CHAPTER SEVEN
The Chimaera, somewhere in the Outer Rim
Captain Gilad Pellaeon stared into his own eyes, reflected in the opaque visor of the scarlet-clad Messenger droid standing before him.
A tense silence gripped the bridge of the Chimaera. All eyes were on him as his officers stared at him expectantly, awaiting his orders after the message that had just been delivered to him from beyond the grave.
There were a number of things that were giving him pause. The first thing, right off the bat, was the Emperor’s appraisal of him, calling him one of the Empire’s most faithful servants. If that was the Emperor’s true assessment, then word had not gotten to the Ruling Council, as they had constantly passed him over for promotion despite his many years of service to both the Empire and the Old Republic that had preceded it. His two decades worth of service meant nothing to them; why would it mean anything to His Imperial Majesty?
The other thing that caused his hesitation—the most important thing—were the orders that the Messenger had delivered to him.
Even before he had been approached by the Messenger, he had heard whispers across the network about Imperial forces carrying out devastating attacks to worlds across the galaxy. He had already heard of what had gone down on Naboo, in addition to similar scenes unfolding at Burnin Konn and Candovant. And now, apparently, Lothal was to be the next target—and Pellaeon, with the ships of the Seventh Fleet at his disposal, was to carry it out.
Pellaeon was familiar with Lothal. In the months leading up to the Battle of Yavin, he had helped oversee the blockade of that planet in an attempt to crush the resistance there, only to suffer a rather embarrassing defeat at the hands of the rebels. For his failure, he had been demoted and placed under the command of Captain Drusan, regaining his rank only after Drusan’s death two years later.
Perhaps that was why the Emperor was entrusting Pellaeon with the task to destroy Lothal, playing on the fact that he had suffered such humiliation there and perhaps wanted to enact revenge. The problem was, though, that Pellaeon was not a vengeful man. He hadn’t even thought of Lothal in all those years.
If these truly were the orders of the Emperor, posthumous as they were, then he obligated to obey them. And yet, he could not help but sense a deception. He required more than just a droid’s recording before he could go through with an action so drastic.
Squaring his shoulders, Pellaeon looked straight into the Messenger droid’s visor. “If you do not mind, I would like to run this through Imperial Center before I go through with these orders.”
The Messenger droid stepped closer to him, its visor nearly brushing against the rim of his cap. “That will not be necessary. The Emperor’s will is final.”
“Yes, of course. But I need confirmation that this is legitimate and not a trick of the rebels. I am sure Director Isard will be able to verify these orders.”
“That will not be necessary,” the droid repeated.
Pellaeon disregarded the droid’s attempts at intimidation as he turned sharply on his heel and addressed the comms officer. “Patch me through to Imperial Center. I want a direct line to Director Isard herself.”
The officer glanced nervously between Pellaeon and the Messenger before nodding. “Yes, sir.”
Pellaeon waited for the droid to object again, but the Messenger remained silent. With his back turned, he could not tell how it was reacting with its body language—if it was reacting at all. Perhaps it was drawing a blaster right now and pointing it at his head. Would his crew dare speak out to warn him?
He waited and listened for any telltale sound of movement. But there was none.
Then, the comms officer spoke up again. “Sir, we have an incoming transmission on the transceiver.”
“Director Isard, I presume?”
“No, captain.” The officer sounded nervous as he spoke. “It is not coming from Imperial Center.”
Pellaeon glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. “Where from, then?”
“I… it’s unclear, sir.”
Pellaeon turned on his heel again. The Messenger droid was still standing there, observing him silently. He did his best to ignore it, his shoulder brushing against its scarlet robe as he walked swiftly down the bridge, passing the other officers as he made his way to the Chimaera’s private holopod.
