The fleet hung in space above the disc of ice and meteor particles, so close that to cursory scans and the naked eye their ships were just stray chunks of space material orbiting the silver-and-white gas giant known to their charts simply as VB-196a. From the viewport on bridge of the star destroyer Phoenix, it felt like you were standing in the middle of a broad plane of ice that curved gently into the distance, while the planet's equally cold glow emanated from the left side.
To Miranda Fardreamer, the scene seemed colder and more lonely than a blank field of stars. She wished they'd move, but of course, nobody cared what she thought.
She was currently assigned a Brevet Ensign rank in the tactical division, a replacement for an officer killed during the recent three-way brawl in the red nebula. Miranda was barely nineteen and most of the officers on the bridge were older than her. Her unit commander was a wrinkled, gray-faced little Bimm who, she gathered, had lost his family during the Yuuzhan Vong invasion of his homeworld and had joined Bren Aref'ja's True Victory fleet because he had nothing else to work toward save revenge. He looked more tired than driven, though. Everybody did nowadays.
Miranda understood perfectly. In the beginning, she'd been contacted by a black-furred Bothan as she worked tables at a casino on Fondor and ran courier for black-market goods on the side. The black-furred Bothan had wanted information on decommissioned ships, and since he paid well, she obliged without thought. That Bothan had passed her on to another one for a job, this one with grizzly brown fur, who'd taken her from Fondor to Gyndine, then to Kothlis, and finally to an uninhabited system in Bothan Space where Bren Aref'ja had assembled a fleet of renegade ships and crew with the intent on exterminating the Yuuzhan Vong in their hiding space in the Unknown Regions.
For Miranda, who'd lost one parent to the Yuuzhan Vong and another to the infamous mad Jedi Jacen Solo, revenge sounded like a pretty good idea. Revenge on the Vong, revenge on the Jedi, revenge on the whole wretched system of a galaxy that had turned her life progressively to poodoo since just after she was born. Plus, it beat waiting tables and dealing with lecherous low-lives on Fondor.
When she started running missions for True Victory, as Aref'ja called it, she'd known she was indulging unhealthy anger, and that it might get her hurt or killed. To her own mild surprise, she hadn't cared. Being orphaned, having to survive by herself in the underbelly of a great manufacturing world, she'd learned pragmatism. She's learned ruthlessness. She'd learned how to stifle her anger at the universe so she could get on with her day.
But, it seemed, she hadn't learned how to get rid of it.
So she'd done missions for True Victory. She'd even killed a man for it. She'd fought Jedi, scrambled across the sun-scorched wastes of her dead father's homeworld, and journeyed out into the unknown depths of space and done battle with upright Alliance forces, riotous Mandalorians, and devilish Yuuzhan Vong. Stolen a lightsaber too, which she was a little proud of, even though all she did was keep it in a drawer in her quarters.
She tried to think of that lightsaber now, as she stood in in front of Bren Aref'ja in the admiral's personal salon just aft of the bridge. She tried to draw some confidence from it.
Aref'ja sat back in his chair, looking up at the teenage human standing straight before him. He looked distracted, even as he listened to her give her report from the time she'd spent as his envoy and agent aboard Daala's star destroyer.
"Now that the Mandalorians are gone," she said, "It leaves a big hole in Daala's capabilities. She still has some Imperial commando teams, but if she plans on an infantry or special op, she's lost her best people."
"What kind of damage did the Mandos do to Chimaera on the way out?" Aref'ja asked. He sounded very tired.
"I'm not exactly sure," Miranda admitted. "She tried to keep me from seeing the details, but she lost her captain."
"And replaced him with a defector from Jagged Fel's task force. I'm aware of that. What else?"
"From what I would guess, sir, I'd say she's down at least one squadron of TIEs, an assault shuttle, and at least a dozen of her own commandos."
"Those Mandalorians are tough beings."
"And now they're our enemy," Miranda said under her breath. She didn't relish the thought of facing Fett's people again in battle.
Aref'ja, though, picked up his head and looked at her with narrowed eyes. Afraid she'd misspoke, but unsure how, Miranda opened her mouth to apologize, but Aref'ja cut her off with the wave of a paw.
"It's very likely," he said, "That Fel convinced Boba Fett that his Chiss allies could cook up a cure for Lecersen's nanovirus."
"I see, sir." It explained Fett's sudden baffling switch in loyalties.
Aref'ja sighed. "Fett is not the type to stick around on good faith. I imagine he's taken his people to Chiss space. That eliminates two potential problems.
"Two, sir?"
