“SHUTTLES AWAY,” said Jet.
Ula fell back into the copilot’s seat, watching the telemetry confirming Jet’s simple statement. The combined Imperial–Republic fleet had obeyed his order to deploy. Their mad plan might actually work.
In the next hour, four thousand people would converge on Sebaddon singly, there to recombine as attack squads to take out primary and secondary objectives. The Jedi and the Sith would lead the attack on the equator while ordinary soldiers, including Larin, would attack the master factory at the pole. Another two thousand would remain in orbit, keeping the skies clear of hexes and providing occasional bombardment of the ground below. The rest would provide vital support from several distributed HQs, two of which were on the Commenor and the Paramount.
All reporting to him.
And to Jet and Clunker.
The smuggler had refused all offers of security details, comm officers, and gunners, on the grounds that he didn’t want a potentially fractious crew. Choosing one side over another would be politically fraught.
“Don’t we at least need someone to help defend us?” Ula had asked him, slightly aghast at how vulnerable that would leave them.
“Not at all. Clunker can operate the tri-lasers by remote from the bridge.”
“So what was all that on Hutta about needing a crew? Why have you ever needed a crew at all?”
Jet had smiled. “For the company.”
Ula now wondered if it was for an entirely different reason: for a cover. He had noted how silent Jet was most of the time. When he wasn’t playacting the role of a dissolute smuggler, he was watching and listening to everything going on around him. And now, somehow, he had inveigled himself into the center of everything. He was privy to every order that came through the Auriga Fire. Every piece of information on which Ula based those orders was filtered through Jet’s sensors. If Jet pulled the plug, the combined fleet would be left leaderless.
Ula reassured himself that this wasn’t Jet’s style, that if he were ever to try to change the course of the battle, he would do so in a much subtler fashion. Still, Ula would be on the ball for anything at all, and had armed himself with a new hold-out blaster, just in case.
“Deploy fighters,” he ordered the fleet. “Commence bombardment of primary targets.”
Instantly the dots in the main display began to shift. Four squadrons of mixed Mk. VI Imperial interceptors and Republic XA-8 starfighters would strafe the orbital shell of hexes with laser cannons and proton torpedoes, creating holes in four crucial locations. Two of those locations would allow the all-important troop transports access to lower orbit, there to discharge the free-jumpers, Larin among them. It was vital they weren’t interfered with en route. The other two orbital holes would provide critical windows for the bombardment from Paramount, mainly by B-28s with Imperial pilots. In the first engagement, 20 percent of the missiles launched at the planet had been disabled during descent by interfering hexes. Every shot fired now had to count.
The interceptors and starfighters hit the shell of hexes. Space lit up with explosions, sparkling almost delicately in the distance. The Auriga Fire maintained a respectful distance from both main attack forces and the combined Republic–Imperial fleets, stationed at a point equidistant between the planet and its moon, but it wasn’t the only ship ranging freely across the battlefield.
“We’re receiving a hail from the First Blood,” said Jet.
“Put him on.”
“I’m noting an increase in subspace communications,” said Dao Stryver in miniature. His face was one of several at the bottom of the Auriga Fire’s main holodisplay. The crescent of his ship swept across the battlefield in a silver streak. “Since the black hole warps all attempts to communicate outside the system, I suggest that these are all short-range messages, originating on Sebaddon.”
“The hexes,” said Ula. “Could this be how they communicate with one another?”
“It’s a strong possibility that this is the voice of the coordinating intelligence. We’ve detected no other meaningful signals by radio or microwave.”
“Can you locate the source?”
“I’m working on it. With two more ears listening, I’ll be able to triangulate.”
“Consider it done,” Ula said, making a mental note to requisition the resources from Colonel Kalisch and Captain Pipalidi.
“Launches,” announced Jet.
“Us or them?”
“Them.”
Two locations on the globe of Sebaddon had been highlighted. Six missiles were rising on ion engines, their payloads most likely intended to patch the holes the interceptors and starfighters had made in the orbital defense.
