“DID YOU HAVE to bring her back with you?” Larin whispered to Ula as she escorted the passengers of the Auriga Fire to the Commenor’s conference room. “I don’t trust her.”
The envoy adjusted his collar as though he was feeling too hot. “No choice, I’m afraid. Darth Chratis was insistent.”
“Well, he didn’t offer to put one of us on his command deck.”
“I suppose he wouldn’t offer, given the choice, and I’m afraid I didn’t think to ask. I thought the Sith would be valuable as a hostage, that’s all.”
“I suppose she will.” Noticing Ula’s discomfort, she forced a smile. “Hey, look, I’m not saying you didn’t do your best. I’m just glad you got us this far. No one else could’ve done it.” She patted him on the shoulder with her prosthetic half hand.
“Thanks,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I’m glad you think so.”
She couldn’t help a smile. His social awkwardness was both touching and puzzling. How had anyone so clumsy ever risen so high in the Republic administration, let alone survived an audience with a Dark Lord of the Sith? Perhaps Darth Chratis had taken pity on him.
That seemed rather unlikely.
The Sith apprentice, Eldon Ax, walked steadily between Master Satele and Shigar, surrounded by an entourage of business-like soldiers, all holding rifles at the ready. Her wild-haired head was held high, and she took each step as though fighting the urge to spin and fight. She was like a wild animal, held barely in check.
“I don’t trust her,” Larin repeated, “and I’m good at reading people.”
Beside her, Ula cleared his throat but said nothing.
THE MEETING WAS uncomfortable from the beginning. Captain Pipalidi’s crest was a deep purple, and her Basic difficult to understand, as was often the case with Anx, whose voices tended to be so deeply pitched that they bordered on the subsonic. Shigar swore he felt his rib cage rattle on a couple of occasions.
The captain first ordered all nonessential personnel out of the room. Larin was one of those, and Shigar caught the hurt glance she shot him. There was nothing he could do about it, though. He had no power here.
“Colonel Gurin had no opportunity to confirm his succession plans to me,” said Master Satele, “but I know he had the highest regard for you, Captain Pipalidi. He would be glad to know that the fleet is in reliable hands.”
“May it remain so,” the captain growled, with a sharp look at Eldon Ax. The implication was obvious, and twofold. Many in the military harbored hard feelings for the Jedi after the events leading up to the Treaty of Coruscant, when the Order had been deliberately trapped between the Empire and the Mandalorians. The closing of that trap had left the Republic divided over the role Jedi Knights should play in future conflicts. Some even went so far as to mistrust the Order entirely, preferring to leave them out. The fact that Master Satele had brought a Sith to the negotiating table only confirmed those mistrustful feelings.
“My enemy is your enemy,” said Ax. “That makes you useful to me. And vice versa.”
Captain Pipalidi’s crest turned bright orange. “We do not need you, you murderous witch-child—”
“Enough,” said Master Satele, raising both hands. “This won’t get us anywhere. The fact is that we do need her, Captain Pipalidi, and the Imperials as well, so we must negotiate accordingly. Have your analysts confirmed Dao Stryver’s calculations?”
“Yes.” The captain raised herself up to her full height, making her the tallest person in the room by more than a meter. “I have sent a long-range probe droid to convey a message to the Supreme Commander, but I do not anticipate a response of any kind within a day.”
“The chance of Stantorrs sending a fleet on the basis of one message is remote,” Master Satele said. “And by the time it came, Sebaddon would be boiling over.”
“Yes.” That single syllable conveyed a weight of import. For all her dislike of the situation, at least the captain understood its significance.
“I don’t understand why Stryver didn’t tell us this earlier,” said Shigar. “As it stands we have just fifteen ships, now. If we’d combined both our fleets on arrival, it would’ve been over thirty. If he’d warned us—”
“Would you have believed him?” asked Ula.
“No,” said Ax unexpectedly. “I tried to tell my Master about the hexes but he didn’t listen.”
Shigar didn’t add Me, too, but he could have. “So Stryver let us take a hammering just to make a point? If we’d been beaten, that would’ve done no one any good.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons,” said Master Satele. “The same reason, possibly, that he’s the only one of his kind here. If the Mandalore feels so strongly about this, why wouldn’t he send more to back us up?”
