Star Wars: Attrition

by HandofThrawn45

Decades after becoming reluctant leader of the Empire in its war against the rising New Republic, Gilad Pellaeon becomes head of the Galactic Alliance navy and must teach former Imperials and rebels to fight together. However, a series of attacks on Imperial convoys threatens to restart the conflict, and Pellaeon must chose between loyalties: his Empire, or peace.

4. Part IV: Lusankya - 12 years ABY

The flat gray dagger of the super star destroyer Lusankya seemed to run forever above Tycho Celchu's head as his X-wing burst out of its ventral hangar bay and sped toward the massive vessel's nose. The mottled greens, browns, and blues of the planet Tyan glowed faintly in reflected sunlight. Far beyond Lusankya's bow but vectoring toward them across Tyan's lower orbit were a pair of off-white Imperial star destroyers, as much the enemy as they'd ever be.

It still felt surreal, launching out of a nineteen-kilometer-long behemoth built as the sister ship to Vader's dreaded Executor. Rogue Squadron had been doing it for almost six months now but it didn't seem right. When the Imperials had rolled into this section of the Mid-Rim with their super star destroyer Reaper, New Republic command had seen fit to put their own captured giant into action.

A female voice buzzed in his headset, saying, "All fighters, this is Lusankya. Detect two incoming fighter waves, one from the destroyers and one from the planet."

"Do we have a make on those ships?" Tycho asked. His own scanners marked incoming hostiles but nothing more than that, not at the current range.

"Negative, Rogue Leader, though the velocity of the ones from Tyan are in line with TIE/d fighters."

"Copy that," Tycho grimaced. He'd expected as much. "Orders?"

After a slight pause, a new, familiar voice came on. "Rogue, Knave, and Slash Squadrons, try to head off the droids. Protect Spotter Squadron. Everybody else, form a protective screen and block out the orbital hostiles."

"Understood, Wedge. Will comply." Tycho flicked his comlink to the Rogue Squadron channel and said, "Everybody here that?"

"Affirmative," Hobbie said. "Time to tangle with droids, then. Just what I wanted."

"We're here to make you happy, Five," Inyri Forge chirped.

"Cut the chatter, people. Into flights, diamond formations."

Tycho dropped his fighter into a dive toward the planet. It quickly filled his viewport; Lusankya had already dipped about as low into orbit as was safe for a vessel of her size. Tycho watched on his scanners as his flight formed behind his X-wing. Inyri took the back of the diamond formation while his right and left flanks were respectively taken by two of the Rogues' newest additions, a Krish named Ligg Panat and a Quarren called Kral Nevil. Both had started this campaign green and already worked their way up to ace status, though the fight had been grueling enough that neither of them seemed to take satisfaction from it.

Tycho checked his forward sensors and spotted a swarm of robotic TIE fighters coming to meet them. They were tearing through the upper atmosphere at g-forces that would have rendered a human pilot unconscious. Given the target waiting for them on Tyan's surface, he'd been expecting to fight some of the nimble craft.

He'd first encountered them during the cloned Emperor's invasion of Mon Calamari, where they'd been mass-produced in the bellies of the massive World Devastators, well-armed mobile manufacturing plants that could tear open a planet and process its raw materials into new war machines. Brutal and ravenous, they'd struck him as a perfect symbol for the Empire itself.

Most of them had been destroyed at Mon Cal or with the Emperor's Deep Core base world of Byss, but as they'd already discovered during the opening battles of this campaign, a deadly handful had survived.

"Lead, can you pick up that Devastator?" asked Gavin Darklighter, the third flight leader.

"Not yet, Nine. Lotta storms down there. Too much interference. Stand by." Tycho said, then switched his frequency. "Spotter One, you there?"

"We read you, Rogue Lead," came the reply from the lead skipray blastboat. While normally offensive vessels, three of the shuttle-sized craft had been refitted with advanced sensor equipment that could spot the World Devastator on the surface and relay its location back to Lusankya.

"Have you spotted our target?" asked Tycho.

"We're trying to pinpoint it now. It seems to be somewhere inside the main storm cluster on the south continent."

"Try to be fast about it. I don't know how long we can keep those droid fighters off your back."

"Affirmative. Good luck, Rogue Leader."

"You too," Tycho said, and switched off the link.

He felt a sudden need to call Lusankya and talk to Wedge himself. He'd led Rogue Squadron through dozens of missions since Wedge had finally, reluctantly, accepted a promotion out of the cockpit. Mon Calamari had been one of the first such flights, and knowing there was another World Devastator down there was putting him on edge.

"I see them, Lead! On visual!" said Hobbie's wingmate, a sharp-eyed Pachithip named Beledeez.

Tycho held his breath and squinted at the dark gray storm clouds swirling ahead of them. For a moment that was all he saw; then he noted dozens of tiny dark flecks spiraling out of the clouds like a swarm of angry flit-gnats.

"Shields up, everybody," Tycho called. "Wait for my signal, then fire on my mark, lasers only. Save your torps for bigger targets."

Their proton torpedoes also had smart guidance systems that would be very useful in taking down nimble droid TIEs, but he didn't want to have to fight a World Devastator with nothing in his torpedo tubes.

He was about to call Knave and Slash leaders to tell them the same, but the droid TIEs were on them too fast. Green flecks of plasma splashed across his shields as the TIEs went screaming by, then wheeled around for another pass. Tycho broke hard to port; the rest of his diamond followed. The E-wings from Knave and Slash Squadrons broke formation and began dog-fighting with the nimble droids one-on-one, but the Rogues kept in groups of four to better absorbs attacks from the TIEs.

When Tycho had first fought these ships at Mon Calamari, they'd been commanded by a signal sent from Byss and relayed by the World Devastators, who themselves were all slaved to obey commands from the cloned Emperor's capital. The battle had been won by one clever R2 unit who'd found a way to jam the signal and turn the Devastators and TIEs all against each other.

Pellaeon, unfortunately, had learned from others' mistakes. It was a rare quality for an Imperial and it made him more dangerous an enemy than his middling career record suggested.

The Devastators now all acted independently, like normal starships, and the TIE/d fighters were linked by a signal broadcasted by their base ship, be it star destroyer, carrier or Devastator. The command signal was constantly filtered through a seemingly-random algorithm that was impossible to track.

Tycho settled himself behind a pair of droid fighters and opened fire. He clipped one on its elongated rectangular solar panel and sent it spiraling back to the clouds. Another volley of red lasers shot out from his starboard flank and speared the other through its ball cockpit.

"Nice shooting, Four," Tycho said.

"Thanks, Lead," Panat sounded flush. "I-"

"Cut it!" Inyri said, "Two behind us!"

"Understood." Tycho glanced at his scanners. He pulled his X-wing into a steep climb and the others followed. G-forces pinned him to the back of his seat. The TIEs behind them, not constrained by any pilots, accelerated faster.

"Lead," Nevil groaned, "They're gaining."

"I know. Get ready to break, starburst formation, and dive for the planet. Five seconds."

"Oh, great," Inyri groaned.

"Three seconds," Tycho called. "Two. One. Break!"

All four ships peeled apart in different directions, but the end result was the same. Their noses swung over their tails until they'd all turned to face the planet. Just as blackness crept into the sides of Tycho's vision, he gunned the engines and plunged his X-wing toward the clouds below.

For the Rogues, it was a crazy maneuver that put the pilot at risk of a a blackout. For the droid TIEs, it was ridiculously easy.

"Lead," said Nevil, "They're still on us."

"Not for long," Tycho said.

Another diamond of four X-wings cut in from the side and speared the trailing TIEs with a volley of red laserfire. The ships burst into flame and wreckage tumbled out of the sky.

"Thanks, Five," Tycho called. "Knew I could count on you."

"Stunt like that, you're bound to grab attention." He could hear the wry grin in Hobbie's voice.

Before Tycho could respond, he saw something surge through the clouds directly below. He knew what it was without seeing and pulled his control stick against his chest. He executed a steep pull-up and the rest of his flight followed.

"Oh, kark, look at the size of that thing!" Beledeez moaned.

Tycho tipped his X-wing to the side to get a better view from his cockpit as the World Devastator rose from the clouds. Swirls of gray vapor spilled off its black hull. Turbolaser cannons attached to its broad rectangular body began firing madly at the starfighters above. The whole thing had to have been as long as an Imperial-class star destroyer and twice as massive.

"Rogue Lead, this is Spotter One," a voice said in his headset. "We're tracking the Devastator now."

"Glad you could manage," Tycho gritted his teeth.

The blastboat pilot ignored his sarcasm. "It's gaining velocity. Looks like it's planning to break the atmo-sphere."

"Copy. Let's get the hell out of its way." Tycho switched his connection to the flagship and called, "Lusankya, do you see the target?"

"We've got telemetry, ready to begin bombardment," the woman said.

"Good. We're bugging out now." Tycho switched back to his squadron freq. "All Rogues, break and run. Give Lusankya a clear line of fire."

"Understood," Gavin said. "Let's go!"

Tycho angled his fighter toward space and ran. He couldn't spot the flagship, not from this altitude, but once he peeled back a little more atmosphere he'd be able to see Lusankya's friendly dagger.

"Watch out!" Hobbie called, "Incoming TIEs!"

A swarm of robotic fighters swept in from one side. Tycho had his shields on full and absorbed the attacks, but they rocked him hard in his cockpit and the energy scatter on his shields obscured his vision for a few awful seconds.

Then he heard a staticky scream over his headset.

"Six's been hit!" Hobbie called. "Ajekar, do you read? Ajekar?"

Through a burst of static, Beledeez said, "Port engines bad… fuel igniter…. Oh, kark!"

There was a flash of light in the corner of Tycho's vision. He strained against his crash webbing to see Beledeez's X-wing flare and tumble out of the sky.

"Six, eject!" he called.

A spear of green turbolaser fire lanced up from the World Devastator and caught the falling X-wing, vaporing it immediately.

They'd come all this way, six long months of fighting, and not lost a single Rogue, not until today.

Gasps and swears bounced over the squad channel. Tycho cut them off immediately. "All Rogues, break formation. Dance your way back home. Give 'em moving targets."

A few pilots clicked affirmative. The X-wings splintered and began to wind their separate ways out of Tyan's atmosphere. The blue of the sky peeled away to reveal twinkling stars and the flashing laserfire of combat far overhead. It took Tycho's eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. He could spot Lusankya's long dagger, a more welcome sight then he'd ever thought it would be.

Then he saw Lusankya's first turbolaser volley fall toward the planet's atmosphere to meet the rising World Devastator. There was a tiny pause after the first shot, the tracking shot, fell past Tycho's dancing little ship. Then destruction fell like rain.

-{}-

Colonel Turr Phennir felt an uncharacteristic surge of fear as he dropped into a sharp dive toward Lusankya's hull. Turbolaser and anti-starfighter cannons flashed hot light in his face, sometimes even scattering plasma against the shields of his TIE Defender, and he jerked his ship back and forth to make his target as hard to hit as possible.

He heard a shout, and a burst of static over his helmet speaker, and he knew the enemy flak had claimed one his pilots.

"Get ready to tighten formation," he said. "On my mark."

His flight leaders clicked affirmative. The super star destroyer's black superstructure jumped up to meet them.

"Mark!" he said, and pulled his ship into a level flight just before he scraped Lusankya's shields.

All eleven remaining fighters in Red Squad fell in tight behind him. They raced toward the destroyer's command tower, still some five kilometers away, flying just above the invisible energy shields and just below the range of fire of most of the gunnery towers.

It was a precise maneuver, and incredibly dangerous to most pilots, which was why the 181st had been given the job. Even after losing Baron Fel, they were still the best fighter unit in the Empire. Phennir had seen to that.

As they climbed the superstructure toward Lusankya's bridge, one anti-starfighter turret got a track on them. Red laserfire splattered on Phennir's shields, then shifted to spray the other ships behind him.

There was another shout, and a burst of static, and Phennir saw another marker wink out on his helmet's heads-up display.

"We lost Nine," Red Squad's leader reported. The frustration was clear in his voice. "Shot bounced him right into the shields."

"Eye on the target, Red Leader," Phennir reminded him. Lieutenant Devis was a good pilot but sometimes he let his heart and gut override his head.

To his credit, Devis said nothing else. The remaining eleven TIE Defenders raced toward the dark tower up ahead, so reminiscent of an Imperial-class destroyer's command bridge despite being attached to a far larger vessel.

"Marks targets," Phennir said.

They'd all been given an attack plan before the battle began and losing two ships wouldn't change the primary goal of disabling the command tower's shield generators. Once that was done, squads of the disposal TIE/d fighters would start hurling themselves at Lusankya's vulnerable bridge. What the rebels had accomplished through blind luck against Executor at Endor, the Empire would now accomplish against her sister ship.

That was Phennir's plan, anyway, and it had gotten the okay from the highest level. Whatever else could be said for Admiral Pellaeon, he knew when to trust his subordinates.

Phennir dropped his targeting reticule on the shield generator. It raced up to meet them but he didn't slow down.

"Mark," he said, and squeezed the trigger.

Twenty-two red torpedo tails lanced out from Red Squad. Phennir broke, as did the others behind him. Turbolaser fire jumped out at them as they pulled into the turrets' firing arc. He corkscrewed his fighter over Lusankya's command tower and down her long tail until the light from her red thrust engines momentarily washed out the stars.

It was only when they were clear that he checked his scanners.

The command tower's shields were straining to absorb the impact, but still alive. He cursed and said, "Red Squad, form behind me. Fall back to Relentless." Once there, they could group with Green or Blue Squad and attempt another attack run.

"Colonel," Red Five said, "We're missing Red Leader."

Phennir cursed again and checked his scanners. Impossibly, a little green mark was corkscrewing around Lusankya's command tower.

"Devis!" he snapped. "What the devil are you doing?"

"Trying one more shot, sir."

"Idiot! Regroup at the stern! That's an order!"

He swung his TIE Defender around to get a better view. Devis' fighter was flying literal circles around the neck of the command tower. Gun turrets tried to trace him when he made turns but his maneuvers were too tight, and the rebel gunners wouldn't risk firing on their own bridge, not when shields were already weak.

Phennir saw it on his scanners, then: a flight of E-wings racing to intercept Devis.

"Pull out now, Red Leader!"

In another time, Phennir would have left Devis to die by his own recklessness. Now, the Empire needed all the good pilots it could get. Especially the reckless, risk-taking onces.

"Red Squad, on me," he growled, and pushed his fighter forward.

As the E-wings got close, Devis pulled his TIE ahead of the bridge, then braked, spun nose-over-stern to face the command deck, and fired off two more torps. They lanced out toward the spherical shield generator to the right of the bridge and impacted. The explosion tore a massive hole in the left side of the generator. Flame and debris belched into space.

A few Red Squad pilots cheered as Devis raced back to join formation. Phennir didn't begrudge them, or Devis. Nowadays, the Empire had to celebrate any success.

The E-wings pursuing Devis peeled off to protect the command tower. Phennir commed the crew of the World Devastator now rising into Tyan's lower orbit and said, "The port bridge shield is down. You can begin your attacks."

-{}-

Ensign Cha Niathal had spent the past six months in Lusankya's crew pit, and for the first time she was actually afraid of dying on this magnificent vessel.

From the gunnery station down in the crew pit, it was hard to tell, but she thought General Antilles looked worried too. He stood steady at the tactical station, jaw firmly set, hands behind his back, giving curt orders to the section chiefs. Unlike some humans, Antilles was not prone to grandiose overreaction, but his fast fidgety movements betrayed a rare anxiety.

The gunnery crew chief said, "All dorsal cannons, keep firing on the Devastator. Target the main repulsors."

Thatwas more or less what they'd been doing, but Niathal was happy to comply. Only three years ago, those monstrosities had descended on her homeworld and ravaged its beautiful floating cities. Niathal was young enough and lucky enough not to have lived very long with Dac under the Empire's heel, and the coming of the World Devastators had been a shocking end to years of liberty and calm.

Immediately after they'd been defeated, she'd signed up for the Republic military. Despite that victory against the Devastators, she'd known there'd be more wars to fight.

Working the semi-automated weapon batteries, Niathal trained her assigned turbolaser towers on the Devastator. It had risen clear of the atmosphere now and was rising steadily toward Lusankya. Its automated TIE/d fighters were racing upward, probably intent on climbing across Lusankya's long superstructure and attacking her bridge before they could get the emergency shields online.

There was nothing Niathal could do about that threat of imminent death. She had orders and she tried to put everything else out of her mind. Her turbolaser attacks speared down at the repulsorlift generators that hung off the corners of the Devastator like four flat feet.

On Dac, she'd watched the sky was one mammoth Devastator sucked the star destroyer Emancipator into its fiery furnace-mouth and swallowed it whole. It had been a stunning, terrifying sight, and she took solace in the fact that no Devastator could swallow all nineteen kilometers of Lusankya.