"Between losing the Mandalorians and losing Valor, she's lost her upper hand in this… partnership." Aref'ja bore his fangs in a predatory Bothan smile, but somehow it seemed forced and tired. "It's why you're back here after all."
Miranda just nodded.
Aref'ja leaned forward. "Let me ask you one more thing, Ensign. What did you make of Daala's crew, their loyalties? Are they driven by personal fealty to Daala? Some Imperial ideal? Or do they just want revenge on the Vong?"
Miranda had to think about that. Chimaera's crew hadn't been especially willing to make small talk with Aref'ja's spies, but Miranda had been able to wrestle conversations from a few of them, mostly young males.
"I think it's a mix, sir. They all hate the Vong, of course. The older ones are more loyal to the old Empire. The younger ones just want payback."
"And how many of the crew are, as you say, younger? How many older?"
Those were lose terms; on Phoenix itself, maybe sixty percent had fought the Yuuzhan Vong themselves; the other forty included those like Miranda, who'd lost others through them. Even among those who had, ages ranged widely; Captains Vatrim and Auburn were old warhorses who'd battled the Empire, while Phoenix's new Captain Welby was a full generation younger.
"Do you mean how many fought the Vong themselves, sir? "At least on Chimaera, I'd say maybe seventy percent looked old enough to fight the Vong. I can't speak to the other ships."
"I understand Chimaera's new captain is a non-human female. How does Daala's crew feel about that?"
"I think a lot of them are… surprised. But I don't think anyone's going to mutiny, if that's what you're asking."
"Well, it does no harm to hope." He said without humor. "All right, Ensign. That is all for now. You may report back to Captain Welby."
Just hearing the name of Phoenix's new commanding officer made Miranda's breath catch, because just the thought of the new captain made her think of the old captain, Elscol Loro, crumpling in front of a firing squad.
Captain Loro had been a hard woman, made bitter and angry by a lifetime of loss. Miranda had fought a lot in common with the old crone. Both placed the weight of their suffering on the shoulders of the Yuuzhan Vong, and fought against them because they had nothing better to do. Miranda had thought that Loro understood that similarity. Yet in the end Loro had helped Phoenix's prize prisoners escape, and fatally damaged one of their own ships in the process.
She'd gone out with a smile.
Miranda didn't blame Aref'ja for it. At least, not logically. Loro had killed her own allies and let a crucial asset escape. For that, the only real punishment was death. So she didn't blame Aref'ja; she wondered if he did.
She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice as she said, "Sir, if you need me for anything else, any other duty, I'm eager to help."
She tried not to feel foolish as the Bothan looked her over. She'd joined this fleet because she wanted to do something, to be worth something; even though she'd hated going over to Chimaera, she'd consoled herself with the thought that this might win her some redemption in Aref'ja's eyes after her failure on Tatooine.
But she wasn't getting forgiveness today. The admiral simply nodded and said, "Dismissed, Ensign."
Miranda turned and marched out the command salon. She checked in with Floran Welby, a pale-haired woman barely into middle age, then went down into the crew pit and tried to busy herself with work.
It didn't work, and when Aref'ja walked out onto the bridge she couldn't help but watch him out of the corner of her eye. As he talked quietly with Welby, his shoulders were hunched and he avoided the gaze of his crew, as if he was ashamed of everything that had happened the day before: botched battle, escape, execution, all of it.
Before the escape, Miranda had spent a lot of time talking with one of the prisoners. She hadn't been too much older than Miranda, but she'd seemed younger. Softer, at least. Her parents weren't only alive, they were heroes. Myri Antilles had possessed friends, a job, a purpose. Miranda hated her for her softness and she envied her for it too.
She was starting to envy Antilles and Loro both for escaping while they could. Miranda had the feeling things were going to get a lot worse pretty soon.
As if to confirm the feeling in her gut, the communications lieutenant raised her voice to tell Aref'ja, "Admiral, we've got a communication from Chimera. Admiral Daala requests that you report to your ready room to receive a private encrypted transmission."
"She does, does she?" Aref'ja stopped pacing. One ear twitched. "Very well. Put the line through."
"Yes, sir."
Head still low, shoulders still hunched, Aref'ja walked down the aisle and off the bridge. Every crewman watched him, and they all tried to pretend they didn't.
Miranda heard the crewman next to her, a leather-faced Ishi Tib, mutter, "Gotta run when the master calls."
"Do you have something important to say, ensign?" their lieutenant said. The old Bimm was tiny but could sound imperious when she wanted.
"No, ma'am," the Ishi Tib shook his head.
