Star Wars X-Wing: Chasing Phantoms, Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Akiva

“Would you care for some Hestrian wine, Admiral?”

“No, thank you,” Sloane said, keeping her tone polite as she regarded the Satrap of Akiva with skeptical eyes. Isstra Dirus did not seem to notice her clear suspicion as he motioned for his protocol droid to withdraw the offered drink. Meanwhile, the rest of the gathered Imperials were clearly enjoying their choice of refreshment.

Although she had been the one to gather them here, Sloane did not trust anyone in the room in the slightest. She knew that each and every one of them had their own goals and ambitions, all of them pointing towards taking the Imperial throne for themselves. Even Satrap Dirus, who was merely a host rather than an active member of the meeting, had a stake in all of this, given how his world was under the jurisdiction of Warlord Zsinj. For all she knew, he could be trying to poison all of them to eliminate them for Zsinj. Or, one of the others could have spiked the drink to take her out given her loyalty to the greater Empire. Either way, she was not taking any chances.

Setting down his glass, the self-proclaimed Grand Moff Valco Pandion folded his hands over the circular table as he regarded Sloane with a cool eye. “So, Admiral, what prompts this meeting? Has Isard finally decided to relinquish control of the Empire to those who are far more qualified to rule it?”

“No,” Sloane said evenly, looking from each warlord to the next. “Director Isard is unaware of this meeting.”

General Jylia Shale raised an eyebrow. “Have you turned against her?”

“No,” Sloane said again, more firmly this time. “However, I do not trust her to handle this situation in a way that I feel would benefit the Empire. She would much rather have you all executed than even think of negotiating with you. But I don’t think that move is the best, strategically speaking.”

“It’s comforting to know you hold our health in high regards,” said Arsin Crassus, a morbid smile on his face.

Sloane placed her hands on the table, interlacing her fingers as she took a deep breath before speaking. “Until a year ago, we were all equal in the eyes of the Emperor. We had all sworn the same oath to serve the Empire and carry out the Emperor’s will. But with his death, we have become divided, and because of that division the Rebel Alliance has grown stronger in its numbers as more and more worlds become so bold as to join them. They are now even calling themselves the New Republic.”

Pandion snorted derisively. “Naïve fools, the lot of them. Their bravado will be the deaths of them eventually.”

“Yes, but if we fail to reunite ourselves, we will be left in a no better state and it won’t be long before another terrorist group arises to pose a threat to us. We need to be unified, or else everything the Emperor has built will fall.”

Pandion pounded the table with his fist. “I refuse to follow Isard! She has no business running the Empire any more than that fool Pestage did!”

Shale eyed him as she crossed her arms. “And who would you suggest to take her place?”

“Someone with actual experience of governing. If not a Grand Moff, then a coalition of Grand Moffs who control wide swathes of the galaxy!”

“Didn’t Grand Moff Hissa and his Central Committee try that already?” asked Crassus. “I don’t think it worked out for them in the end.”

Pandion scoffed. “Their mistake was trying to name an heir for the Emperor. Of all the people they could have chosen, they selected that three-eyed freak from the Spice Mines! If they had done a better job of consolidating their power and focusing on crushing the Rebels rather than making pathetic political maneuvers, then perhaps the Empire would be under their centralized control.”

“And you sitting among them no doubt,” Crassus remarked.

Before Pandion could fire off a retort, Shale cut back into the conversation. “If we need an heir to appease those who believe the Empire should be ruled by blood, then we already have a candidate that is far more qualified than the mutant.”

Pandion looked at her and sneered. “Tell me that you’re not speaking of the Emperor’s so-called great-niece.”

Shale nodded. “I am. Ederlathh Pallopides may be young—she only just turned nine standard years as I understand it—but I have no doubt the public would accept her as proper heir. Better than they would have Trioculus, as the very least. And besides, her precocious nature might be of benefit to us in terms of propaganda. We could frame the Rebels as being willing to stoop so low as to want for the death of a child.”

Pandion leaned back in his seat, mollified somewhat by Shale’s proposal. “Well,” he grunted, “it is certainly a better idea than trying to pursue peace with the Rebels.”

Sloane glanced at Shale but the general’s face remained a cold slate. Sloane was aware of the rumors that Shale had suggested that the Empire pursue some sort of treaty with the so-called New Republic in order to save itself from further collapse. While this plan had a few notable supporters, it was one that Sloane knew was dead in the water and would never be supported by even a large majority of those in the Empire. As Pandion said, using the Emperor’s great-niece as a figurehead and propaganda piece for the Grand Moffs was certainly far more viable in comparison.

Crassus cleared his throat to bring the table’s attention back to him. “This all very well and good, but how exactly are we going to implement this plan? Isard still controls Coruscant and the Ruling Council adheres to her rule rather than the Grand Moffs. How are we going to convince them to relinquish control of the Empire to the Moffs?”

“Through sheer might, of course,” Pandion said proudly, puffing out his chest.

“Right. And how many Star Destroyers do the two of you—you and General Shale—have under your command?”

Pandion shifted uncomfortably. “Well, perhaps with Admiral Sloane’s influence, we can convince the greater fleet to abandon Isard and follow us instead.”

“And will one Grand Moff and a general be enough of a better alternative for them? Who else do you hope to bring to your side? Zsinj is unpredictable as I understand it, Grand Moff Kaine is comfortable in his own corner of the galaxy, and the Teradoc brothers would rather play pirate kings than to actually take this matter seriously. Who is out there that we can realistically convince to abandon their dreams to unite with us.”

“I might have an answer to that,” Sloane said.

The other three turned to look at her. “And that is?” Pandion pressed, his face expectant.

“First, I must make a confession.” Sloane placed a hand over her chest. “The idea of this meeting was not mine, initially. Rather, it was given to me by an individual who goes by ‘the Operator.’”

“The Operator,” Pandion repeated, scoffing. “And why should we trust this ‘Operator’ if he does not trust us enough to give us his name?”

“As I understand it, he keeps his identity secret to protect himself and his operations from Isard,” Sloane explained. “In the time since the Emperor’s death, he has prepared a contingency plan that is designed to help rebuild the Empire and bring about the final end for the Rebel Alliance.”

“And how does he hope to accomplish that?” Shale inquired.

“As we speak, countless messenger droids are being sent out across the galaxy to deliver the Emperor’s final orders. I am not privy to the details of said orders, but I have no doubt we will see the results of them soon.”

Pandion narrowed his eyes. “And are these orders from the Emperor legitimate, prepared prior to his death? Or are they a fabrication engineered by this Operator to trick us into following him?”

Sloane opened her mouth but Pandion’s words gave her pause, realizing she truly did not know the answer. The Operator had told her that the Emperor had held him in close confidence, but how much of that had been the truth? Was she simply trusting him on his word alone?

Before she could formulate a response, the Satrap’s protocol droid came waddling back into the room and it leaned forward to speak into the governor’s ear. Sloane was sitting close enough to Dirus to overhear the droid’s words.

“Sir, there is someone waiting outside, requesting entry.”

Dirus frowned. “Who is it?”

“He says his name is Yupe Tashu, sir. He claims to be a member of the Imperial Ruling Council, which public records corroborate. He is accompanied by a droid of indeterminate model. Shall I let him in?”

Dirus glanced at Sloane and the others. After a moment, Sloane nodded to him and Dirus ordered his droid to bring in the newcomers. As it walked back to the door, Sloane turned back to the others and saw that Pandion was giving her a leering look.

“Perhaps Isard has found out about this little meeting.”

Sloane said nothing, not wanting to take the bait the Grand Moff was dangling in front of her. She tried to keep calm until the doors to the room opened again. In walked an elderly man dressed in the red robes of an Imperial dignitary, a standard custom among members of the Ruling Council. Following him was a droid dressed in a similar red robe, with a round cranium that somewhat resembled a crystal orb. Sloane and the gathered Imperials all eyed the newcomers warily as they approached the table.

Bowing his head, Yupe Tashu addressed the four of them. “I apologize for intruding on your meeting, but I come to you with an urgent message.”

“If it is from Isard, then we have no interest in hearing it,” Pandion spat, half-rising from his chair.

The old man shook his head. “I do not come on behalf of Isard, or the Ruling Council for that matter, but of the Emperor himself.”

Shale frowned. “The Emperor is dead.”

“Perhaps. But his will lives on.” Tashu then motioned to the droid, and the screen on its face lit up to display the visage of the late Emperor Palpatine. Sloane sucked in her breath and the other three all gawked in silence as the unmistakable voice of the Emperor spoke from the droid.