“Get those transports through,” Ula broadcast to the fleet’s commanders. “Those holes might not last long.”
Confirmation came from both sides. A dozen medium-sized vessels broke ranks, accelerating at the maximum capacity of their drives. Imperial Vokoff-Strood VT-22 light troop transports raced Celestial Industries NR2 light transports, each carrying hundreds of men and women, humans and aliens, Jedi and Sith, and combat droids, all intent on doing what they could to crush the hex threat.
Already he regretted pressing Larin onto Captain Pipalidi’s staff. It had been worth it for the look of surprise and delight on her face, but what if something were to happen to her? Was that a cost he was willing to bear?
“Don’t forget what Stryver wanted,” said Jet.
“I haven’t,” he said, although it had entirely slipped his mind. “Put me through to Colonel Kalisch.”
The Imperials claimed a lack of resources, and so did Captain Pipalidi when he got through to her. It could well be true, Ula thought, but it was still frustrating.
“Not even one ship?” he pleaded. “It doesn’t have to be battle-worthy. We can be the third ourselves, if necessary.”
“All right,” she said. “You can have my personal transport. Its arms and shields were stripped, so don’t put it in harm’s way.”
“You have my word. Thank you, Captain.”
“Transports through,” said Jet.
Ula kicked himself for not paying attention to the bigger picture. The descending troop transports had powered through the temporary gaps in the orbital shell. Most were unaffected, but one was releasing its jumpers prematurely, fighting a swarm of hexes released from a close-passing missile. All were accompanied by interceptors and starfighters, which would remain under the shell once it closed, to do what damage they could from underneath.
“Launch second bombardment,” Ula ordered. Anything to keep the hexes busy while the free-jumpers fell.
“Confirmed,” said Jet. “No, wait. Kalisch wants to attack a different target. Some of the missiles came from a location that wasn’t on our grid. He’s requesting permission to take it out.”
Ula ground his teeth. On the one hand, it was good that Kalisch had asked permission first. On the other, there wasn’t any doubt in Ula’s mind that he would do what he wanted regardless what Ula said. The Paramount was the ship most at risk from ground launches. As the largest in the combined fleet, it was only natural that the hexes would target it first.
“Tell him to stick to the plan,” Ula said, “and next time I ask for resources, he’d better comply. He can hit that target in the next round.”
Jet grinned as he relayed the order. Kalisch’s response was curt, but he did obey.
“Where are my ears?” asked Stryver.
“Uh, on their way,” said Ula, hastily noting that Pipalidi’s shuttle had left the Commenor and was awaiting instructions. Jet sent the pilot permission to obey Stryver’s orders, within reason, and synchronized its comm with the First Blood’s.
“We’re your third ship,” Ula told the Mandalorian. “You can use our location as a fixed receiver.”
“Don’t forget to share your data,” said Jet. “If Clunker can work out their code, we might gain ourselves a better tactic than just blowing things up.”
“You think you could slice into their command systems?” Ula asked.
“I’m not promising anything.”
Something else for them to keep an eye on, thought Ula. As if there weren’t enough things already.
One of the ground-launched missiles hadn’t exploded in low orbit or targeted the Paramount. It was headed for the moon, and coming very close to the Auriga Fire.
“That’s either aimed at us,” he said, “or it’s the first escaping factory.”
“First of all, let’s get out of its way,” said Jet, activating the ship’s ion drives. “Second, Kalisch seems to have it covered already.”
Ula noted only then the dozen Blackhawks pursuing the missile with weapons locked. He was glad that someone else was on the ball.
As the Auriga Fire moved out of the path of the approaching missile, he noted that all the free-jumpers had left their transports and begun their descent. Behind them came the infected ship. Its drives were locked on full, powering nose-first into the atmosphere. That was official fleet policy now: when infected beyond all hope, crew members were to aim their vessel at the nearest target and ditch. Already its skin glowed bright red, and fragments of hull metal were peeling away, providing both cover and hazards for the free-fallers.