"I didn't think so," the lieutenant sniffed. "Back to work."
"Yes ma'am."
The Bimm turned back to her console. Miranda glanced up to see Captain Welby staring down at them, lips tight and forehead wrinkled in a frow. Miranda felt scolded, even though she hadn't done anything wrong, and went back to monitoring her station.
Her scanners showed the entire fleet laid out line a trail of bread-crumbs, orbiting above the planet's icy disc. Their Imperial allies were outnumbered and outgunned by at least two-to-one, but despite Aref'ja's recent words, it looked like Daala was still calling the shots. Maybe Aref'ja was afraid of offending her and losing the alliance, but right now Miranda thought it made him look weak, and she clearly wasn't alone.
But of course, what did it matter what Miranda Fardeamer thought? It hadn't mattered to anyone in the universe before, and it wouldn't matter to anyone again.
Anyone except, maybe, Myri Antilles and Elscol Loro, but Miranda didn't expect to see either of them again.
Not before she was dead, anyway.
The way things were going, she might not have long to wait.
-{}-
Fy'lyor now stood on the bridge of legendary Chimaera as her captain. Growing up as a non-human in the Empire, driven to succeed in its navy against all prejudices, commanding the great Thrawn's flagship was something she'd fantasized about, yearned for, but never believed could happen. Now it had happened, and she had no idea what to think. The situation was beyond surreal.
Equally unbelievable was the woman she now followed off the bridge and in to the private command salon. Admiral Daala had been almost as legendary as Thrawn when she'd been growing up. For a long time most people assumed she was dead. In many ways she was completely unlike the Chiss Grand Admiral. Whereas Thrawn was careful and plotting, Daala fought like a cornered nexu. Her unpredictability led to widely varied battle results, but she could always be counted on for the dramatic strike, the unexpected counter. One legendary admiral was an alien, the other was a woman, but since Fy'lyor was both, Thrawn and Daala alike had been idols of her childhood.
For the same reasons Fy'lyor had admired the admiral, so Daala had clearly taken a liking to her, going so far as to capture her from her ship with the Trinity Fleet and convince her to join the renegades. Unlike Daala or the True Victory people, Fy'lyor had no burning desire to fight the Yuuzhan Vong. What she did want, however, was a stronger galaxy with a stronger Empire, and right now Vitor Reige and Jagged Fel seemed intent on imitating all the worst mistakes of anarchy that called itself a Galactic Alliance.
Daala's methods as chief-of-state of the Alliance had proven ineffective against the scheming of the Jedi and her own Imperial 'allies.' Her cornered-nexu approach had a much better chance of working with the Empire, and Fy'lyor had suddenly found herself at Daala's right hand, poised to remake the Empire and the entire galaxy. All they had to do first was perform a little genocide.
No, surreal didn't begin to cover it.
Daala led her into the tactical salon and keyed her encryption code into the holographic transmitter. Before turning it on she gestured for Fy'lyor to stand at her side. The Twi'lek woman straightened her uniform and stepped beside the tall, gray-haired admiral.
A blue holographic image appeared before them. Fy'lyor was not an expert at reading Bothan facial expressions, but it appeared that Admiral Bren Aref'ja was stressed. His fur looked more bristly than normal and his lips were curled back to reveal white canines. He might have been trying to imitate a humanoid smile, or he might have been trying to look aggressive. Either way, it was disconcerting.
"Thank you for replying, Admiral," Daala said. "What is the status of your ships?"
"We've patched up the hull breaches on Phoenix," the Bothan explained. He sounded irritated, like he had some-place else to be. "Dey'rylan and Fey'lya report complete repairs as well."
"What about the crew from Melan?" Daala asked, naming the Bothan cruiser that had been destroyed in a slug-fest with the Trinity flagship during the nebula battle.
"Very few escaped before she was destroyed," Aref'ja said grimly. "However, her fighter complement has been reap-portioned to Dey'rylan and Fey'lya, to make up for the ones they lost."
"Very good," Daala nodded. "Captain Fy'lyor, would you please report on the status of Valor's remains?"
Valor had been destroyed when Aref'ja's own captain had fired upon it. The Bothan bristled at the mention of the name, but being a gentleman he did not mention the damage Daala's own Mandalorians had done to the fleet.
Fy'lyor cleared her throat. "We managed to salvage everything we can from the ship. Supplies, fuel, important metals. We've distributed them evenly among our ships. I can send you a list of the salvage, in case one of your ships desperately needs something."
"I appreciate that. Please do." Aref'ja shifted his tired eyes to Daala. "Admiral, may I ask what you plan to do now? We can't hide and lick our wounds forever."