Built into every Star Destroyer, such transceivers were designed explicitly for the Emperor or one of his viziers to contact the commanders of each ship. Since the Emperor’s death at Endor, the holopod aboard the Chimaera had not been used in over a year; not even Isard or the Grand Vizier before her had used it to contact Pellaeon to deliver their orders to him. Whoever was trying to contact him must have had access to the Empire’s highest channels, yet the comms officer’s words had indicated that it was not from Isard or anyone on Imperial Center.
After confirming that there was indeed a message awaiting him on the comm board, Pellaeon turned to enter the holopod only to stop in his tracks. The Messenger had followed him into the room, moving so swiftly and silently that he had not even noticed. It stood between him and the holopod, the Emperor’s face flickering onto its screen once more.
“Failure to obey my orders will result in the most extreme of all punishments,” Palpatine’s voice said darkly from beyond the grave.
Pellaeon squared his shoulders as he glowered at the droid, growing more impatient with each passing minute. “I will obey,” he said, if only to buy time. “But I must take this message first. I have other obligations to attend to.”
He tried to step around the droid but it moved to intercept him again, stepping as close to him as it could. “My will transcends all,” it spoke again with the Emperor’s voice. “You will do as I command at this instant.”
Pellaeon had just about had enough with this machine. He was tempted to draw his blaster pistol and blast its processor out there and then. But what if it was telling the truth? Would he be punished for damaging this droid?
Rolling his hands into fists, he managed to deftly weave around the Messenger so he could finally enter the holopod, ignoring its continued objections as he stepped into the circular chamber. He dropped down to one knee as per protocol and waited for the transceiver to hum to life for the first time in a year.
The figure that materialized from the shimmering blue light was certainly not Isard, nor was it the Emperor somehow back from the dead. Instead, the hologram displayed the profile of a humanoid male with blue skin and piercing red eyes that seemed to glow perpetually. His uniform was crisp and white, with golden pauldrons unique to that of an Imperial grand admiral. When he spoke, the grand admiral’s voice carried an air of control and superiority that suited any Imperial of such high rank.
“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn,” the holographic figure said. “Thank you for receiving my transmission, Captain Pellaeon. It has been quite some time, hasn’t it?”
Pellaeon could only nod at first, his mouth suddenly dry. It had indeed been some time; when he had last seen Thrawn four years ago, the non-human had been a mere Senior Captain. The fact that he had managed to rise to the rank of Grand Admiral was a stunning feat in and of itself, especially for a being who was not even human.
“Indeed it has, Grand Admiral,” Pellaeon finally managed to say after finding his voice. “I must be frank, there are… many things I am questioning at the moment.”
Thrawn smiled thinly. “I would imagine. And I will be happy to address your questions once I have boarded your ship. Before we proceed, however…” He proceeded to speak a sequence of words which Pellaeon recognized as Sy Bisti, a trade language most common in Wild Space and the Unknown Regions. From behind him, Pellaeon heard the sound of cloth and metal falling, and he looked over his shoulder to see the Messenger droid collapsing. In its right hand was a blaster pistol, which just seconds prior had been pointed at the captain’s head.
Pellaeon turned back to the Grand Admiral’s hologram in surprise. “How…?”
Thrawn simply continued to smile. “As I have said, I will be happy to address any questions you may have. But first, I request that you allow my shuttle to board your vessel.”
Pellaeon knew deep down that his request was truly a command in disguise, but it was one he was more than happy to obey all the same. “Very well, Grand Admiral. I shall make the necessary preparations.”
“Excellent. I await your hospitality, Captain Pellaeon.”
With that, the Grand Admiral’s hologram dissipated. Pellaeon then rose to his feet and turned to the unmoving remains of the Messenger droid. He regarded it for a moment before departing from the holopod, making a mental note to send someone to dispose of the machine.
* * *
Mon Calamari system
“Look alive, Rogue Three! You’ve got an eyeball on your tail!”
Nrin Vakil uttered a silent curse as he performed evasive maneuvers. The TIE fighter tailing him stuck close on his rear, desperately attempting to get a lock on his fighter. His astromech droid let out a shrill wail as green bolts of energy lanced over him, coming dangerously close to grazing his fighter’s cockpit shield.
