Desertion

Disclaimer: Star Wars is not mine.

Chapter 1

In Chiss race, emotions were not displayed. Children did not laugh and play or make a sound in public. Adults did not express themselves. The beings were as frozen as the ice planet they lived on. Thus, it was rare to hear a child's laugh with their parent.

General Jagged Fel of the Chiss Defense Force's daughter was the cause of such a noise. Lydia Fel raced up across the landing pad to her father's waiting arms. He scooped up the small child. Lydia giggled in her father's arms.

"Were you a good girl for Aunt Wyn while mommy and I were gone?"

Lydia nodded, "Yes."

"Good. Mommy will be home in about an hour, in time to tuck you in for bed. She had to stop at the office really quick."

"Okay," Lydia nodded as Jag put her down. He grabbed her hand after picking up his duffel bag and made his way across the landing pad to his sister. She greeted him with a hug. It was cold outside. They hurried into the hovercar and drove home, Lydia chatting all the way.

Mrs. Fel did not make it home however, as Jag has suspected would happen. As Jag closed the door to his daughter's room for the night, he could see the expectant look on his sister's face.

"How is she?" Wyn asked without preamble.

"Not good. The cancer is spreading." Jag responded quickly, "There is nothing they can do."

"Are you sure?"

Jag nodded, "The Chiss are not capable of developing the same type of cancer humans are. Their doctors can't treat it and with how the relations are with the Galactic Alliance, there is no way we can get help. Just flying there alone would be impossible."

"I can't believe you aren't even going to try," Wyn stated, "She's your wife!"

"I know! I've tried to find a way, but there isn't one! A ship cannot even live Csilla without some type of military escort. We are at war. No one is going to help us," Jag snapped bitterly sinking on the couch.

"What about Uncle Wedge?"

"He's on Corellia in hiding. There is no way for us to contact him," Jag muttered, "I've tried. We are going to take her to a hospital in the former Imperial sector. That's our last hope."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. I'm taking Lydia with us. I want her to see her mother as much as possible in case the worst happens," Jag stated, rising, "Thank you for staying with her."

"Jag, if you need me to come to, I will."

"No," Jag answered firmly, "you've taken enough time off work."

"Promise me that if you need me, you'll call."

"I will."

Wyn nodded and hugged him. She picked up her small bag and left the house. Jag sank back down on the couch sighing. He didn't know what to do anymore. Everything had gone to hell.

Jag turned as he heard Lydia's door open, "What are you doing up, sweetie?"

"Daddy, is mommy okay?" Lydia asked as she walked over to the couch.

Jag helped her up next to him, "Honey, remember that mommy has been really sick. She had to go back to the doctor."

"Will she be okay?" Lydia asked, staring at her dad with wide, brandy-brown eyes.

"Tomorrow you, mommy, and I are all going to another planet that will try to make mommy better. You will get to see mommy in the morning," Jag stood up, "but now, you need to get some sleep before our trip tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, daddy," Lydia nodded and Jag took her back to bed. She was asleep in moments. Jag started at his little girl. She was six years old with her mother's brandy-brown eyes and curly blond hair that only could have come from Jag's mother. She was too young to lose her mother; her mother was too young to die.

Jag left the room, closing the door quietly. He needed to get to bed. The coming weeks would be the hardest of his life, he had a feeling. He needed his strength.

Galactic Alliance Admiral Trent Whitaker was not known for his kindness or sympathy. He was a hard man born of poverty and filth in the bowls of Corescant. He had lived in the waste of the Yuuzhang Vong changed planet, surviving on whatever he could find, avoiding captured until the Vong were defeated. Only through shear determination had he made it as far as he had. He had vowed those dark years that he would never be helpless again. No one could guess that the man standing in the front of the war room was a former store clerk with family and friends.

"Intelligence shows that the General Fel is leaving Csilla and heading former Imperial Territory. With him out of the way, we can make a strike for Csilla," Trent stated to the gathering in front of him.

"Sir, why are we waiting for Fel to leave?" a lower officer asked.

"Because Fel is our strongest adversary. He knows how we think and thanks to that wife of his, he knows more about us than any other outsider. With him gone, the Chiss will resort to the same old fighting tactics that we can and will defeat. They won't know what hit them."

"We don't know that Fel did not pass along the information his wife provided him with."

"Are you forgetting who the Chiss are? They hate Fel. They won't listen to his crackpot wife. If he hadn't been winning so much, they would have cast him off years ago. Anymore stupid questions?" Trent paused, clearly annoyed. No one spoke. "Good. Meeting adjourned. You have your assignments in your datapads. Get to it."

When the last solider had left the room, Officer Myriam Clark appeared. She was a hard woman with a steely gray stare.

"It's all in place."

"Good," he stated, walking to the door. Right before he went through it, he stated, "And remember, the child is NOT to be harmed."

"Yes, sir."