“Moff Pandion. Admiral Sloane. General Shale. Mr. Crassus. All four of you have been among my most faithful servants. It is for that reason I bring to you my final orders.”

“This is impossible,” Pandion murmured. “This must be some sort of trick!”

“Because of my death,” the Emperor went on, “the Empire is in shambles. In order to restore order to the galaxy, then all forms of dissension must be crushed.”

Shale looked from the droid to Sloane, her expression a mixture of confusion and suspicion. “Is this the work of your Operator, Admiral Sloane? What is the meaning of this?”

Sloane did not reply, unsure herself as to what was going on. Her right hand drifted slowly and imperceptibly towards her holstered blaster as she kept her eyes on the droid.

Its screen flickered as it replayed the last bit of the Emperor’s speech. “All forms of dissension must be crushed.”

Sloane heard the sound of a glass shattering and looked over to see Crassus keeled over the meeting table, having knocked over his glass of wine. He was choking violently as foam started to bubble from his mouth, his eyes becoming glazed. Before she had time to react, she heard a groan as Pandion fell to his knees and began experiencing a similar episode, grasping fruitlessly at the air around him. Shale followed him in short order, and before long all three would-be warlords laid dead on the floor. Satrap Dirus got up from his seat and stared at their bodies in silent horror.

Barely managing to hold on to her composure, Sloane broke her gaze away from the corpses to look at Yupe Tashu and the now-silent messenger. Tashu stared back at her, his face a blank slate, before he raised a hand towards her.

“Come with me, Admiral Sloane. The Operator is expecting you.”

*  *  *

“Anything from the General yet?”

Wedge sighed. “Not yet,” he muttered. “She said that right now it’s too risky for us to send the U-wing back up with Syal aboard, as it might end up triggering Imperial sensors. And it’s too early for Fel and the others to move in, especially when we haven’t gathered anything on the Imperials yet. She says she’s working on something, though.”

“Hera will come through,” Sabine assured him. “She always does.”

Wedge nodded, trying to keep his expression from looking too doubtful. Sabine knew Hera a lot better than he did, having served with General Syndulla since they had been a simple rebel cell on Lothal ten years ago. He knew that, if she could, Hera would do anything in her power to help him in this situation. But being a general in a newly fledged Republic brought with it a certain level of responsibility that one did not have when only commanding a five-person cell of dissidents.

Until they heard back, they were all holed up in Temmin’s workshop. Syal, Tycho, and Hobbie were seated at a table, Wes and Sabine were leaning against the counter with Wedge, and Temmin was working on some beat up battle droid that he kept around for some reason. All was quiet, both inside and out, with there being no sounds to indicate that anyone had noticed the commotion that had happened back at the Alcazar.

Downing his last bit of caf, Wes placed his mug back on the counter. “So, what’s the game plan once we get your sister to safety?”

“We need to find a way to infiltrate the Satrap’s palace,” Wedge said. “That’s the only way we can get close to the Imperials.”

“So, what, we find some spare stormtrooper armor and officer uniforms laying around? Sounds like it’s been done before.”

“It’s worked before, hasn’t it?” said Hobbie.

“What about that time on Lexrul?”

“We don’t talk about that.”

Sabine shook her head. “I don’t think it would do much good. Since I’ve been here, I hear the whole palace has been placed on high alert with the strongest levels of security active. They’ve got every face and troop rotation memorized. If they get even the slightest hunch that something is off, they’ll strip you down on the spot.”

Hobbie shuddered. “No, thanks. I don’t need any of that.”

“What else can we do then?” Wes asked. “Just have the rest of the team pull us out and then go in for the kill?”

If anyone had an answer to his question, they were denied the chance of offering it when the ground shook violently, a deafening explosion popping in the air. Everyone dove for cover, with Sabine putting on her helmet and drawing her blasters. Wedge braced himself for rubble to come raining down on his head, but nothing of the sort came. Within a few minutes, he heard a clamor of voices coming from outside and he lifted his head up slightly as Sabine carefully moved to the nearest window to peek outside.

“Are we under attack?” he whispered.

“No,” Sabine murmured back after a moment. “The palace is.”

“You would think they would have given us a warning,” Wes muttered.

Sabine shook her head. “It wasn’t one of our ships. It was one of the Star Destroyers. The Vigilance, I think.”

Tycho grimaced as he looked to Wedge, speaking what was on the Corellian’s mind. “This whole thing was a setup. Admiral Sloane was gathering these warlords just so she could take them out for Isard.”

“Certainly seems like it,” Wedge agreed. “But why the theatrics? Surely there’s a subtler way of doing it….”

“Maybe that’s the point. To send a message to the rest of the warlords, particularly Zsinj.”

Hobbie frowned. “What do we do now, then?”

“Well, there’s no palace for us to break into,” Wedge said. “So I guess we get out of here.”

“That might be easier said than done,” said Sabine.

“What do you mean?”

“The Vigilance just sent out a bunch of TIE fighters… and they’re heading straight for—”

The rest of her sentence was cut off as the shrieking sounds of TIE engines filled the air, followed by the telltale sound of them opening fire on the city below, lighting it on fire as the people in the streets began to scream.

“I think getting back to the U-wing is a sound strategy right about now,” Wes commented.

*  *  *

Fel gritted his teeth as he pulled up on his accelerator, bringing his X-wing fighter swooping in over the city of Myrra. Nrin was on his wing, with Beruss, Ardele, Huwla, and Plourr close behind them. Flying in their own formation was Commander Quell and her wing of Alphabet fighters; Chass na Chadic in the Y-wing, Wyl Lark in the A-wing, and Nath Tensent in the B-wing. Fel still had his doubts about the efficiency of their tactics, although he supposed he was about to see them in action.

Up ahead was a full squadron of TIE fighters, firing upon the city below. He didn’t know if his wife Syal was somewhere down there; if she was, he could only pray that Wedge had managed to get her to safety. It was the only thought that kept him sane.

Having noticed the incoming opposition, some of the TIEs broke off from the rest and moved in to intercept them. Fel counted at least four standard fighters and two interceptors. Switching comms to the general channel, he said, “This is Rogue Ten. I have eyes on two interceptors.”

“They’re all yours, Ten,” Commander Quell responded. “Everyone else, form up on me.”

While the rest of the Rogues broke off to join up with the Alphabets, Fel and Nrin moved their fighters to go after the interceptors. As they drew nearer, Fel noticed that both of the interceptors had their wings marked with red stripes… which meant that they belonged to the 181st. The very fighter group that he had trained and commanded during his time with the Empire.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Fel focused himself on the lead fighter and went after it, juking his fighter to the left as the interceptor opened fire on him. He pulled his fighter into a tight loop, circling around until he was behind the interceptor. He tried to get a lock on them but the interceptor kept weaving in and out of his targeting sensor.

This guy is good, Fel thought to himself. Of course he would be good. I trained him. In fact…

He shook his head again. He could not dwell on that fact. The odds were quite high that every one of these TIEs were piloted by someone he had trained personally. But he could not let that get to him. He had to accept that fact, just as Tycho and Hobbie had when they had deserted….

But this was different, wasn’t it? Tycho and Hobbie had only been cadets when they had deserted. Fel, meanwhile, had established an illustrious career with the Empire. People knew who he was; even the Emperor had personally thanked him for his service! These people had respected him, idolized him even… and now he was trying to kill them.

The interceptor would not stop weaving. He could not get a lock on them. Was it because of their skill… or because of his own hesitation?

An explosion caught his eye and he dare not glance outside his cockpit to see who it had been. Seconds later, Nrin’s voice crackled through his radio.

“Three here. Need help with yours, Ten?”

“Negative, Three. I’ve got him.”

“If you say so.”

Fel tried to ignore the sarcasm in the Quarren’s voice, although it certainly didn’t improve his confidence. Taking a deep breath, he began weaving his X-wing in order to match the rhythm of the interceptor. He watched his targeting computer as the fighter came closer within range. As soon as the box went green, he pressed his thumbs down on his joystick and a pair of proton torpedoes went flying towards the interceptor. In an instant, the interceptor was obliterated and whoever was piloting—whoever Fel might have known—was reduced to atoms.

His head was still ringing as Quell’s voice came over the comm. “Nice work, Ten. I’ve got a lock on Kairos’s U-wing. Rogues Seven and Eight will escort it to make sure it gets to the Lodestar safely. The rest of us will stay here to handle the remaining TIEs.”

