleet frequency. I punched it. “Bolt Lead here.”

  “Bolt Lead, this is Admiral Tavira. Ground status?”

  “Scanning the town now. Looks like the warehouses are loaded. If you send our assault shuttles down now, we can start loading.” I glanced at the sensor monitor and the data that was scrolling across it. “Warehouse district appears to be largely deserted. The Caamasi must have headed home when the trouble started.”

  “Let them stay there and they need not be hurt.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Well,
not exactly. Taking the supplies and equipment from the warehouses could set back the development of the colony by years. The Caamasi were known to be industrious, but taming a world is not an easy task. With the proper tools they could have done a lot, so the harm we would do them might not be immediate, but it would hurt.

  “I am so pleased you approve. Tavira out.”

  I switched back to Bolt’s tactical frequency. “Three flight, report on spaceport status.”

  I got no reply, which struck me as odd. “This is Bolt Lead to three flight. Report status.”

  Again, no reply. “Bolt two, on me, three and four, continue scanning.” I rolled my clutch and headed back toward the spaceport, keeping my sensors in ground mode to pick up on any ground fire that could indicate a running lightfight or ambush of my pilots. The last thing I wanted was for Remart to get killed because I’d ordered him to the ground, since I knew I’d pay dearly for spoiling his long-awaited assignation with Admiral Tavira.

  Ground scan came up negative, though it did show all four clutches of three flight on the ground and intact. “I’m not liking this, two. Stay up and keep orbiting. I’m going down.”

  I set the clutch down, popped the hatch, then doffed my gloves and helmet. I took the comlink from the helmet and checked to make sure it was tuned to the squadron frequency. I clipped that to my red flightsuit lapel, then pulled a blaster carbine and a belt of powerpacks from the survival box. I hauled myself out of the cockpit, slid down the front and hit the ground running. I headed toward the spaceport terminal building and when I saw blaster scars on the door lock, I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Realizing I was taking a risk, I tapped into my personal Force reservoir and pushed my sphere of responsibility out. I consciously flattened it, making it more into a fat disk, in the hopes that Tavira’s advisors wouldn’t pick up on it, then I focused it even more forward, ignoring the spaceport landing facilities. Keeping it in a semicircle, I pushed it out and sensed nothing in the terminal. In the jungle beyond it I found all manner of lifeforms and various Caamasi homes. Then, at a distance that would have covered roughly two Coruscant blocks, I found my pilots.

  Along with them I caught pain and fear, but it didn’t come from them. I started sprinting and rounded a corner along a paved path that followed the gentle, rolling lay of the land to a circle and an area where the trees had been thinned so homes could be built.

  Remart and his flightmates stood in the center of the clearing, with a semicircle of Caamasi looking on with horror in their wide, dark eyes. A landspeeder rested on the ground between most of the Caamasi and my people, with two dead Thalassians still seated in it. A third Thalassian, the driver, lay on the ground. Across from him lay a Caamasi who had risen up on one elbow, with his left arm held up to ward off a blow from Remart. Behind that Caamasi crouched another Caamasi, smaller and finer-boned. I guessed she was a female and perhaps even an adolescent because of the slight swell of down-covered breasts. The purple markings on the face and shoulders of both Caamasi were similar enough that I assumed some sort of blood relation between them.

  “Report, Sasyru!” I put a lot of venom and all the command I could muster into my voice. “Now! Report!”

  Remart’s head came up and he came around to face me. His flightmates spread out, each one of them fingering the blaster carbines they wore slung over their shoulders or across their bellies. I looked at each one of them, but they didn’t hold my gaze very long. When I looked at Remart, he smiled confidently.

  “Situation is under control, Captain. It doesn’t concern you.”

  I continued trotting forward. “Is that so?” I glanced at the downed Caamasi and saw a dark dribble of blood from one of his nostrils. I gave him a quick nod, then narrowed my eyes. “Explain to me what is going on here.”

  “I said it was none of your concern.”

  “Noted. Make it my concern.” As I approached them I slowed and noticed a couple of details I’d missed from further out. The dead driver had spilled a satchel of jewelry when he went down. I’d never seen Caamasi metal-work before, and the silver and gold pieces lying there were utterly unlike anything I’d ever looked at. I had no reason to suspect the slaver had brought the jewelry with him for trading purposes. Since none of the Caamasi I could see were wearing anything beyond sandals and a kilt-like garment, my assumption was that the Thalassians had been looting this small neighborhood when Remart and his people happened upon them and killed them.

  Remart’s face closed up. “We found the Thalassians here. They resisted and attacked us and, as per regulations, we killed them. End of report.”

  I nodded at the Caamasi on the ground. “What happened to him?”

  “He struck me, so I hit him back.”