Voices called for him over the comm. A hundred data streams awaited his attention. He couldn’t sit staring at the holo forever.
Good luck, Larin, he thought, trying not to feel like he was saying good-bye forever. I hope this is what you wanted.
THE VT-22 TRANSPORT rattled and shook so much that Larin could barely hear the countdown. Was that one minute or ten to go? She checked the inside of her helmet, which displayed different views of the planet below, their path toward it, and the many, many hexes in their way. Two minutes—that was the answer. She resisted the urge to quadruple-check her airfoil and jet-chute before the hull opened up beneath her and dropped her into the void. Better to use that time to breathe deeply and calmly, and to remember who she had once been.
“Nahrung—keep an eye on those orbital sweeps,” she said to her sergeant over the platoon’s private channel. “If you see anything that looks like a central complex, flag it.” New intel was pouring in every second from the transport and its escorts as they approached the surface of the world. “Ozz—watch the weather. It’s your job to make sure we don’t land in the middle of a volcano.” Ozz was an Imperial, short on words but willing to follow her orders, so far. “Mond—your squad’s the first down. Come in hot, take no prisoners. I want you to put your best shots first. Jopp, for instance. Let’s see if he’s as good at firing a rifle as he is his mouth.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sergeant Mond. The Zabrak, Ses Jopp, muttered something too quiet to catch. He had been nothing but insubordinate ever since he had crossed her path again. Reinforcing the chain of command was the best way to deal with people like him.
“When we’re down, first priority is to take out the factory. Target supply lines, power lines, conveyor belts, heavy lifters—whatever looks essential. Don’t stop to count kills. There’ll be plenty of hexes for everyone. And remember—they redesign fast, so don’t take anything for granted, even if it’s not moving. We don’t know exactly what they’re building down there. Treat everything with caution until you’ve blown it sky-high.”
“Twenty seconds” came the announcement from the transport’s bridge.
The bay doors opened, letting in the light of the black hole. It happened in near-silence, since there was no atmosphere outside. Only mechanical vibrations came through her suit and the harness holding it in place, adding a low whine to the general hubbub.
“Ten seconds.”
The transport rotated to bring its bay doors directly in line with the planet below. Hundreds of troops held their collective breath at the sight. Sebaddon looked forbidding enough in holoprojectors. Rivers of lava, near-molten mountain ranges, and patchy mirror-flat lakes—now known to be sheets of gleaming metal, frozen solid—were clearly visible through the hazy atmosphere.
“Five seconds.”
One last burn put the transport on the correct trajectory. Their destination was the pole, on a completely different path from those heading for the equator. Shigar was among the latter cohort, and even in that moment, with the voice counting down individual seconds, she had time to think of him, and to feel a sudden flash of shame and hurt.
“One.”
“Go.”
Suddenly she was weightless and the transport was rising above her, repulsorlifts flashing, receding rapidly as she fell. All around her were troopers adopting the same position as she was, face forward, arms and legs swept back into straight lines. There was no drag as yet, and there wouldn’t be for some minutes, but atmosphere was unpredictable. She’d heard of limbs and even heads pulled right off by simple telemetry errors. The deceleration when it came would be crushing.
“Good launch, people,” came Major Cha, just one suited being among so many. Clumps of TRA-9 battle droids hung motionless among them, as silent as stone. “Now find your squadmates and tighten up your formation. Maintain comm silence at all times. Going to intel blackout … now.”
Larin’s helmet views suddenly simplified as the company’s network went largely dormant. In order to present the illusion that the falling objects were innocent debris, there would be no internal chatter and no data feeds from the ships above. It would stay like that until the ground was just seconds away. Until then, barring emergencies, it was just her and the data collected so far.