As Avan and Feylis radioed in with their acknowledgments, Fel caught sight of the U-wing in question, its winged shape making its way up from the city of Myrra. He felt his heart drum against his chest, and without thinking he tuned in to the other ship’s radio.

“Alphabet Five, this is Rogue Ten. Is Rogue Leader still with you?”

There was a moment of silence before his brother-in-law’s voice came in. “I’m here, Ten. And before you ask, yes, Syal is with me. She’s here. She’s safe.”

All of the tension that Fel had kept bottled up within him was released in a sound that was closer to a sob than a sigh. He only hoped that the radio didn’t pick it up. Quickly regaining his composure, he responded, “Thank you, Rogue Leader. Thank you.”

“Thank me when we’re out of this mess.” Fel could hear the smile in Wedge’s voice, despite himself. “Now get back out there and follow Alphabet Leader’s lead.”

“Copy that.”

His spirit renewed, Fel gripped the control stick of his X-wing and flew his fighter back into formation with the rest of the squadron.

*  *  *

Sloane stormed onto the bridge of the Vigilance, her mind still racing. Her executive officer Nymos Lyle caught her eye and looked as if he was about to say something but thought better of it as Sloane reached the front of the bridge. Yupe Tashu and his Messenger droid were close behind her, watching her closely as if they were monitoring her every move.

As she surveyed the aerial battle that was unfolding over the city of Myrra, Lyle shuffled his feet as he cleared his throat.

“We have already lost one TIE squadron to the Rebels, Admiral. It appears to be Rogue Squadron along with another unit comprised of mixed fighters.”

“Alphabet Squadron,” Sloane muttered.

“Admiral?”

Sloane flexed her hands, resisting the urge to clench them into fists. “General Syndulla must be here. They must have found out about the summit.”

Her gaze drifted to the stationary Star Destroyers of Pandion and Shale. With them now both dead, they were now commanded by their respective captains. Sloane could just radio them and command them to unleash their full might on the Rebels, and then shoot Tashu and his droid dead before bringing the ships back to Imperial Center. That was what she would have done… but the message that Tashu had relayed to her from the Operator caused her to think twice.

This was much bigger than a simple meeting on Akiva. The future of the Empire was now hanging on her next words.

Swallowing hard, she gave the order. “Recall all squadrons and prepare for departure. We are done here.”

She could feel Lyle’s questioning gaze on her, but he did not voice his confusion. Instead, he simply relayed her order to the rest of the crew. At the same time, the Vanquish and Ascent were already making their own movements, preparing to depart from the planet as well.

The Rebels would see this as a victory on their part, she was sure. They would revel in it… but as soon as they learned what was happening in the galaxy at large, they would quickly realize just how doomed their New Republic truly was.

Star Wars: Tales from the Dark Side - The Many Deaths of Ochi of Bestoon

THE MANY DEATHS OF OCHI OF BESTOON

  Ochi of Bestoon twirled his knife in his hands as he mulled over the job he had just been offered.

“A Jedi, huh? That’s a new one.”

The man sitting across from him interlaced his fingers, his face mostly hidden by the hood of his black cloak. “I trust that you are capable enough, Ochi of Bestoon. Your reputation as the one of the best the Assassin’s Guild has to offer precedes you.”

Ochi snorted. “Heh. Don’t let any of my buddies hear you say that. They already hold plenty of grudges against me.” He leaned back in his seat, still twirling his knife. As one of the top assassins in the Guild, on his way to joining the Elite Circle itself, he had been given all sorts of jobs from clients who were willing to pay the credits. From crime lords to nobles to even members of the Galactic Senate, he had killed all kinds. But a Jedi… a Jedi was something else. He hadn’t heard of anyone in the Guild killing a Jedi, not even those in the Elite Circle. It wasn’t like they had much reason to; they were just magic-using monks, weren’t they?

After a moment, Ochi asked the potential client, “What’s so special about this Jedi that you want him dead?”

“It’s not so much the identity of the Jedi that is important,” the man replied. “It’s the impact that his murder will bring.”

“Ah.” Ochi slowly nodded. “I get it. You want to show the galaxy that these wizards aren’t strong as they make themselves out to be.”

Beneath the rim of his hood, a smile crept onto the man’s face. “Something like that.”

“Good enough for me.” Ochi stabbed the middle of the table with his knife. “I’ve been itching for a challenge for a while now. Who knows, this job might be what gets me into the Elite Circle!”

“I certainly hope it will be beneficial for both of us,” the man said. “Now then, shall we discuss the matter of payment?”

Ochi narrowed his eyes as he studied the man, trying to figure out what kind of wealth he head. “Fifty thousand up front, another fifty after the job is done. And this is non-negoti—”

Before he could finish, the man slid across the right amount of credits across the table. Ochi’s eyes widened and he counted them all to make sure, as well as ensure that they were legit. He then focused his shocked gaze on the hooded man. “How did you get this kind of…?”

“Is my income that much of a concern to you?” the man asked.

Something about his tone dissuaded Ochi from prying and he tried to play it off casually as he scooped up the credits. “Just curious,” he muttered. “So, where can I find this Jedi?”

The man slid a datapad across the table. “Everything you need to know is on here. The file will delete itself once it has been viewed. This is a need-to-know assignment, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ochi said as he picked up the device. “Trust me, I’ve been at this job for many years.”

The man smiled again, in a manner that Ochi found somewhat ominous. “And for many years to come, let us hope.”

*  *  *

The information on the datapad had led Ochi to a icy world in the Outer Rim Territories known as Mygeeto. He had heard of the planet before and had even visited once to assassinate a rogue officer of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. The Jedi in question was a Muun by the name of Marhu Koss, who had gone into self-imposed exile on the planet following a disagreement with the Jedi Council, even going so far as to undertake the Barash Vow, cutting himself off from the known galaxy.

This perhaps explained why his client had selected Koss as a target. Because he was already in exile, his death would not immediately come to the attention of the Jedi Order but when it did, they would know that there was someone out there capable of killing Jedi. Ochi imagined his client would then follow up with more Jedi targets that would become increasingly more prominent, causing the rest of the Order to worry for their own safety. If he was right, then it was quite the cruel strategy, one which he approved.

If this doesn’t get me into the Elite Circle, he said to himself, then nothing will please those losers!

Stepping off his transport, Ochi took a moment to survey his surroundings through the enhanced lenses of his mask. The surface of Mygeeto was characterized by jagged crystals jutting from out of the ground. Most of it was difficult to land a ship on, let alone tread safely across; he was fortunate enough to find a patch of solid ground that was large enough for his blocky WTK transport to land on, before it narrowed into a small strip that led directly to the abandoned ruins of some sort of tower. The tower looked much too primitive to have been built by the Muun settlers of Mygeeto and was instead likely made by the native Lurmen.

Once he made sure he had all of his tools and weapons on hand, Ochi trekked down the narrow strip of land, sidestepping crystals that were sharp enough to impale him. As he reached the tower, he switched on the infrared sensors of his mask and was able to detect a heat signature radiating from within the ancient structure. Whether it was the Jedi or not, there was definitely someone inside.

He stepped closer before stopping. He realized that there wasn’t just one heat signature that his sensors were reading… but two.

Was this a setup? Had the man lied to him, or simply been misinformed?

Scowling to himself, Ochi made a mental note to double his asking price before stepping into the tower. Inside, the stairs leading up to the top of the tower were collapsed, meaning it would be impossible to climb to the top. As far as he knew, Muuns weren’t capable of flying, even with the Force, which meant that the Jedi had to be here on the ground floor.

Pushing his way through rubble, Ochi made sure to stick to the shadows as well as keep his heat sensors running. There was at least one heat signature straight ahead, and from all appearances it was stationary, indicating that the Jedi had not moved. Most likely he was in some sort of meditative trance, meaning he would be open to any attack that came.

“Not much of a challenge,” Ochi muttered to himself. He now really hoped that his client would give him another target after this. He looked around for any sign of the second heat signature but he had lost track of it. Nothing to the left or right of him, and not even when he looked back the way he had came.

Then, he remembered the collapsed staircase… and looked up.

The snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting was his only warning as the furred creature dropped down on top of him. Quickly stepping to the side, Ochi unsheathed his knife and prepared to attack only to have to quickly dodge the swinging blue blade.

“What have you done?” the Jedi cried, jumping around on his legs. “What have you done?”

In between dodging his swings, Ochi was able to identify the Jedi as a Lurmen, a lemuroid species native to Mygeeto. Definitely not a Muun. Again, either the man had been wrong or….