“I can’t shake him, Four!” he cried into his comm. “Some help would be nice.”
“I’ve got you, Three.” Xarcce Huwla’s X-wing fighter came swooping in, taking position behind Nrin’s pursuer and sandwiching it between the two of them. It did not take the Tunroth pilot long to get a lock on the TIE, and before the Imp could perform evasive maneuvers of his own, a few well-timed shots from Huwla’s fighter left him and his vessel as little more than dust floating in space.
Nrin exhaled deeply. “Thanks for the save, Four.”
“Any time, Three. Now let’s finish off those satellites.”
Nrin followed her lead as they returned to the rest of the action, where the other Rogues were taking care of the weather disruption satellites that the Empire had deployed in the orbit of Mon Cala. By all accounts, they were the same as the ones that had been deployed at Naboo not too long ago, although they were sure to have an even more cataclysmic impact on Mon Cala and its ecosystem if they were not destroyed quickly.
He tightened his grip around the controls of his fighter. Already the Empire had taken away from him someone he had loved—Ibtisam, the Mon Calamari whom against all odds he had ended up falling in love with despite the hostile history between their two races. And now, the Empire was threatening to take away his home planet from him, along with it his entire people.
He would not have it. He was through with the Empire taking things away from him and from others. Today, he would make sure that none of them took anything from anyone ever again.
Or he would die trying.
* * *
“Next satellite down. Only three more to go, Rogue Leader.”
“Nice work, Seven.” Wedge watched as Feylis Ardele’s fighter rejoined that of her wingmate Avan Beruss as they moved on to the next of the Empire’s weather satellites, with TIE fighters hot on their tail. Wedge was aware of the romance between the two and could only pray that their relationship would not meet the same fate that had befallen Nrin and Ibtisam’s on Ciutric.
He glanced to his left to make sure Soontir Fel was still on his wing before pressing forward, moving on to the next of the satellites. A flight of Y-wing bombers were already there, dropping their payload while trying to avoid fire from the TIEs defending their target. Wedge accelerated forward before opening up his s-foils and opening fire on the TIEs. He managed to score a hit on the wing of one eyeball, which caused it to lose control and careen into another, taking them both out. While he and Fel took care of the rest of the TIEs, the Y-wing came in for another run and dropped their bombs again. Unable to withstand another payload, the weather satellite’s systems went haywire, causing the machinery to detonate and catch the last two TIEs in the resulting explosion.
“Nice work, Aggressor Wing,” Wedge said. “That just leaves two.”
As the collective of X-wings and Y-wings moved to rejoin the rest of their compatriots that were engaged with the remaining satellites, Wedge spared a glance at the larger ships that they still had to deal with. A single Imperial-class Star Destroyer oversaw the operation at Mon Cala, reinforced by two Carrack-class light cruisers. Commanded by Captain Xamuel Lennox, the Tyrant had been at the Battle of Hoth from what Wedge recalled, having been taken out by Echo Base’s ion cannon. It was presently engaged in combat with Admiral Ackbar’s own flagship Home One, exchanging fire while their respective fighters fought over the weather satellites.
Wedge could not imagine this battle turning in the Empire’s favor. Once the last two satellites were taken out, he imagine Captain Lennox would be issuing out a surrender to Admiral Ackbar—if not attempting to retreat altogether.
As he returned his attention to the battle at hand, he saw Xarcce Huwla’s fighter get in close to one of the satellites and launch a proton torpedo. Just as it hit the satellite, one of the TIEs defending it circled around and came up behind Huwla’s fighter. It opened fire and managed to score a devastating hit to the X-wing’s aft, taking out Xarcce’s shields. Caught off-guard by the surprise attack, Xarcce tried to get out of the TIE’s sights only to miscalculate her turn and clip her wing against the satellite.
As the X-wing began to spiral out of control, Wedge shouted into his comm, “Rogue Four, eject! Eject!”