“Perhaps he wants us to do his dirty work for him.”
“Or he doesn’t think his people are up to it,” the young Sith said.
Shigar met her quick gaze. If they shared one thing, it seemed, it was a mistrust of the Mandalorians.
“Fifteen ships,” mused Captain Pipalidi, “including one bulk cruiser …”
Ax said, “We have three thousand front-line troops, divided across the remains of three regiments—repulsorlift, heavy weapons, and armored—with two hundred TRA-Nine battle droids. We have shuttles sufficient to land them and support them, but we lost much of our munitions when the ships carrying them were destroyed by the hexes.”
“Are those figures accurate?” asked the captain suspiciously.
“I have been ordered to withhold nothing. It is to our benefit, at the moment, not to do so.”
“In that spirit, I will offer the same. Three thousand five hundred troops, two full regiments. Repulsorlift and armor. Our wings were in the air when their capital ships were destroyed, so most of the fighters themselves survived. Hangar decks are crowded, though, and refueling options limited.”
“We have the same problem,” said Ax. “Colonel Kalisch sent raiding parties to salvage what they could from the infected vessels, but none returned. One came back infected. We destroyed it.”
“We noticed. Our intelligence staff is working double shifts, watching everything around the planet. Not helped, of course, by the fact that we were short-staffed to begin with.”
The captain’s tension visibly eased as she and Ax exchanged details of losses and setbacks. Shigar had heard how battle lines could be blurred on a war’s bloody front. This was the first time he had seen it in action. Perhaps Stryver’s unlikely plan had some merit after all.
Ula broke into the rapid exchange of intelligence.
“Every minute we stand around chatting,” he said, “Xandret’s droids build more of themselves, more factories, more who knows what? If we’re going to stop them, we have to start making solid plans, and fast.”
“Agreed,” said Master Satele. “Our number one priority is stopping the droids from getting more than a toehold in orbit. While their factories are confined to the surface of the planet, it will be possible to defeat them.”
“A whole planet with just fifteen ships?” asked one of the captain’s senior officers. “And just one bulk cruiser?” The hard-skinned major shook his head. “No matter how you divide it up, it’s impossible.”
“Only if we tell ourselves it is,” said Shigar. “Stryver’s data clearly showed how the hexes radiated outward from a central point—the main hot spot your ships bombarded,” he added with a nod to Ax. “I think it’s safe to assume that this was where Xandret and the others founded the colony’s capital. Destroying it didn’t take out the hexes’ coordinating intelligence, but must have hurt it enough to move elsewhere. If we look for the place that’s growing the fastest, that’ll be the place to hit.”
“We have identified two such locations,” said Captain Pipalidi. A hologram flickered to life between them. “Here and here,” she said, indicating one spot at the equator and another at the south pole. “Perhaps the hexes have decided not to put all their eggs in one basket, this time.”
Shigar studied the image. The site on the equator was in the middle of a vast sea of lava, dotted with islands of solid stone. The polar site was much more stable. Straight lines radiated from it in all directions, leading to other spots elsewhere.
“That’s a factory,” he said, pointing at the pole. “Perhaps the master factory, where everything else originates. And that’s the brain,” he said, transferring his finger to the equator.
“How can you possibly know that?” asked Ax.
“Because factories need physical means to get things in and out. Resources, power, finished droids. That’s what these are.” He followed one line from point to point. “Roads or railways of some kind. Or power cables.”
“And brains don’t need anything of the sort,” she said, nodding. “It can just sit there, isolated in the middle of that mess, sending orders out by radio.”
“I think you’re right, Shigar.” Master Satele moved around the globe, rubbing her chin. “Teams striking both at once, plus targeted bombardment at the secondary locations, should be enough to slow the hexes’ growth.”
“Enough to stop it, perhaps,” said Captain Pipalidi, “until reinforcements arrive.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Shigar knew as well as anyone that, once the threat of the planet was reduced to zero, the alliance would break. This moment of solidarity was both fragile and temporary. No one had forgotten that the Sith and the Jedi, the Empire and the Republic, were anything other than mortal enemies.