She felt strangely isolated, descending among so many people without exchanging a single word. Other falling troopers, identified by bold black markings on their helmets and chute-packs, clustered into groups of ten or twelve, and those groups in turn fell into their own formations. She stayed where she was, and let her squadrons fall in around her. A rough color-coding system had been improvised to ensure the mixed troops didn’t get their command lines tangled. Like the rest of the lieutenants—brevet or otherwise—Larin’s helmet was green; the three sergeants’ were blue. Major Cha was orange, hanging on his own in the center of the formation.
From far across the other side, she saw another green-helmeted figure give her a thumbs-up. She returned the gesture, knowing it was Hetchkee.
One of her sergeants approached, attitude jets puffing to bring him into physical contact with her. It was Nahrung. They touched faceplates.
“Map grid twenty-five-J,” his muffled voice said. “That’s my best guess.”
She called up the last sweep received before the blackout. The grid reference showed an artificial X, a giant complex of some kind, with numerous smaller tributaries running off in all directions. The blackhole jets cast long shadows across the polar landscape, shadows that might have come from smokestacks—or weapons emplacements.
“That’ll do,” she said. “Good work.”
Something bright and fast flashed by them: a missile, followed by three more in quick succession. Bombardment from the ships behind them, softening what lay ahead. Nahrung drifted away, and she resumed the ready position. Her display was blinking: nearly time to hit atmosphere.
Conscious of everyone watching her, she nudged herself closer to Mond’s squad. Jopp was at point. She came in alongside him then moved a fraction ahead, hoping to send a message to him: that, while she might have put him on the firing line, she wasn’t afraid to be there with him.
Yellow and white mushrooms blossomed on the ground below.
The first fingers of atmosphere touched her, whistling faintly, rocking her almost gently from side to side.
Then she slammed forward, feeling as though she had hit a brick wall. She roared in defiance at the air screaming past her, adding her own noise to the deafening racket. Her first experience of Sebaddon shook and hammered her, rattling every bone in its socket. Her brain rattled and vision blurred. Time became meaningless. There was no point counting the seconds when each overwhelmed her, and nothing changed.
It had to end, and it did, finally. The shaking and shrieking eased. Her suit’s external temperature readings dropped out of the red. The view was no longer vacuum-perfect, since they were in atmosphere now. The neat formation around her gradually re-formed.
Instead of counting the seconds since launch, she was studying an altimeter countdown. The surface of the planet was only kilometers away. They had drifted off-course, probably due to a stronger-than-expected high-altitude wind, but it wasn’t a disaster. Giant mushroom clouds gave her a visual fix on their target. Her suit’s internal guidance system confirmed it.
Clicking twice over her suit radio, she warned the platoon to get ready.
They steadied, angling at a forty-five-degree angle.
When she clicked once more, their airfoils unfurled neatly, like birds in a flock opening their wings at the same time. The wings didn’t open all the way just yet; a full spread would have been torn to shreds, even at such rarefied pressures. As their altitude and speed dropped, they would slowly unfurl to their full extent. One hundred meters from the ground, their jet-chutes would kick in, allowing them to control their landings to the second. They were still moving very quickly. An unassisted landing would result in certain death.
Jopp gusted closer to her, caught by turbulence. The master factory was directly below them, barely five hundred meters away. Intel would be kicking in any second now. Larin checked her suit’s targeting systems and unlocked the rifle she’d handpicked from the quartermaster’s weapons store. The hexes wouldn’t be sitting idly as the assault teams grew near. They would be working busily on something, she was sure, but there was no way to tell yet what that might be. She would just have to be ready for anything.
Her HUD cleared and refreshed with data broadcast from above. The target appeared in perfect clarity, revealed underneath the smoke by radar.
“You know the drill, people,” said Major Cha. “Keep low and tight until you reach your objectives, then disperse. If comms are jammed, follow the flares. If you can’t see the flares, move so you can. This isn’t a free-for-all. Anything with blood in it is not a viable target.”
“You heard the man,” Larin said. “Jet-chutes in thirty seconds. Watch those washes. Don’t singe the head of anyone coming in before you.”
She took a quick scan of the rest of the battlefield.