“You will pay for this!” the Lurmen Jedi roared, gripping his lightsaber with his tail and lashing it like a whip. “My master will be avenged!”

Ochi sidestepped to avoid the tail before grabbing it and slashing at it with his knife. The Jedi screamed in agony as blood poured from the gashing wound and his lightsaber dropped to the floor. Ochi moved to pick up the weapon only to be pushed back by an invisible force. Ignoring the blinding pain caused by his severed tail, the Lurmen summoned the lightsaber back to his awaiting hand before lunging at Ochi. The blue blade was centimeters away from stabbing him in the head when Ochi managed to shift his position and thrust his dagger out, stabbing the Jedi straight through the chest. 

The lightsaber fell again from the Lurmen’s grip, and this time he did not pick it back up. Ochi let his lifeless body fall to the floor before wiping the blood clean from his knife’s blade.

Not what I expected for my first Jedi kill, but enjoyable enough.

Picking up the discarded lightsaber, Ochi turned back in the direction he had been headed and pressed on, moving closer towards the remaining heat signature. Before long, he had reached the center room of the tower and he was standing face to face with his target.

Or at least, what he thought was his target. There was indeed a Muun standing in front of him… but there was also a second one lying dead on the floor. The dead one was dressed in the brown robes of a Jedi Master, whereas the one above it was dressed in a black cloak, not unlike the one his client had worn. A transpirator mask covered the lower half of his pale gray face and a pair of yellow burning eyes glared at Ochi from beyond the shadows.

Before Ochi could formulate any words, the Muun standing over the dead one spoke a single word. “Impressive.”

He then raised a hand and as if pulling on an invisible string drew Ochi towards him. The last thing Ochi of Bestoon saw was the scarlet glare of a lightsaber igniting before impaling him straight through the abdomen.

*  *  *

“You took a great risk in undertaking this operation.”

“Yes, Master. But it was worth it in the end, was it not?”

Darth Plagueis did not respond to his apprentice as he stared at the orange-skinned humanoid floating in the bacta tank before him. The Bestoonian was close to death but still clinging onto life… just as Venamis had before Plagueis had let him perish for good.

Darth Sidious continued speaking, adopting a casual tone as if he were discussing the weather. “From what I hear, the Jedi are greatly saddened by the death of Master Koss. They had worried for the mental state of his young Padawan, but never once did they suspect he would go so far as to murder his master for abandoning him.”

Plagueis turned to Sidious, yellow eyes blazing from behind his transpirator mask. “It is fortunate that such a convincing narrative was weaved, Sidious. But do you realize how close you were to exposing us to the Jedi Order?”

Sidious stared back at him, feigning humility. “Yes, Master. But, as I recall, it was you who killed Master Koss.”

“Only because he had already come closer than I would have liked to uncovering even a whiff of our operations. Mygeeto is a world not visited by many non-Muuns, let alone a Jedi. Fortunately his self-imposed exile provided a decent cover… but then you had to lead his Padawan to discover his dead body.”

“Only so that Ochi would have a Jedi to kill. How else would he have proved his worth?”

“What worth? We already have the Sun Guard to do our bidding, and I doubt he will be a stronger candidate for our experiments than Venamis.”

Sidious glanced at the bacta tube. “But we’ve lost Venamis. Surely any subject is better than none.”

Plagueis shook his head. “I have already learned what I needed to from Venamis. I fail to see how this creature will provide me with different results.”

With a heavy sigh, Plagueis turned away from the bacta tank and began to walk away, stopping only to look over his shoulder at Sidious.

“He will survive, and then you can use him as you wish. But be wise not to utilize him as… recklessly as you have today, Sidious.”

“Oh, I understand, Master.” Sidious turned back to Ochi’s floating form, smiling to himself. “I understand completely.”

*  *  *

Ochi of Bestoon twirled his knife in his hands only to stop himself. It was an old habit, one that he told himself he would quit.

The Equani had a term called “ceno-ka,” which was a sensation that one was in some sort of temporal loop. That events were repeating themselves somehow. That was how Ochi felt now, sitting in the same tavern on Ord Talavos as a cloaked man sat in front of him.

This human was different from the one Ochi had met with twenty years ago. At the very least, this one had a white beard, which the other one very well could have grown in the intervening years. But this man had a much deeper voice, one that reverberated in Ochi’s head as he spoke.

“I understand you have a reputation for killing Jedi, Ochi of Bestoon.”

Ochi shrugged, trying to appear casual. “You could say that,” he murmured. He did not mention the fact that it wasn’t much of a reputation; the Lurmen Padawan he had killed on Mygeeto had hardly been a challenge, and the other Jedi he had come across were no more trained than newly minted Knights. He had yet to kill an actual Jedi Master, which would be the only thing that would impress his peers and give him entry into the Elite Circle.

“As you know,” the deep-voiced man went on, “there is a war going on and the Jedi are now serving on the frontlines for the first time in a thousand years.”

“So there’s more Jedi for the picking.” Ochi tilted his head. “Let me guess, you’re with the Separatists.”

The man’s lips twitched into a smile beneath his hood. “You could say that,” he echoed the assassin’s words.

“Hey, I’m not judging. Some of my buddies have already gotten contracts to take out some Jedi; I’m gonna need to work hard to keep up.”

“Then you will be pleased to know that the target I have for you is a member of the Jedi High Council.”

Ochi tried to keep the excitement from showing on his face. That would be a big catch and would surely cinch him a spot in the Elite Circle. “Say no more. Just give me the details and the down payment and I’ll be on my way.”

Just like before, the man slid a datapad across the table. Just like before, he paid Ochi the agreed upon price. And just like before, Ochi was on his way to kill a Jedi.

*  *  *

“Not today, Sithspawn!”

Those were the last words Ochi had remembered hearing before he had died at the blade of Mace Windu. At least, he was pretty sure he was dead. It didn’t cross his mind that he wouldn’t be thinking anything at all if he were dead.

At some point, he opened his eyes and was met with the sting of bacta. Through the water, he could make out the shape of a man in a dark cloak standing in front of him. He remembered the man from before, from that first meeting on Ord Talavos nearly two decades ago. What was he doing here? What did his presence mean? Who even was he?

He felt a searing pain in his mind and everything went dark again.

*  *  *

  Ochi of Bestoon kept his knife sheathed in its holster. He did not dare touch it this time.

He had finally made it. It had taken far too many years for his liking, but he had finally made it. The Guild had accepted him into the Elite Circle; he had finally gotten the recognition he rightfully deserved.

He no longer needed to wait for clients to offer him work. He would come to them rather than the other way around. Besides, the price he now charged would be too high for even the wealthiest man in the galaxy to pay.

Of course, that had not been enough to deter a lowly industrialist from Scipio to seek him out, braving the dangerous swamps of Ord Talavos in order to speak with his associate and hire him for a job. Ochi had only accepted the job because of who the target was. It was no longer Jedi he would be going after, not after they had already been driven to the edge of extinction.

It was a Sith Lord.

Ochi had long been fascinated with the Sith, going so far as to track down and collect relics belonging to the ancient dark order. When he had been accepted into the Elite Circle, he had decided to fashion a new set of armor that emulated the Sith warriors of old. The Jedi had fallen and the Sith now ruled the galaxy once more. It was only fitting that he would wear the face of those who had won in order to strike fear in those that had lost.

And, once he had killed Darth Vader, he would perhaps attract the attention of the one who taught him. After all, there had to be two Sith, and Vader did not strike him as the Master. In fact, Ochi had a pretty good idea of who was.

Yes, the Dark Lord of the Sith would finally recognize him for his talents, and he would be so much more than a mere assassin.

As his ship exited hyperspace and bore down on the moon of the Heinsnake Cult, Ochi of Bestoon pressed forward, heading straight for his destiny.

*  *  *

Ochi of Bestoon screamed as he came to life for the second time.

He collapsed onto the floor, laying naked in a puddle of bacta water. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see the man in the dark cloak standing there once more.

“You,” he croaked. “It’s you. It’s always you.”

“Indeed,” Darth Sidious answered him, yellow eyes glowing from the darkness of his hood. “I must say, you have exceeded my expectations, Ochi of Bestoon.”

“What….” Ochi looked down at his body, looking as new and fresh as if he had just been born again. “What have you done…?”

“I have accomplished what few have done before me: I have brought you back to life.” 

Ochi stared up at him in utter disbelief. Darth Sidious responded to him by cackling.