"Missile batteries," the gunnery lieutenant called, "Open fire!"

Concussion missiles joined the stream of turbolaser fire. The amount of energy they were bombarding the Devastator with was astounding; if they'd been aiming at the planet's surface that could have easily reduced a major city to ash.

Distantly, she heard Antilles call for more fighters to defend the bridge. She heard a tactical offcer report a swarm of TIE/d fighters climbing over Lusankya's bow and making a run up its superstructure.

Niathal barely noticed. She just kept on firing at the Devastator until, finally, the torrent of destructive power finally did its job.

Both forward repulsorlifts exploded at once. The Devastator seemed to swing down until its great furnace-mouth was pointed at the planet. Lusankya continued to pound its superstructure until the behemoth shuddered and began to all toward the planet.

Cheers went up over the bridge. Niathal watched on her screen as the Devastator flared with the friction of atmospheric entry and kept falling.

Above the clamor, someone shouted, "Incoming droid fighters!"

Niathal raised her head to look over the rim of the crew pit. She could, just barely, make out the thrust-glow of red X-wing engines as Republic ships swooped down to defend the from the TIE/d fighters. She saw the flash of explosions, saw General Antilles' jaw clench tight. Suddenly the entire bridge rocked violent; lights flashed; people gasped in shock and terror.

But then the shaking stopped, the lights came back on. Antilles shouted for damage reports. One TIE/d had successfully rammed, opening decks three and four to the vacuum, but emergency bulkheads sealed off the damaged areas. Casualties unknown.

Despite the damage, despite the nervous clamor that fell over the bridge, Niathal felt satisfied. For three years she'd wanted nothing more than to send one of the clones Emperor's monstrous creations to hell. With that accomplished, they could do anything. Lusankya had more than enough weapons and troops to subdue the planet below, destroy the two remaining Impstars, and clean up the attacking TIE fighters.

Then, loud and clear above the noise, she heard the tactical officer report, "General Antilles, Reaper has entered the system."

-{}-

Admiral Gilad Pellaeon stood on the bridge of his super star destroyer and stared ahead at the muddy-green marble ahead. He could, too, make out the white wedges of Relentless and Death's Head and the far longer dagger of Lusankya, so like his own flagship save for the bright red Rebellion crests painted on either flank.

He turned to address Reaper's captain. "Do we have a reading on the World Devastator?"

Captain Arnef frowned. "I'm sorry, sir. We just got a call from Captain Dorja. He says Lusankya destroyed the Devastator just before we arrived."

Pellaeon fought a scowl. The Devastators might have wreaked terrors on Mon Calamari, but their ability to convert raw minerals into useful material was especially valuable to a resource-strapped Empire. He'd set the few Devastators he'd managed to recover from the Deep Core on harvesting missions to scarcely-populated worlds like Tyan and set them to work on uninhabited portions of those planets. To the rebels, of course, they were still infamous superweapons and very tempting targets, even if they were no longer armed and staffed like prime combat vessels.

Arnef bent low for a word from the comm officer, then relayed, "Admiral, Dorja also says that the one-eighty-first has damaged the shields around Lusankya's bridge. They're trying to overwhelm it with droid fighters, to limited success."

Pellaeon was also of two minds about the TIE/d ships recovered from the Deep Core. He could throw dozens at the enemy and not have to worry about wasting good Imperial lives, but they still brought to mind the Trade Federation ships he'd spent his early adulthood fighting. He'd seen them as coward's weapons then and couldn't overcome distaste at using them now.

But, as with the World Devastators, the once-Galactic Empire needed every tool it could get.

"Tell Colonel Phennir to regroup for another attack on Lusankya," Pellaeon said. "Tell him to wait until we're approaching firing range. I want a firing solution planned for the destroyer."

"Very good, sir," Arnef nodded and went to go relay orders.

Pellaeon looked out the viewport. Lusankya, all nineteen deadly klicks of it, was looming larger and larger. Just ten years ago, the sight of her sister ship had filled him with pride and confidence. He couldn't feel either now, even as he commanded a vessel just as long and just and powerful.

"Admiral," the tactical officer called, "Lusankya is breaking for outer orbit."

"She's running," Arnef muttered.

Despite his anxiety, Pellaeon felt disappointment. Reaper and Lusankya had engaged in exchanges earlier in the campaign, at Darkon and Traval-Pacor, but both fights had ended almost as soon as they'd begun. It seemed like Antilles wasn't willing to risk his ship in a brutal slugging match. Pellaeon hadn't been, not then, but it was starting to seem like Reaper and Lusankya would spend years stalking each other through the Mid Rim.

"Can we intercept her before the exits the gravity well?" Pellaeon asked.

"Negative." Arnef shook his head.

It was pointless to send Relentless and Death's Head after the far bigger vessel. He suspected Colonel Phennir was eager for another run at Lusankya, but there wouldn't be enough time to plan and execute a proper attack.

"Tell Phennir to fall back toRelentless," Pellaeon ordered. "The droid fighters can keep attacking, but not the one-eighty-first. Understood?"

"Of course, sir."

Pellaeon looked out the viewport. The super star destroyer's red engines blazed bright as its slipped away from the planet, away from the two star destroyers that had been set to guard it. The rebels had failed to capture Tyan, but they'd destroyed one of the last World Devastators before retreating. Pellaeon could hardly call it a victory for either side, but he'd try to spin it as an Imperial one for the Moff Council.

"Until we meet again," Pellaeon muttered, right before Lusankya winked into hyperspace.

-{}-

The snow-covered surface of Qiilura's northern hemisphere turned slowly beneath them. The viewport of Lusankya's conference room gave a good view of both the planet and the support fleet arrayed around the super star destroyer. Yakez, a captured star destroyer of the more standard Imperial-class, floated next to the MC60i Mon Calamari interdictor Andromeda. Two more Mon Cal ships, the big MC80A Poesy and the slimmer, narrow-bodied MC30 frigate Mon Alora, sat further away. Though they couldn't be seen from the viewport, the DP20 Corellian anti-starfighter gunships Viridian and Cerulean hovered off Lusankya's stern.

Like most things on Lusankya, the conference room was oversized, coolly gray, severe-looking, and overall very Imperial, despite the years the New Republic had spent refitting the battered vessel after its capture over Thyferra.

Nonetheless, Tycho Celchu felt quite comfortable as he sat at the end of the long oval conference table. He leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on that dark, polished tabletop, and sipped from his mug: hot caf with just a pinch of Johrian wiskey.

Wedge mirrored his friend's posture. He had a datapad resting in his lap and was reviewing its contents.

"They say Lusankya's bridge shields should be good as new in two days," Wedge said.

"Good to know. It sounds like things get pretty hairy for a second."

"For a few minutes I thought we might end up like Executor."

"I heard it was one-eighty-first fighters that did it."

"That's right."

"Well, I'm glad we didn't have to face them again. We already lost one pilot yesterday."

"I'm sorry about Beledeez."

Tycho sighed and looked into his cup. "I still have to write the letter to his family. It's hard. I haven't had to do many of them so far, which is good but..."

"They do get easier with practice," Wedge admitted. "That's the worst part. It's one thing I don't miss about being in an X-wing." Wedge took a sip and asked, "How is the squad holding up?"

"They're shouldering on. Beledeez and Nevil were kind of close, so he's having a rough time. Gavin's been talking to him. He's good with the recruits."

"It doesn't surprise me."

It still seemed like yesterday that the smooth-faced kid from Tatooine walked into Rogue Squadron's barracks, eyes wide with awe. Despite all the action he'd seen, Gavin Darklighter still possessed a certain youthful quality that made it easy for the new pilots to trust him. He'd make a fine Rogue Leader one day.

Tycho took a drink, felt the whiskey tang on his tongue. He asked, "What would have happened if they hadn't taken down your shields, Wedge? Would you have fought Reaper?"

Wedge thought a moment, then said, "Probably not."

It wasn't like Wedge to be skittish. Tycho said, "You're going to have to slug it out with Pellaeon one day. You guys can't just chase eachother around the Mid Rim forever."

"I know, but I want to be in a better situation. We were over a hostile planet and our support fleet was still at Qiilura. We'd already killed the World Devastator, and that was our primary goal anyway."

"Fair enough," Tycho said. He had to admit that the two additional Impstars at Tyan had skewed the battle in Pellaeon's favor. "So, does that mean you want to get Reaper into a confrontation here?"

Wedge shook his head. "No. I have something else planned."

Tycho perked up. Wedge just stared at him with a tight little smile on his face.

"Out with it," Tycho demanded. "You can't just leave it at that."

"There's a few things." Wedge placed his mug on the tabletop and looked down at his datapad. "For one, fleet command approved my request for more ships."

"About rodding time. What and when?"

"They're set to arrive in five days. Admiral Bell commanding from Endurance."

Tycho and Wedge had fought with Areta Bell at Ciutric, but she'd been using the captured Impstar Swift Liberty then. "Is that one of those new fleet carriers?"

"The very same. She's fresh off the docks. So are her hangar-full of Model 2 E-wings."

"Hell of a way to break the new ships in. What else?"

"Bell's coming with a small task force. One more drag ship, plus some Dorneans. Etahn A'baht commanding."

The name was vaguely familiar. It took Tycho a second to rattle his memory. "A'baht? Is he one of the ones who fought at Endor?"

"The very same. Helped take down Grand Admiral Teshik's ship."

"I remember now." Tycho frowned in thought. The Dorneans had officially joined the New Republic shortly after Thrawn's death but before the cloned Emperor's surge. They had a reputation for prickly independence, which was good in rebels but trickier when you were trying to put together a unified galactic government.

"Are they using Dornean ships, or ours?" Tycho asked.

Wedge glanced at his datapad. "One Nara'tok class heavy cruiser, two Braha'tok-class gunships. Whatever those are."

The Dorneans, both their ships and their commander, were unknown qualities. So, too, was the new hardware Areta Bell was bringing. Tycho didn't like so many uncertainties, not when the stakes were so high. He tried to keep the frown from his face.

Wedge, of course, saw through it instantly. "They're going to be good additions to the fleet, Tycho. We can't fight the whole campaign with just this juggernaut, we need good support vessels. We also need to surprise Pellaeon."

"I'm aware of that."

Like Wedge and the other senior officers, he'd picked over Pellaeon's career records multiple times. Unlike all the power-grabbing Imp warlords they'd faced, he came across as a genuine Imperial loyalist who wanted to preserve the Empire instead of just grab all the territory he could. He'd had a long career, stretching back to the Clone Wars, and while he wasn't as tactically brilliant as Thrawn, as audacious as Daala, or as willing to throw away lives as Harrsk, he'd proven to be a highly capable naval officer. He came across as traditional in many ways, but his inventive use of the cloned Emperor's hardware like the World Devastators and the robotic TIE fighters meant he was creative and adaptable as well.

Tycho placed his mug on the table and folded his arms over his chest. "So how are we going to surprise our opposite number, Wedge? With the new help you've got to be planning something. And the Imps have to know you'll be planning something. So, what's your move going to be?"

"I've already ordered recon sorties to several systems further up the Entralla route. Corthenia, Lonnaw… and Obreedan."

Tycho thought a moment. "Mining planet, right?"

"Yes. Pellaeon's got two World Devastators pulling everything he can from it right now."

"Tempting target, then. You think the Imps won't figure it out?"

"I'm expecting them to."

"So we won't attack Obreedan?"

"Oh, no. We'll attack it."

"A feint, then?"

"Not a feint. We'll take Lusankya, Andromeda, Endurance, the Dorneans. Maybe the whole fleet."

"But you just said the Imps'll be waiting for us."

"They will." Wedge smiled at his confusion. "We'll draw Reaper into Obreedan's gravity well. Andromeda will fire up her interdiction field and trap the SSD there, but only after we take most of our forces and jump to Orinda."

Tycho blinked. Orinda was just a few hours' jump up the Entralla Route from Obreedan. It had gone back and forth between Imperial and Republic control for years, but Pellaeon had kicked off this campaign by seizing the planet and making it his forward base. According to their intel, it was the current home for Reaper and most of Pellaeon's support fleet.

"I'm hoping to force it to surrender quickly," Wedge said.

"If you park this ship in orbit you might convince them," Tycho allowed. "But what about Andromeda? Aren't you basically asking Captain Omphlem to do a suicide mission?"

Wedge shook his head. "Definitely not. Omphlem can park himself far away from Reaper, preferably on the far side of the planet. He doesn't need to trap Pellaeon there forever, just a few extra hours."

"Still sounds risky," Tycho hissed.

"I admit that, but it'll give us a chance to take Pellaeon's forward base. If we have Orinda we can cripple his offensive."

"I hope you know what you're doing, General." Tycho tipped his mug in a muted toast.

"Yes," Wedge said, very grave. "Me too."

-{}-

After the battle at Tyan, Admiral Pellaeon had tasked Captain Dorja to oversee clean-up, including possible salvage of the crashed Devastator, then taken both Death's Head and Reaper back to Orinda.

The planet turned slowly beneath him as he reviewed the after-battle reports his private cabin. It was three times the size of his personal quarters on Chimaera and frankly more spacious than he would have liked. There was a fine line between appropriate privilidges of rank and pomposity, and unlike so many other Imperial leaders to emerge out of the wreckage after Endor, he tried very hard to stay on one side of that line.

He glanced out his window at the other ships drifting over the planet. A massive Altor-class refueling ship hung off Reaper's starboard flank and Death's Head was currently grappled to it. Beyond them he recognized the familiar gray wedge of Chimaera. He'd tasked his old ship with guarding Orinda throughout the campaign. It was safer here than on the front lines, and while he knew he was being uncharacteristically sentimental, he couldn't help himself.

He'd wondered, more than once, what would have happened if Grand Moff Kaine had allowed Thrawn use of Reaper instead of Chimaera. Never mind how Pellaeon's own fate might have changed; the grand admiral could probably have brought the whole rebellion down with a ship this powerful. Granted, brute strength had never been Thrawn's tactical style, but surely he would have come up with some ingenious way to use this super star destroyer against all the firepower the rebels could throw at it.

It was strange to think how opinion had shifted in the years since Thrawn's death. When the alien warlord had ridden out of the Unknown Regions, few Imperial captains had been willing to join the fleet under a non-human commander. Powerful warlords like Kaine, Harrsk, and Delvardus had clung tight to their super star destroyers and deprived Thrawn of a potent flagship. Even some captains who had joined Thrawn did so begrudgingly. Aren Dorja had dragged his feet the whole time and grumbled about leading the fleet himself; now, just a few years after the grand admiral's assassination, Dorja waxed nostalgic about the great leader he'd served.

Such a change was common. Most of the crew who worked under Pellaeon now had belonged to Kaine, Teradoc, and Harrsk's fleets in until their leaders' deaths, but many of them talked about Thrawn with admiration and intimacy, as though they'd stood at his right hand the entire campaign.

As for Pellaeon, he'd never doubted his leader.

Perhaps, he admitted, at the very beginning. While never a fanatic for High Human Culture, Pellaeon had still passively accepted the Empire's prioritization of human interests over aliens'. His own upbringing in the Corellian system, multi-species but highly segregated, had made those policies seem natural. It wasn't until confronted with Thrawn's brilliance that he'd finally realized how the Empire had hampered itself by refusing to allow non-humans in its ranks.

Since taking reins of the Imperial fleet after the fall of Xandel Carivus' Ruling Council a year ago, Pellaeon had made efforts to change that, but predictably, the newly-formed Council of Moffs back on Bastion had dug in its heels to prevent further change.

Pellaeon was old enough to remember when Palpatine's New Order had been a bold revolutionary creation, intent on sweeping away the corruption, sloth, and choking bureaucracy of the Old Republic. It had quickly settled into stubborn conservatism, and even now, after it had been reduced to a pathetic rump state clinging depserately to shrinking sectors in the Mid and Outer Rims, admirals and Moffs alike embraced the pretension that one day they would retake the entire galaxy from the rebel scum and rule from Imperial Center once again.

As much as he tried to fight their delusions, Pellaeon admitted a sympathy for them. The rebellion had shocked them out of the lives they'd known and their response had been to cling to nostalgia for better times. As he watched Chimaera drift over Orinda, he could almost remember what it had been like to stand at Thrawn's shoulder and watch the rebellion crumble pathetically before them.

The door to his quarters buzzed. Pellaeon jerked out of his reverie and said, "Enter."

The door slid open. A smile spread under his gray mustache as Colonel Reige stepped through.

"Ready for your briefing, sir?" Reige snapped a salute.

"Oh, sit down, Molgarin, don't be formal." Pellaeon waved a hand.