“Let’s worry about reinforcements when they get here,” Ula said. “Captain Pipalidi, would you be willing to sketch out a basic plan now, to pass on to Darth Chratis and Colonel Kalisch for their opinion? I suggest dividing resources evenly over all tactical objectives, to ensure that both parties feel that they are included but not exploited, plus double the usual number of commanding officers to each platoon. Discipline must be maintained. We don’t want the troops shooting one another at a critical moment.”
“Naturally not,” said the captain with a bluish cast to her crest. Shigar didn’t know what that meant. Irony, perhaps.
Shigar caught another glance from the young Sith’s direction—bored, this time, and again he sympathized. Their duel in the Hutts’ security air lock felt a lifetime ago. His lightsaber hand itched, but he kept it carefully limp at his side.
THE DOOR TO THE conference room hissed open. Larin was taken by surprise. She had long ago given up trying to read the lips of the people inside. On seeing a major, she automatically stood to attention.
“Private Hetchkee, a moment,” said the sturdy Rellarin. “You, too, Moxla.”
Larin followed Hetchkee and the major into the conference room. The air seemed much denser than normal, as was always the case during long planning sessions. A current projection of the planet hung in the center of the room, dashed and dotted with notations in yellow and green. People huddled around it, making suggestions. The Sith girl was one of them.
Both Shigar and Ula looked up as Larin entered, but it was the captain who spoke.
“We’re sending strike teams to two locations,” she said in a voice so deep it hurt Larin’s breastbone. One long finger stabbed at the globe. “Here, and here. We need people familiar with the hexes to guide each team. Both your names have been mentioned for the assault on the master factory. Private Hetchkee, your detail was with the envoy, under the authority of Supreme Commander Stantorrs. I don’t outrank him, of course, but I can promote you above the rank required for an escort. No one would dream of wasting a lieutenant on such a detail, and we’re short of officers. Will you accept this assignment?”
“Yes, sir.” Hetchkee snap-saluted, looking like he was equal parts delighted and terrified. This was not only the fastest leap up the chain of command imaginable, but it could also be the briefest.
“And what about you, Moxla?”
“Forgive me, sir, but I have a history—”
“So I’m told. I don’t care what happened back then. You’re the closest thing we have to special forces now, so I’d be insane not to use you. All that matters is that you’ll follow orders—and be followed in turn, by anyone who has any doubts. Do you think you can manage that?”
Her face was burning. In the service again! She didn’t know whether to kill Shigar or kiss him.
“Yes, sir. I do. I will.”
“Good. Major Cha, take them to the quartermaster and have them kitted out. I want them briefed and ready for action within the hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Rellarin saluted and guided them toward the door. Larin felt as though she were walking through a weightless vacuum—not floating, exactly, but cut loose from everything. One touch, and she could tumble out of control.
The major chuckled once the door was shut behind them. “You should see your faces,” he said. “Well, I can’t really see yours, Hetchkee, but I can imagine.”
“Are we really going to attack the planet, sir?”
“You bet you are. Are you up to it?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“That’s all we can ask of you. What we expect is a different story.”
In no time at all they reached the Commenor’s expansive technical storeroom. Larin gazed hungrily at row after row of clean armor shells, up-to-date weapons, and apparently endless cases of ammunition. She knew this wasn’t a big ship, so the stores weren’t as extensive as she imagined, but it was so much more than she had seen in a long time. She almost wept.
“Here we are. Sergeant, these two new lieutenants find themselves sorely underprovisioned. Make sure they’re equipped with everything they need, and do it on the double.”
“Yes, Major Cha.”
The swarthy sergeant took charge of Larin and led her into paradise.
“WHAT ABOUT THE Mandalorian?” Ax asked when the stunned troopers were gone. “What role does he play in all this?”
She hadn’t forgotten her vow. I will kill you, Dao Stryver, or die trying.
“Apart from supplying any other intel he might have,” said the captain, “I expect him to join the fighters sweeping hexes from orbit.”