The Paramount was still intact, although under siege from several directions at once. Some of the orbital hexes had linked bodies to form an energy weapon like the one Jet had taken out earlier. Missiles from below had repaired the holes in the orbital defenses, and there seemed to be some kind of fuss out near the moon. One of the Imperial VT-22s had been infected and was on its way down. Its fiery wake was visible by satellite, carving a black streak across the globe’s upper atmosphere and due to impact near the suspected CI location.
Quickly, not really wanting to know, she checked the manifest of the falling ship. Her heart sank. Shigar had been on that transport. Now it really pained her to think about what had happened in the ready room. If that had been the last time they saw each other, how could she live with herself?
A beeping in her ears told her it was time for her jet-chute to kick in. She pushed the superfluous intel—and feelings—to one side in order to concentrate on the maneuver to come. The jet was little more than a modified thruster retrofitted to suit standard-issue Republic armor. Riding it down would be like taming a wild horse.
“Burn!”
On her command, the platoon lit up the sky. Spears of downward-pointing flame stabbed at the surface of Sebaddon. The silver airfoils reflected the light, transforming the troopers into fiery angels that were visible from below. Intel confirmed that at least some of the tall stacks were weapons emplacements. Perhaps they were swinging to track her and her troopers even now. She braced herself for the first shots even as she tried to keep her bucking jet under control.
She wasn’t the only one having trouble. The comms were full of whoops and warning cries as troopers struggled to maintain position. Two near-collisions between Imperial and Republic troopers prompted an exchange of harsh words, which Sergeant Ozz put a sharp stop to. The last thing they needed now was an internecine fight to break out.
Then the emplacements started firing, and all was chaos. Bolts of blue energy flashed past them, searing the air. Two of her troopers died in the first exchange, tumbling out of control in balls of flame. Larin returned fire, even while struggling to fly the jet. She doubted any of her shots hit home.
Bombardment from above came almost immediately, called in by Major Cha. One emplacement exploded, adding another ball of smoke to what already lay close over the master factory.
A savage grin split Larin’s face. She had forgotten how beautiful aerial combat could be.
A blast at close range wiped the smile away. She’d been hit! Her jet guttered, sending her careening across the sky. Her airfoil whipped in streamers behind her.
Cursing her poor luck, she struggled to control her descent and succeeded only in putting herself into a spin. Her flailing hands reached for the nearest soldier, desperate for something solid to hang onto. The soldier hesitated, and in that fleeting moment, she remembered who he was. Ses Jopp.
Mouthing off out of misplaced loyalty was one thing. Letting a fellow soldier drop to their death was another. She knew he would change his mind—and he did within an instant. His right hand reached for her, timing his grab to match the moment when her arm was nearest to him. Too late.
Larin’s jet-chute failed, and she dropped like a stone out of the sky.
EVEN BEFORE THE alarms started ringing, Shigar knew something was wrong. The transport containing him and Darth Chratis lurched as though hit, and the major in charge of the drop broke off in the middle of issuing a general announcement. Shigar wasn’t patched directly in to the Imperial network, so he couldn’t tell what was happening to the ship in real time. Instead, he was receiving data from the Republic troopers, relayed via neutral command node. The delay between the systems was very nearly fatal.
“Something’s not right,” he told the troopers packaged up next to him in rows, ready to drop. His instincts were warning him to move. Punching the overrides on his harness, he was on his feet as the first of the hexes burst through the outer hull into the troop deployment bay.
Shigar was ready for it. He Force-pushed the droid backward, sending it tumbling into space. There were more behind it, scrabbling for claw-holds on the torn metal. He leapt at them with lightsaber swinging, severing legs and stabbing at sense organs before the hexes could activate their electromirror shields. If he could stop them from getting in, he and the other passengers might have a chance.