The years since Endor had changed everyone, but they'd changed Molgarin Reige more than anyone. When she'd first come aboard Chimaera almost ten years ago she'd been a driven young woman intent on making the most of her career in Imperial service. She'd climbed plenty of ranks since then, but her ardor had given way to a certain grim weariness. Heavy lines had settled on her face and beneath her eyes; a few streaks of gray even ran through her hair despite the fact that she wasn't yet forty.

She was, nonetheless, a handsome woman. After Endor she'd been reassigned to a frigate that had lost her commanding officer, and for a few months Pellaeon had enjoyed an intimate relationship with his former subordinate and fellow captain. They'd provided each other with some solace and stability in the whirlwind of an Empire without and Emperor, but in the end duty had assigned them opposite sides of the galaxy. Pellaeon had tried to cling to relationships in turbulent times before and learned his lesson painfully; he and Reige had agreed to part amicably, and after that he'd done the best to put the woman from his mind, all the while missing her companionship.

He'd gone three years without seeing Reige; when fate put them together again she had a small child with her, a little over two years old. She'd never volunteered the name of Vitor's father and he'd never asked; three years of turbulence was a long time and it had changed them both.

Even as he'd tried to put their personal relationship aside, Pellaeon had come to value Reige's professional skills. She had an agile and creative mind, and that was exactly what the Empire needed right now. It was why he'd assigned Reige the task of managing all naval intelligence operations for the campaign.

She'd been doing a fine job of that. On some small level, too, Pellaeon was glad they'd settled into a good working relationship. It was better than becoming estranged. It was better than what had happened with Hallena.

"It's good to see you're in one piece, Gilad," the colonel said as she lowered herself into the soft chair across from Pellaeon.

"I had nothing to worry about," Pellaeon waved a hand. "Reaper didn't even see action at Tyan."

"I'm surprised Antilles ran before you could fight."

"I'm not. The one-eighty-first took out his bridge shields. He didn't want to end up like poor old Piett."

"Phennir does get results," Reige allowed.

She knew that Pellaeon had never been entirely comfortable with the 181st's commander. Phennir lacked the realism of his mentor Soontir Fel, and had taken the 181st from the service of one power-mad warlord to another in the hopes of rebuilding a strong new Empire out of any of them. He'd refused to serve under Thrawn and had only come under Pellaeon's banner because all the other warlords had been exterminated in one swift stroke by Natasi Daala after the cloned Emperor's death.

Pellaeon settled back in his chair and asked, "Well, Molgarin, what do you have to report?"

Reige placed her datapad in her lap. "Several things. We've picked up intrusions by rebel scouting craft in several systems within the past twelve hours."

It wasn't surprising. Despite failing to take Tyan, they'd dealt the Empire a blow there with minimal loss to themselves. Pellaeon knew Antilles would be plan-ning another attack.

"What systems?" he asked.

"Mostly on the Entralla Route. Corthenia, Lonnaw, and Centrax."

"Obreedan?"

"Not that we've noticed."

"I'm surprised you picked up that many. Normally the rebels know how to sneak around."

"Normally they insert reconnaissance ships on the edges of systems and do passive scans. Those three all dipped close to the systems' primary planets."

"But nothing on Obreedan?"

"Nothing we've seen."

Obreedan was by far the most tempting target of that lot, especially if Antilles was still set on avoiding a confrontation with Reaper. Two World Devastators were currently pulling resources out of the planet and quickly forging them into TIE/d fighters, I-7 Howl-runners, and other vital war material. Though only a few hours via hyperspace from Orinda, the planet was currently being guarded by only one star destroyer.

"If he's trying to convince us he won't attack Obreedan," Pellaeon said, "He's not doing a very good job."

"Do you want to send reinforcements?"

Pellaeon sunk deeper into his chair. Antilles was more devious than he seemed at first glance. Despite helming Lusankya, he still thought like a starfighter pilot. His attacks were fast and precise, and he never offered the enemy too long a look at him.

Pellaeon glanced out the window at the refueling ship. "We'll relocate Death's Head."

"Is that all?" Reige frowned. "Shouldn't we at least put the Orinda fleet on standby alert?"

Instead of answering, Pellaeon asked, "What about Dominion and Megador?"

Reige blinked at the change of topic, then said, "We have no indication the rebels know about either ship."

"Any indication they've been looking?"

"All their scout ships and intel probes have been focused in this part of space."

Pellaeon nodded gratefully. Used to smaller ships, he'd been uncomfortable taking command of Reaper after he'd inherited the ship from Grand Moff Kaine, but it had the excellent asset of drawing attention like a magnet. In that sense the super star destroyer was like the World Devastators now devouring uninhabited portions of occupied worlds.

It made the Devastators useful in a second way. The rebels were so concerned with tracking and defeating those war machines that they'd so far missed the other spoils Pellaeon had inherited from his predecessors.

The Deep Core bases had provided one surprise after another. After executing all of the warlords, Daala had claimed Sander Delvardus' Night Hammer, which would have made a fine twin to Reaper had it not been destroyed by Jedi sabotage at Yavin. Officers defecting from the late Blitzer Harrsk's forces had led Pellaeon to even more hidden treasures. At the Deep 3 shipyards he'd found the waiting bulks of Megador, Dominion, and Harrsk's original flagship, Ilthmar's Fist. One super star destroyer was a great find in itself; three was a miracle.

Illthmar's Fist, an old Praetor II-class cruiser, had been battered beyond repair, and Pellaeon had ordered it scrapped. Its pieces had gone to repairing the other two vessels. Dominion was a handsome Bellator-class destroyer, some four times the length of the standard Imperial star destroyer. Megador, even better, was a nineteen-kilometer Vengeance-class.

Records were sketchy but it appeared to have been the only one of its kind still alive. The original vessel, High Inquisitor Jerec's long black sword, had found its way to Byss after Jerec's death and reportedly been destroyed with the planet. The second of its type, Javelin, had been lost during Imperial infighting at Chasin. Megador would have died withVengeance if Harrsk hadn't commandeered it at the last moment and jumped away from Byss world right before its destructive shock-wave annihilated the rest of the fleet there.

Once refits were complete, Pellaeon had moved both behemoths to the Outer Rim as quietly as possible and ordered them kept there until needed.

His gut told him the time would come soon.

"Gilad?" Reige frowned. "What is it?"

"Antilles will attack Obreedan," Pellaeon allowed, "But he's got something else planned too."

"I'm not sure yet, but we need to be ready."

"Do you want to move either of the other super star destroyers?"

"We should be prepared." Pellaeon tapped the arm of his chair. "Molgarin, let's go the the bridge. I want to send a message."

"To whom?" Reige said as she rose from her chair.

Pellaeon thought for a moment. A super star destroyer was a very tempting piece of hardware for an ambitious Imperial admiral, and he'd left Megador and Dominion in the hands of officers he could trust.

"I think I want to talk to Dominion," he said. Admiral Teren Rogriss had proven his loyalty before, battling rebels and warlords alike. The man was durable and professional but also a quick thinker, willing to improvise when needed.

"Yes," Pellaeon muttered, "I think Admiral Rogriss will be just what we need..."

-{}-

General Etahn A'baht had lived the vast majority of his life in Dornean Space, and he still wasn't used to how damned big the rest of the galaxy was.

Just preparing for this journey to Antilles' staging area at Qiilura had required multiple voyages to other planets, and many of those had been hyperspace journeys of several days. His modest three-ship task force had first gone to Mon Calamari (thankfully not far from Dornea), then taken the long plunge all the way to the Core (a very long trip) where he was personally briefed on the mission at Anaxes by Republic fleet command. After being lectured on cooperation and discipline by craggy old luminaries like Ackbar, Nantz, Dodonna, and Tallon, he'd taken his ships out to Corellia, where he'd met up with Areta Bell for the first time and got a tour of her new vessel, the fleet carrier Endurance.

At around a kilometer long, a third bigger than his own command ship Charnak, it had plenty of room for brand-new E-wing interceptors and K-wing heavy bombers. All those polished, sparkling new fighters would have been an encouraging sight, but the entire ship smelled like shoe-polish too. Admiral Bell didn't seem to mind, but A'baht would have preferred a ship that had been broken in.

Thankfully, he had just that with Charnak.

Finally, at long last, Bell and A'baht had joined their fleets and set out for Qiilura. All in all, the whole process took almost two weeks. A'baht hopes Antilles' need for reinforcements wasn't urgent.

Despite the long, long wait, there was still work to be done on Charnak. A'baht had ordered the entire ship be ready for combat the moment they dropped into the staging zone at Qiilura. He went on regular foot patrols, walking his ship from bow to stern and back again, checking and double-checking with the section crews.

He especially spent time in the hangar bay. Charnak was no carrier, and had less starfighter capacity than a comparable Republic or Imperial ship. The Dorneans had never manufactured snubfighters of their own and had traditionally bought them from third-parties. At Corellia, the Republic had restocked Charnak's fighter bay with new but unfamiliar ships, and his pilots had had only limited time to adjust to the new X-wings and A-wings. The fighter pilots did their best in the simulators, but A'baht could tell they still longed for the old T-wings and Y-wings now stuffed to the back of Charnak's hangar.

During the outbound trip he spent minimal time on the bridge. It was the opposite of his usual habit, but for once he had no reason to be up there. The long plow through hyperspace required minimal crew, and he trusted Charnak's captain to command them effectively.

When he'd introduced Captain Jadesei Kaeori to Admiral Bell, the older woman had been visible surprised. A'baht had explained that Kaeori was part of a group of humans who'd found shelter on Dornea after her homeworld was ravaged by the Empire. Bell had accepted that, but still seemed confused as to how one human could so easily command a shipful of aliens.

A'baht had been rather amused by her consternation, and he knew Kaeori had been too.

At the end of their second day outbound, as the ship lowered its internal lights and switched to its sleeping period, A'baht ventured up to the bridge to check on Kaeori. He found the young woman standing near the forward viewport, watching hyperspace whip past.

"It's time for rest, Captain," he reminded her.

She jerked slightly, surprised by his arrival, but she didn't look away from the hypnotic light-show ahead. "I'll stay for a little longer, sir."

"You need to be well-rested when we hit Qiilura. I want everything on this ship- people and equipment- to be at peak operation. Is that understood?"

Kaeori nodded slightly. "Of course, sir. I won't disappoint."

He didn't doubt that. Kaeori had served loyally under him since before Endor. Most of the Bavinyari refugees in Dornean space had returned to their homeworld to repopulate it now that the Empire was gone, but Kaeori and a handful of others had remained.

He knew why, even though neither he nor she had ever said it aloud. Every human who'd stayed and kept fighting did so for the same reason. They all wanted to hurt the Empire. They all wanted to repay personal losses. He'd never asked the specifics from his officer, but he knew she had no family left, only the fight.

A'baht observed the tightness on Kaeori's face, the tension. He said, "The Imperials aren't going anywhere, Captain. There will be plenty to kill when we arrive."

She nodded just a little but said no more. A'baht restrained a sigh and walked away, knowing she would be up there for a long time yet.

-{}-

"It's a dangerous game you're playing," Turr Phennir said.

Admiral Pellaeon stared at him from across the table. Reaper hummed faintly around them as they sat in the briefing room.

"It's a dangerous battle we're fighting," Pellaeon agreed. "But sometimes we have to take risks."

"And what if the rebels' main goal is to take Obreedan?"

"Then we have several options. If necessary, we can call Dominion in to assist us there."

"Assuming they don't have an interdiction field up."

"Assuming. The other choice is to send Rogriss to Qiilura. If they move the bulk of their fleet to Obreedan, their staging point should be undefended."

"Qiilura isn't Obreedan, or Orinda. It's sparsely populated. It doesn't have useful resources."

"Nonetheless, we could cut the enemy off in the Entralla Route."

"You want to force a confrontation with Lusankya?"

"Antilles wants one with Reaper. We're just trying to maneuver it so the showdown is favorable to our own sides."

"All right," Phennir said, "Where do you want the one-eighty-first to be in all this?"

"I want the rebels to think we're putting our lot in at Obreedan. I want your whole wing there. There should be facilities on the planet to house your ships."

"Not aboard Death's Head?"

"Captain Harbid already has a full complement. Besides, if you're down on the planet, you're more likely to attract the attention of whatever spies the rebels have secreted into the civilian population. You'll make the trap more convincing."

Phennir shifted in his chair. It was a good enough plan, and more ruthless than he expected from Pellaeon, but he didn't like being bait. "What happens if the rebels don't attack Obreedan at all?"

"They will," the admiral said confidently. "The only question is where else they attack, and with what vessels."

Death's Head was joining Nemesis at Obreedan, another Imperial-class ship. Even with two World Devastators and their droid fighter swarms, that wasn't enough to defend a planet against Lusankya. The fight at Tyan was proof enough of that.

"Where will you keep Reaper?" he asked.

"She'll be waiting between Orinda and Obreedan."

"And Dominion?"

Pellaeon gave nothing away, but Phennir hadn't really expected him to anyway.

"All right," said Phennir, "We'll head for Obreedan. If Lusankya does show up, sir, I promise we'll give it another good drubbing until you come."

"That's all I ask," Pellaeon smiled politely. "Give my compliments to that pilot of yours who took out Lusankya's bridge shields. I saw the recording from your gun-camera, Colonel. It was very impressive."

"I'll be sure to pass it on to Lieutenant Devis, sir."

Pellaeon frowned. "Devis, you said?"

"Yes, sir, Mynar Devis. He's the new leader of Red Squadron after we lost Lieutenant Hannik at Orocco."

Pellaeon's eyes went distant, as though something far away had suddenly stolen his attention. Whatever else could be said about the old warhorse, Pellaeon usually kept his focus on the matter at hand. Phennir asked, "Are you all right, Admiral?"

Pellaeon's eyes jerked back to Phennir. He gave two jagged nods before he managed to say, "Quite all right, Colonel, thank you. Yes, give my regards to Mynar Devis."

Phennir snapped a salute, turned, and marched out of the room. He found he was very glad to be out of there.

Reaper was the most impressive ship Phennir had ever served on, but she still had her drawbacks. For one, it took a very long time to get anywhere. Pellaeon's meeting room was near the bridge and the 181st ready rooms were near the main hangar deck, almost eight kilometers away. Even using the fast railcars that ran regularly back and forth from bow to stern, it still took nearly fifteen minutes to get back where he belonged.

Phennir had heard from Baron Fel how slovenly the 181st had been under Derricote, back when it was one of the Empire's worst units instead of its best. Fel knew that discipline in the cockpit began with discipline in the ready room, and Phennir had done his best to carry on that policy. Whatever else could be said about Baron Fel, the man had known how to run a starfighter wing.

Nonetheless, his pilots were human, and they deserved to enjoy themselves between missions, so he wasn't surprised to be greeted by the whiff of alcohol and the chatter of many voices. When he entered the noise died down; he could feel over a dozen eyes on fall on him at once.

Phennir gave the read-room a quick look-over. He spotted two pilots slouching in the booth at the back, and another half-dozen clustered around a sabacc table. Then he spotted the ones he was looking for: all four squad leaders, gathered in a booth in the far corner of the room, splitting a bottle.

Phennir didn't say anything to the other pilots. If he told them they were at ease they'd start getting loud and rowdy again, and he liked the fact that his presence automatically brought discipline to his subordinates.

As Phennir grabbed a chair and seated himself at the end of the booth, Green Squad's Lieutenant Belkaron asked, "Did you get back from talking with Pellaeon, sir?"

"That's right." Phennir said.

He glanced around the booth. Belkaron sat in the right corner, Blue Squad's Seth Avrian in the left. Avrian had his sandy-brown hair clipped short but Belkaron had let his black locks grow unruly. Between Phennir and Belkaron was Ayyra Cyrillian, the 181st's highest-ranking female officer and Gold Squad's leader. She was young and small, and dark brown hair fell in curls on either side of her round tanned face. Finally, next to Avrian, was Red Squad's Mynar Devis, apparently the admiral's new favorite. Devis looked at his commander with an alcohol-happy smile slanting white across his light brown face.

Avrian and Cyrllian were good, by-the-book soldiers. Belkaron and Devis both had reckless streaks, but they were also some of the best pilots had ever seen in a long career. Phennir had made certain all four of them earned their rank before giving it to them.

"The admiral has given us a new assignment," Phennir said, knowing they'd pass it down to their squads.

"Are we leaving Orinda, sir?" Avrian asked.

Phennir nodded. Belkaron blew out a breath and said, "Shame. We just got here too."

"We're being reassigned to Obreedan," Phennir told them. "They're making space for us at the main ground base now."

He could see the confusion on their faces. Thus far they'd been based solely on star destroyers. Phennir knew the destroyer captains didn't like it because it required too much reshuffling of their own TIEs, but the 181st was an elite unit and therefore a mobile one.