  I frowned. “What sort of sithspawn reason did you have for being out here anyway?”

  The man smiled slyly and I saw his friends begin to grin, too. “I was shopping for something for the admiral.”

  “So you thought you’d just come along and loot a house or two, but you found the Thalassians here already. You killed them and you decided to take their swag.” I stared at him, incredulous. “And this Caamasi didn’t want to give it up, right?”

  “We just wanted him to share.”

  “Sure, but the only thing you know about sharing comes under the heading ‘communicable disease.’ ” I frowned. “What made you think you had any right to that jewelry?”

  Remart looked at me as if I were stupid. “We’re pirates. We take stuff like jewelry.”

  “Right, but all the stuff we take goes into a communal pool and is split up later. You know that.” I shook my head. “Just because Admiral Tavira has lost her mind doesn’t mean rules no longer apply to you.”

  “Oh, really?”

  I nodded. “Really.”

  “Good, then. I’ll apply some rules.” He brought his blaster carbine up and pointed it at the Caamasi male he’d hit. “This one hit me. He was resisting, so I get to kill him.”

  “Nope.”

  “No?” Remart’s eyes narrowed. “Being selective about regulations now, aren’t you, Captain?”

  “Hardly.” I pointed at the Caamasi with my left hand. “He’s mine. You can’t kill him.”

  The pilot frowned. “He’s yours?”

  “Right. I need a bodyservant, and I want him to fulfill that role. You can’t kill him.” I watched Remart’s anger rise to his face. “And that’s an order, Sasyru.”

  Remart shifted his shoulders. “You know, I don’t think I like your orders. And, you know, I think you could be shot down right now and we could tell everyone that the Thalassians ambushed you while you were bravely leading us on a recon of this area. I think I could even get elected to lead Bolt Squadron in your place.”

  “That’s possible, but it won’t give you what you really want.” I tossed my blaster carbine down and the belt of powerpacks with it. “Even if I die here, even if you cover it with that story, everyone will remember two things. One: I was in the lead and two: they’ll remember I said you hit like a Chandra-Fan. You’ll never live that down unless …”

  “Unless?”

  I shook my hands out and waved him forward with my fingertips. “Try me. Beat me down with your fists. Of course, I don’t think you have the guts to do that, since I’m not harmless. Care to prove me wrong?”

  Remart laughed aloud and tossed his carbine to his wingman. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this chance. You suckered me in the dark, Idanian. It’s a good day for bone breaking and blood spilling. You’re mine.”

  His first punch came in high, a right hand hooking down toward his left. I stepped away from it easily, then leaned in, grabbed the back of his grey flightsuit and tossed him to the ground. He rolled on his shoulder and came up, spinning fast to face me, his arms ready to pick off any punch or kick I might be throwing at him.

  I remained where I was and laughed. “I told you before, you get one free punch. You missed, so I’ll only count it as a
half, how’s that?”

  He approached me more carefully, keeping his feet solidly under him. He came in with his left fist forward, his right cocked to deliver a heavy punch. He led with a short jab from his left hand, but I merely had to lean my head away to avoid it. He stepped in to deliver the right, so I cut to my right and his punch sailed over my left shoulder. As I came around beneath his retracting left arm, I leaped up and caught him on the side of his face with an open-handed slap that twisted him around and dropped him to one knee.

  He covered the red imprint on his cheek with his own hand, then spat on the ground. Remart rose slowly and set himself to continue the fight. “Is that your best, Idanian?”

  “Just warming up.” As he set himself for my attack I saw the myriad of countermoves he ran through his mind. Unlike Tycho, Remart did not think in complicated lines. He evaluated and rejected attacks not based on what I could deliver, but on what he could best attack back from. He looked to defend himself against blows he hoped I would throw.

  And apparently he never truly got the idea that I had no intention of making his dreams come true.

  I snapped a kick out with my right foot that caught him on the left kneecap. It drove the knee back until it locked, but didn’t break it because I’d already begun to retract my foot. As he began to stumble back, my foot flicked out again, catching him squarely in the stomach. His eyes bulged and a strangled groan burst from his mouth as he fell and vomited.

  “Hey, you do have guts!” I left him on the ground, walked over to the bag of jewelry and squatted beside it. The pieces in it looked very beautiful, both delicate and yet possessed of a sinewy strength that matched the Caamasi people. “You were willing to oppose Remart for these pieces. Why?”

  The Caamasi looked from me to where Remart was slowly gathering himself to his feet, and back again. “These are heirlooms. Our families were destroyed on Caamas, and these are the physical memories we have of them.” He pointed to one particular piece, a necklace, with interlaced catlike figures, each with a tiny gold stone as an eye. “My daughter, she asked for that piece to be returned. Your man demanded something of her in exchange, and sought it when she refused.”