“It might be difficult keeping him out of play,” said one of her officers. “Mandalorians love nothing better than a good fight.”
“He’s done a very good job of staying out of this one,” said the Padawan with a shrug. “Maybe he’ll be content with that.”
Ax kept her feelings to herself. She would be hundreds of kilometers away from them, then, intent on destroying the droids’ coordinating intelligence. But she would advise her Master to keep an eye on Stryver’s scout, in the hope that it strayed too close to an Imperial ship. In the chaos of combat, missiles often went astray. She wanted him dead, even if she couldn’t deliver the killing blow herself.
“One of our signals officers believes the hexes identify us by our transponders,” said another alien on the captain’s staff. “We could feather our drives, confuse them.”
“Better yet,” said the Padawan, “we could avoid drives entirely.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shuttle to low orbit, free-fall straight down from there, then chute onto the targets.”
Ax was impressed. She liked that plan, despite herself. “It could work. We’ll show up on radar, of course, but they won’t know what we are. Toss out a bit of junk with us, and they might even mistake us for debris.”
The captain was nodding. “Excellent. The only thing left to decide is who has overall authority.”
There was another awkward silence.
Ax had known this moment was coming. “Darth Chratis or Colonel Kalisch. We have the bulk cruiser.”
“But we have more ships,” said Captain Pipalidi.
“Master Shan should make the call,” said the Padawan, with perfect predictability. “Her foresight is legendary.”
“Does she know how this is going to end?” Ax asked him.
“I do not,” the Grand Master said. “But I do know that we’ll never agree on this point. I suggest we give someone else the authority to oversee this engagement. Not the details, but the key strategic moments. Someone we have already trusted to act as a go-between in difficult circumstances.”
All eyes turned to Envoy Vii.
“I, ah, would be honored, of course,” he said, “but—”
“Darth Chratis will accept this proposal,” said Ax, enjoying the way the traitor squirmed.
“So will I,” said the captain.
“On one condition,” Ax added. “We must be sure that Envoy Vii is acting independently, not under any kind of distress or influence. As we cannot guarantee that he will do so here, in a Republic vessel, we require that he be stationed elsewhere, and remain in constant contact with all parties.”
“Not with you,” said the captain. “Or Dao Stryver.”
“Nebula’s ship,” said Shigar.
The Grand Master nodded. “The Auriga Fire.”
Envoy Vii’s larynx bobbed once, twice, then he visibly got himself together.
“I will accept this responsibility,” he said, “on the assumption that my instructions will be followed to the letter. There’s no point having me in this role if you won’t listen to me. All of you.”
He was looking at the captain, who nodded. Clearly a civilian authority was better than either a Sith or a Jedi. “I will play my part,” she said.
“Darth Chratis will, too,” Ax said. “I’m sure Envoy Vii will do the right thing by all of us.”
He glanced at her, and she saw the terror in his eyes. He understood very well indeed what she had meant.
WHILE THE SITH apprentice relayed the orders to her Master, Ula took a moment to review the plan in his mind. Primary and secondary objectives were now defined. There would be three teams. The first would clear Sebaddon’s orbit so that landing parties could get through. The second, led by Grand Master Shan, would attempt to destroy the droids’ coordinating intelligence—their version of him, he now realized. No doubt the hexes would be seeking to take him out in return. The third team would be lead by Major Cha, with Larin and Hetchkee backing him up. They would drop into the master factory and prevent the droids from creating a new CI.
Ula’s job was to oversee it all and somehow to stay alive.
The Jedi Padawan came in close.
“I don’t know what you told them,” Shigar whispered, “but you’ve got the Imperials jumping exactly in time.”
Ula looked up from the holographic globe. “It was nothing special,” he said, hiding many layers of truth behind a simple lie. “They’re not monsters. They can be made to see reason.”
Shigar’s doubt on that point was impervious. “However you did it, keep it up and you’ll be Supreme Chancellor one day.”
Not if I’m caught. Ula was well aware of how agents were punished by both sides. But part of him was flattered by the Padawan’s confidence in him. He remembered how Shigar had saved him from the collapsing wall on Hutta, and how Larin had volunteered to accompany him to what must have seemed like certain doom, when meeting with Darth Chratis. These acts had been offered freely, without promise of reward. He didn’t understand where they came from, unless they genuinely thought him worth saving.