With a lowered voice, Cyrillian asked, "Are the rebels coming to Obreedan?"

"Pellaeon suspects as much," Phennir said. He wouldn't tell them the rest but he wouldn't lie to his troops either. Baron Fel never had.

"They're going after more Devastators," Cyrillian stated, rather than asked.

"You'd think those things could just pump out all the droid fighters they need," Belkaron said.

"They're pumping out other things too, you know," Devis reminded him.

"Hey, I don't mind." Belkaron grinned a little. "I can't wait to face Rogue Squadron again."

The other three nodded eagerly. They didn't have Wedge Antilles to lead them any more but the squadron was still a great danger. They'd lost several pilots to the Rogues already and had yet to kill any of those rebels themselves.

"I'm glad," Phennir said honestly. "But right now, don't think about the Rogues, think about getting ready. We leave for Obreedan in nine hours."

He could see it on their faces: So soon? To their credit, none of them asked it aloud. As Phennir rose from his chair he looked down at Devis and said, "The admiral wants to relay his personal congratulations for your maneuver at Tyan."

Belkaron clapped. Cyrillian and Avrian nodded, impressed. As for Devis, he leaned back against the booth-cushions and gave them a proud silent grin.

"Don't get cocky," Phennir reminded him, "And don't disobey direct orders again."

"Won't happen, sir, I promise," Devis said. He probably didn't believe it any more than Phennir did.

Before Endor a man like Devis' behavior would have gotten him stuck as XO of a mediocre TIE interceptor squad. Now he was a lieutenant in the 181st, and the worst part was, he really was the best fit for the job.

Pellaeon talked about how the Empire had to adapt. Phennir understand that, even if he didn't like it. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the ready room. He paused for a moment after stepping through the door and listened. Instead of a resumed cacophony, he heard the four squad leaders call their people to attention.

Feeling a little better, Phennir walked on.

-{}-

When they arrived at Qiilura, A'bath and Admiral Bell were immediately called over to Lusankya for a conference with General Antilles. Before getting in his shuttle, A'baht told Captain Kaeori to keep the crew on yellow alert. She eagerly complied.

As his shuttle approached the massive super star destroyer, A'baht felt something heavy settle into his gut. He'd only seen Executor from afar at Endor, and he'd never expected to get to see another ship of her class up close, much less a friendly one with red New Republic crests painted on her hull. He'd spent his whole life fighting a tiny war against a much bigger foe. It felt fundamentally strange that something so huge and deadly should also be friendly.

The shuttles from Endurance and Charnak arrived in the bay at the same time, an an honor guard led both A'baht and Admiral Bell into the transit tube that whisked them eight kilometers down toward the massive vessel's stern. They said little on the way there. A'baht could read humans better than most of his race and he could see tension in the gray-haired woman's face. It dug lines around her mouth and crinkled her eyes.

Their escorts led them to a conference room. A long table stretched out before them, and the viewport on the far end looked down on the snowy surface of Qiilura.

Standing in front of the viewport was General Wedge Antilles. A'baht had never met the man but he'd seen plenty of holos. Usually Antilles had been wearing a crumpled orange flight suit, and his dark hair had been matted against his forehead by some freshly-removed flight helmet. The man before him now was in a crisp uniform, as professional and slick as a senior fleet officer was expected to be.

A'baht and Bell took seats next to each other on Antilles' right right. On his left, one sandy-haired human, one brown-skinned Mon Calamari, and another human, older, with gray hair cropped short. Antilles introduced them as Tycho Celchu of Rogue Squadron, Captain Omphlem of the interdictor Andromeda, and Captain Carson of the star destroyer Yakez.

Once introductions were out of the way, Antilles got on with his plan. A'baht had heard none of it, and from the veiled shock on her face, neither had Admiral Bell.

"General Antilles," the woman said once he was done, "You realize this plan depends on a number of big assumptions."

Antilles folded his hands in front of him on the tabletop. "They're not as big as you'd think, Admiral. The pivotal question here is whether Pellaeon will bring Reaper to defend Obreedan. I'm certain he will."

"Certain how?" asked A'baht.

"It's simple. He can't afford to lose Obreedan. He's got two World Devastators down there, tearing up the planet. If he loses it, he loses a critical source of supplies for his war machine. Remember, this isn't the Empire of old. They're more strapped for matériel than we are. They can't afford to give it away so easily."

"He may realize the choice you're forcing him to make," Bell warned. "He may decide Orinda is more important than Obreedan."

Antilles shook his head. "He has more ships massed at Orinda, and more people on the ground, but he simply can't afford to lose Obreedan."

"What happens if Pellaeon brings his whole fleet there?" asked A'baht. "Do we stay and fight there, or do we still jump to Orinda?"

"Orinda is the primary target," Antilles said firmly.

A'baht could see he wouldn't get any farther with this line of questioning. Switching tack, he asked, "What happens when Reaper jumps to Obreedan? How can we be sure we can trap him in the interdiction field but not our own ships?"

Captain Omphlem said, "We can expect Pellaeon to arrive on a vector from Orinda. Andromeda will position herself on the opposite side of the planet and use it as cover for as long as possible."

Antilles added, "Admiral Bell, I want your drag ship place opposite from Andromeda, just in case."

Bell frowned. "Right in Reaper's entrance vector?"

"It's risky, I know, but if Pellaeon jumps in from someplace else, your ship might be the one to keep him stuck at Obreedan instead."

Bell looked unhappy, but nodded.

"What kind of defenses does Obreedan have at the moment?" asked Carson.

"We sent a prowler through the system just three hours ago. They have two Impstars, plus two Devastators eating up the planet surface. The good thing we learned from Tyan is that a concentrated bombardment from Lusankya should be enough to bring a Devastator down from orbit."

"We want to keep our smaller capital ships as far away from those monsters as possible," Celchu added.

"All right," Bell said, "I have one last question, General."

Antilles nodded.

"Whether at Obreedan or Orinda, it's almost certain Lusankya is going to have to face Reaper. How do you plan on winning that fight?"

"It's going to depend on several things. First, I'm going to rely on Yakez, Charnak, and the other heavy warships to keep the Impstars busy. More important, though, is your ship."

Bell nodded, like she'd been expecting that. "We're loaded up with E-wings and K-wings. They're ready for a pinpoint strike on your order."

"That's what I need, Admiral. Keep Endurance close to Lusankya for as long as you can. We'll do our best to protect your ship if things get hairy, but ultimately, we're going to need your fighters to launch a killing blow on Reaper."

A'baht glanced at Bell. She'd probably been expecting something like this. The severe lines on her face seemed to deepen.

"When do we leave, General?" she asked.

Antilles glanced at his wrist chronometer. "Four standard hours, thirty minutes."

"Then we'd best get our ships ready."

"That's right." Antilles stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Good hunting, all of you."

It was the kind of farewell a fighter pilot would give. Bell and A'baht were quickest out the door, and they grabbed the same shuttle back to the hangar bay.

As it whisked them along, A'baht leaned close to Bell and said, "I have to admit, Admiral, I'm a little uncertain as to the role my ships are going to be playing in this."

"Antilles has never fought with you before. None of us have. You're an unknown quality." Bell said it without apology. He respected that.

"You've fought with him before, though."

"Yes, but he wasn't a commander then, just a pilot."

"There's a big difference between an X-wing and Lusankya."

"There's also a big difference between and X-wing and our new E-wings. I'm not sure the general understands that." Bell's lips pressed tight together.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean those E-wings are designed for fast, tactical strikes. They're not as versatile as X-wings. As for the K-wings, they can break a hole in Reaper if they get a chance, but they need fighter cover."

"I'm sure he understands that. General Antilles doesn't just know X-wings."

Bell made a noise in the back of her throat but didn't say anything. The shuttle swept along and A'baht didn't say anything else. When he reached the hangar bay and left for Charnak, he was glad to be back on his own ship. For all its power, Lusankya had failed to imbue him with confidence in the coming battle.

-{}-

Tycho and Wedge lingered in the conference room after the captains had left for their ships. An awkward silence lingered between them until Tycho asked, "Do you think Admiral Bell will be a problem?"

"A problem? She has more command experience than I do."

"That's what I mean."

He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked at the tabletop. "I trust that she knows her ship better than I do. So I'll give her range enough to deploy when and how she wants to."

That sounded risky to Tycho, but he knew his friend was still thinking like a fighter pilot, trusting in individual intuition and fast, well-placed strikes. That worked well for Rogue Squadron, but for a tightly-planned, high-stakes battle like this, he wasn't sure how it would play.

"What about A'baht?" he asked. "What do you think of him?"

Wedge thought for a moment. "A little like Bell, actually."

Tycho hadn't expected that. "In what way?"

"They're both veteran commanders, but they're used to doing things certain ways. A'baht especially. He fought most of the war on his own."

"Can we trust him to follow orders?"

"Ackbar vouches for him, says he was critical in capturing Teshik at Endor."

"So you trust Ackbar."

"Trust is essential in any fighting unit. I trust A'baht and Bell. I have to trust them, just like you trust Hobbie and Gavin."

Tycho had known his flight leaders for years; he knew how they flew, how they made decisions. He couldn't say the same for A'baht and Bell and neither could Wedge.

Before the silence could grow too thick, Wedge asked, "Have you sent a message to Winter?"

Tycho blinked, jerked from one train of thought to another. Then he said, "Yes. I wrote it before we came here, actually. Sent if off on the last packet to the relay station at Ord Mantell." After a pause, he added, "It wasn't one of those, I-love-you-but-I'm-about-to-die letters. I tried to make it as straightforward as possible. I didn't mention much about the mission."

"When was the last time you talked to her on HoloNet?"

"It's been a while," Tycho admitted. "But we've been used to having a… sporadic relationship."

That was putting it mildly. Since they'd first met during a Rogue Squadron mission shortly after Endor, Tycho and Winter had been pulled apart and put together again so many times he was starting to lose count. Even now she was splitting her time between running intel missions for NRI and watching over the Solo children. Tycho tried to tell himself that most other relationships could never have lasted through so much outside drama, that he and Winter were bound together by the homeworld they'd lost and by a shared determination not to let any lesser calamity break them apart.

Telling himself that helped a little, but it wasn't much without Winter by his side.

It was a maudlin line of thought and he tried not to dwell on it. He asked Wedge, "What about Qwi?"

"I sent a message too," Wedge allowed.

"What about talking?"

"It's been a few months."

"Well. We've been busy."

"You've got that right."

Wedge looked down at the table. Tycho didn't know what else to add. He'd never been comfortable with Wedge's romance with Qwi Xux. The Omwati may not have known she was helping Tarkin design his Death Star, but she'd helped all the same, and Tycho had never totally been able to separate that fragile, naive woman with the destruction of his home and family.

He imagined that Qwi's innocence must have been one of the things that had drawn Wedge toward her; she'd offered a definite break from the life of grueling, unending combat he'd known since joining the rebels over a decade ago.

Still, to Tycho it had always seemed like a match that couldn't endure. He'd thought for years that Wedge would have been better off with Iella Wessiri from NRI. Partly it was his own proclivity for lady spies rubbing off, but there were times when he'd been sure he'd spotted mutual interest between his two friends.

"I don't think she really understands," Wedge muttered, half to himself. "What we do out here. What this war's been like for us all."

"She's lucky she doesn't," Tycho said truthfully.

"I know. But sometimes it seems like there's this disconnect..." Wedge trailed off, shook his head. "This isn't the time to be talking about women, is it?"

"Definitely not." Tycho slapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I've got to get down to the hangar bay and muster the Rogues."

"And I've got to do pre-flight checks," Wedge nodded. He put a hand on Tycho's shoulder and squeezed it hard. "Keep 'em safe."

"I should be telling you that, General."

"Fair enough. How about 'I hope you shoot down lots of TIEs with red paint slapped on.'?"

"Much better," Wedge grinned. "And I hope you take down a super star destroyer without red paint."

"That'd be a great day all around. Come on, Tycho. We've got work to do."

-{}-

The blue holo-image of Teren Rogriss flickered in the darkness of Pellaeon's personal cabin. Pellaeon stood in front of his desk, looking down at the other admiral's square face and squared soldiers.

"You're to stand by at those coordinates until further notice," Pellaeon told him.

Rogriss nodded. "Understood, sir."

"Once you get my initial signal that the fight's begun, put all your task force on red alert, but do not take further action until you hear from me personally."

"Yes, sir." Rogriss nodded again. Unlike Phennir, he'd taken his instructions without question.

"Very good. You'll be hearing from me again, likely in the near future."

"I look forward to it, sir."

Rogriss' shrunken holo-image snapped a salute. Then Pellaeon reached out and flicked off the holo, plunging his bedroom into darkness.

He sighed, stepped up to the small viewport, and pressed his fingers against the cool transparisteel. Reaper had turned her flank away from Orinda; all he could see were stars. He wondered where they were in the planet's orbit, what direction they were facing. He wondered if one of those faint twinkling lights was Obreedan or Qiilura. But of course, it didn't really matter.

The 181st had relocated to Obreedan. So had Death's Head, joining Nemesis already stationed there. Aside from Reaper, Orinda itself as still protected by Chimaera, Stormhawk, Right to Rule, and the massive old Secutor-class fleet carrier Rampart. Dorja still kept Relentless at Tyan, and Captain Brandei's Judicator watched over the HoloNet transceiver at Urce. He'd warned both captains that their services may be required soon and left it at that.

All the pieces were in place. The only thing left was to wait for Antilles to make his move.

Pellaeon hated waiting. The darkness and silence swelled around him. The possibilities awoken by his last conversation with Phennir (no, he knew they were facts) oppressed him. He'd acted the good admiral since then, giving orders, making battle plans, but in the end, once everything was done, Mynar Devis was waiting to be faced.

Pellaeon sat down at his desk and started up his personal datapad. Its dim white light bathed his face as he called up the military records database for all personnel currently in Imperial service. Given the chaos the Empire had been through, it was a half-complete listing at best, but he was sure all members of the elite 181st would have been properly listed, their backgrounds documented.

He found himself staring at the flat glowing head-shot image of Mynar Devis. He had a narrow face, tanned but not as dark as his mother's. He tried to pick out certain features that echoed Hallena's or his own, but the picture was too small to tell anything for certain.

The galaxy was full of beings named 'Devis.' 'Mynar' was not an uncommon name either. The combination, however, could not have been a coincidence.

Pellaeon scrolled through Devis' biographical infor-mation. It wasn't much; the Empire's record-keeping was far from what it used to be. It did, however, list his date of entry to the Presbelt military academy, shortly before the Battle of Yavin. It listed his honors, his graduation date, and the assignments he'd had as part of Grand Moff Kaine's Pentastar Alignment.

Kaine had been smarter than the other warlords and avoided direct conflict with either the Republic or other ex-Imperials, which was the reason why his Reaper outlived most other ships of its class, not that it had saved Kaine himself from rebel assassins once all the other warlords had been cleared out. Kaine had forged his mini-empire out of the sectors he'd controlled as Grand Moff, which meant Mynar had probably grown up in the Outer Rim somewhere.

Pellaeon tired to find biographical information on Mynar's early life. All he found, at the very end, was a date and place of birth. Phaeda, twenty-nine years ago. The date fit. He had no idea where Hallena had gone after she'd left his life in ruin almost thirty years back, but Phaeda was as good a place as any a woman would go to hide from her past.

There was no information about Mynar's parents. Nothing about siblings or half-siblings. He'd simply been born, and seventeen years later he'd joined the Academy and begun the path that had led him here, to his father's ship.

Pellaeon slumped back in his chair. It was impossible. It was inevitable. Hallena could have had a son by another man. Their last meeting had been passionate but brief, and they'd hardly parted on good terms. He'd spent the thirty years since trying to forget their last encounter, and forget the woman who'd been the sole light in the life of a young captain slogging through the Clone Wars, totally ignorant of where his life would lead him.

Sometimes a man needed willfull ignorance to get through his day, avoid distractions that might get him killed. It was why he'd never made an inquiry into the parentage of Molgarin Reige's boy.

Pellaeon scrolled back up to the top of Mynar's entry and looked at the photo again. Yes, he could see a little of Hallena. The large eyes and long squared-off chin. The cheekbones seemed lower, more like Pellaeon's own, but it was so hard to tell.

The only way to know for sure would be to call Mynar Devis into his office and talk to the man himself.

Assuming Devis survived the coming battle.

Pellaeon shuddered in the dark. It would be the ultimate cruelty to discover his son then lose him, even worse than rediscovering Hallena right before losing her the way he had.

It was absurd that this surprise had been thrown at him now, on the eve of a battle that could make or break his attempt to forge a coherent Imperial polity again after the Empire had been fractured by so many ambitious warlords. Throughout his career he'd always prioritized his duty over his personal needs; the last time he'd done otherwise had been his last encounter with Hallena, and it had taught him a lesson he could never forget.