"Of course," Daala nodded. "I apologize for not telling you this before, Admiral, but Valor accomplished one important feat before her... death."
"And what is that?"
"Valor, as well as Chimaera and Resolve, carried onboard a certain missile designed to burrow into yorik coral. This missile is designed not to explode on impact."
"You harpooned the Yuuzhan Vong ship?" Aref'ja's fur rippled in incredulity or confusion.
"This missile contained a tracking device," Daala said simply. Fy'lyor tried to hide her surprise, and wondered what other secrets Daala had close to the chest.
"I was... unaware of such technology," Aref'ja was clearly annoyed.
"It was devised by my late ally," Daala said, referring to Moff Drikl Lecersen, who had been gunned down by the Mandalorians during the escape. While useful, Lecersen was also as slippery as a greased Hutt, and Fy'lyor was glad to see him gone.
"And this tracking device, do you have a read on it?"
"Indeed I do," Daala nodded, and Fy'lyor could only wonder where? Where was Daala keeping all her secret tools and tricks so that even the captain of her flagship couldn't find them?
Of course, this was an old ship with plenty of hidden rooms and passages, and Fy'lyor had only been captain for less than twenty-four standard hours. Still, she felt a little humiliated.
"Well?" Aref'ja fur bristled again. "What do you intend to do about this?"
"It's simple," Daala said. "We launch a stealth recon flight and shadow the fleet. We make measure of its capabilities and decide whether or not to attack."
"I see." Aref'ja was clearly unhappy with being kept in the dark, and Fy'lyor didn't blame him.
"However," Daala said, "I would be reluctant to attack at this time. I believe we could gain much by shadowing the fleet and learning its movement. More importantly, this fleet is not our main priority and should not be confused as such."
"What do you mean?" Aref'ja ears flattened. "What is our enemy, Admiral?"
Daala ignored his insouciance. "My dear Admiral, you know what our true enemy is. We cannot be rid of the Vong until we rid ourselves of Zonama Sekot."
Fy'lyor had heard many things, mostly contradictory, about the so-called living world. Many of them said it was very capable of defending itself. If Daala had a secret plan to defeat it, Fy'lyor couldn't guess it.
"You expect them to lead us to their homeworld?" Aref'ja asked.
"It is possible," Daala said simply. "We must watch and observe. Tell me, Admiral, does your fleet have any of those reconnaissance-model X-wings fighters?"
"We have several," Aref'ja allowed.
"Then I'll give you the coordinates," Daala smiled tightly. "Please investigate and report back within five hours."
Aref'ja nodded. "Very well. Thank you, Admiral."
"Thank you," Daala said, and killed the transmission. She blew out a breath, looked at Fy'lyor, and smiled. "Well, that went well, didn't it?"
"We have reconnaissance ships here," Fy'lyor said. "But you wanted to involve him in process. Make him feel like a trusted part of this mission."
"Very good," Daala nodded. "We must keep our allies happy, after all."
"And informed?" Fy'lyor tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Daala chuckled. "Don't be offended, Captain. I have many resources and security is clearly an important issue right now."
So she wasn't going to share her sources. Fy'lyor tried not to be disappointed; it was the Admiral's perogative, and she was certainly not obliged to share every bit of intelligence with her subordinates. It did, however, make her feel less enthusiastic about her new posting.
As if for solace, Daala placed a hand on Fy'lyor's shoulder. "Don't look so glum, captain. There is still a great deal of work to be done. Certainly, there is plenty to keep you busy."
"Such as?"
Daala took a small datachip out of her pocket. "First, transmit these coordinates to Phoenix, along with the list of salvage from Valor."
Fy'lyor took the datachip in her red palm. Daala took out a second and said, "This contains all the information we've gathered about Zonama Sekot. Much is heresay, but it also contains information from Alliance intelligence and eye-witness accounts from the recapture of Coruscant."
Fy'lyor pocketed the first datachip and took the second. It was physically identical but felt so much heavier. She asked, "What should I do with this information, Admiral?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Daala grinned. "I want you to come up with a battle plan. I want it ready for review in fifteen hours. Can it be done?"
"Yes, sir!" Fy'lyor snapped a salute.
Daala still held the datachip in her hand. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, Captain, but first things first. Give Aref'ja what he needs."
"Yes, sir," Fy'lyor repeated. She lowered her hand and picked up the datachip on the way. "I won't let you down, Admiral."
The old woman nodded approvingly, as though she really believed Fy'lyor's words. It was enough to make Fy'lyor believe them too.