“With the knowledge of Darth Andeddu and the Tedryn Holocron, I was able to save your essence from falling into Chaos and transfer it into a newly made clone body. While my master was only able to save you from death, I was able to gift you a new lease on life.”

Ochi continued to gawk at the Dark Lord, barely able to comprehend the words he was hearing. “But… why? Why me?”

Sidious smiled, although it was hardly pleasant. “I became aware of your fascination with Sith artifacts when you happened to acquire a particular relic I had been searching for. Naturally, this meant that we needed to keep a close eye on you lest you prove a hindrance to our plans. My master had suggested that I simply kill you, but after learning about your skills as an assassin, I decided that there was perhaps a… different opportunity for you.”

“Okay, fine.” Ochi spat out some of the bacta water that had gotten into his mouth as he laid in the puddle. “But why use me to see if you could bring back the dead?”

Sidious shrugged. “Convenience, really. It’s not like anyone would have missed you if I had failed to save you from death.”

Ochi scowled, and under normal circumstances he would have lashed out at this kind of comment. But he was too weak to move, and he knew better than to try to fight a Dark Lord. He had already learned his lesson with Vader.

“So now what?” he said instead. “What happens to me now?”

The facade of mirth faded from the Dark Lord’s face and tone as he spoke coldly to the assassin. “You are now indebted to my service. From here on out, you shall do as I say and carry out my will.”

“What about the Assassin’s Guild?” Ochi asked, immediately regretting it as he realized how dumb of a question it was.

“As far as the Guild is concerned, you are dead,” Sidious said plainly. “Instead, you will answer to me, and only me.”

Ochi knew there was no point in arguing. He owed his life to this man and his continued existence was no doubt only ensured if he agreed to the Dark Lord’s terms. Thus, all he could do was manage a nod as he laid their in the puddle of bacta.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Sidious grinned. “Excellent. I will have you dressed and equipped; I already have a job for you.”

*  *  * 

Of course, it was never just one job.

Over the next twenty years, Ochi of Bestoon carried out the Emperor’s will as he had pledged, eliminating every last target he was given. Some of them were Jedi, some of them were not, ranging from renegade politicians and rogue Imperial officers. None of them were a challenge and brought little satisfaction to him. But then, his satisfaction wasn’t really the point, was it?

For two decades it was like this, with little change. Then, Endor happened.

He had felt it from halfway across the galaxy, like a knife piercing through his skull. Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith and Emperor of the galaxy, was dead. As he perished, he had unleashed a scream heard across the cosmos, bringing with it a single command that only Ochi could hear.

“AVENGE ME.”

Ochi had collapsed at the controls of his transport, fading into unconsciousness. When he awakened, he had found himself on board a Super Star Destroyer somewhere in the depths of a remote nebula. Standing in front of him was a man in a white officer’s tunic with a scarlet cape draping from his shoulders. A welcoming smile graced the features of the man’s pale face.

“Welcome, Ochi of Bestoon, to the Ravager.”

Ochi shook his head, trying to figure out what was going on. “What’s going on? Who are you?”

“I am Admiral Gallius Rax,” the man answered. “Counselor to the Empire and protege of the Emperor himself.”

“The Emperor,” Ochi murmured. “He’s… he’s gone. I heard him—”

“Yes,” Rax said solemnly. “I heard him as well. But not to worry; we shall avenge him.”

Ochi stared at the admiral, eying him warily. “How did you find me?”

“I didn’t. You found us.” Rax smiled at Ochi’s visible confusion. “Your ship appeared on our radars and we brought you in. Normally we would have destroyed any intruding crafts, but I recognized your ship.”

“But… I don’t remember entering any coordinates. I don’t even know where this place is!”

“The will of the Emperor works in mysterious ways,” Rax said cryptically. “Now then, there is much work to be done. If you will follow me.”

Left without any other choice, Ochi followed the Counselor, resigning himself once more to the never-ending nightmare.

*  *  *

Another twenty years had gone by in a blur and yet he was still stuck at square one.

The Emperor was long dead. Rax was long gone. And yet still, they wanted him to do their work. Even in death, the Dark Lord of the Sith still controlled him.

They had sent him after a girl and her parents. He wasn’t sure what they wanted them for, although he had a few ideas. He had been close to finding them, but the Jedi Skywalker and his friend had foiled him at every turn. Now he had lost the girl and he had killed the parents in a fit of rage. He had followed the only lead he had to Pasaana but failed to find the girl and instead succumbed to the treacherous sands.

And yet… he lived. 

Just as before, he had died and been reborn. He had long lost count of how many lives he had lived.

He realized now that they would never let him die. He would never be free from this nightmare. From the minute he had set foot on frigid Mygeeto, he had sealed his damned fate.

He had long since given up on trying to do anything about it. There was nothing he could do but do as he was told and fulfill the will of the Emperor.

And so, he sat at the controls of his ship and twirled his knife in his hand.

It was all he had to keep himself sane.

Star Wars X-Wing: Chasing Phantoms, Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

 Akiva

Wedge took a sip of his ale and immediately puckered his lips at the bitter taste. The selection of drinks at the Alcazar was already limited as it was and the prospect that he had just picked the worst one did not make him feel any better.

He set down the glass and pushed it away from him, not intending on ever touching it again. Across from him, Tycho drank from his glass of grog, which based on the Alderaanian’s expression did not appear to be any better than the ale. At a table a few feet away from theirs, Wes and Hobbie seemed to be having a better time, although that was probably more due to the women they were chatting up rather than the drinks themselves.

Wedge’s eyes scanned the rest of the cantina, peering through the hazy atmosphere and cluster of humans and non-humans that made up the Alcazar’s clientele. Despite the Imperial presence on the planet, there did not appear to be any off-duty officers indulging themselves; if there were, then they were not in uniform. While it made the mission slightly easier, it still didn’t assuage Wedge’s growing sense of unease. From what he had overheard from the locals, there had been a recent sighting of Star Destroyers in the skies above Myrra, something that from their tone wasn’t exactly usual.

Exhaling deeply, Wedge turned his head back to face Tycho, who was still grimacing from his drink of choice. “Is the grog any better than the ale here?”

“Nope.” Tycho set his glass down, a sour look on his face. “So, how do you want to approach this? I don’t see any off-duty Imperials around here.”

“Me neither.” Wedge nodded towards where Wes and Hobbie were sitting. “Those two seem to be getting somewhere.”

Tycho eyed his fellow Rogues, who were both beaming at the giggling women. “Maybe in their love-lives,” he muttered.

Wedge sighed. “Well, preliminary intelligence indicates that this place is run by someone named Surat Nuat. If we can get in contact with him, maybe we can get an idea on what the Imperials are up to here.”

Tycho looked around before his eyes landed on the bartender running the counter nearby. “Don’t suppose it would hurt to ask?”

Wedge followed his gaze and frowned. The expression on the wrinkled gray face of the Pau’an barkeep looked anything but approachable. Still, it wasn’t as if he had many options. “It always could,” he remarked as he got up from his seat and walked over to the bar.

The Pau’an did not so much as lift his eyes from the glass he was cleaning as Wedge approached him. “What can I get you?” the bartender grunted.

“I wanted to see Surat Nuat,” Wedge said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“He’s in the back,” the Pau’an replied. “I wouldn’t bother him right now though. Hear he’s pretty busy right now.”

“Right. Well, thank you.” Wedge tried not to look surprise as he walked back to his and Tycho’s table. Surely it couldn’t be that easy?

As he sat back down, Tycho looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

“He’s in the back.” Wedge looked around. “Wherever ‘the back’ is.”

“Guess it’s time to go exploring.” Tycho got up from his seat. “Want me to tell Wes and Hobbie?”

Wedge glanced back over at the two. “Let’s not ruin their fun just yet,” he murmured, fighting a smile. “Just in case things get crazy from here.”

*  *  *

As Tooms and the rest of Surat’s goons pushed him down into the lower levels of the Alcazar, Temmin could hear the unmistakable wailing of a female voice. He felt his stomach twist into knots as he pinpointed the voice to be Syal’s.

“Oh, great,” Tooms muttered behind him. “Probably that woman. Makarial, go check on her, will ya?”

“Why can’t you send Herf to do it?” the Koorivar snapped back.

“In case I need help to wrangle this kid if he pulls something on us.”

Temmin heard Makarial grumble under her breath before stomping away. He couldn’t see anything due to the sack over his head, but he could hear the shuffling of feet. He then felt a rough hand push him in the back.

“Keep moving, kid,” Tooms growled.