Yet here was this boy, this man, staring at him from the flat screen of his datapad, an undeniable fact as solid and as dangerous as any mission Lusankya could throw at him.

He reached out, found the datapad's power switch, and turned it off.

The white screen blacked out. He sat back in his chair, in the dark, and watched faint stars drift by outside his window. He knew they would bring no peace.

-{}-

When Charnak and the Republic fleet flashed into realspace over Obreedan, Captain Kaeori immediately called for a tactical survey. Standing at the front of the bridge, looking dead ahead at the planet, General A'baht listened as the report confirmed what his eyes told him: Two Imperial-class star destroyers in orbit. Scans of the surface noted the presence of two World Devastators hovering over the surface of the planet on its southern hemisphere.

So far, so good.

"Launch two squads of those new fighters," A'baht told Kaeori. "Let our pilots get a test-run in but hold back from full engagement."

"Understood," Kaeori nodded from the tactical station.

A'baht watched as the tactical holo sprang up. The map was not to scale, and the large marker for Lusankya did no justice the behemoth's massive size. Its double-sized green diamond in the middle of the larger fleet.

As Charnak launched her new A-wing interceptors, Lusankya and Yakez sent out their own fighter wings to meet the I-7 Howlrunners and TIE/ln fighters spilling out of the two destroyer's hangar bays. Meanwhile, the two interdictors spread out to opposite poles of the planet's gravity well, each one escorted by one of the nimble little DP20 anti-starfighter gunships.

It was all a show, but it had to look real enough to draw Reaper into the fight. That meant they had to attempt to destroy the two World Devastators on the surface. A'baht checked the scanners; neither monstrosity seemed to be rising out of the atmosphere as the Devastator at Tyan reportedly had. Apparently, the Imperials had learned their lesson from that battle and were keeping their war machines as far away from Lusankya's heavy guns as possible.

"General," Kaeori called from the tactical station, "We're getting a request from Lusankya. They want us to move into lower orbit and begin orbital bombard-ment of the Devastators."

A'baht suppressed a frown. "Is anyone else being sent forward?"

"Yakez will assist."

Carson's Impstar was sure to have guns capable of a heavy surface attack, even if they weren't on Lusankya's level. Antilles' reasoning was obvious; he didn't want to draw his flagship into lower orbit, lest it get trapped there and fail to make the quick jump to Orinda.

Yakez and Charnak were more expendable.

"General, should we comply?" Kaeori asked. She didn't seem pleased with the order either.

"We have our orders," he told her. "Let's trash some Imperial hardware."

That seemed to encourage Kaeori a little bit. She nodded and relayed his orders.

A'baht turned back to the viewport and watched the planet swell beneath them. He couldn't make out the Devastators on the surface, but Yakez's pointed off-white bow was edging into view, as were her star-fighters and modified blastboat scout ships.

"General," the comm officer called, "We just got a message from Colonel Celchu of Rogue Squadron. He says they're taking point."

A'baht watched as a long formation of X-wing fighters raced past Charnak and plunged toward the planet. They were enough to make him a little more confident about the fight ahead.

-{}-

Tycho's X-wing rocked around him and his star-fighter plunged into Obreedan's atmosphere. Friction-fed flame lashed up from his fighter's nose and licked across his cockpit.

He switched his comlink to Rogue Squadron's team frequency and said, "How are we holding up?"

"Flight's holding steady, Lead," Gavin reported.

"Not dead yet," Hobbie added.

It was a good enough start. The flare of entry died as quickly as it had come, and his vision was filled with fat white clouds hovered above a landscape of mottled greens and browns.

Tycho switched frequencies and said, "Spotter One, you there?"

"Right behind you, Rouge Leader."

"Where as those Devastators?"

"Feeding telemetry to you now."

"Thanks," Tycho said. The directional readout appeared on his scanned and he switched back to Rogue Squadron's frequency. "Okay people, follow my lead. We're going after a Devastator."

His flight leaders clicked affirmation as they plunged through the upper cloud layer. The goal at Obreedan wasn't to destroy the Devastators but to make it look like they were trying very hard. That put the lives of the Rogues and a lot of others at risk, but it was the only way to ensure Wedge's plan of trapping Reaper.

The planet's surface spread before them: a broad semi-arid landscape of brown hills topped with dry scrub, with the occasional creek or stream creeping between ridges. A World Devastator loomed dead ahead of them. Its fiery mouth was open wide and pulling one of those hills into its maw: scrub, dirt, rock, and all.

"Hey, Spotter One," Tycho called, "Do they have a firing solution yet?"

"Yakez is getting one now, stand by."

"Well, warn us when they send hot light down. We don't want to get fragged."

"Understood. Stand by."

Tycho scowled and checked his scanners. He was expected the Devastator to be released a swarm of those damned nimble robotic TIE fighters to attack Yakez, but as yet none of them had come out of its bay.

He switched his comm to Hobbie's private channel. "Five, do you see any hostiles around that Devastator?"

"Nothing, boss."

Before Tycho could ask anything else, the scout ship hailed him again. "Rogue Lead, this is Spotter One."

"Hot light incoming?"

"That's right. We've also picked up two squads of incoming TIEs from the south."

That was the opposite direction as the Devastator. Tycho checked his scanners but saw nothing. "Droid fighters?"

"Negative. Looks like TIE Defenders."

Tycho swore. Defenders were by far the best ships the Empire had produced, more than enough to tackle X-wings, and the only TIE Defenders he'd sparred with this on this campaign had been flown by Turr Phennir's 181st.

"All Rogues," he called. "Follow my lead!"

He pulled the fighter's control stick against his chest and soared upward, leaving the hills and the Devastator far behind. As he soared up toward the clouds he saw a flash of green light as Yakez's first volley of turbolaser fire cut through the atmosphere toward the Devastator.

"Whew!" Gavin's wingmate, an Ishi Tib named Bashke Arndath, called. "They're lighting up that Devastator!"

"Look alive," he warned his pilots. "We're looking at one-eighty-first from the south."

That cut the chatter fast. Tycho leveled out in the planet's upper atmosphere and checked his scanners again. Sure enough, two full squadrons were approaching. He spotted another squad of E-wings from Yakez lancing to intercept, but Phennir would prioritize Rogue Squadron above all other targets.

"Put power to forward shields," Tycho said. "Prime your torps. We turn on my mark and let 'em having it."

He watched his scanners, waited until the Defenders were close to firing range, then spun his X-wing into a hard turn. White clouds and blue sky whipped around him. He stopped the turn when he spotted a dozen approaching TIEs in the far distance. They looked so small but they'd be on him in seconds.

"Grab targets," he called, "Mark!"

A single torpedo lanced out of each X-wing. Tycho immediately called for them to break formation and scatter. So, too, did the TIE Defenders, but not after popping off rounds of their own.

The X-wings spun, dove, and weaved vapor-trail ribbons in the sky to avoid the enemy torps. One edged so close to Tycho that he had to fire off a spray of defensive chaff that intercepted the detonated the torp. The concussive force the blast still buffeted his X-wing and rocked him hard in his cockpit.

Nevil, Pagat, and Inyri formed up behind him as he checked his scanners. Two TIE Defenders had been taken down by missiles, but two full flights of enemy ships had zeroed in on Hobbie's depleted three-ship formation.

Tycho and Phennir had trained under the same man, Baron Fel. They understood the same tactics, could anticipate the other's moves. Right now, he knew, Phennir was trying to pick at the weakest flight in the squadron.

"A little help here!" Hobbie called.

"On our way," Tycho said, and gunned his engines forward.

-{}-

A spray of red quad-laser blasts rocked Turr Phennir in his cockpit. He was about to tell his pilots to stay in formation and destroy the trio of X-wings in front of them when Lieutenant Cyrillian called, "Incoming torps!"

Their shields had already been buffeted hard by one volley and might not withstand another. Phennir swore and called, "Break formation! Break!"

He rolled his Defender toward the planet's surface and cut engines. He dropped like a heavy stone and the torpedo trailing him struggling to match. It shot in front of his viewport, slowed as it tried to turn and vector toward him, giving him an easy chance to pick it off with his laser cannons.

He checked his scanners and saw that Cyrillian's squad had done the same. No casualties, but the three-flight of X-wings had scattered.

Of the two pilots from Gold Squad that had been hit by the Rogues' initial torpedo volley, one had been able to eject, but the other had not. The score from this campaign was still in Colonel Celchu's favor. He noted, too, that the Rogues were down to eleven ships, which meant someone had killed one of their pilots at Tyan, but not anyone from the 181st.

It was, frankly, an insult, and it needed to be remedied.

Cyrillian took her lead flight and chased after the X-wing formation that had pulled into the upper atmosphere. The one that had intercepted their recent attack was wheeled upward as well, leaving their afts and bellies exposed.

Phennir called the closest Defender flight to fall in behind him and charged. Torrents of green plasma still fell from the star destroyer in lower orbit to impact on the Devastator, but Phennir hardly paid it any mind. He'd been tasked with safeguarding the giant factory ships but his real goal was the defeat of Rogue Squadron, pure and simple.

He and his wingmates popped off single rounds of torpedoes. The X-wings broke formation and deployed chaff that caught the torps, but the attack had accomplished its goal regardless. Phennir vectored in on the lead fighter.

The X-wing danced and weaved through the clouds but Phennir stayed on him. He knew Celchu's movements by now, just as Celchu knew his, and their fighters twirled and danced through the sky but Phennir could never land more than glancing laser-blasts on his shields.

At one point the rebel pilot even managed to duck into a high white cloud and shunt his engines. Phennir's fighter leaped forward into a clear blue sky. He swore as Celchu fell behind him and popped off two rounds of torpedoes. He pulled up in a tight loop, hoping to confuse the torps' guidance systems or overload their thrusters.

His maneuver caused one torpedo to stall out and tumble toward the planet, but the other impacted on his aft shields. He threw all power to his energy barrier right before the impact and saved his own life. The force of the explosion nonetheless sent Phennir tumbling toward toward the planet, through layers of clouds, until he could finally bring his engines back online and soar upward once again.

He checked his scanners, saw the dogfights wheeled overhead, but couldn't mark which X-wing was Celchu's. He swore and commed Cyrillian.

"Gold Leader, report."

"Took one down, sir," the woman's voice swelled with pride.

"Excellent. I'll be back with you in a moment."

"Yes, sir, I-" He heard Cyrillian gasp, then say, "Colonel, Reaper has arrived in orbit! The Rogues, they're running back into space."

Falling back to Lusankya, no doubt. That might indicate Pellaeon's plan was on target, or it might not.

"Follow them, Gold Leader," he said. "I'm right behind you."

He pointed his Defender straight skyward and gunned his engines. They wouldn't be able to chase the Rogues all the way to Lusankya, but they might be able to pick off another fighter or two. Already Cyrllian had helped bring the score closer to even, and even though Phennir hadn't gotten the kill himself, it still made him feel better about the day.

And if even the Rogues did escape Obreedan, he knew the day was far from over.

-{}-

"All ships, fall away from the planet!" A'baht called to his crew, but Captain Kaeori had already given the order.

Charnak and Yakez both began turning around and pushing back from Obreedan, but they were big vessels and it would take crucial minutes to reverse course. He checked the sensors and saw that Lusankya and her support vessels, including the two Dornean gunships, were already pulling out of Obreedan's gravity well. They'd be ready to jump to Orinda in minutes, well before Charnak and Yakez were clear to flee.

And Reaper was hovering on the other edge of Obreedan's orbit, midway between the poles occupied by the two Republic drag ships. Pellaeon had arrived, but from a different vector than anticipated. It was a small surprise, not enough to ruin the plan, but a surprise nonetheless, and one that might bode ill for the rest of the fight.

Kaeori called from the communications station, "General, Antilles is hailing us."

A'baht hurried over to the comm station as fast as he could. He stepped into the holotransmitter's viewing field to see two blue electronic ghosts looking back at him: Antilles and Carson.

"Gentlemen, there's not much time," Antilles was saying. "Lusankya is going to jump as soon as we clear the grav well, as are Endurance and the rest of the ships."

"What interdictor will we use?" Carson asked.

"We'll use Spirit of Corellia," Antilles said, naming the CC-7700 frigate Bell had brought with her. "She's further from Reaper. She'll put her grav well up in four minutes exactly."

That was barely enough time to get clear of Obreedan's orbit. Carson asked, "Can't spare any more time, General?"

"I'm sorry," Antilles shook his head. "If you get stuck, form around Spirit and try to hold off attacks as long as you can. Don't think you have to sacrifice yourselves. Just delay Reaper for as long as you can. General A'baht, you'll be senior officer once Bell and I leave. When you think things look bad, tell Spirit to drop her drag field and run."

Kaeori looked like she wanted to shout behind him, but A'baht just said, "Understood, General. Good hunting at Orinda."

The second both holos winked off, Captain Kaeori half-shouted, "Who the kriff does he think he is? We-"

"He's your commanding officer," A'baht snapped, then raised his voice. "Helm, get us out of this grav well as fast as you can! Go!"

Charnak shuddered as they turned and flared engines. Lusankya and her support cruisers, so small by comparison, loomed in the far distance. Reaper couldn't be seen from their position, but A'baht could make out the grey wedges of the two destroyers that had been attacking Lusankya.

"General," Kaeori called, "Captain Carson reports a Devastator coming out of the atmosphere. They're taking fire."

A'baht hurried over to the tactical holo. Charnak was clearing middle-orbit and might make it out before the time window closed, but Yakez was suffering barrages from the World Devastator now rising from the planet. Worse, the monstrosity was pumping out a stream of those damned robotic TIE/d fighters. Captain Carson's destroyer was already taking damage and starting to lag behind A'baht's ship.

There was no way Yakez would make it out in time. If Charnak fled, the two Impstars ahead would make short work of it.

A'baht was surprised by how easily the decision came.

"Captain Kaeori," he said, "Drop speed and begin firing on that Devastator. See if we can't slow it down."

The human's jaw dropped. "But General-"

"Do it, Captain. We don't leave allies behind."

It sounded good as he said it, but right as he did Lusankya, Endurance, and the other support vessels winked into hyperspace, on their way to the main brawl.

They were on their own now.

-{}-

Reaper's bridge shuddered slightly as the rebel CC-7700 frigate raised its gravity well over the Obreedan system, trapping all ships inside.

"Well done, Antilles," Pellaeon muttered, too low to hear.

Behind him, Captain Arnef wasn't taking the situation with such aplomb. He snapped, "Admiral, I don't understand! That frigate just trapped itself in-system with us!"

"Exactly. Antilles is moving on toward another target. Probably Orinda."

"Orinda?" Arnef gaped. "Sir, without Reaper-"

"There are still ships at Orinda to defend it," Colonel Reige said from the tactical station. She pointed at the holo and said, "Look at that frigate. She's pulling away from the planet, trying to put as much space between herself and Reaper as possible."

"Antilles wants to buy himself as much time as possible at Orinda," Pellaeon said. "Captain Arnef, get on the line with Nemesis and Death's Head. Tell them to break off and try to box that frigate in. They can get close before we can."

Arnef frowned at the holo. "Sir, they're both moving to engage the two rebel ships left behind."

"Ignore them. Comm the Devastator down there and tell it to let them escape."

"Admiral, those cruisers can still pack a punch against Nemesis and Death's Head," Reige reminded him.

"That's only if they're ready to brawl. I'm sure their main goal is to protect that interdiction frigate. Captain Arnef, relay my order."

"Yes, sir," the man snapped a reluctant salute and moved off.

Reige settled on Pellaeon's side and said in a lowered voice, "Is this what you planned on, Gilad? Getting stuck here while Lusankya pounds Orinda?"

"No. I thought Antilles would try something like this and I wanted to box Lusankya into Obreedan's orbit and keep this from happening. That's why I dropped us out of hyperspace on a vector he wasn't expecting."

Reige thought a moment. "You weren't expecting two interdictors."

"That's right," Pellaeon allowed. "But what's done is done. We can still catch up to him at Orinda."

"Should we call Rogriss now?"

Pellaeon hesitated. Dominion was his grand surprise and he wanted to save it until it was absolutely necessary. The Bellator-class destroyer was more powerful than anything the rebels had except, of course, Lusankya. Antilles' flagship would be able to out-fight it even with Rampart and the other destroyers helping Rogriss.

For a moment he thought of Lusankya dropping out of hyperspace right on top of his beloved Chimaera. It almost pained him as much as the thought of Mynar Devis getting shot down by some rebel snubfighter, but he'd been watching the 181st closely and was relieved that hadn't happened so far.

But he knew he couldn't keep the 181st out of the fight any more than he could protect Chimaera. In a battle this tight, with such high stakes, he had to risk every resource at his disposal.