Him, he wondered, or his false face?
Either way, he felt somewhat buoyed by their regard.
“The Mandalorian agrees,” said the Rellarin major, looking up from a separate holoprojector. “Intel and surveillance, engaging only as instructed.”
“Darth Chratis concurs on all points but one,” added the Sith apprentice on returning to the huddle. “He will fight with Master Shan during the assault on the CI. And I will fight, too.”
The Grand Master nodded slowly. “Very well. My Padawan will be part of the strike force, so that is only fair.”
“Excellent,” said Ula, playing the part of mediator with something like aplomb, he hoped. “We are agreed. All that remains is to begin.”
“No time like the present, I say,” Captain Pipalidi rumbled.
“My sentiments exactly,” said Ula. “I will retire to the Auriga Fire and set up my command post there. On notification that all is in place elsewhere, I will give the order. Nothing is to commence until then. Understood?”
They understood well enough, and he was under no illusions, either. It was all an act, a hasty bandaging of cracks that would inevitably tear the alliance asunder. But while they were prepared to play, so was he.
Captain Pipalidi clicked her fingers and an escort fell in behind him. They marched him through the ship to where the Auriga Fire remained safely docked, then left him there.
The smuggler looked up when he entered the cockpit.
“How’d it go?”
“Could have been worse,” Ula said, falling into the copilot’s seat. “They put me in charge.”
“Well, good for you. That’s the seat to be in if you want to skim a little profit.”
“I’m not interested in doing that.”
“So what are you interested in?”
That was the question, Ula supposed. Was it to give the Sith what they wanted and thereby perpetuate their deadly regime? Was it to provide resources for the Minister of Logistics, in order to further his dream of a more balanced Imperial society? Or was it something else?
He’d always thought of Coruscant as cursed. Only now did he realize just how easy he’d had it there. Out here, the issues were the same, but the blasters aimed at his temple were much, much closer.
LARIN LOOKED OUT a transparisteel portal and wondered if she was dreaming.
The Commenor was stationed in close orbit around Sebaddon’s lumpy moon, in lockstep with the other Republic ships. The Imperial vessels had occupied a different orbit, but they were steadily falling into line. Once the fleets merged, the first attack run would begin. She would be heading down to the surface with the other soldiers to fight the enemy where it lived. Until then, there was nothing to do but stare at the view.
As Larin watched, an almost surreal conjunction occurred before her eyes. The moon, Sebaddon, and the dramatic spiral of the galaxy formed a straight line, with the jets of the black hole aligned at right angles, creating a stellar X. It reminded her of the Cross of Glory, the highest military award given by the Republic. She didn’t believe in omens—or any kind of future-telling at all, really, despite talk of Master Satele’s abilities in that regard—but she decided to take it as a good sign. Everything was lined up. Everything was perfect.
When the conjunction broke apart, she turned away from the viewport and tested her new armor. The suit was clean, fully charged, and equipped with everything she had ever wanted. All the pockets were full, all the seals checked. Her joints moved smoothly, without impediment, and provided assist when requested without jarring or losing control. Her helmet was a little snug, but the quartermaster had assured her they all were, these days. The newer designs were better equipped to prevent head trauma in even the most extreme situations. She would take a little claustrophobia in return for knowing her skull was safe.
In the mirror, she was unrecognizable, and that wasn’t just because of the lieutenant insignia on her shoulders.
“You have fingers,” said a voice from the entrance to the ready room.
She turned, saw Shigar standing there, freshly kitted out in the Jedi version of uniform and armor: browns and blacks, mainly, with loose folds of cloth hiding compact armor plating.
“That is Larin, isn’t it?” he added with a sudden frown.
“Yes,” she said, snapping out of her daze. She tugged the helmet off with her left hand—which, as Shigar pointed out, now had individual digits. The new prosthetic wasn’t permanent; it was just a step up from the crude paddle Ula had found on the Auriga Fire. But it could hold the stock of a rifle while her right hand pulled the trigger. It could type digits into a keypad. It could point.