Temmin complied and continued walking. As he did, he heard the crying grow louder and louder, and he figured that they were getting close to where Syal was. He was proven correct when he heard her and Makarial's voices clear as day, coming from the right of him.

“What’s wrong with you?” he heard the Koorivar demand.

“My baby,” Syal cried back. “I’m about to have my baby!”

“Oh, for kriff’s sake. I don’t know anything about handling a baby. Tooms, do you—”

“Don’t look at me, Gravin,” Tooms snapped. Herf followed up with something in Ithorese.

“Great. Just great. What am I supposed to do with— wait. That Mando girl. Wasn’t she supposed to—”

Makarial was cut off by the sound of a blaster bolt going off, following by a pained cry and the shuffling of feet. Through the cloth sack, Temmin felt the heat of plasma bolts whizzing past his head. He could hear Tooms and the other two goons letting loose a stream of curses and returning fire, all of which were cut abruptly short with the sound of bodies falling to the floor. Silence surrounded him as Temmin simply stood there, unsure of what to do now. He then tensed up as he felt a hand grab the sack over his head and pull it off.

“Please don’t—” he started to say.

“Relax,” said the armored woman in front of him. “I’m rescuing you.”

Temmin blinked as he registered the visage of the Mandalorian-esque mask in front of him. “Rescuing…? But weren’t you with…?”

“I can explain later.” The woman walked over and unlocked the door to Syal’s cell, letting it swing open so the blonde woman could step out. “Right now, we need to get out of here.”

Temmin stared at her before looking over at Syal. “Wait, what about your baby?”

Syal smiled at him. “That, my dear, is what we call acting. I pretty much built my whole career on it.”

“I can see why,” Temmin muttered.

Holding up a pair of WESTAR pistols, the Mandalorian woman motioned for them to follow her. “Come on. Let’s go.”

*  *  *

Wedge had descended a flight of steps when he heard the sound of blaster fire go off somewhere in the distance. He ducked behind a corner and pressed his back against the wall as a nearby pair of Weequay guards got up from where they had been sitting and opened the door they were guarding.

“Boss?” one of the Weequays called into the room. “Is everything—”

“It came from the cells!” a gruff voice responded. “It’s probably the boy! Get down there and put him in his place!”

Wedge heard the door close as the Weequays ran off in the other direction. He peeked back around the corner just as the door opened again and a one-eyed Sullustan came storming out, a haggard expression on his drooping face. Wedge ducked back behind the wall before the Sullustan could see him and held his breath as the alien’s footsteps came his way. Drawing his blaster pistol, Wedge waited until the Sullustan had walked past him before emerging from his hiding spot and pressing the barrel of his pistol against the back of his head.

“Surat Nuat, I presume?”

The Sullustan slowly raised his hands but did not turn around. “This really isn’t the best time.”

“I think now is a great time,” Wedge said, smiling.

“I have the credits, but I need more time to get my affairs in order. Just tell Durga that—”

“Oh, I’m not with the Hutts. I’m here on different business.”

At this, Surat turned around, keeping his hands up as he regarded Wedge with his one good eye. “What do you want?” the Sullustan whispered.

“I’m just looking information on the Imperials operating here in Myrra. I hear that they made a big show here recently.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Surat said. “The Empire’s always had a presence here on Akiva. It’s not anything new. So long as they let me run my business, it’s of no concern to me.”

Wedge shrugged. “That’s too bad. I hear the New Republic pays well for that kind of information.”

Surat sneered. “I don’t want anything to do with the New Republic. It will ruin the good-standing I have with the Empire.”

“You mean the Empire that’s currently losing?”

“I’m not going to discuss politics with you. I suggest you lower the blaster before my guards come back.”

“You mean the guards that I just killed?”

Wedge turned at the sound of the familiar voice and froze. Standing there with smoking blaster pistols drawn was a woman clad in Mandalorian armor. While Mandalorian armor came in all sorts of color schemes, the vibrant color scheme of this particular set was unmistakable to him. 

“Sabine?” he murmured.

The armored woman lowered her weapons and tilted her head. “Wedge? By the Force, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? What are the odds of running into you here?”

Wedge smiled. “As my buddy Luke would say, the Force works in mysterious ways.”

“I’ll say,” Sabine chuckled. She then inclined her head forward. “I would stun him now before he gets any ideas.”

Wedge looked back over to Surat and sure enough the Sullustan looked as if he was about to make a run for it. A quick squeeze of his blaster’s trigger sent a stun bolt straight into Surat’s chest and knocked the crime lord unconscious.

“There’s that Corellian trigger-finger,” Sabine said wryly. “Anyway, we should get out of here; Surat’s got other thugs around here that will swarm us once they realize what’s going on. I’ve got two ex-prisoners of his that need transport if that’s all right with you.”

Wedge nodded. “There should be room on the U-wing.”

“Great.” Sabine motioned with her right hand and two humans came from around the corner behind her. One was a teenage boy with dark brown hair, looking wide-eyed at Sabine and then Wedge. Following him was a tall woman with bright blue eyes, long golden hair and—

By the stars.

It couldn’t be.

Wedge’s mouth dropped open, his tongue suddenly feeling dry. The woman met his gaze and her expression mirrored his.

“Wedge?”

“Syal?”

Sabine looked between the two of them. “Huh. The Force really does work in mysterious ways.”

*  *  *

“Rogue Flight One, anything to report?”

Sitting in the cockpit of his X-wing, Fel responded to Commander Quell’s transmission. “Rogue Ten here. All clear on our end, Alphabet Leader.”

“Copy that, Rogue Ten.”

The comlink clicked off and Fel leaned back in his seat, staring at the vast canvas of stars in front of him. The united ships of Rogue and Alphabet Squadrons were situated at the edge of the Akiva system, just out of range of Imperial sensors. They were just waiting for the call from Wedge’s team so they could move in to recover them and, if need be, strike at the Imperials stationed in Myrra. They were also keeping an eye out for any unwanted Imperials attention, but so far no one had taken notice of their presence.

Fel took in a deep breath, an unexplainable tightness in his chest. Ever since his defection, he had always felt uneasy each time he set out with Rogue Squadron. But this time felt different, for reasons he could not explain. Perhaps it was his never-ending concern for Syal. Perhaps it was the unexpected meeting with Yrica Quell. Perhaps it was even the sheer oddness of a concept such as putting together a squadron made up of starfighters of each wing type. It very well could have been a combination of all of those factors… but still, he could not put his finger on it.

Then, another voice crackled through on the comm. Wedge’s voice. “Ground team to Alphabet Leader. Do you copy?”

Fel tensed up as Quell responded. “Copy, Ground Team. Ready for extraction?”

“Not quite.” There was something about Wedge’s voice that Fel could not quite pinpoint. It sounded shaky, although it could have been due to interference. “We have an… unexpected complication. A welcome one, but an unexpected one.”

Fel could hear the confusion in Quell’s tone. “Elaborate, Rogue Leader.”

“We’ve rescued two civilians from the Alcazar that need to be brought onto the Lodestar as soon as possible.”

“What’s so important about these civilians that they need to be brought to the Lodestar?”

“Is Rogue Ten listening in, Alphabet Leader?”

Fel’s brow furrowed in confusion as he responded. “I copy, Rogue Leader.”

“I’ve found her, Rogue Ten. I’ve found Syal.”

A decade’s worth of military training and decorum was all that kept Fel from outright crying from within the confines of his cockpit. After a moment’s silence that perhaps stretched on for far too long—long enough that both Wedge and Quell were no doubt wondering if he had heard it or not—he managed the only response he could muster.

“Copy, Rogue Leader.”

Those three words carried with them all of the emotion he had bottled up within him for the past year, and he had no doubt his brother-in-law heard them. He then muted his comms before pushing a gloved hand up beneath the visor of his helmet and wiping away the single tear that had managed to break through his defenses.

Star Wars X-Wing: Chasing Phantoms, Chapter Three

 CHAPTER THREE

Coruscant

Night had fallen on Imperial Center, and yet Ysanne Isard was far from willing to fall asleep.

She stood in what was now her office at the Imperial Palace, looking out at vast cityscape that covered the planet. Five years ago, she had never once thought that someday she would rule over Imperial Center, yet here she was, effectively Empress in all but name.

It had not been easy, of course. Not only had it been a struggle to get rid of Sate Pestage, but to eliminate those in the Imperial Court that had stood in her way. Now the Ruling Council was under her thumb and she had been granted stewardship of the Galactic Empire, stopping short of calling herself Empress lest she stir more trouble with the Council than she needed to. In time, they would accept her fully as their new ruler, but until then, the current arrangement was… satisfactory enough.