"Rogriss stays where he is now," Pellaeon said firmly.

Reige looked disappointed. "Orinda's planetary defenses are still being rebuilt. Antilles can wreak a lot of damage with Lusankya."

"Then we won't give him time to do it. Captain Arnef," Pellaeon called, "Get me a line with Colonel Phennir. Tell him I have a very important mission for him."

-{}-

Ensign Cha Niathal sucked in breath as Lusankya plunged into Orinda's orbit. Above the crew pit, Antilles stalked the center aisle of the bridge like a naval commander from an old holo-drama.

"Communications," he said, "Get me a line with Orinda's governor. Forward batteries, scope out the surface. Locate and target all defensive batteries and ion cannons on the northwest continent. Anti-star-fighter turrets, prepare for incoming."

Niathal quickly complied. A group of scout ships raced ahead and relayed their telemetry directly to Lusankya's gunner computer. The detailed topographic map of Orinda's largest continent resolved on her targeting computer, along with markers denoting the shield generators over Orinda's major cities as well as the ion cannon and long-range turbolaser emplace-ments. Lusankya's computers already retained infor-mation about Orinda's defenses from its time as a New Republic possession, and the data from the scout ships seemed to confirm that the Imperials hadn't changed anything much in the past six months.

It made Niathal feel better about her job, but her spirit dampened as she heard voices ricochet over her head.

"Two Impstars coming to meet us. They've also got an old destoyer, Secutor-class. She's pumping out Howlrunners and droid fighters now."

"Shields up over the capital. Weapons going hot."

"Guns, target the offensive stations on the ground and open fire. Comm, where's the governor?" That was Antilles' voice, clip and calm.

"Not responding, sir."

"General, we're being hailed by the carrier. Identifies herself as Rampart."

"Don't respond. All ships, launch fighter screens. Except for Endurance; tell Bell to stay close to us. Weapons, fire when ready."

Niathal didn't understand why Antilles was refusing hails from Rampart, but it didn't matter. She adjusted her aim, wrapped both webbed hands around the gunnery controls, and opened fire.

Twelve kilometers away, Lusankya's forward guns thundered. Spears of green turbolaster fire broke through Orinda's atmosphere. While their energy dissipated over long distances, the plasma weapons were unaffected by wind or aerial disturbances, unlike projectile weapons. They flew straight to their target. Niathal's heart surged as the planet's defensive cannons began to burst, one after another.

For a moment, she wondered whether those cannons were being manned by Imperials or by local Orinda citizens who had, just six months ago, manned those same stations for the Republic against the Empire. She supposed it didn't matter; back then, the planetary government had been shocked into surrender by Reaper's unexpected arrival. This time its defenders, Imperial or local, would have a battle plan and they would stick to it. Every cannon Niathal destroyed meant Republic lives saved.

The gunnery section commander gave further orders, directing certain gunnery sections to fire on specific installations. Within fifteen minutes of steady bom-bardment, Niathal and the other gunners had reduced Orinda's main defenses to slag. The Mon Cal vessels Poesy and Mon Alora were pulling ahead to intercept two of the star destroyers, while Lusankya herself took up a steady place orbit directly over Orinda's main continent, as if daring Rampart or any of the other Imperial ships to engage it in direct combat when it could so easily reduce the whole city to slag.

The Imperials were many things, but they weren't fools. They knew no other ship but Reaper would be able to survive a fight with Lusankya, and Reaper was still trapped at Obreedan. In the end, it would come down to how long the local governor was willing to hold out in hope of Pellaeon's arrival.

Lusankya's captain ordered all forward guns to cease fire. Niathal took her hands off the controls, sat back, breathed deeply, listened. The anti-starfighter guns were still firing, and she heard reports of various fighter units falling back to defend Lusankya's bridge from suicidal runs by the droid TIEs. She couldn't see out the viewport from her position in the crew pit, and the flash of outside explosions spilled across the deck she felt a spike of helplessness.

Well, she thought, at least there wouldn't be any Devastators to worry about.

-{}-

Tycho rolled behind the nearest TIE/d fighter and pumped quad laser-blasts into its spherical hull. The craft exploded without even trying to evade. Beside him, Kral Nevil destroyed two more with another quad-linked blast.

"These things aren't worth wasting torps on," the Quarren said.

"Don't be too sure of that. When they want to dance, they can dance." Tycho pulled his control stick back and rose high over Lusankya's superstructure. Nevil followed, and Inyri and Panat followed behind them.

"They keep throwing themselves at Lusankya," Inyri commented. "It's like they're just hoping to get lucky."

That seemed to be the strategy thus far. These droid fighters seemed to have taken the Imperial policy of disposability to a new level. With the World Devastators still gobbling up resources and pumping out war machines, he supposed it was a viable plan, but without them the campaign would be playing out very differently.

Tycho's flight pulled higher above Lusankya and wheeled about to face the planet again. The super star destroyer had taken out the planet's main defenses in a matter of minutes; Wedge must have been on the line with the planet's governor now, trying to convince him to surrender. There was no reason to expect the Imp ships in orbit to respect that surrender declaration, but it would be the first step in securing the planet.

Poesy and Mon Alora had moved to engage two of the Impstars, while a third hovered close to the broad, two-kilometer-long Secutor-class ship. With Reaper out of the picture, it was the largest Imperial vessel over Orinda and the centerpiece of its defensive posture. If they took it out, the governor down on Orinda would probably be much more likely to give in.

Tycho was about to comm the bridge and ask permission to speahead an offensive against the carrier when the bridge called him instead.

"Rogue Leader, this is Lusankya," a female voice said in his ear.

"Standing by,"

"What's your status, Rogue Leader?"

"We're okay, Lusankya. Lost one ship down at Obreedan. Ten fighters left." Arndath had been taken out fighting the 181st. That meant one more letter to write if they got through this. Tycho was ashamed by how little he'd known about the Ishi Tib.

"Rogue Leader, General Antilles wants you to form up with Knave and Slash Squadrons and head for Rampart. We're sending the Dornean ships with you."

"Is that the carrier?"

"That's right."

"Understood. Take it out?" He thought they'd need at least one of the Mon Cal ships for a fight like that.

"Negative, Rogue Leader. Sensors show they've just launched Xg-1 Starwing missile boats. Intercept and destroy."

"Affirmative, will do," Tycho said, and snapped the connection off just before he swore aloud.

The Rogues had tangled with Xg-1s only once this campaign, during the engagement at Traval-Pacor. Like the TIE/d fighters, they were something Pellaeon had apparently dug out of some hidden storehouse in the Deep Core. Unlike them, the Starwings were any-thing but disposable. They carried heavy payloads and were made to target capital ships. Unlike New Republic K-wings, they were also small and fast and didn't require fighter cover.

"All Rogues," he called, "On my tail. We've got Starwings to take down." He heard gasps and a few muffled swears, then added, "Look on the bright side, at least we don't have to tangle with the one-eighty-first."

The Rogues joined the formations of E- and A-wings streaking toward Rampart. The diamond-shaped carrier, topped by twin command towers like an old Clone Wars destroyer, loomed ahead. The destroyer on its flank moved forward as if to intercept, and without looking at his scanners, Tycho could see several flights of flat, rectangular I-7 Howlrunner fighters drop from its hangar bay and race toward them.

"Better than droid fighters," he muttered, then switched his comlink channel. "Knave Leader, do you see those Howlrunners?"

"Affirmative, Rogue Leader."

"Think you can take 'em out for us? We'll help Slash with the Starwings."

There was a hesitant pause, but Knave Leader acquiesced. "Understood. We'll keep them off your backs."

"Thanks, Knave Leader," Tycho said. First called, fist claimed.

As the E-wings broke formation and dashed for the Imperial vessels, the Rogues fell in behind the A-wings. He could see the Starwings on his sensors now and spotted a few formations against the pale backdrop of Rampart's hull. With three long wings, they looked like miniature Lamba-class shuttles if you ignored the rectangular missile launchers flanking the cockpit on either side.

"Okay, Rogues, select targets," he called.

The A-wings were already releasing their first volley. They broke formation as soon as they fired and Tycho shouted, "Mark!" as soon as the path was clear.

A second wave of proton torpedoes raced after the first. The Starwings didn't scatter. Their forward cannons darted laser blasts ahead, catching more than a few of the approaching projectiles. When the torps got close enough to impact the Starwings' shields absorbed more, but a few unlucky ships had their shields falter under impact, allowing shrapnel or even whole warheads to slip through. Each Starwing had a heavy payload, making each additional explosion especially spectacular.

To Tycho's surprise, the Starwings didn't break formation. They just kept on racing toward Lusankya. The Rogues and the Slashes dropped behind the craft just as some of the I-7 Howlrunners slipped past Knave Squadron. The X-wings and A-wings both had to break pursuit of the Starwings in order to dance with the Howlrunners.

It quickly devolved into a messy, awkward tangle. Inyri and Panat broke formation and Nevil barely managed to cling to Tycho's aft as they tried to shake a pair of Howlrunners. Help came in the form of Hobbie and Alinn Varth, who pummeled both Imperial snubfighters with laserblasts until their burst.

"All Rogues," Tycho called, "After the Starwings! Now!"

The ships were already getting close to firing range of Lusankya, and the super star destroyer's defenses were already overwhelmed with so many droid TIE fighters. Thankfully, Swift and Knave Squadrons were able to clear up the remaining Howlrunners and rushed to help. The Starwings only broke into evasive maneuvers when the A-wings fired off another round of torpedoes.

When the X- and E-wings added their fire, they lit up the space ahead of Lusankya's bow. All those missiles caches going off made for a gorgeous light-show, but it also messed with Tycho's scanners.

"Can we get a mark on the Starwings left?" he called. "Anyone? Does anyone have sensors clear?"

"We've got them, Rogue Leader," Swift Leader reported. "Commencing clean-up now."

As Tycho and his flight races over Lusankya's nose he scanned the battlefield with his eyes and his clearing sensors. The destroyer's anti-fighter batteries were lighting up space all over and TIE/d fighters nimbly tried to avoid so many blasts. Tycho almost felt better when he spotted the distinctive glow of two Starwings' engines dead ahead, racing low against Lusankya's superstructure as they made a straight shot for her command tower.

"One Flight, on me," Tycho called, and without explanation he gunned his engines and dipped low. Anti-fighter flak burst on all sides and he prayed a silent prayer that Lusankya's defensive gunners wouldn't frag him. Through the flashes he still saw the Starwings' engine-flares straight ahead.

"Rogue Leader, I've got a lock on the target," Inyri said.

"Two, Four, are you locked onto the Starwings?" Tycho asked Nevil and Panat. When both pilots clicked affirmative, he said, "Double-shots! Mark!"

Eight crimson-trailed proton torpedoes lanced ahead. The Starwings, so intent on staying close above Lusankya's shields, didn't seem to notice them until seconds before they hit. One tried to juke away; the other burst spectacularly.

Too spectacularly. The debris and flame bounced off Lusankya's shields and flared in Tycho's face. He heard Panat give a yelp as four X-wings raced though the inferno and came out blind.

"Hold steady," Tycho called. "Hold you fighters-"

"I'm hit!" Nevil cried. "Must've been shrapnel-"

"Eject, two! Eject!"

Something flashed to his port side, and he glimpsed the fiery nose of an X-wing smash into Lusankya's shields.

"Did he get out?" Tycho asked frantically.

"I see him," Inyri said. "He ejected."

"I'm picking up droid fighters, incoming!" said Pagat.

Tycho was about to order them to break when he saw that familiar engine-glow, still straight ahead. "Three, four, get the fighters! Keep them from Nevil and call for a pick up!"

Inyri and Pagat clicked affirmative. Tycho hated to leave them in the lurch, and Nevil EV, but that last Starwing was approaching Lusankya's command tower fast. He could see TIE/d fighters ramming themselves into its flickering defensive shields ahead, trying to overload it.

That Starwing, still heavy with payload, might actually be able to punch through.

Tycho gunned his engines and pushed forward until he could drop reticules on the Starwing. Laser-blasts sprang forward and danced on the vessel's aft shields. It didn't pull back; it was too close to the command tower and refused to abort its run.

Tycho sprayed laserfire against its aft shields one more time, then trigger two more torps. They lanced forward. One impacted on the shields, the second stabbed through and detonated the Starwings' payload. Tycho pulled up hard to avoid the fireball and whipped past the edge of the command toward.

Tycho immediately commed Lusankya's bridge. "Is General Antilles there?"

"He's, ah, still negotiating, Rogue Leader."

"Well, tell him he's welcome," Tycho said, and snapped and connection off. Laughing to himself like a giddy idiot, he soared upward to join the rest of the Rogues.

-{}-

Turr Phennir slipped his TIE Defender down the narrow space between Nemesis and Death's Head. His pilots trailed behind him in a long line of ones and twos. Ahead, past the pointed gray bows of both star destroyers, the two big rebel ships were attempting to shield their interdictor.

It needed all the protection it could get. The CC-7700 was a lightly-armed, lightly-armored support craft. The other drag ship the rebels had brought with them, a heavy Mon Cal cruiser, could have held its own better, but Antilles had taken it with him to Orinda. Leaving three ships alone with a super star destroyer was an uncharacteristically ruthless move by Antilles, and he doubted if the crew of the three rebel ships in front of him liked being left dangling like bait on hooks.

As he cleared Nemesis' bow, Phennir checked his scanners. Pellaeon was leaving the battle to the other ships and pulling Reaper as far away from Obreedan as he could. He was clearly vectoring toward Orinda itself and preparing to jump the moment the CC-7700 was either destroyed or dropped its gravity well.

It was a tactically sound decision, but Phennir didn't like being left dangling either.

"All ships," he called, "Form flights. Head straight between the rebel ships and arm torpedoes to attack the drag ship."

"Lead, I'm picking up a heavy fighter screen," Devis reported.

"Punch through it, Red Leader. Don't look back."

"Understood sir."

It would be a hard and painful punch, but every minute they spent trapped over Obreedan was another minute Antilles had to beat Orinda into submission.

The space between the rebel and Imperial ships was aglow with lancing turbolaser fire. The 181st continued its narrow path between the plasma-bursts and cut straight into the enemy fighter screen.

X-wings and A-wings whipped past, splattering laserfire on his forward shields. A few popped out torpedoes and he did his best to pick them off with his lasers, but he didn't turn and didn't stop, not even as a half-dozen of his pilots winked off the sensor screen behind him.

Suddenly it all fell away. The fighter screen was gone at the interdiction frigate loomed ahead of them, vulnerable.

"Leader, we have A-wings in pursuit," Lieutenant Cyrillian reported.

"Gold Lead, take your squadron and hold them off. Everyone else, on me."

Cyrillian clicked her affirmative and spun her squadron around to face the enemy rush. Phennir still didn't slow. The frigate sent out defensive cannon-fire to ward off the TIE Defenders and he jerked his craft back and forth in small, dodging slides, but never took his targeting reticule off the bow of the ship.

"All fighters, mark target and arm torpedoes," Phennir said. "Stand by to fire."

He waited as the ship drew closer, took one breath, two, three.

"Fire!" he called, and torpedoes lanced forward from the wave of TIE Defenders. The frigate's shields absorbed the first wave, and the second, but the third wave of torps from Green Squadron broke through and began tearing up the hull. Phennir and his fighters scattered and pulled away before slamming into the ship, but he pulled his joystick tight against his chest and wheeled around for another pass.

"All fighters," he called, "Targets of opportunity. Bring it down."

His pilots didn't hesitate to comply. Their torpedoes tore through the frigate's shuddering shields, one after another, and tore fiery geysers through its hull. Phennir didn't feel the g-force strain of a gravity well shutting off and, surprised at the frigate's resilience, raced past its bow and spun forward for one more pass at its bridge. In the distance, he saw explosions bursting against the engine-glow of the two rebel cruisers; marks of Gold Squadron's delaying stand. Cyrllian was keeping their backs clean, no matter the attrition to her people.

Phennir completed his turn and charged the interdictor head-on. By now all its shields seemed to have failed and its defensive guns struggled to fire. He dropped his targeting reticule on the light emanating from the command deck and thumbed the trigger.

He pulled away too soon to see it, but he knew his shot flew true. As he jumped over the frigate's back he felt the shudder of a dying interdiction field shake him against his cockpit seat.

Immediately a voice came over his headset: "All vessels, the gravity well is down. Repeat, the gravity well is down. Reaper is outbound for Orinda."

Phennir spun his ship around to face the rebel cruisers. The firefight around them seemed to have died already.

"They're withdrawing fighters," Cyrillian reported.