“It’ll do,” she said, feigning nonchalance.
He came deeper into the room, so they were standing an arm’s length apart. “We’re breaking orbit in ten minutes. I wanted to say good luck.”
Her stomach roiled. She had plans to go over, equipment to check, troops to address—and the jump itself, waiting at the end of all that. She hadn’t dived from orbit since basic training. Only crazy people did it by choice. So many things could go wrong.
She was acutely aware that this could be the last time they ever saw each other.
“Who needs luck?” she said. “You’ve got the Force on your side, and I have lots of blasters.”
He smiled. “Does nothing faze you?”
“Not officially. Just plasma spiders. Oh, and the smell of Reythan crackers, for some reason.”
His smile broadened. “Good for you. Frankly, I’m terrified.”
Her stomach rolled as though it were in free fall.
“Actually,” she said, “this kind of thing makes me a little nervous.”
She leaned closer to him, moving quickly, so she wouldn’t change her mind, and kissed him on the lips.
He pulled away with a shocked look on his face.
“Larin, oh—oh, I’m sorry—I don’t—”
“No,” she said, face burning.
I don’t think of you that way, he’d clearly been about to say. They were words she didn’t want to hear.
“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry.”
“It was my mistake. I thought—”
She stopped. They were talking on top of each other, and his face was as red as hers. She was suddenly afraid to move, to do or say anything lest it be utterly misconstrued. Where had the natural banter between them gone? What had happened to the connection she’d been sure was there?
If she was sure of one thing now, it was that prolonging the awkwardness guaranteed nothing but more of the same.
“I guess this is good-bye,” she said, “for now. Good luck to you, too, Shigar.”
“Thank you,” he said, and although she couldn’t look at him, she knew he was looking hard at her. “Thank you, Larin of Clan Moxla.”
Then he was gone, leaving nothing but his smell behind.
She pressed her face into her hands. “Flack. Flack flack flack!”
“What’s wrong?” asked an entirely new voice from the doorway.
It was Hetchkee. She blinked up at him and tried to focus on something other than what an idiot she felt like.
“Nothing. Just getting myself in the mood.”
“Our platoons are assembled,” he said. “What am I going to tell them?”
He was as scared as she was. “Nothing but the truth,” she told him, “that you’ll kick them in the cargo hold if they make us look bad.”
She scooped up her helmet and followed him to the briefing rooms. Hetchkee’s was first in line. With a deep breath of his unique atmospheric mix, he plunged inside. Larin’s was third along, and she had barely enough time to compose herself before getting there. She was a lieutenant in charge of a vital mission, she reminded herself. She had survived two encounters with the droids of Sebaddon before this, and now she had also survived the most embarrassing romantic encounter of her life. She was special-forces-trained. What could a bunch of lowlife grunts possibly do to throw her?
“Well, well,” said a voice from the troops assembled in the room. “If it isn’t Toxic Moxla, the snitch from Kiffu.”
There, in the front row, was the Zabrak who had challenged her on Coruscant.
Perfect, she thought. Just fragging perfect.
AX LOOKED UP as the Padawan entered the staging area. There wasn’t literally a cloud over his head, but there might as well have been. His face was shadowed, overcast, on the brink of some kind of internal storm.
She moved out of the corner she’d found for herself, far away from the Republic throng waiting for the shuttle to launch, and crossed to him.
“You’re angry,” she said.
“Only at myself.”
He tried to shrug her off, but she wasn’t letting him go so easily.
“That’s the first time I’ve seen you this way. It’s an improvement.”
He gave her a scathing look. “What are you talking about?”
“Anger is a good thing,” she said. “It frees you, makes you stronger.”
“That’s a lie. Anger is a path to the dark side.”
“You say that as though it’s a bad thing.” She drew him closer to her. “You know, you fight pretty well. Imagine how much more powerful you could be if you could shrug off the repressive ways of your masters and—”
“Don’t.” He wrenched his arm free. “Your mother was angry, too, and look where that got her.”
She recoiled.
“What did you plan to do to her when you found her?”