Still, the work wasn’t over. The Rebel Alliance—now calling themselves the New Republic—was still a pressing nuisance, and there were still warlords out there that refused to bend their knee to her. Kaine and his Pentastar Alignment was not too much of a concern at the moment, but the likes of Zsinj, Delvardus, and the Teradoc twins… they would need to be dealt with in time. And there were still others who, while out of the picture, still needed loose ends that needed to be tied. While the self-aggrandizing fool Trioculus had been taken care of, there was still the matter of the mysterious Prophets that had controlled him behind the scenes. Fortunately, she already had some people tasked with hunting them down and eliminating them, including a Grand Admiral with a major chip on his shoulders.

Speaking of Grand Admirals, she had yet to hear from the one who waited in the Unknown Regions, performing work that had been given him by the Emperor before the catastrophe that had unfolded at Endor. While Isard did not trust this Grand Admiral Thrawn as far as she could throw him, she did not yet know enough about him to have any idea on how to deal with him. Once she did, she would make quick work of him and any threat he posed to her claim to the throne. But until then, she would keep him informed on the events of the known galaxy and he would use his own operatives to help Isard carry out her will against her enemies.

The last time they had spoken, Isard had informed Thrawn of Pestage’s removal and her ascendance. The alien Grand Admiral had simply responded by asking her to await a transmission from him so they could speak in more detail about recent events.

Apparently, that time had finally come when a chime sounded from her desk. Turning around, Isard pressed a finger down on the control panel to answer it. “Yes?”

“Incoming transmission, Director. Priority channel one.”

Isard quickly masked the grimace threatening to crawl onto her face. “Put it on.”

As soon as she had shuttered the windows and dimmed the room’s lights, the main holoprojector turned on and the life-sized figure of a blue-skinned humanoid in the whites of a Grand Admiral’s uniform materialized before her. Isard kept her expression even as she regarded the hologram.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

“Director Isard,” Thrawn answered back, his voice as soft and smooth as a slither serpent. “Or shall I call you Empress?”

Isard controlled a twitch at her lips. “The Ruling Council would still frown upon it, I’m afraid. Director will do for now.”

“Very well then, Director. Nonetheless, I congratulate you on the work you have done to keep the Empire in line as you move to crush the Rebellion.”

Isard could not tell if the Grand Admiral’s words were genuine, but she let the comment slide all the same. “With all due respect, Grand Admiral, I would prefer if we cut straight to the point of this conversation. Surely you did not keep me waiting for this meeting only so I could give you information that you already had.”

The faintest of smiles crossed Thrawn’s lips. “Observant as ever, Director, not unlike your father. Indeed, I have a request to make of you.”

Isard arched an eyebrow over her left red eye. “A request, you say? And what do you offer me in exchange for this request?”

“What you have already asked of me,” Thrawn replied evenly. “To remain in the Unknown Regions until further notice.”

Isard held the alien’s gaze for a moment before tilting her head in a small nod. “Very well. What is your request?”

Thrawn clasped his hands behind his back as he straightened his shoulders. “Are you familiar with Baron Soontir Fel, Director?”

She felt her blue eye twitch at the mention of the name. Taking in a sharp intake of breath, she managed to reply evenly, “Yes, of course I am. He was one of the best pilots the Empire has to offer.”

The hints of venom in her voice did not go unnoticed by Thrawn, as his ghost of a smile only became more apparent. “Is that the past tense, I hear? I was not aware Baron Fel had fallen in combat.”

This time, Isard did not bother to hide the distaste in her voice. “He hasn’t, but he will wish he had. No, he has defected to the Rebellion and now flies for Rogue Squadron.”

“Ah, Rogue Squadron. Yes, I have heard of them. Unfortunate that Baron Fel has made the choice of siding with them.”

“Indeed,” Isard growled. “Fortunately, he will be made short work of as soon as my forces locate and obliterate Rogue Squadron.”

“Ah, but is there need for such haste?” Thrawn asked. “Regardless of his choices, Baron Fel is, as you say, one of the best pilots the Empire has to offer. It would be unwise to let such talents go to waste.”

“He has already wasted them by siding with the enemy.”

“Do you know it was by his choice alone? Perhaps the Rebels have coerced him into siding with them, threatening his family if he does not.”

“I have considered that,” Isard muttered. “But ultimately, it makes no difference. He swore an oath to the Empire and he has betrayed it by defecting to the Rebels, whether he did so willingly or not.”

“Understandable,” Thrawn said. “Even so, I feel that we both have something to benefit from what I am about to propose. You want Baron Fel out of the picture, and I want him for my own services.”

Isard studied the Grand Admiral’s holographic image carefully. “What are you suggesting?”

“I am suggesting that we work together to capture Baron Fel and have him sent to my base of operations here in the Unknown Regions. Doing so would fulfill my request as well as rid you of the traitor, leaving us both satisfied with the results.”

Isard hated to admit it, but she saw some sense to the Grand Admiral’s logic. While she would have preferred to have Baron Fel executed, perhaps Thrawn had something in mind that would ensure Fel’s continued loyalty to the Empire. And it would deprive the Rebels of an ace pilot with knowledge of Imperial tactics. It would be, as the layman would put it, a win-win.

“Very well,” she finally said. “Baron Fel shall be yours. I’ll have my operatives coordinate with yours to secure his capture.”

Thrawn smiled, and this time Isard felt that it might as well have been genuine. “Excellent, Director. I look forward to working with you on this operation.”

Isard could not bring herself to say the same to him, so instead she simply nodded as she ended the call. Perhaps the alien would have his uses… and once he had exhausted them, she would make sure to take him out of the picture as quickly as possible.

Lodestar

Helmet tucked under one arm, Baron Soontir Fel stepped into the hangar bay of the Lodestar, surveying the variety of docked starfighters. He tried hard to keep from grimacing as he walked; although the orange flight fatigues of an X-wing pilot were tailor-made for his body, they still did not quite feel “right” to him. And he was pretty sure that they didn’t look right to the pilots who now flew as his comrades after having been his enemies for many years.

He would have been lying to himself if he had said he was not feeling a bit impatient about the circumstances surrounding his service to the New Republic. He had agreed to defect from the Empire on the condition that they helped him find his wife Syal after she had been forced to go into hiding when he had been captured at Brentaal, a scenario that had been set up by Ysanne Isard as part of her political scheming. It had been several months since then, and little progress had been made from what he could tell. While he had no intentions of ever returning to the Empire due to the scheming and political infighting (not that Isard would ever welcome him back), he was getting to the point of considering taking matters into his own hands.

After this mission, at least, he would try to have a serious talk with Wedge and his superiors, perhaps even give them an ultimatum. Until then, he would serve the New Republic with as much fervor and passion as he had the Empire, before it had ended up in the state that it was now.

Walking through the hangar bay, Fel caught the wary glances of other pilots, namely those from units outside of Rogue Squadron. He was sure that Wedge had explained the situation to General Syndulla and she to them, but nothing was ever going to make those glares go away. Not after the actions he had taken against the Rebellion during the war. As it stood now, the other Rogues were the only real friends he had in the Starfighter Corps… and even that was stretching it.

He paused at one of the X-wing starfighters and saw his Quarren teammate Nrin Vakil standing under the ship’s nose, working at an exposed panel with a hydrospanner. The Quarren had become forlorn ever since the disaster that had unfolded at Ciutric, which had seen to the death of their fellow Rogue Ibtisam. As Fel understood it, Nrin had been close to Ibtisam, despite her being a Mon Calamari and the ages-long rivalry between their two races. Fel felt a pang of sympathy for the Quarren, worried as he was for his own wife’s safety, but he could not bring himself to console Nrin knowing the distaste the other had for him. If Fel had been in command of the unit, he would have put the Quarren on a leave of absence to get over his grief… but the New Republic was stretched thin for pilots as it was, and they needed all the help they could get.

Turning away from Nrin, Fel scanned the hangar bay for the rest of his comrades. Xarcce Huwla was standing at the fighter of Plourr Illo, comparing kill marks with her fellow pilot. Across from them were Avan Beruss and Feylis Ardele, whispering sweet nothings to each other as they prepared themselves for the mission ahead. Fel dreaded that one of them would soon experience the same heartbreak as Nrin had at Ciutric. It was one of the reasons he had always discouraged intimacy between pilots in his unit. It posed the risk of causing a pilot to put the life of one of their teammates over the lives of the others, and potentially put the mission in jeopardy. 