Phennir could already see the two rebel capital ships turning their bows and changing vectors toward Orinda. Nemesis and Death's Head pulled forward as if to get in a final attack, but the rebel ships kept their shields up until they both winked into hyperspace. A few star-fighters lingered for a second longer before they, too, flashed into nothing.

The same voice as before said, "Death's Head, join Reaper at Orinda. Nemesis, remain here to guard Obreedan."

Phennir didn't bother to ask what his orders were. He didn't need telling. A second later the voice said, "All ships from the 181st fighter wing are to jump to Orinda immediately."

Phennir had already started to warm his hyperdrive engines and form up with the rest of his fighters. The sideshow was over, and they were all eager to get on to the main fight.

-{}-

Any sense of triumph Gilad Pellaeon might have felt as Reaper reverted to realspace over Orinda was immediately quashed by the sight of the one of his star destroyers reduced to fiery slag between two Mon Cal ships. For a second he was afraid Chimaera herself had been destroyed and rushed over the tactical station to find out.

He was relieved to find it was Stormhawk, instead, that had been broken, but it was small relief. Stormhawk and her captain had served loyally under Grand Admiral Thrawn when other ships would not; they'd deserved a better fate than what they'd gotten.

Now, at least, he was finally in a position to enact retribution.

"Captain Arnef," he called, "Begin deploying fighters."

"Yes, Admiral. What targets?"

He looked over the tactical display once more. Chimaera still hung off Rampart's port side, and as yet the rebels hadn't made to attack the pair of destroyers, though the two Dornean gunships sat between them and Lusankya to ward off whatever fighters or bombers Rampart might yet launch. The rebel star destroyer that had fled Obreedan had just arrived and also seemed to be heading toward Rampart.

Now that Stormhawk was down, the two Mon Cal cruisers were directing their attacks on Right to Rule. Pellaeon decided salvaging that vessel was the top priority and said, "Send three squads of Howlrunners and two Schimitar squads to cover Right to Rule. Tell Captain Harbid to help."

"And us, sir?"

He glanced at the viewport, where Lusankya's long narrow profile cut a dark line across the face of Orinda. "Take us in. It's time to enange Antilles."

As Arnef went off to relay orders, Reige appeared beside Pellaeon. She studied the tactical holo for a moment, then asked, "When do you want to call in Rogriss?"

"Not quite yet."

Reige wanted to object; Pellaeon could see it on her face and understand why. With Right to Rule and Stormhawk out of the fighting and Rampart andChimaera walled off, Antilles would be able to throw his own super star destroyer and a half-dozen other capital ships at Reaper, giving him a decisive advantage.

That was, of course, the point.

The general himself clearly realized that. He was already pushing Lusankya into Orinda's outer orbit and turning one broadside to better face the other super star destroyer.

"Admiral Pellaeon," the comm officer called, "Colonel Phennir is requesting permission to engage Lusankya."

"Permission denied," Pellaeon said firmly. "Tell him to direct his attacks on those Dornean gunships. If he can clear them out of the way Rampart and Chimaera have a clear shot at Lusankya."

"Yes, sir."

Phennir would grouse over being denied the glamorous fight, but he'd get over it soon enough.

Reaper and Lusankya drove toward one another from opposite directions. Soon they grew close enough to pass broadsides. Reaper threw her starboard shields to full power to absorb the constant stream of green turbolaser blasts thrown at her. She responded in turn, washing energy across Lusankya's port shields. The other ships in the fight, the starfighters and support craft and heavy cruisers, all cleared the space between the two giant craft. As the Mon Cal cruisers and their little Corellian gunships pulled back to engage Right to Rule and Death's Head, the Dornean cruiser and the new rebel fleet carrier pulled further away from Lusankya and settled above her bow.

Reige said, "Admiral-"

"I see them, Molgarin. I see them."

"That carrier doesn't seem to have emptied its berths yet. They'll be attempting a tactical strike-"

"I know, Molgarin."

"Gilad, if there's a time to-"

"I know." Pellaeon allowed a tight smile beneath his mustache and turned to the communications station. "Comm, send Admiral Rogriss the signal. Tell him to bring his friends."

-{}-

Charnak's bridge had dropped into an astonished silence as her crew watched the space below them glow bright with nineteen kilometers of explosions and turbolaser fire. Captain Kaeori stood at the front viewport, looking as far down as she could from the command deck, watching the two giant star destroyers pummel each other's shields. A'baht was right at her side, and though he did a better job of hiding his amazement than the young human woman, he'd never seen anything like this exchange in his long career, and he knew he'd never forget the sight.

Charnak sat above the fray along with Admiral Bell's Endurance, and through his awe he remembered that if Bell was going to drop her bombers and fighters for a critical strike at Reaper, the time was now. The super star destroyer's command bridge had passed beneath them and would get further away by the minute.

He pulled himself away from the viewport and went over to the comm station, where he requested a link to Endurance. A moment later, Bell's holo-image appeared in front of him.

"Admiral Bell," he said, "You need to deploy your fighters now."

"Just a minute-" Bell said, before static tore up her image. She appeared again a half-second later, saying, "Have approval from Antilles. Moving in now. Hold your position, General."

Before he could say anything, the image died.

A'baht stalked back to the viewport. He could get a better understanding of the fight from the tactical holo but he needed to see this with his own eyes. Endurance was dropping closer, putting herself near the laser-lit gap between Lusankya's bow and Reaper's stern.

"She needs to drop her fighters," Kaeori muttered beside him.

"She wants to give them cover until they're right within striking range."

"Reaper barely has any fighter shield. She should drop them now."

He wanted to scold Kaeori, tell her to trust the admiral, but she was right. Bell was holding on to her fighters for too long.

Suddenly the tactical officer called, "Captain! General! We have incoming!"

"Incoming where?" A'baht asked, but before he got his answer, Kaeori grabbed his arm and spun him back to the viewport.

He followed her pointed finger up to see the long, white, narrow wedge of a star destroyer directly above them. It was far larger than the standard Imperial-class, larger than anything he'd even seen save the ones brawling beneath him right then. Beyond that ship he saw six more smaller wedges in a tight formation, each one swelling with gravity well generators.

The second he processed it all, the big star destroyer opened fire.

"Fall back!" A'baht shouted. "Pull us out! Out!"

The entire deck trembled as Charnak's shields struggled to withstand the rain of turbolaser fire from above. As the cruiser reversed course, A'baht looked back down at Reaper and Lusankya, just in time to see two streams of fire from two different super star destroyers converge on Admiral Bell's carrier.

Endurance didn't stand a chance. Reaper tore a flaming hole in her starboard side while the new star destroyer vaporized her command tower with a wave of concussion missiles.

There was another set of explosions, brighter than before, and Endurance was gone, taking a complete fighter wing with her.

-{}-

It all changed so fast, Tycho Celchu had no idea what to think.

"Oh kark," Pagat was saying over his headset. "Where did that thing come from?"

"What is that, Lead?" asked Gavin. "It's not as big as Reaper, but..."

Tycho scoured his memory even as he pulled his X-wing away from the long, gray, hump-backed star destroyer. "Bellator-class, I think."

"Where did Pellaeon get it? Did we know about this. Tycho?"

"I don't think so." Calling this a critical intelligence failure was putting it midly. It had already become a fatally catastrophic one.

"Those drag ships just brought their grav wells online," Hobbie reported. "We're trapped."

The Rogues were in X-wings; they could run to the edge of the grav well and probably make it. Right now those six cruisers were still clumped together above the big Bellator-class ship, and until they spread out their interdiction fields weren't much bigger than what a single ship produced. If the ships had time to spread out, though, their overlapping fields could conceivable raise a drag field over half the system.

The Rogues weren't trapped, not yet. Wedge was trapped. Reaper was still blasting his broadside and the new destroyer was dropping in from above with all guns blazing. Endurance had been vaporized in an instant. Charnak had barely managed to slip away without being cut to pieces. Lusankya had no place to run.

But even as he thought it, Wedge's massive super star destroyer began to pivot. To his shock, it spun its nose toward Reaper's aft. Its engines strained as it dove beneath the vessel's blazing red thrusters, popping laser blasts upward as it went.

"Oh, Wedge," Tycho gasped, "That's a star destroyer, not a kriffing X-wing."

But as mad as the maneuver was, it was the only one Wedge had left. But cutting close beneath Reaper's hull, he managed to interpose Pellaeon's flagship between himself and the new vessels. Using Reaper as a shield was a way to stall for time, but they'd need a lot more to run to the edge of the interdiction field. The Bellator-class struggled to maneuver around the wreckage of Endurance while the interdictors them-selves retained their tight formation high above. The gravitational pull of all those generators would suck in what was left of Admiral Bell's ship and could potentially rip apart their hulls.

"Tycho, what do we do?" Gavin's voice was desperate, pleading. He sounded so young again.

Tycho didn't know. He didn't even bother to try calling Wedge- the man was barely holding his ship together now. He rolled his X-wing away from the star destroyers to get a better look, and the Rogues followed. He spotted the Mon Cal cruiser Poesy creep toward the interdictors while Mon Alora, Viridian, Cerulean, and a host of fighters tried to hold back one of the Impstars that had arrived with Reaper. Tycho didn't know what one Mon Cal ship could do against six other ships, but tackling the interdictors was the only way any of them would get out alive.

"Okay, Rogues, let's go tackle those drag ships," he said, and pitched his fighter into a steep upward curve that would keep him well clear of the second super star destroyer.

"Tackle them how?" Hobbie asked. "There's six of them. What are we gonna use?"

Prayer, Tycho thought. It was all they had.

-{}-

Turr Phennir rolled his TIE Defender away from the rebel star destroyer and spun it to face the conflagration in Orinda's outer orbit. Pellaeon's plan had gone off, but Antilles had reacted with expected ingenuity. By slipping beneath Reaper, he'd blocked himself away from Dominion's attacks, narrowing the fight to another one-on-one slugfest between super star destroyers. Seven rebel capital ships were making a desperate strike at the interdictors but Captain Harbid was taking Death's Head to engage them.

"Colonel," Lieutenant Belkaron said, "I'm picking up lots of snubfighters, headed for Death's Head and the drag ships."

"What kind?"

"Looks like… Some A-wings and E-wings. X-wings in the lead."

"Rogue Squadron," Devis said. "It has to be."

It wasn't a leap in logic; only the Rogues would be bold enough to charge six interdictor cruisers and one full star destroyer. In this case, though, desperation was as much motivation as anything. Fighting wouldn't break them out of Pellaeon's trap, but it would give the rebels the illusion of hope until Reaper and Dominion could flank Lusankya on either side and crush it between them.

"After them," Phennir called, and pulled his fighter into a steep climb.

-{}-

A'baht leaned close over the communications console, straining to hear Captain Carson's words above the uncharacteristic clamor on Charnak's bridge.

"We'll reach your position in five minutes," Carson's blue holo-image was saying. "Your gunships too."

"Lusankya is barely holding her own against Reaper," A'baht said. "Poesy and the other support ships are attacking the interdictors, but I don't know what good it will do."

"None of us are going anywhere with the drag field up," Carson reminded him. "We have to do some-thing."

"General," Captain Kaeori said, suddenly at this side, "The other big destroyer is on the move."

A'baht braced himself. "Where?"

"She's pulling away from Reaper, toward the drag ships."

Carson clearly overheard. "She's going after Poesy," he said.

A'baht didn't have to look out the viewport or at a tactical holo to know his ship's position. "We can intercept before it gets there. Together, we can at least slow it down."

Even through the flickering holo, he could see the grim severity settle on Carson's face. "Best get to it, then. Yakez, out."

The holo winked out. A'baht looked beside him at Kaeori.

"We won't last long against that super star destroyer," she said.

"We won't last long no matter what we do, but if they take us down, I want them to remember us. I want to make them hurt."

Kaeori nodded. Giving hurt was the only reason she had left.

As she spun off to relay orders, A'baht dared look out the forward viewport. They begun to spin toward the planet, toward the hump-backed gray dagger, seven kilometers long and bristling with weapons.

No, even with Carson and the two gunships, they wouldn't last long. Charnak lurched forward anyway. Thirty seconds later, her gun barrels opened and delivered the first volley of hurt.

-{}-

As Turr Phennir soared toward the six interdictors, still hunched in a tight diamond formation at the rebel cruiser and gunships nipped at them from all sides, a half-familiar voice crackled in his ear.

"Colonel Phennir," it said, "This is Dominion."

"I heard you, Admiral."

If Rogriss himself was calling, something had gone wrong. As he glanced at his scanners, Rogriss said, "The rebels have caught us in a pincer. We'll be delayed getting to your position."

"Understood, sir. We'll clear out as many rebels as we can until you get here."

"Thank you, Colonel.

"You can depend on us, sir."

"Good. Dominion, out."

Phennir turned his craft to one side, good enough to get a good sideways look out his viewport. Dominion's long wedge was caught in a pincer attack, just as Rogriss had said: the heavy Dornean cruiser off the starboard bow, the captured star destroyer on the port side, with two more gunships making strafing runs.

None of that was enough to hold Dominion for long. As he spun his ship back toward his target, it was clear the rebels intended to go down fighting fierce. They'd encircled the interdictors, pushing them tighter together. The big Mon Cal cruiser had swung to deliver heavy missile barrages on one interdictor even as Death's Head plunged toward her other side. It had no place to run and no room to fight.

The rebel fighters, though, were swarming around the other drag ships. He spotted the squadron of X-wings flying cover for the skinny Mon Cal frigate and knew what to do.

He ordered, "Gold Squad, Green Squad, help Death's Head pop that cruiser. Red and Blue Squads, with me. We're going to break that frigate."

His squad leaders clicked affirmative. Two dozen TIE Defenders kicked ahead toward the frigate, which was already taking fire from the two interdictors it had placed itself within firing range of. The long MC30 model packed a good punch for a ship its size, but the only reason it had lasted as long as it had against two drag ships was the fighters flying interference for it.

As the frigate swelled in his viewport, Phennir called, "Blue Squad, begin strafing runs on the frigate. Red Squad, with me. We're taking on the X-wings."

"Yes, sir," Devis said eagerly.

The X-wings saw them coming and pulled back from their strafing runs on the interdictors. Proton torpedoes arced toward them but the Defenders held close formation, snapping off a hail of laser blasts that turned most of the missiles into fiery flowerbursts.

The remaining few warheads ripped through the shrapnel. Phennir and Red Squad broke apart, scattered. Phennir's sensors pinged alarm as one warhead locked onto his exhaust trail. He pulled his fighter into a quick roll, then dove fast toward the frigate. His straight shot allowed the torp to catch up to him faster, and right when it was about to hit he dove fast around the frigate's narrow midsection. The torp attempted to shift vectors and catch his flank bit instead it slammed into the frigate's shields and exploded.

"Nice flying, boss," Devis said as his flight settled next to Phennir's ship. He could sound like a giddy child sometimes.

"Indeed," Phennir muttered. He checked his scanners: the Rogues had broken into three fights and were engaging Red Squad. He saw three in the lead flight and was dead certain the that one belonged to Tycho Celchu.

"On me, Lieutenant," he called, and flew to intercept Celchu's flight.

The Rogue pilots saw him coming. Instead of turning their tails to fleet they spun their noses to face him and fired off a spray of red quad-laser blasts that lit up his shields, blinding him.

"I'm hit!" he heard Devis cry.

"Full forward fire!" Phennir shouted. "Now!"

His ship shuddered as he squeezed the firing trigger and shot blindly into space ahead. The shield-scatter cleared just in time to see the four X-wings peal and break formation.

"I lost one stabilizer," Devis said. "I- damn it!"

Phennir and the other pilots broke formation to chase the X-wings, but Devis' ship shot forward on a straight line toward the green-blue glow of Orinda.

"I can't maneuver!" Devis shouted. "Engines are frelled."

"Eject, Red Leader!" Phennir snapped. "Get out now!"

He saw a puff of vapor as Devis' ball cockpit detached from the rest of his spiralling fighter. Then red laser-blasts scattered on his shields and blinded him again.

"Red Flight, on me," he called. The fight was far from over.

-{}-

It was damned hard to keep Mon Alora's back clean when the damned 181st kept wanted to dogfight.

"Lead, they're starting to overwhelm Alora's shields," Gavin called.

Tycho spun toward the frigate just in time to see a group of TIE Defenders drop their torps from close-range. The first few projectiles exploded on Mon Alora's shields, but a few more slipped through the flickering energy fields and impacted on the aft quarter of the hull. Tycho winced as he saw her blue thrusters flicker for a moment. This close to the interdictors, she was liable to get pulled in by one if her engines failed.

Tycho flicked his comlink to call Mon Alora, but before he could say anything, the four remaining TIE Defenders from the flight that had attacked him fell on his tail again.

"These guys don't give up!" he hissed.

Instead of Pagat or Inyri, a gravelly Mon Cal voice replied, "Say again, Rogue Leader?"