The bay wall ripped open at another point, too distant for him to take on both at once. Fortunately, the troopers behind him were ready and brought their own weapons into play. Imperial and Republic blasterfire converged on the invading hexes, knocking several back into the void. Still more came after them, climbing over one another in a horrible swarm. The hexes were returning fire now, those at the back shooting past those in front, and Shigar felt the defense of the bay beginning to turn in the hexes’ favor.
“Get these troopers out of here!” he told the major between cutting two hexes each in two.
On the other side of the bay, he saw the orange helmet nod. Orders went out to open the bay doors early and launch the troopers on their way to Sebaddon. Acknowledgment came from two of the other three bays, and the doors below Shigar opened smoothly, jettisoning their precious cargo, the major with them. Several hexes went, too, which would no doubt make the journey more interesting for all.
Shigar stayed behind, clinging to a stanchion with one hand and kicking another hex back where it came from. It wriggled and spun in free fall, six legs waving frantically.
How long, he wondered, until it redesigned its innards to match the ones in orbit and “grew” a retrothruster or two?
He wasn’t sticking around to find out. The fourth and final bay hadn’t sent any kind of acknowledgment. If they were in trouble, he had to help them.
The ship rocked underfoot as he passed through the air lock and hurried through its empty corridors. Nearing the fourth bay, he heard blasterfire, explosions, and a persistent crackling over his comm. The hexes were jamming both Imperial and Republic frequencies. That was a disturbing development.
An interior bulkhead breached, sending hexes spilling over themselves into the hallway. He braced himself to meet them head-on, using a Force shield to deflect their laser pulses while stabbing with his lightsaber. They hadn’t expected him to be there; that much was certain. They were firing at someone attacking them from inside the bay, and it took them a moment to bring their own shields to bear. Shigar whipped the legs off three, not stopping to impale the fallen bodies. Immobility was good enough.
A black figure leapt through the rent in the wall, wielding a red lightsaber. Lightning flashed from his open hand, sending hexes twitching and smoking in every direction. Caught between Shigar and Darth Chratis, the hexes stood no chance. In moments, Jedi Padawan and Sith Lord stood alone in a field of red-dripping droid debris.
The jamming let up, allowing them to speak.
“The rest have launched,” said Shigar. “We have to get these bay doors open.”
“Do not think to give me instructions, Padawan. You have survived this far by luck alone.” Darth Chratis stalked up the hallway. “The mechanism is damaged. Lieutenant Adamek will either repair it in our absence or widen the existing hole. Failing that, she will exit the ship via the other open bays. That is not our concern. Your priority, and mine, is to stop this ship being turned by the hexes into a weapon.”
“To the bridge, then?” said Shigar, swallowing his annoyance at being spoken to like a child.
“To the bridge.”
They encountered three swarms of hexes on the way. Traveling in groups of six, the droids appeared to be scouring the ships section by section, destroying all evidence of Imperial insignia. The appearance of Darth Chratis and his red blade drove them into an immediate frenzy. On two occasions, Shigar was ignored completely, allowing him to flank the hexes and attack from behind. The element of surprise was working for him for a change, turning an impossible situation into one that was merely difficult.
The Sith Lord swept through hexes with little apparent effort, leaving them for Shigar to finish off. The Sith Lord’s lightsaber had an unusually long reach, emerging as it did from a collapsible staff of some kind. Darth Chratis also had another weapon that Shigar did not. His lightning was much more powerful than Eldon Ax’s efforts and had an effect similar to the electrified nets Stryver had fired at the hexes on Hutta, sending them into paroxysms that left them vulnerable to conventional attack.
“The Grand Master has taught you poorly,” Darth Chratis said, observing Shigar’s efforts to subdue the last of the hexes. “She allows philosophy of mind to interfere with outcomes in combat. That is how the Sith will triumph over you and your kind, in the end. You will hold yourselves back from achieving your true potential.”
Shigar blinked sweat out of his eyes. Satele Shan regarded Force lightning as a pathway to the dark side, and had counseled Shigar many times against its use. Now, though, he could see how Darth Chratis might have a point.
He wasn’t so naïve, however, that he couldn’t see where the Sith Lord was going with this.