She let the truth of that show on her face.
“Anger and hate bleed everything dry.”
He stalked off.
Ax didn’t smile until she was sure he wasn’t looking. His disgust made him beautiful, and that was reward enough for her.
SHIGAR PUT AS MUCH distance as he could between himself and the Sith girl. She was pretty, but her face hid a foul heart. Best, he told himself, to stay well away.
His revulsion was inevitably entangled with feelings of regret for Larin. How could he have handled that encounter so badly? He should have been less astonished, gentler. Was this what Master Satele had meant about being kind?
His Master came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He felt instantly calmer, as though she had sucked the tension out of him.
“We’ll be descending in the same shuttles,” she said. “Imperials and us alike. You will meet far worse.”
“I know, Master. She just took me by surprise.”
“That is ever their aim. When I was a Padawan—”
A clang of metal on metal cut her off. The external air lock hissed open. A squadron of Imperial soldiers marched in, matching the Republic contingent one for one. This was clearly the squad that would be joining them on the drop onto the island containing the hexes’ coordinating intelligence. They were human, hard-faced and heavily armed. Their discipline was impeccable. Not a cheek twitched out of place; not a lip curled.
Behind them came a dark presence that turned Shigar’s blood to water. A tortured amalgam of flesh and metal, he stood a head taller than anyone else and radiated a deep, bone-piercing chill. He had once been a man, but the dark side had twisted every last drop of humanity from him, leaving a husk that looked barely alive. Only his eyes contained any genuine vitality. From them radiated boundless reserves of loathing. He breathed in hurried gasps as though the air smelled foul—or as though each intake might be his last. A long, thin staff tapped in time with the heavy tread of his boots.
“I am here,” Darth Chratis announced. “This operation can now commence.”
“Envoy Vii is awaiting only our personal assignments,” said Satele Shan, standing up to him as though he were any ordinary being. “When we give them to him, he will issue the order.”
“Refer to him as ‘envoy’ no longer.” The Sith Lord looked down his twisted nose at her. “I will obey no servant of the Republic.”
“Director Vii, then, of Independent Operation Sebaddon.” She folded her hands patiently behind her back. “I will take my Padawan on the first of two assaults from the—”
“No. You will take my apprentice, and I will take yours. That is the only way to ensure impartiality.”
The words hung like icicles. Shigar wanted to beg his Master to deny Darth Chratis this condition. Don’t give in to him, he yearned to say. Don’t send me anywhere with that … creature. He’ll kill me as soon as your back is turned!
Master Satele only smiled. “Of course, Darth Chratis. I’m happy to accommodate your wish. Do you wish to divide the rest of our personnel any particular way?”
“They do not concern me.” He waved a hand in easy dismissal.
“Very well. I will assign them randomly. Is that all?”
His gaze narrowed. Her question made him sound like he was being pedantic, and he clearly didn’t like that. “The arrangements are sufficient.”
Master Satele typed rapidly into a datapad. Imperial and Republic comms had been hastily married into one contiguous network, allowing orders to be transmitted from the Auriga Fire via various command vessels. Almost immediately a series of chimes and spoken commands divided the two cohorts into two intermixed groups. Half would stay behind and launch from the Commenor. The rest would return with Darth Chratis to the Imperial shuttle.
Shigar was in the latter group, and he watched with his heart in his mouth as the troopers he would soon be leaving behind fell into their new arrangement, spaced neatly if awkwardly across the staging area. In a very short time, he would be cast adrift in the world of the Imperials, in the clawed fist of Darth Chratis.
Master Satele came up beside him. Once again, she correctly divined the source of his disquiet, but this time there was no calming hand.
“I agreed to Darth Chratis’s request,” she said, “because I cannot afford to trust him. I’m relying on you to make sure he sticks to the arrangement.”
“I’m no match for a Sith Lord,” Shigar said, aghast.
“Oh, he won’t kill you,” she said. “I’m sure he has something worse in mind.”
He understood, then. She was testing him—and if he failed, they might never meet as Jedi again.
“I won’t let you down, Master.”
“The Force will be with you.”
They embraced and went their separate ways.