Tycho dipped his X-wing toward the clump of anti-starfighter turrets on Mon Alora's back. "I'm flying toward you now! Can you clear these bandits off me?"

After a pause, the Mon Cal said, "We see it, Rouge Leader. Pull back in four-point-three seconds."

Tycho had no idea how to count three-tenths of a second, but he tried. Those 181st pilots were fiercely intent, even as he dove straight for Mon Alora's shields.

The turrets opened fire a split-second before he pulled the joystick back. Their red plasma bolts nearly fried his aft shields as they whipped under his hull and into the faces of the attacking TIE pilots. One Defender exploded outright. The other broke formation and scatted as Mon Alora kept peppering their shields with more anti-starfighter fire.

Elation was short-lived. Another group of TIE Defenders dropped their torps just as Tycho was pulling away. He saw the flash behind him and said, "Mon Alora, what's your status?"

"Engines… damaged, Rogue Leader."

"Reverse course now, or you'll get pulled in by a drag ship!"

"Attempting… stand by..."

Tycho wheeled around to face the frigate's aft. One engine was already dark. The others were bright but flcikering as they strained to reverse course. At the far end of the ship, the nearest interdictor was peppering Mon Alora's nose with turbolaser fire and threatening to break through its shields.

"Lead," Hobbie said, "Yakez andCharnak are damaged. The two gunships are gone. That other super star destroyer is moving forward."

Tycho swore. The 181st was regrouping and the SSD's fighters would reach them in minutes. He checked his scanners and saw that Poesy's shields were on the brink of collapse as she was squeezed on both sides.

He didn't even want to see how Lusankya was holding up.

Then that gravelly Mon Cal voice said in his ear, "Rogue Squadron, fall back. Repeat, clear the area!"

He didn't understand. Without the fighter screen the frigate was dead. "Mon Alora, repeat that."

"Get back." Static distorted the voice. He saw the ship lurch forward to the closest interdictor.

"What are you doing, Mon Alora?"

"Debris might…. Force drag ships… field."

"Tycho," Gavin called, "She's going to ram!"

Tycho pulled away as fast as he could. The other Rogues followed and, after the delayed realization, the 181st pulled back too. Tycho pulled his X-wing into a broad loop until he had enough range of vision to see Mon Alora's last moments.

Rather than plunge head-on into the heart of the drag ship, the frigate plowed into its nose. The collision seemed intent on providing maximum debris scatter. Mon Alora's struggling stern swung past the point where both ships collided, even as explosions tore their way to the engine section. When the reactors blew, the ship's twisted wreckage spun toward the open space in the middle of the interdictor formation.

As for the drag ship itself, for a moment it seemed like its four round gravity well projectors would miraculously survive the explosion. Then its forward missile magazines blew, chewing up the superstructure and starting a chain reaction that ripped the ship in two right down the middle.

The force of Mon Alora's impact threw the remains of the interdictor into the middle of the formation, where the remaining five ships' artificial gravity started sucking in massive pieces of debris.

Interdictors had many pinpoint-accurate guns for the express purpose of shooting down dangerous battle-flotsam drawn into their gravity wells. The broken hulls of two large capital ships, however, was too much, even as chunks of debris were pulled in five directions at once. One drag ship was overwhelmed as the command tower of its sister ship slammed into its shields and tore through them. Shrapnel fell like deadly rain and speared dozens of holes through its hull.

The other four ships had no choice. To avoid bringing death upon themselves, all four of them shut down their gravity well projectors at once.

Tycho didn't need to give the order, but he gave it anyway: "All Rogues, fall back, fall back! Jump out as soon as you're clear! Go go go!"

-{}-

As Lusankya's deck rumbled under one barrage after another, Cha Niathal almost resigned herself to death. It was something she hadn't been able to do even two years ago, when those damned World Devastators fell from the skies and devoured her home city.

She tried to tell herself that at least now she was fighting them. She had done everything she could to harm them. There was a moral victory, at least.

But in the end, the Imperials had outsmarted and outfought them at Orinda, and death on Lusankya, under a hail of Reaper's turbolaser fire, would only be humiliation.

She wanted to weep and shout at once. She was about ready to slam her webbed fists into the console until they bled when the entire ship shuddered, a different kind of shudder, almost like the one they'd felt when Pellaeon had sprung his trap.

She should have known what it was, but it took a moment for her reluctant mind to process her sudden salvation.

Above her head, someone shouted it clearly: "That drag field's down!"

"Helm, get us out of here!" Antilles said. There was no mistaking the panic in his voice. Panic, from Wedge Antilles, the great hero. Niathal felt strangely relieved by that.

The ship shuddered as its engines pushed it away from Orinda. Niathal looked to the gunnery lieutenant and asked, "How close are we to the edge of Orinda's gravwell?"

"Not close enough," her superior grimaced as another volley from Reaper shook the ship.

To die now, so close to miraculous escape, would be cruelest of all. Niathal hated being stuck here in the crew pit, blind and helpless even as she controlled the guns of the greatest warship in the galaxy. She had to be stronger than that; she had to be in control.

She had to at least know what the devil was going on.

Niathal clambered to the ladder at the end the crew pit. Her section chief called after her but she barely noticed. She pulled herself up the ladder with shaking hands. The ship lurched when she got on top and she half-sprawled across the deck. She pushed herself upright, blinked her big eyes, looked around.

Nobody was looking at her. They all stared ahead at the broad field of stars, broken intermittently by flashes from Reaper's turbolasers.

A humming sound seemed to rise from the heart of the ship.

Niathal breathed in deep.

Lusankya shuddered one more time, then star-points because beautiful straight lines and they plunged into the blessed infinity of hyperspace.

-{}-

After the remaining New Republic forces fell back to Qiilura, they began the long, ugly task of patching up their battle damage and shifting through their grief. Tycho was glad that Kral Nevil, at least, had been recovered from the fray over Orinda, and the first thing he did after getting out of his X-wing was go to the medical wing to see the Quarren floating in a bacta tank. According to the medic, Nevil wouldn't be there long. His damage was relatively minor and there was a long queue of wounded who needed a turn.

After that, Tycho went to find Wedge.

He talked went to the bridge and talked to the first officer, who directed him to the quartermaster, who directed him, finally, to Wedge's personal quarters. When he got there Tycho almost didn't ring the doorbell; he knew his friend well enough to image the kind of grief he must be in, and wasn't sure if he should intrude.

But if Wedge wanted him to leave, Wedge would say so, and Tycho would leave. And if Wedge wanted him to stay, he would do that too.

When he rang the bell, he was beckoned in. He found Wedge sitting at the table in his cabin's kitchen, staring at an unopened bottle of Corellian brandy.

Tycho took the seat opposite him and asked softly, "How are you holding up?"

"How do you think?" Wedge didn't look up at him.

After a long and pregnant pause, Tycho asked, "Have you talked to fleet command yet?"

Wedge nodded slightly. "We'll be staying at Qiilura until..."

He trailed off. Tycho ventured, "Until they decide what's next?"

"I never wanted this command," Wedge said softly. "I never wanted… any of this. I just wanted to fly an X-wing. That's it. Nothing else. It's so much simpler. You're not responsible for all those people..."

Tycho wanted to tell Wedge it wasn't his fault. He knew Wedge wouldn't believe him. He wasn't even entirely sure if it was true, though he was ashamed to think that.

"We all underestimated Pellaeon," Tycho said. "And we had no idea he had another super star destroyer. NRI didn't pick up a clue. We were all flying into this blind. After this, we're just going to have to step back and regroup. Think long and hard about what we want to do with the war, our careers, everything..."

"Everything," Wedge echoed. Impossible as it seemed, his expression got even more grim.

Tycho knew what he was thinking. "Have you tried calling Qwi yet?"

He shook his head. "No. I have no idea what I can tell her. This… I can't talk about this with Qwi, Tycho. It's… not her world. She can't understand this."

Tycho didn't say anything. He had nothing to correct, nothing to add.

Wedge reached out to touch the neck of the brandy bottle. He didn't look like he had the energy to even lift it. After staring into its amber glass for what seemed like forever, his grip tightened.

Just when Tycho thought he was going to push off the cap, he shoved it hard across the table. It nearly fell into Tycho's arms.

"Give me a warning next time, will you? I almost dropped it."

Wedge didn't seem to care. "It's not going to help."

That was true too. Tycho put the bottle on the table, right in front of him, and didn't try to open it.

They'd been through disasters before. Alderaan, Hoth, Ciutric, the battles against Thrawn and the Emperor's clone. They both knew that nothing could help, not really, except time.

He prayed they'd have enough of it.

-{}-

Gilad Pellaeon stood in his personal quarters on Reaper, looking into the holographic face of Admiral Teren Rogriss. The projector here was much better than the one on the bridge. He could see the tired slackness in Rogriss' face, the empty look in his eyes. He wondered if the other admiral saw the same in him.

"We should be able to salvage the damaged interdictor," Rogriss was saying. "However, it's going to take some time to repair."

"I understand that," Pellaeon said. "I'll see that it's done."

"Thank you, sir."

"You should know I received a message from the Moff Council less than an hour ago."

"Really? I'm sure they were thrilled." Rogriss sounded anything but.

"They are, in fact. They wanted me relay congratulations to you personally. They give you a good deal of credit for turning the battle."

"I suppose that means they'll want to launch the offensive further?"

"It's possible, though right now they're also looking to expand Imperial political influence along the border regions at places like Adumar."

Pellaeon was glad the Moffs were showing some similitude of good sense by not pressing for some full-scale invasion of Republic space that would critically overextend Imperial resources. He wondered how long it would last.

Rogriss squared his shoulders and said, "Admiral, I want to personally apologize for allowing Lusankya to escape."

Pellaeon blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. "It's not your fault, Admiral."

"Sir, I was in charge of deployment for the interdictor cruisers. I should have had them spread out sooner, before the rebels could pin them down together."

"Dominion was in a fierce fighter herself. No one is holding you accountable."

After a second, Rogriss nodded. "It's good of you to say that, sir."

For a moment they stared at each other through the transmission's electric blur. Pellaeon tried to remem-ber the last time a high Imperial commander had volunteered to take responsibility for a misfortune instead of shoving it off on someone else. He was sure there'd been other times, but he couldn't remember any at the moment. They'd been too long ago.

Before either of them could say anything, a red light blinked at the bottom of Pellaeon's holo-projector. He said, "I'm sorry, Admiral, but it seems I have another call."

"Of course, sir. I need to go oversee post-battle checks on Dominion."

"Thank you, Admiral."

Rogriss blinked, like he couldn't figure out what for. There were too many things for Pellaeon to list, and instead of waiting he snapped a silent salute. Rogriss returned it, then switched his holo off.

Pellaeon's projector automatically switched to the incoming cal. He'd barely lowered his hand to his side before he was met by a face he hadn't seen in well over a year and frankly never expected to see again.

The smile on Daala's face was honest and warm as she said, "I heard congratulations are in order, Admiral Pellaeon."

"Natasi." He couldn't help but smile. "It's good to see you. Where are you-"

"Don't bother tracing the call." Daala waved a hand. "I just wanted to talk to you, Gil. I'm not trying to wedge myself back into power. You've handled it better than I ever did."

"You were the one who pulled what's left of the Empire together again. I have you to thank for that."

And, he thought, for not gassing him as she had Harrsk, Delvardus, Teradoc, and the rest of the bickering warlords in the Deep Core. It was strange, being so glad to see someone you knew was so ruthless and deadly, but it was also comforting to know he was on Daala's good side.

"Someone needed to clear out the garbage," she shrugged easily. "However, you know how to keep a super star destroyer, which automatically makes you better fit for command than me."

"Thank you," he said. "I've already gotten praise from the Moffs."

Her face twisted in contempt. He laughed against himself and added, "They're ebullient, of course, but I tried to temper their enthusiasm."

"Don't act humble, Gil. You do it too often. This was a major victory, and it's your victory."

"Perhaps, but not as big as they're making it out. We still lost two capital ships. The rebels lost four, but they still escaped with most of their fleet."

"I don't think they'll try to crawl up the Entralla Route again."

"No, but I doubt we've seen Lusankya for the last time."

Daala hummed agreement. "Well, it's a good thing you have three super star destroyers to their one."

Pellaeon's jaw dropped. "I thought you were retired."

"I am." Her smile got smug. "That doesn't mean I don't hear things."

"Very classified things."

"Oh, don't worry, Gil, I'm not going to spill your secrets to the rebels."

"Trust me, I wasn't worried about that. Just..."

"Operational security. I understand. Trust me, I would never do anything to hurt you. You're the last hope the Empire has to stay alive."

He wanted to object, but he heard the sincerity in her voice and saw the honest affection in her eyes. It was a little too honest. He shifted, looked aside.

"How's Liegeus?" he asked.

"He's well. We're still together."

"I'm happy for you. Finding a family again, after all you've been through."

"I was surprised myself," she admitted, "But the universe is full of surprises."

She had no idea, not idea at all. "Thank you for calling, Natasi."

"You're welcome." She smiled again. "I'll see you around, Gil."

And with that, the holo winked out.

Pellaeon stared into the darkness of his room, listened to the silence. After the long and stressful battle, he should have wanted nothing more than sleep, but he knew he couldn't not until he faced what needed to be faced.

He left his quarters and made his way through turbolifts and hallways to the medical center. Passing officers saluted him like he was a hero but he walked like a man on the way to an execution.

Once he entered the medical wing, the chief doctor led him to the bed occupied by Mynar Devis.

He was surprised to see the man sitting upright, with a datapad in his hands. His short black curls were wet against his scalp and his light brown skin smooth and damp from a recent dip in a bacta tank. When he'd heard that Devis had been forced to eject from his TIE Defender over Orinda he'd feared the worst kinds of injuries: hypothermia, damage to the lungs, broken limbs. Devis looked like he'd be back flying in a day. Pellaeon didn't know if that was a comfort or not.

He didn't say anything; couldn't say anything. He just stood to the side, examining that face, picking out the shape of Hallena's eyes and the short jut of her chin, until Devis noticed he was there.

"Can I help-" the man started, then those eyes went wide, big and white against dark skin, just like Hallena's. He dropped his datapad into his lap and snapped a salute. "Admiral Pellaeon, sir! I had no idea you were coming! It's an honor!"

Pellaeon forced himself to say, "At ease, Lieutenant Devis." The words rattled in his throat.

"I had no idea you were coming," Devis repeated. "I, ah, thank you, sir. Thank you very much. I don't deserve this."

"You performed your duty bravely, Lieutenant. Colonel Phennir's said great things about you."

Devis blinked, like that was hard to believe. "I'm glad to hear that, sir."

"Please, no need to, ah..." Pellaeon trailed off. He had no idea what to say, what to ask. Devis just stared at him with Hallena's eyes, the surprise and joy on his face gradually fading to confusion.

He found a string of thought of grabbed it. "I wanted to ask after your family, Lieutenant. Is there anyone who need to be notified that you were injured? A parent, perhaps?"

"Ah, no, sir." Devis shook his head. "My parents are dead."

"Your mother too?" Pellaeon wasn't surprised. He'd been trying to put Hallena out of his mind for thirty years but it hurt more than he'd expected it to.

Devis' wet brow wrinkled in confusion. "Yes, sir."

"May I, ah… ask how she died?"

"It was a speeder accident, sir. I was a teenager at the time."

A speeder accident. How mundane for a woman like Hallena, how disappointing. All that drive and intelligence and zeal, cut short by a damned speeder accident. Given her anti-Imperial feelings, he'd half-assumed she been dead for years, but she'd deserved something better, more appropriate, than that.

"My father died before I was born," Devis continued. "My mother said he was an officer in the Republic Navy. I always wanted to follow in his footsteps."

Something welled deep in Pellaeon's throat. He nodded because he didn't trust himself to speak.

"It's been an honor to serve you, sir," Devis said. "I'm glad I could tell you in person."

He looked into those eyes, Hallena's eyes vivid and real again after thirty long years, and he felt something wet in his own. He managed to say, "Thank you for your service," without choking, then turned on his heel and walked out of the medical ward.

When he stepped into the empty hallway the whole ship seemed to spin around him. He steadied himself with one hand against the bulkhead and brushed his eyes with the other. He pulled them away and saw water glisten in the creases of his calloused old hands. He couldn't remember the last time anything had brought him close to tears. Not Thrawn dying, not Endor, but this did it.

He heard footsteps down the hall and stood up straight. He blinked the last moisture from his eyes and walked on straight ahead: long steps and squared shoulders. The passing troops saluted him.

He nodded but didn't break his stride because he knew as he passed they would slow and stare at his back, marveling not at the man but the hero, the symbol, the last hope. He tried to be what they needed: for their sake, and his own.