“Save your breath, Darth Chratis. Nothing will tempt me to join you.”
The Sith’s smile was horribly humorless, even through the glass of his faceplate.
The bridge was two levels up, sealed behind thick blast doors that even the hexes were having trouble penetrating. Comms were down again, so there was no way to signal the crew within. Darth Chratis tried overriding the locks, but they had been fused into solid lumps of metal by the hexes’ attempts to get in.
“Together,” said Shigar, thinking of the huge masses he had seen Jedi Masters move using nothing but the power of their minds and the Force.
“On my command,” agreed the Sith Lord.
Operating in tandem, they were able to twist the blast doors aside as though they were made of tinfoil. Shigar considered their cooperation a small moral victory until he broke off the effort and shivered. Something of Darth Chratis had clung to him during the effort. A coldness, and a foulness. His fists clenched as he stepped over the buckled metal and onto the bridge. He wanted to strike out at something, but there were no hexes around. Just Imperials, who were temporarily reprieved.
The frightened-looking commander of the transport saluted as Darth Chratis closed on him.
“Tell me the drives are locked” was all the Sith said.
“I-I cannot, my lord. The engine room is not responding. I ordered a maintenance team—”
“They will already be dead. Stay here. We will effect the repairs ourselves.”
Darth Chratis was already leaving.
“Perhaps you should evacuate,” said Shigar to the commander before following. “There’s nothing you can do here.”
“Leave my post?” The Imperial looked affronted at the suggestion. “Never!”
Shigar wanted to argue. The blast doors were down, and the hexes would be back before long. Staying meant certain death for the commander and his bridge crew.
Instead he shrugged. Who was he to fight the stubbornness of the Imperial officer? That wasn’t a Jedi’s job.
“It’s your decision, I guess.”
Putting them from his mind, he hurried after Darth Chratis.
“You waste time,” said the Sith when Shigar caught up.
“You waste lives.”
“Humans are replaceable. Seconds are not.”
Shigar didn’t have a good answer to that, so he concentrated on what they were doing. Darth Chratis was leading him along the transport’s spine, past endless rows of viewports. Outside, the galaxy turned around them, completing a circuit once every few seconds. The transport was spinning, although thanks to the artificial gravity within there was no way of telling. Several hexes were visible, either swimming helplessly through space or crawling along the outer hull. The sphere of Sebaddon came and went, and Shigar couldn’t tell if it was growing nearer or not.
A mass of hexes was waiting for them at the far end, at the entrance to the engineering section. Force lightning spread through them in waves, breaking the mass into manageable parts. Shigar leapt into their midst, deflecting laser pulses back at their owners and dismembering anything that came within reach. When he misjudged a sweep and caught a flesh wound on his side, the pain only heightened his concentration. He moved as though in a dream, with the Force guiding his every step.
Almost with regret he reached the far side. There, Darth Chratis was examining the ion drive controls. They had been partially dismantled by one of the hexes, presumably with the intent to take control and send the transport angling upward to infect the rest of the fleet.
Darth Chratis worked quickly, rewiring the controls into an approximation of their former state. The deck shook as downward acceleration resumed.
“You’ve done it?” Shigar asked him.
“I have.”
Darth Chratis raised a hand, and a section of the wall peeled in, exposing the space outside. Not space anymore, Shigar realized, hearing a rising howl around them. They were entering atmosphere.
“After you, my boy,” said the Sith.
Reluctant though Shigar was to turn his back on one of the Jedi’s ancient enemies, he knew that for now he was safe. His Master had been utterly correct. That bloodred blade was the last thing he had to fear.
Four running steps took Shigar to the hole. The fifth would take him all the way from the burning ship to the planet’s surface.
He leapt, vowing, I will never be your apprentice, Darth Chratis.
A silken sinister voice came back to him in reply.
Make no rash promises. After all, I may soon be in need of a new one.
Shigar closed his mind against any further intrusions, and concentrated solely on falling.