“Trying, Leader.” The Tunroth’s voice came back in slightly garbled static, but Wedge was able to make out the words. “Trying to find—”
Another shot from the TIE tore off her left wing. While Nrin Vakil and Hobbie moved in to take out the offending TIE, Xarcce’s fighter continued to spin out of control. Wedge followed her to the best of his ability, with Fel trailing close behind.
“Eject, Four! Eject!”
There was no response. The X-wing kept on spinning away from them, heading in the direction of where the Tyrant and the Home One were engaged in battle. More TIEs swarmed in to intercept the three incoming X-wings, with the Carrack cruisers backing them. Knowing there would be no way he and Fel could take them on by themselves, they were forced to pull back. Wedge could only watch in despair as one of the cruisers fired on Xarcce’s spiraling fighter and obliterated it with a single shot.
Moments later, his comm crackled with the voice of Tycho Celchu. “Lead, this is Nine. Only one satellite remaining.”
Wedge already knew that the Empire would not be winning this day. But it would not be a day he would be reveling all the same.
* * *
Light years away, aboard the Lodestar, Syal Antilles Fel cradled her newborn child.
Thankfully there had been no complications with the birth, despite all the stress she had gone through over the last nine months. She was even more grateful that Soontir had been there for the birth, just before he had to leave for Mon Cala. She had wanted to transfer to Home One with him, but the doctors had insisted she and the baby remain on the Lodestar so she could recover. Especially since Home One was about to go into battle while the Lodestar was currently performing reconnaissance duties, trying to gather intelligence on whoever was behind the Empire’s latest campaign.
Still, Syal could not help but think of her husband as she stared out the viewport in her room, gazing at the stars. She thought of him even more when she looked down and stared into her child’s eyes. While they were more green than brown, they still had that same intensity she had always seen in his.
They still hadn’t chosen a name yet when he had left for Mon Cala. She could only pray he would return to help her make that decision.
She was pulled out of her thoughts by a chime sounding at her door. Figuring it was one of the doctors coming to check on her, she carefully rose out of her cot and, with the baby still bundled up in her arms, she walked over to open the door.
The person on the other side was definitely not a doctor. Dressed in the fleet uniform of a New Republic officer, the human woman had pale skin with black hair pulled into a tight bun. Her lips formed a thin line and her dark eyes were narrowed.
“Mrs. Fel,” the officer said in a cold sharp tone. “I need you to come with me.”
Syal frowned, holding her baby close to her chest. “What is it? Is everything all right?” The worst possible scenario entered her mind. “Soontir… is he…?”
“I need you to come with me,” the woman repeated.
Swallowing hard, Syal saw no other option but to follow the officer. She was led through the corridors of the Lodestar, turning left and right at random intervals. It almost felt deliberate, as if the officer was trying to avoid something or someone. Syal noted that they never crossed paths with anyone else throughout the entire ship. She thought about pointing this out or asking the woman about this, but something about the officer’s demeanor made her think twice about doing so.
They eventually reached the hangar, where a solitary shuttle awaited them. Syal recognized the shuttle as a Lambda-class, and while she knew that the Republic was in possession of such craft, its presence in the hangar stood out among the other ships that were more distinctly “Rebel.” As they reached the ramp, Syal hesitated and thought about pulling away, only for the woman to grab her arm and pull her inside, as if somehow reading her mind.
As the ramp closed behind her, Syal suddenly felt herself be grabbed by a large, powerful arm, which then pushed her into a seat. She held onto her child as tightly as she could without harming it as a pair of strange alien creatures restrained her to the chair. Behind them, the woman dressed in the uniform of a Rebel officer smiled mirthlessly as she raised a comm to her mouth.
“We have the woman. Set a course for the rendezvous point; it’s time to cast the lure.”
Syal opened her mouth to scream in protest, but a mouth clamp fell over her face and silenced her as the Imperial shuttle lifted up from the hangar floor and flew out of the Lodestar like a raven in the night.