Still, as much as he wanted to say something to them, Fel bit his tongue. This was Wedge’s unit, not his, and if letting their pilots get into bed with each other was how the New Republic did things… well, it had certainly gotten them this far, hadn’t it?

“Excuse me.”

Fel stiffened at the sound of the woman’s voice coming behind him. He had braced himself for this ever since he had defected and he turned around, preparing himself for the barrage of harsh words that were about to come his way. His encounter with Telsij Cayr was still fresh in his mind, and while she had made peace with him over his actions at Brentaal, that didn’t mean every pilot he encountered was going to be as respectable.

He recognized the woman in the X-wing fatigues from the briefing room. Her blonde hair was shaved short on either side, leaving a long golden mohawk in the center of her scalp. Her gray eyes carried a hardness that Fel had seen in only the most experienced of pilots, which contrasted with her youthful appearance; she couldn’t have been any older than in her early twenties, possibly even younger than Wedge. There was something familiar about the woman that Fel couldn’t quite place. The way she presented herself almost came across as more… Imperial than it did Rebel.

Meeting Fel’s gaze evenly, the woman said, “Baron Fel, I presume?”

“Yes,” Fel said carefully. “And you would be?”

“Commander Yrica Quell, of Alphabet Squadron.” She extended a gloved hand.

“Ah,” Fel uttered as he shook it. He remembered hearing the name at the briefing, but his thoughts had been focused on Syal that he had let it slip past. “Pleasure to meet you, Commander.”

“The pleasure is mine, actually,” Quell replied with an almost sheepish smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you during my time at the Academy.”

Fel’s eyes widened at this. “You mean, the Imperial Academy?”

Quell nodded. “I served in the 204th.”

“The Shadow Wing?” Fel had to keep himself from blurting out loud, although he was sure some of the others had overheard him as he no longer heard the sound of Nrin’s hydrospanner. “They were… probably still are… one of the Empire’s best fighter wings. Even after I whipped up the 181st into shape.”

Quell nodded again. “My history with them is a bit of a long story, as is the story of why I defected. I just wanted to make your acquaintance and let you know that there won’t be any ill feelings between you and I. You’re not the only ex-Imperial on this mission.”

“Um, right. Thank you.” Fel found himself at a loss for words, unsure of what else to say. Quell seemed to pick up on this as she simply smiled and gave a curt nod before walking back over to join the rest of her squadron.

As Fel let out the breath he had been holding, he heard the sound of booted footsteps approach him from behind. “Reuniting with old acquaintances, I take it?”

Fel turned around, already expecting to see Nrin Vakil standing there. “I assure you,” Fel said evenly, “that I have never met her before in my life.”

The Quarren’s expression was anything but convinced. “I’m sure.”

Before Fel had a chance to respond, Nrin was already turning away and walking back to his fighter. Fel glanced around to see if any of the others had been watching, but they were still engrossed in their own conversations.

With a sigh, Fel tightened his hold around his helmet and made swift strides toward his own fighter.

Akiva

Temmin had never been to the hideout of Surat Nuat, and it certainly had never been on his bucket list of places to visit. But Tooms and the rest of his gang clearly had other ideas, and so here he was.

He had spent the entire trip blindfolded, likely to make sure he couldn’t rat out the location to any authorities (not that they would have done anything about it). When they had finally pulled the sack off his head, it had taken a moment for his eyes to readjust to the dim lighting of the room, until finally he could make out the sour-looking Sullustan sitting in front of him, leering over a strangely shaped desk.

“Temmin Wexley,” Surat Nuat said. “We meet at last.”

Temmin managed a weak smile. “Hey,” was all he could say, fear threatening to choke him up.

The Sullustan regarded him with his one good eye, his left one being blinded white. “You’ve got guts, kid, I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You live by yourself with a faulty battle droid for protection, yet you risk your neck to harbor someone hiding from the Empire. That takes guts for someone like you.”

Temmin frowned. “I’m sorry, what’s this about hiding from the Empire?”

Surat rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me, kid. That woman you were hiding… do you have any idea who she is?”

Temmin hesitated, but at this point he figured it was fruitless to lie. “She told me her name was Syal….”

“That’s not the name most of the galaxy knows her by. She’s Wynnsa Starflare, one of the biggest holoactresses there is!”

“Oh.” Temmin blinked in genuine bemusement. “I had no idea. Honestly. I don’t watch many holo-films.”

Surat smirked. “You’re sure? Teenage boy like you, I’d expect you to be familiar with at least some of her work….”

“I swear I had no idea. I thought she was just a pregnant woman that needed help. I didn’t know anything more than that, I swear!”

“Whatever you say,” Surat grunted. “Point is, the Empire has a big bounty on whoever can bring in Wynssa Starflare alive, and I intend to cash in on it.”

“We get a percentage though, right?” asked Tooms, standing next to Temmin with a blaster pointed to him. “I mean, we’re the ones who found her….”

“Actually, it was that new girl who caught her,” rumbled Herf, a vocoder around his neck translating his Ithorese speech. “What was her name again?”

Surat waved a dismissive hand. “We can discuss the details later. Let me contact the Satrap’s office so we can actually hand in the bounty.”

The Sullustan crime lord pressed a panel on his desk, and it was at that moment Temmin realized why it looked off. The surface of the desk was in fact a carbonite slab, with the visage of another Sullustan frozen within it. Temmin had heard rumors that Surat kept his brother frozen in carbonite, but he had always figured that to be an urban legend. Apparently, there had been some truth to it.

After a moment, a burst of static came from the desk’s built-in comlink, followed by an automated voice: “The office of the Satrapy is not available right now. Please leave a message and we will get back to you at the earliest convenience.”

Surat scowled. “Tell the Empire I have captured Wynssa Starflare. I look forward to your response.”

He finished the message and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms as he stared at the comm with a smug expression. No doubt he was expecting a prompt response once whoever was on the other end got the message.

Minutes passed. The silence grew longer and longer, and Surat’s expression drooped into a frown. Finally, he let out a huff and made a sharp gesture towards Tooms.

“Take him to the back. I’ll deal with him later.”

“Wait,” Temmin said as Makarial Gravin moved to put the sack back over his head. “Can’t you just let me go? It’s not me the Empire wants!”

“And have you start blabbing?” Surat snorted. “I don’t think so. The last thing I need is having unwanted company show up in my establishment.”

Temmin’s further protests were cut off as the Koorivar pulled the sack over his head, obstructing his vision once more. He was then roughly pulled out of his chair and led away to some other place he could not see. As he was pulled along, Temmin could not help but wonder if he would ever see the sunlight again.

*  *  *

Syal sat in the cell that she had been forced into. She drew her arms and legs closer to herself as she tried to keep warm in the freezing conditions of the backroom, rubbing a hand over her stomach as she fretted over the life growing inside it. Standing nearby, the armored woman called Sabine seemed to pick up on her distress as she inclined a helmeted head in her direction. 

“Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “Help is on the way.”

Syal looked up at her. “It is?”

“I’ve already sent the New Republic intelligence about a meeting between Imperial warlords here in Myrra. The Alcazar will be one of the places they will stop at to gather further information; that will be when we make our move.”

“What about Surat? And the boy? He said his name was Snap…”

“Let me worry about that. Trust me, I’ve got this all under control.”

“Okay.” Syal did not feel fully reassured, and Sabine appeared to pick up on this. Turning to the other woman, Sabine slowly walked over to her before dropping down into a crouch beside her. She then raised her hands to her helmet and pulled it off her head, revealing a tan face with short hair dyed violet. She looked to be about a decade younger than Syal, perhaps even as young as Wedge would be by now….

“Hey,” Sabine said softly. “I’ve been doing this for a while. I’ve been fighting for the Rebellion since before it even was an official alliance.” She offered a faint smile. “I think I know what I’m doing.”

Syal met the other woman’s eyes and allowed herself to smile back in return. Sabine then glanced down at Syal’s pregnant stomach.

“How far along are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Pretty far,” Syal murmured.

“Do you have a name yet?”

Syal smiled. “I promised my husband I wouldn’t decide on one without at least talking with him first.”

“Well, hopefully we can get you back to your husband before it decides it wants to come out.” Sabine then paused as a thought appeared to cross her mind. “That does give me an idea, though….”

Syal raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean?”

“Okay, I know what I’m about to say is going to sound crazy, which is why I’m running it by you first. You ready?”

Syal could only nod as she stared at Sabine in confusion.

Then Sabine told her the plan. And for the first time in a while, Syal found herself grinning ear to ear.